Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

A flash of golden light passed, and Vid suddenly found himself in a dazzling living room after experiencing the odd tug of the Portkey.

The space seemed to be filled with all kinds of books and bizarre objects, yet maintained a certain harmonious order. Vid dared not move recklessly, fearing that even lifting an arm might set off a domino effect.

”Oh, you’ve arrived.” Nicolas Flamel’s voice came from behind a pile of books, saying, ”Sorry, I seem to have lost track of time because I... oh, goodness!”

The old man let out a pained cry. Vid curiously tilted his head to peek, seeing only a figure swaying behind the stack of books.

After finally finding a place to step, he discovered a silver-haired, ghostly pale old man wrestling with a silver ornate teapot.

The teapot bounced angrily on the ground, held down by Nicolas Flamel with one hand, but the lid suddenly shot up towards his nose, only to be effortlessly blocked by a spell.

As the lid fell, it spun and hit Flamel’s finger, causing a clear ”crack” sound that Vid heard distinctly.

Startled, Vid quickly regained his senses and pointed his Magic Wand: ”Freeze!”

The teapot immediately ceased its movement, and the lid, about to strike again, clattered to the ground, whereupon Nicolas Flamel grabbed it and stuffed it back into a box with the teapot.

”Finally resolved. I never thought... one day even a teapot could ambush me...”

Leaning on his hip, Flamel struggled to stand up from the floor, and Vid hurriedly reached out to help.

He dared not use too much force, as the arm in his hand felt as fragile as a corn stick, as if it might break with the slightest carelessness.

”Thank you, child,” Flamel said in a hoarse voice. ”Welcome to my home, but most things here have their own tempers. You’ll need... oh, you’ll need to be a little careful.”

He spoke as he circled his intact hand over the injured finger, which then returned to its original shape before Vid’s eyes.

Vid lightly raised an eyebrow.

That finger had seemed so crushed that even the bone might have snapped, yet no blood had been spilled, and there seemed to be no internal bleeding beneath the skin.

Nicolas Flamel was now 664 years old; though still alive, his body had become extremely fragile from the passage of time, like dry kindling.

His immortality appeared not at all pleasant, seeming more like a curse.

Vid kept his thoughts to himself, simply helping Flamel to a seat and curiously asking, ”Isn’t this teapot also your creation? Even it would attack you?”

”Things with thoughts will have their own temper, and can’t be expected to unconditionally and consistently love their creator.”

Flamel sighed, ”Of course, I can’t entirely blame it; mainly, I’ve kept it locked away too long... I put it in a box when I moved house and then accidentally forgot... for about two hundred years?”

Vid was dumbfounded.

Anyone imprisoned for two hundred years would certainly be very angry—even a teapot would be no exception.

He now felt that the lid merely breaking one of Flamel’s fingers was rather courteous.

”Please, sit down, sit down. I’m sorry you had to see my home in such disarray—I’m in the midst of tidying up.”

Flamel took out his Magic Wand and waved it, causing the clutter in the room to shuffle to the walls, opening up a small space in the middle. Meanwhile, a chair shoved aside heavy tomes on its back and jumped towards Vid from behind.

The chair bumped Vid, making him sit down involuntarily. He then produced a gift he had prepared and said, ”Mr. Flamel, this is a little present I made. I hope you like it.”

”Oh?”

Nicolas Flamel, intrigued, accepted the wooden box, gently pushing the lid open to reveal a slender Quill lying on a black velvet lining.

”A Quill?”

”I’ve been learning various techniques for making Magic Quills from Professor Morry, and this is one of my results.”

Vid smiled and said, ”It’s nothing remarkable, just a simple little toy.”

He leaned in to introduce, ”I used feathers from the head of a Swooping Evil and teeth of a Burrowing Bat, as well as Moonstone Powder, spores from Devil’s Snares, and the juice of Mandrake. Of course, the most important is the Daydream Curse.”

”As long as you write a general description on paper, like ’a palace full of countless delicacies,’ the writer can enter a corresponding daydream for one to thirty minutes.”

”To exit the dream, simply say ’this isn’t real,’ and you’ll wake up from the daydream.”

The Daydream Curse has existed for a long time and wasn’t invented by Vid. Simply speaking the curse could also lead to a vivid daydream, though the content was somewhat uncontrollable.

For instance, someone might want to enter a dream of sweet moments with a beautiful girl, but halfway through the dream, she might suddenly turn into a skeleton, then into a muscular barbie, finally waking the dreamer amidst being chased by fire crabs.

Since people can’t control their subconscious, they can’t control the dream’s materialized fantasies.

Vid’s Quill made these uncontrollable daydreams more concrete and more able to bend to one’s will.

”Oh... an interesting idea,” Nicolas Flamel said with a smile. ”Perfect for daydreaming through boring classes.”

”As I said, it’s just a toy,” Vid laughed. ”But if used for study, you could review books you’ve read in the dream or memorize a lot in a short time.”

”May I try it?” Flamel asked, holding the Quill.

”Of course,” Vid gestured invitingly.

Nicolas Flamel casually drew a piece of parchment, holding the Quill as he shakily wrote a line on it. Vid turned his gaze away, not to spy on the dream Flamel wrote for himself.

The Daydream Quill needed no ink as it had been pre-filled with a full vial of ink inside. Once all the ink was used, the Quill became ineffective.

However, the Quill gifted to Nicolas Flamel also employed The Undetectable Extension Charm. The stored potion could fill a beer glass, enough for a long time.

After Flamel finished his sentence, the words on the parchment glowed softly and suddenly flew off the page like fireflies, gathering on Flamel’s head and dissolving into starlight.

Flamel relaxed into the armchair, head slightly bowed, eyes half-open and half-closed, seemingly in a daze but already immersed in the daydream he’d crafted for himself.

A few minutes later, he murmured, ”This isn’t real.”

Then, Flamel shuddered, emerging from the dream.