Chapter 467: Cruel Memories
First, the entire body began to vent steam, and then patterns gradually appeared
on the tortoise's shell. By the time Sean picked it up, it had transformed into
a perfectly functional teapot.
Sean examined the teapot carefully before tapping it once more; the pot moved
leisurely, scuttling about until it completely transformed back into a tortoise.
Sean silently checked his mental state—he was somewhat tired, but not
excessively so. Wandless magic required much stricter control than using a wand,
and the bulk of Sean's concentration had gone into that effort.
As he looked up, he met the stern face of Professor McGonagall.
"Wandless magic... a dangerous technique... you need more practice." Professor
McGonagall spoke slowly. A few seconds later, her brow relaxed. "But undeniably,
you have achieved a perfect score. Well done, child."
With the Transfiguration exam concluded, the students hurried through lunch and
returned upstairs for Charms.
"How'd you do?" Hermione asked, looking up at Sean in the corridor.
"Not bad," Sean replied.
"That means full marks. But I will also be getting full marks. If everyone gets
full marks, then only the minor mistakes will matter... I think I'll have a
chance to surpass you this time, Sean," Hermione said, clutching her books. She
then turned her head toward Justin, "And you?"
"I expect so," Justin conceded.
Harry and the others couldn't get a word in, but they didn't seem to mind. Harry
was focused entirely on achieving 'Outstanding' grades in Charms,
Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions—the requirements for
an Auror as laid out in A History of Magical Careers. Ron shared the same vague
ambitions; he kept his copy of the book tucked at the bottom of his stack,
leaving a discreet bookmark on the Auror page. Neville, as nervous as ever,
continued to review his notes.
"I think Professor Flitwick might test us on a specific charm—the Cheering
Charm. You'd better take a look at it ahead of time," Hermione advised in a race
against the clock before they entered the exam hall. Harry and the others took
this seriously; everyone knew Hermione was Professor Flitwick's second-favorite
student.
Sure enough, Hermione was right. Professor Flitwick did indeed test them on the
Cheering Charm. Harry, due to his nerves, over-executed the incantation, causing
his partner, Ron, to burst into bouts of hysterical laughter. Ron eventually had
to be escorted to a quiet room and kept there for an hour before he could finish
his own spell.
When it was Sean's turn, Justin started laughing before Sean had even cast the
spell, making Sean wonder if he had accidentally cast it already.
After dinner, the students rushed back to the common room—not to rest, but to
cram for Potions and Astronomy. The day came to a close just like that. In the
evening, Sean sat by the stained-glass window of Ravenclaw Tower, reading. He
re-read The Tale of the Three Brothers once more, as mist slowly rose beneath
the dark blue, tranquil sky.
In far-off Dorset, Newt tucked his three noisy Kneazles into bed. He couldn't
help but think back to those days around Christmas. As he watched the mist
gradually rise, a relaxed smile played on his lips, and he slowly drifted into
sleep.
How much time had passed, he didn't know. Newt opened his eyes and turned
slowly. The scenery around him seemed to manifest right before his eyes. It was
a vast, open space—bright and clean, with a dilapidated structure standing right
in front of him.
It was an old Victorian residence, the wooden door still bearing a sign that
read [Children's Home]. A black cat—no, a Kneazle—was perched directly atop the
sign, watching him with emerald eyes.
"Mr. Scamander," the black cat said.
"Respected Bastet," Newt smiled.
He occasionally drifted into this dreamscape. When he saw the black cat studying
weather magic and spatial magic with such earnestness, he found himself thinking
that perhaps the ancient legends were true.
"What do you wish to understand today?" Newt asked.
As he asked, his long-dormant creative passion stirred; his manuscript for
Dreams and Gods was mostly complete. Perhaps, before long, Bastet would be able
to see this book in the dreams of others.
"I ask for nothing today," the black cat said. It sat on the wooden sign, its
fur gleaming under the streetlights, radiating a fantastical sense of holiness.
"That is... Leta, I... when will I see her?" Newt looked a bit lost.
"I require some memories, Mr. Scamander," the black cat explained gently. It
glanced cryptically at its chest, where it didn't just carry a slate-like
alchemical artifact, but also a deep, dark stone.
The Resurrection Stone. Its purpose was to summon the souls of the departed, but
it naturally carried limitations—the user had to have a clear impression of the
departed soul. And the black cat couldn't find a single trace of Leta's likeness
in its own mind.
"Naturally, naturally. A trade must be fair." Newt looked dazed for a moment
before replying. Dear Bastet possessed the magic to rule dreams, but for a
mortal to trade with it, they would inevitably have to pay a price. He didn't
think mere trivial magical knowledge would be enough to make this powerful
magical creature cross the boundary between life and death for him.
"I will give you my memories. I am willing to relinquish them; I only wish to
see her..." Newt couldn't stop saying.
"What was that?" After Newt agreed, the black cat began rummaging through the
clumps of mist. Seconds later, it tossed a Pensieve out with its tail.
Newt took the Pensieve in his hands, his face flushing. "Can a Pensieve be used
in the world behind the Veil..." he muttered to himself.
"This place is my dream," the black cat said. It raised a paw and elegantly drew
a circle, indicating the scope of the realm.
"Ah..." Newt smiled. Shaken by the power of such magic and filled with genuine
joy, he began to use the Pensieve.
"I need to go with you, Mr. Newt." The black cat leaped over, curiously
examining the silver threads of Newt's memory. Its paws trod upon Newt's
shoulder, its fur brushing against Newt's face. Newt thought to himself that
this might be the most marvelous dream he had ever had.
"I need to see her, Mr. Newt," the black cat repeated one last time.
"I understand..."
Newt, as if shy, avoided looking directly at the black cat, simply burying his
head into the Pensieve alongside it.
In the memory, it was a rainy day. A young Newt Scamander sat alone in a dim
waiting area, staring blankly ahead. A moment later, he felt something tugging
at his wrist. He looked down to see Pickett the Bowtruckle swinging from a loose
thread on his cuff. The thread snapped, Pickett tumbled off, and Newt's button
rolled away down the corridor. Newt and Pickett watched it go, then both took
off in a chase. Newt got there first, but as he bent down to pick up the button,
he found himself staring at a pair of woman's feet.
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