Chapter 88: Do I Love Studying?
Nicolas Flamel retrieved a thick, heavy book from a wall-mounted shelf and handed it to Ryan.
"So, I'm supposed to read this?" Ryan asked, hefting the tome, which felt like it had the weight of two bricks. This thing could be used as a weapon. Toss it at an enemy, and you could take down one, maybe two at a time. If Voldemort's army were to lay siege, he could probably take out a thousand of them with this book alone. The phrase "knowledge is power" had never felt so literal.
"Read that? Why would you need to study a table of contents?" Flamel said, gesturing with his chin toward a mountain of books that had just appeared in the middle of the living room. "This is what you need to study."
Ryan looked from the massive "table of contents" in his hands to the towering peak of several thousand alchemy books. A look of sheer panic flashed across his face, as if he had just remembered a critically important, forgotten appointment. "Headmaster, Mr. Flamel, I've just remembered I have something urgent to attend to. If there's nothing else, I should be going."
He turned to make a break for it, desperate to escape this house of horrors. But when he tried to move, he found his feet were glued to the floor.
"See? I told you," Dumbledore said to Flamel with a chuckle. "The moment he saw all those books, this was bound to be his reaction."
"Shouldn't a Ravenclaw love to read?" Flamel asked, shaking his head as if he couldn't comprehend a child who disliked learning. "It only took me ten or twenty years to get through all of these."
It took YOU ten or twenty years? What about me? Ryan wailed internally. Nicolas Flamel's ten or twenty years were a drop in the bucket. How many "ten or twenty years" did a short-lived mortal like himself have? He was feeling the tragic gap between himself and the two immortal human wizards in the room.
"You who know not the seasons nor the passage of years..." Ryan sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He sat back down, an action he was not prevented from taking. In any ranking of the world's most powerful wizards, the two men before him would be in the top three. In their presence, he was utterly powerless.
A deep sense of unease settled over him. Dumbledore was acting completely out of character. From the aggressive plan to capture Voldemort to personally arranging for Ryan to be tutored by Nicolas Flamel, none of it fit his usual, patient modus operandi. Even if the Headmaster wants to strengthen the wizarding world's forces, why is he focusing all his efforts on me? The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
"Mr. Flamel, as you know, I am still a student at Hogwarts," Ryan began, shifting into negotiation mode since resistance was futile. "I have other subjects to study. Even if the sky were falling, I simply wouldn't have the time to read all of these books."
"So, if the sky were falling, you wouldn't have time?" Flamel repeated, a strange look in his ancient eyes.
"That's right, sir. I truly don't have the time."
He expected Flamel to say something about how he had his whole life ahead of him, plenty of time to study. Instead, the old alchemist nodded thoughtfully. "You are indeed on a tight schedule. But the sky isn't falling, is it?"
He leaned in, a twinkle in his eye. "If the sky were falling, you wouldn't have time. But since it's not, you have plenty of time, don't you see?"
I can't believe the legendary immortal alchemist is a master of dad jokes, Ryan thought, his mouth twitching. Who can tell me why the hero from my history books is like this? He thought of Dumbledo re's love of Cockroach Clusters and his sometimes-eccentric speeches at the start-of-term feast. Do all old men eventually become goofy?
Since the stage was set, he had no choice but to play his part. "Master," Ryan said, deciding to accept his new role, "that joke wasn't very funny."
"Not funny? I thought it was hilarious."
"Perhaps it was, six hundred years ago."
"What a shame."
"Reading several thousand books in a short time is, indeed, unrealistic," Flamel conceded. "So, let's do this. You have three days. At the end of those three days, I want a report from you. It can be about anything you've learned, any insights you've gained from your reading."
"An excellent idea," Dumbledore agreed. "I will inform Minerva and the others that you are engaged in advanced magical research and will be unable to attend classes."
"But I'm not—"
"Of course, I know that anyone would be thrilled to be taught alchemy by Nicolas," Dumbledore cut him off smoothly. "You must contain your excitement and focus on your studies."
"I was trying to say—"
"Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry, I will handle everything regarding the Order of Merlin," Dumbledore said, seamlessly taking over the conversation.
"Order of Merlin?" Flamel asked, intrigued. He had no doubt Ryan was worthy of the honor, but it was highly out of character for Dumbledore to actively seek accolades for one of his students.
Dumbledore then explained in detail Voldemort's recent activities at Hogwarts and their plan to capture him. As he listened, a faint smile played on Flamel's lips, but it soon froze, and he shot a meaningful look at Dumbledore. Dumbledore simply nodded in return.
What kind of silent code are they using? Ryan wondered, having completely forgotten what he was trying to say. There was a strange, unspoken understanding between the ancient wizard and the very, very, very ancient wizard.
"In that case," Flamel said, perhaps as compensation for the forced study session, "I will write a few letters of recommendation for Ryan as well."
But I don't even like studying that much... Ryan thought miserably.
In the Headmistress's office at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, the statuesque and elegant Olympe Maxime received a letter from the oldest member of the school's board of trustees.
"Didn't he say we no longer needed to investigate the Welles boy?" she murmured, breaking the seal. The letter was not an investigative request. It was a plea for her to write to her friends on the Wizengamot and help a young wizard named Ryan Welles secure an Order of Merlin.
"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. "A fifth-year student receiving an Order of Merlin! With a recommendation from both Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel!"
The whole thing seemed utterly preposterous. While the letter detailed the revolutionary potential of the new "communicator," and while she trusted the judgment of the two legendary wizards, the timing felt incredibly rushed. Wouldn't it be more logical to let the communicator naturally change the wizarding world first, and then push for the award?
"I suppose," she said with a laugh, holding the letter, "I really must meet this famous Master Prophet for myself." With that, she took out a quill and began to write.
~~~
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