Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 821: Taboo Knowledge

Kyle had long known that the key ingredient in crafting a Philosopherʼs Stone was the ashes left behind after a phoenix’s rebirth. After all, he had contributed to the creation of the very stone before him.

What he hadnʼt expected was that repairing it would require the same thing.

“I don’t have any phoenix ashes left,” Kyle said. “I only took half last time, and I gave all of it to you. The other half is with Snape, and he already used it to make Phoenix Potion.”

“I know,” Nicolas nodded. “But Dumbledore’s phoenix is with you, isn’t it?”

“What good does that do?” Kyle asked. “Didn’t you say that the ashes must come from a natural rebirth to make a Philosopherʼs Stone? It’s only been a few years since Fawkes last went through it—we can’t just wait indefinitely.”

Kyle didn’t know exactly how often a phoenix would undergo a natural rebirth, but he was sure it wasn’t a short interval. If it happened every few years, the ashes wouldn’t be nearly so rare.

“Oh, you misunderstood,” Nicolas said, looking at him. “There are indeed strict requirements when making a Philosopher’s Stone. But if it’s just for repairs, the rules are far more relaxed. As long as it’s ashes, it doesn’t have to come from a natural rebirth.”

“…I see.” Kyle’s expression turned uncertain.

He knew perfectly well that a rebirth wasn’t a big deal for Fawkes. It would only leave him weakened for a while, and in a few months, he’d recover.

A few months of weakness in exchange for a chance to save Dumbledore—it was clearly worth it.

But for some reason, maybe due to some strange emotional resistance, Kyle found himself deeply uneasy about making that decision. He didn’t even know how to bring it up to Fawkes.

Nicolas noticed his hesitation but didn’t press him. He simply said calmly, “You don’t need to decide right away. You’ve got two weeks to think about it. I’ll finish rewriting the magical script in that time, and then it’ll be the stone’s turn...”

He waved his hand, ready to send Kyle out.

But just then, a golden-red figure appeared midair. Fawkes landed on Kyle’s shoulder and nuzzled his ear with the feathers on his head.

“You heard everything?” Kyle asked.

Fawkes nodded.

“Then it’s your choice,” Kyle sighed. “If you don’t want to, we can figure out something else… maybe ask Newt, or check Dumbledore’s vault.”

Fawkes didn’t respond. He simply flew over to a nearby table, gave his feathers a shake, and instantly transformed into a blazing fireball.

The fireball burned brightly, but gave off no heat—not even the wooden table beneath it was scorched in the slightest.

“Well, that settles it,” Nicolas said.

“Yeah,” Kyle nodded. Fawkes’ decision really did ease his mind.

Neither of them said another word. Nicolas used a device that looked like a camera to document the entire process of Fawkes’ rebirth.

It didn’t take long—just a few seconds. When the flames died down, all that remained on the tabletop was a heap of dark brown ashes. Then, a featherless chick poked its head out from the pile.

Kyle reached out and gently picked it up.

“Fawkes, you look absolutely hideous right now,” he said, unable to hold back a chuckle.

No matter how many times he saw it, a freshly reborn phoenix was a real eyesore—completely bald, its skin wrinkled like a shrunken Shar-Pei

Fawkes mustered all his strength and gave Kyle’s finger a determined peck with his soft, undeveloped beak.

But in his current state, the effort didn’t even make Kyle flinch.

Kyle placed him on a soft velvet cushion inside a suitcase and lined the area with herbs—very expensive ones: mandrake leaves, Lady’s Mantle, shrivelfig root—all chosen to help Fawkes recover as quickly as possible.

“Shackle,” he warned the Matagot who was eyeing the scene with excitement, “don’t go near him, or you’ll get smacked—and I won’t be able to stop it.”

The Matagot stepped back slightly, then raised its head disdainfully and leapt elegantly onto a nearby bookshelf. Its long tail dangled above Fawkes, swaying lazily back and forth.

Kyle noticed that Fawkes didn’t seem to mind, so he let it be.

Once everything was settled, he left the suitcase and turned his attention to the pile of ashes on the table. Nicolas had already collected them into a bottle.

“The quality’s not great,” Nicolas said, handing it over. “But it’s just barely usable.”

Kyle took the bottle and immediately noticed the difference.

The ashes he’d received before had been beautiful. At first glance, they’d looked black, but under sunlight, countless golden specks shimmered within.

But this batch was just black. Kyle rotated the bottle for quite a while before catching a faint flicker of light, like the night sky in London—where the stars were buried under thick clouds.

“This really won’t affect its function?” Kyle asked.

“It’s fine,” Nicolas replied. “The Philosopher’s Stone itself is still intact. All we need to do is get it working again.”

“Hold on a moment.” Nicolas turned and retrieved another crucible from a shelf behind him.

This one was much smaller—about the size of a fist—and looked more like a toy than proper equipment. But it also contained potion: a sparkling pink liquid.

Nicolas reached out, and Kyle promptly handed over the bottle.

The phoenix ashes, along with the now-dulled Philosopher’s Stone, were placed into the crucible.

The potion began to bubble. Its bright pink hue immediately darkened to deep red, then gradually lightened again.

Nicolas reached out his hand once more.

Kyle instantly knew what he was about to do—after all, this was exactly how he’d been sent out last time.

”Wait a second,” he said quickly. ”Can I watch from the side? I promise I won’t interfere.”

This was the repair of the Philosopher’s Stone—even if it wasn’t the full process of creating one, it was still an incredibly rare sight. Naturally, Kyle wanted to observe as much as he could.

Not for any other reason—he just genuinely wanted to learn something from it.

“I understand, but no…” Nicolas shook his head. “It’s still too soon for you. Do you know the principles of alchemy?”

“Of course,” Kyle replied. “Equivalent exchange, no contact with the domain of the gods, no human transmutation.”

He had just reviewed all of that during his time at Beauxbatons.

“Strictly speaking, the Philosopher’s Stone falls into the domain of the divine. It’s considered forbidden alchemy,” Nicolas said gravely. “Getting exposed to it too early can lead you down a dangerous path without even realizing it. This kind of knowledge is like a golden ship floating above the ocean—so dazzling it draws you in. You feel like it’s within reach, but you’ll never actually touch it.

“The ship itself is in the sky. What you see is only its shadow cast upon the sea. And in chasing that shadow, you’ll slowly sink into the ocean, leaving behind only a splash… before the water returns to stillness.”

Kyle gave a shiver without realizing it.

He had just wanted to pick up some skills—how did it suddenly become this dangerous? Golden ships and oceans? If it’s that bad, then maybe he really shouldn’t be learning it.

“…Alright, I get it.” Kyle let out a dry laugh and turned to walk toward the door.

But after just a few steps, he couldn’t help but glance back and ask, “Nicolas, are the so-called ‘gods’ actually real?”

“What makes you ask?” Nicolas said with a hint of curiosity. “You’ve heard the story from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, right? The one about the Three Brothers? Weren’t the three Deathly Hallows said to be divine relics?”

“I’ve always thought they were just powerful alchemical creations,” Kyle said after a moment of thought. “The legends probably built up over time. I’ve seen the Invisibility Cloak—actually, I’ve seen all three Hallows—but if you ask me, Ravenclaw’s Diadem still feels more unbelievable.”

“Then do you know how Ravenclaw’s Diadem was made?” Nicolas asked.

“I don’t,” Kyle admitted, shaking his head.

“I don’t either,” Nicolas said softly. “But I once asked Lady Rowena Ravenclaw’s memory how she created the Diadem.”

“And what did she say?” Kyle asked, intrigued.

“She didn’t know,” Nicolas replied with a chuckle. “That particular memory didn’t contain much detail—perhaps intentionally. She only remembered that the Diadem was the product of an accidental alchemical experiment… one that had actually failed.”

“I see…” Kyle hesitated. “But weren’t we talking about gods? How did we end up on Diadems?”

“Because these strange, extraordinary artifacts might be the only traces we have of something divine,” Nicolas said. “I’m sure I couldn’t create the Diadem. At best, I could forge some crude imitation… which I’d melt back down within ten minutes.”

He added, “I’ve never been able to truly understand where these things come from. So I can’t give you an answer.”

Kyle felt his thoughts spiraling. By the time he snapped out of it, he was already standing in the living room.

He rubbed his temples, feeling a dull ache.

Should’ve known better than to get into a conversation like that with Nicolas… He wasn’t even sure what had happened. He had only said a few sentences, but it felt like he’d just sat through two straight days of History of Magic—his head was stuffed full of information.

And yet, thinking back, it had really only been a few lines.

Now he was starting to understand why Nicolas hadn’t let him observe the restoration process—or what that whole “golden ship and ocean” metaphor had really meant. There was definitely something unnatural about all this.

Kyle shook his head, trying to clear out the tangle of thoughts.

“Sir, do you need any help?”

At some point, the house-elf Tata had appeared beside him, blinking up at him with those tennis-ball-sized eyes.

“If it’s not too much trouble… could I have a glass of lemon juice?”

“As you wish, sir.” Tata snapped his fingers. An empty glass appeared in his hand, followed by several plump, golden lemons that instantly shriveled as they were juiced.

“Your lemon juice, sir.”

“Thanks.” Kyle took a sip, and the bitter sourness instantly twisted up his whole face. Still, it helped clear his mind a little from all the cluttered thoughts.

He shook his head again, handed the empty glass back, and asked, “How long do you think Nicolas will need?”

He didn’t expect a proper answer—it was just a casual question.

But Tata didn’t hesitate at all. “Master said that if you have other matters to attend to, you may leave. He’ll come find you once he’s finished.”

“It’s alright, I can wait here,” Kyle said.

“That was Master’s instruction,” Tata said a bit hesitantly. “He believes it’s best for you to leave the estate during this time. It’s for your safety.”

“My safety…” Kyle blinked, then understood.

Is Nicolas worried I’ll try to sneak a look?

That was seriously underestimating his character… And even if he did try, there was no way he could get past Nicolas Flamel’s alchemy lab.

Kyle gave a helpless sigh.

But if that was Nicolas’s wish, he didn’t intend to argue.

Besides, he did have a few things he needed to take care of.

“I’ll head back to Hogwarts, then,” Kyle said. “Just make sure he knows—he can find me there when it’s done… No, actually, just have him write me a letter.”

“Wait a moment, sir.”

Tata stopped him and produced another bottle—the same kind of drink he’d had on the first day, the one that looked like raspberry juice.

“Master asked Tata to give this to you. You’re to drink one bottle every morning after you wake up, and another before you go to sleep.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask—what is this stuff?”

“Tata doesn’t know,” the elf said, ears wiggling. “But Master spent a long time preparing it just for you. He said it would be of great help.”

“Alright then.” Kyle took the bottle.

He didn’t bother asking why there was only one. For Nicolas Flamel, enchanting a bottle with a Refilling Charm would be child’s play.

Kyle tucked the bottle away and left the estate with Tata by his side.

“Well, see you next time.”

Kyle said, “Fawkes, let’s go back to Hogwarts—”

There was no response.

“Oh!” Kyle slapped his forehead. He’d forgotten—Fawkes had just undergone rebirth. There was no way he could fly out and Apparate Kyle back right now.

With no other choice, Kyle walked a bit farther, until he was beyond the range of the protective enchantments, and Apparated on his own.

He might risk detection by the Ministry of Magic, but there was no better option. He certainly wasn’t about to walk all the way back.

He chose Hogsmeade as his destination—specifically, the second floor of the Hog’s Head Inn.

Plenty of wizards Apparated there daily. It was the safest place he could think of.

“Kid, this isn’t a Floo Network hub. You’ve got to pay to use the room,” came a gruff, disdainful voice nearby. “That’ll be fifty Galleons. How are you paying?”

The speaker was Aberforth—or more accurately, a portrait of him hanging on the second floor.

“Put it on Headmaster Dumbledore’s tab,” Kyle said without thinking.

Fifty Galleons just to land here for a moment? That was practically daylight robbery. No way he was paying that.

“No credit at this bar,” Aberforth said as he tossed some grass to the goat in the painting. “Hurry up, or I’ll call someone.”

“Come on, what if I pay five times the rate?” Kyle offered.

Aberforth: “…”

“Ten times!”

“Get out of here and stop interfering with my business.” Aberforth’s expression shifted slightly. “And by the way—just so you know, there’ve been more people downstairs than usual the past couple of days. Quite a few have turned into regulars.”

“Understood. Thanks,” Kyle replied.

It wasn’t the weekend, so it clearly wasn’t a Hogsmeade visiting day. Anyone at the Hog’s Head right now must have other reasons for being there—and if they were now considered “regulars,” that meant they’d been hanging around for days.

Unless they were just really fond of the drinks, it was safe to assume they had other motives.

Aberforth was warning him to keep a low profile.

Clearly, paid service came with premium advice—those ten times the Galleons were worth it.

Not that Kyle had planned to go downstairs anyway.

He stepped over to the second-floor window, drew his wand, and pressed it lightly to his forehead, murmuring a spell.

His body began to shrink and contort. His robes twisted and reshaped, as if sliced cleanly by invisible scissors, transforming into rows of neatly layered brown feathers.

Moments later, Kyle had vanished from where he stood.

But on the windowsill of the Hog’s Head second floor, there now perched a very ordinary-looking owl.

Human Transfiguration was a core topic taught in Transfiguration after fifth year at Hogwarts. It allowed students to transform into animals, objects, or even stones.

While it wasn’t as flawless as Animagus transformation and came with a time limit, it didn’t require Animagus registration—and there were no fixed forms. You could turn into whatever you wanted.

Back during the Triwizard Tournament, Viktor Krum had transformed himself into a shark to compete in the Black Lake task.

Though in his case, the spell had only half-worked—he’d ended up with just his upper body as a shark.

Kyle, however, had fully transformed.

It was actually his first time attempting it, and the process turned out to be easier than he’d expected.

He examined his new form in awe. It was such a strange sensation—weightless, almost unreal. He tried flapping his wings. The first attempt nearly sent him plummeting. On the second, he smacked into the top of the window frame. Only on the third try did he finally manage to lift off into the air.