For a while, silence filled the kitchen.
Dawn sank into his own thoughts. Even though the house-elves bustled noisily around the room, he felt as though the entire world had fallen quiet.
His mind seemed full of countless ideas, yet whenever he tried to grasp them clearly, everything became empty and vague, like meaningless drifting thoughts.
Then suddenly—
As if some invisible thread had connected in his head, a question abruptly surfaced.
If he did not rely on natural magic, could he create life himself?
The answer was obvious.
Absolutely impossible.
Everything Dawn currently possessed ultimately stemmed from one method alone: Transfiguration, stabilized and fixed through natural magic.
Of course—That was not necessarily a bad thing.
Nor did it prove he lacked talent. As long as the desired result was achieved, the method itself hardly mattered.
In fact, the more unified and streamlined a technique became, the more impressive it often appeared.
But...
After hearing Nicolas Flamel speak at such length, Dawn could not help wondering whether, in the future, he should try developing applications based purely on his own magic power.
"All right, child, come back to reality." Flamel waved a hand in front of him. "It's getting late. Is there anything else you wish to ask?"
The alchemy master's words carried a fairly obvious hint of dismissal.
But Dawn pretended not to notice.
After gathering his scattered thoughts, he immediately continued:
"Yes. Quite a lot, actually."
For the moment, he decided to set aside the matter of the Sorting Hat and ignore the increasingly speechless look in Flamel's eyes.
Instead, he prepared to satisfy all his curiosity first. "Mr. Flamel, what accomplishments are you most proud of?"
"The Philosopher's Stone, naturally. Everyone knows that."
Flamel answered without hesitation.
Yet Dawn seemed dissatisfied with that response.
"Besides the Philosopher's Stone?"
He leaned slightly forward.
"Everyone praises your achievement in creating it. But I know that was something you made in your youth, and even then, it was merely a recreation rather than an original invention."
Flamel's expression shifted subtly.
Meanwhile, Dawn narrowed his eyes, his tone becoming unexpectedly sharp.
"So then, Mr. Flamel... What other accomplishments do you possess in the field of alchemy?
I doubt there are none.
I can tell that you carry immense pride and conviction regarding alchemy.
There is no way you spent several centuries wasting your life basking in satisfaction over the Philosopher's Stone alone."
Through the rising steam of the teacups, Dawn quietly observed the man sitting across from him.
Flamel, however, became momentarily dazed.
Achievements beyond the Philosopher's Stone? How could there be none?
His memories drifted back once more to the year 1521.
How strange.
The event he most wished to forget had now resurfaced three separate times within a single day.
Once while experiencing the memory overlap with young Davis.
Again during his conversation with Dumbledore. And now, yet again, someone had brought up the same topic.
Was fate reminding him to leave something behind?
Flamel's expression shifted repeatedly. After a long silence, he finally sighed softly, as though making some difficult decision.
"Child, do you remember what I said earlier?
In the broad field of alchemy, my greatest specialty is not item creation, but material transformation."
Dawn nodded.
Flamel's voice gradually lowered.
"Then tell me... what do you believe is the ultimate goal of material transformation?"
The ultimate goal?
Dawn thought quietly.
For Muggle alchemists, the answer was simple: turning stone into gold.
But for Flamel, the answer clearly went far beyond that.
Before Dawn could continue thinking, however, Flamel lowered his gaze toward the tea inside his cup and spoke on his own.
"It is the conversion between matter and magic."
Dawn frowned slightly but did not interrupt.
He could tell that Flamel had abandoned the previous question-and-answer format.
Now he was merely recounting something he genuinely wished to share.
The alchemy master spoke softly.
"I believe everything in the world is composed of magic.
Magic is not merely contained within all things. Rather, all things themselves are formed from magic.
And so, in the year 1521, I conducted an experiment... An experiment called Returning Matter to Magic."
At that point, Flamel abruptly stopped speaking.
Dawn waited for several moments, but the old alchemist remained completely silent.
Unable to endure it any longer, Dawn immediately pressed further: "Returning matter to magic?"
"How did you do it? What were the experimental procedures? What happened afterward? Did you succeed?"
"Ah, my apologies, child."
Flamel shook his head firmly.
"Although I admire your curiosity, this matter alone is a secret I intend to carry into my grave."
Hearing that, Dawn's eyes widened.
At the same time, irritation surged through him so strongly that he nearly wanted to smash the nearby teapot against Flamel's head.
Starting a story only to stop halfway through—Wasn't that simply deliberate torture?
Dawn clenched his teeth.
Still, he could tell Flamel regarded the matter with unusual caution, as though some hidden truth lay behind it all.
But why?
Returning matter to magic...
Whether the experiment succeeded or failed, neither outcome seemed sufficient to make a legendary alchemist react like this.
Dawn frowned deeply, his thoughts automatically following Flamel's earlier words.
Everything in the world is made from magic.
Interestingly enough, this concept differed from Dawn's own understanding.
From the very beginning, Dawn had always believed magic was merely contained within all things.
Perhaps because of the scientific education rooted in his memories from the non-magical world, he had never once considered the idea that magic itself composed reality.
Was such a thing even possible?
Dawn lowered his head and stared at the table holding the teacups.
Take this table, for example. Was there truly a method capable of converting it into pure magic?
He began thinking seriously.
If he himself were attempting to solve such a problem, where would he even begin?
Yet no matter how much he thought, he found absolutely no direction whatsoever.
With growing frustration, Dawn realized something terrible:
If he wanted to transform matter into magic, he could not even produce a single remotely viable theory.
Which only made him even more curious.
What exactly had Flamel experienced during this experiment of Returning Matter to Magic?
Dawn glanced toward him again.
Just as he was considering whether to resort to more questionable methods to obtain answers, Flamel suddenly asked another seemingly unrelated question.
"Child, where do you think magic comes from?
Some people say magic is something innate, something that simply exists like air.
But even air itself formed gradually during the creation of the world. So what about magic?"
Where did magic originate?
Dawn froze.
His mind, already overloaded by too much information in too little time, instinctively began spinning once more.
Yet another question he had never truly considered before.
Because of those memories from the original story, he had always subconsciously treated magic as merely part of the world's built-in setting.
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