Honestly, Dylan could have just followed the Headmaster back to his office during dinner. But by the time Dumbledore got up to leave, Dylan hadn't quite finished eating. So, he decided not to trail along just yet.
He made his way through the corridor. On either side, the visors of the suits of armour turned ever so slightly as he passed. The silver sconces on the stone walls brightened, their flames casting dancing shadows on the damp surfaces, and reflecting Dylan's figure too.
He arrived at the door to the Headmaster's office. The password hadn't changed, and he stepped inside without any trouble. The moment he pushed the door open, a scent of parchment and what smelled faintly like bay leaves wafted out.
The Headmaster was currently bent over his large wooden desk, leafing through a rather old-looking book. A quill was busily scratching away on a piece of parchment nearby.
"Headmaster," Dylan said politely from the doorway.
"Dylan?" Dumbledore paused his hand, looked up, and his eyes twinkled as he saw Dylan, tapping a gilded sugar bowl nearby with his finger. "Care for a Fizzing Whizbee?"
Dylan shook his head, smiling. "No, thank you, Headmaster. I actually brought back quite a few sweets from the Great Hall."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Very astute! Though they are indeed there for all of you, you can take as many as you wish – just try not to waste them, or the School Governors will start fretting about their Galleons again."
Dylan quirked his lips into a grin. "But I imagine you wouldn't feel too bothered by that, would you, Headmaster?"
"Oh, now, you can't say that! Wastefulness really isn't a good habit." The Headmaster pretended to look stern, but his eyes were twinkling merrily, and he even winked at Dylan. "So, what brings you to see me at this hour? It's not often I see you popping into my office. Is there something I can help you with?"
Dylan blinked. "Headmaster, I've actually come because there are two things I wanted to ask you about."
"Oh? Do tell?"
Dylan first walked up to the Headmaster's desk, and then, transfiguring a chair out of a book, he sat down. At that moment, the gears of the bronze unicorn grandfather clock nearby were making faint, intricate clicking sounds. Fawkes the phoenix was preening his tail feathers in his usual spot.
Dylan glanced at the Pensieve on the floor before his gaze settled on the Headmaster. "First of all, I've been doing some research into Alchemy lately, and I was hoping, Headmaster, if you might be willing to guide me on it from time to time?"
The flickering candlelight in the office stretched his shadow, casting overlapping patterns amongst the portraits covering the walls.
Dumbledore looked at Dylan. "Now, how did you come to know that I dabble in Alchemy?"
Dylan smiled. "Well, Headmaster, I read that when you defeated Grindelwald in 1945, you repaired the crack in the Philosopher's Stone alongside Mr. Nicolas Flamel. I stumbled upon that little fact on some torn pages from 'Nicolas's Secret Journal' in the Restricted Section."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. Then, a sudden smile bloomed on his face. "Ah, it seems Cassandra Vablatsky's prophecy has proven true once more."
He set down the quill he was holding.
"A prophecy?" Dylan raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, indeed, a prophecy," the Headmaster said, his lips curving upwards. "This particular prophecy was even recorded – that there would always be curious young people who would breathe new life into old relics." Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "And in fact, that prophecy has been proven true time and again; there are indeed quite a few curious young people about."
Dylan tilted his head. "So, would you be willing to teach me some of the basics?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, I wouldn't mind at all, however..." The Headmaster chuckled softly, the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles twinkling. "Many people believe Alchemy is simply about transmuting base metals into gold, but true transformation begins with understanding the essence of things – do you feel you're ready for that?"
Dylan nodded slightly. "I've been poring over all sorts of books these past few days, trying to get a handle on Alchemy. I think I understand the basic principles, and I certainly don't have any fanciful notions about simply turning lead into gold with a flick of the wrist."
The Headmaster paused. Behind him, the Pensieve suddenly began to swirl with waves of silvery-white mist. "My boy, Alchemy is a particularly difficult subject. It's usually only attempted by witches and wizards in their sixth year or even later. As I see it, it's the art of weaving the paths of the stars into metal and forging moonlight into covenants. Are you truly prepared to dedicate a decade, or even dozens or hundreds of years, to learning how to make a speck of lead understand the song of the morning dew?"
"Headmaster, I am prepared. And... well, when I held the Philosopher's Stone, it truly was beautiful. Even though I knew absolutely nothing about Alchemy then, I could still feel the sheer wonder of it."
"The Philosopher's Stone..." The Headmaster fell silent for a moment. Dylan watched him calmly.
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore looked up. "My boy, do you believe you *want* the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dylan was taken aback for a moment. After a brief thought, he nodded, then shook his head. "As I've said to you before, Headmaster, the Philosopher's Stone, to me, is merely a magical stone worth studying, but not one worth using. I believe there will surely be Alchemical creations even more powerful than the Philosopher's Stone, ones capable of eliminating its drawbacks."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his smile widening slightly. "It certainly sounds like you have quite a bit of confidence in yourself."
"Naturally," Dylan replied. "Magic, at its heart, is the art of forging belief into spells. Without unwavering will, even the most intricate incantation is nothing more than a firefly scattered in the wind, isn't that right, Headmaster?"
The old man chuckled, lightly tapping the desk with his finger. The still-wet ink on the parchment suddenly lifted, transforming into fluttering butterflies that circled between them. Dylan watched them, noticing that the butterflies weren't merely the result of Transfiguration. They seemed to carry some magical trace that he couldn't quite decipher.
"Beautifully put, my boy, but remember this – though fireflies are fleeting, they can indeed ignite a whole wilderness. Magic favours the confident, but it never tolerates the arrogant."
Dylan nodded. "I understand."
"Very well then. In that case, you are welcome to bring your questions to me whenever you like. I am generally free from three o'clock in the afternoon, Tuesday through Friday."
Dylan blinked. "And what about mornings or evenings? Or on Mondays and weekends?"
Dumbledore winked and smiled. "Oh, I have time then too, but I usually find myself quite occupied here in my office enjoying a variety of sweets all by myself – it's one of the simple pleasures of getting on in years, you see." The Headmaster paused. "Besides," he added, "as I understand it, you and Miss Granger have decided to take every single elective course offered. I doubt you'll have much spare time during the day from Monday to Friday, will you?"
"That's certainly true – which means the time you suggested isn't terribly practical for me. I really wouldn't be able to come for lessons before three in the afternoon."
"Ho ho ho~ Actually," Dumbledore chuckled, "you're quite welcome to come and find me in the evenings too – after all, I don't have *that* many lessons to teach these days, it won't be too much of a bother."
Dylan nodded. With that settled, he spoke again. "Now, for the second matter... it's about your Pensieve."
Dylan looked at the shimmering silver mist swirling behind the Headmaster.
"The Pensieve?" The Headmaster turned slightly to look behind him. "Are you wishing to use it?"
Dylan nodded. "Not just that, Headmaster. Actually, I was hoping to take a much closer look at the Runes and symbols carved onto the Pensieve."
The Headmaster's chin lifted slightly. "Ah, so you wish to know how the Pensieve was alchemised?"
"As expected of you, Headmaster, you guessed it straight away! I do indeed have that very idea. If I could understand the principles behind the Pensieve's creation, I believe I would make truly rapid strides in my study of Alchemy."
"Goodness me! My boy, Alchemy requires time. I know the pursuit of knowledge is eager, but overly rapid progress can sometimes lead one down a mistaken path." Dumbledore turned back around. "Do you know the uses of a Pensieve?"
"Storing memories, reliving them, entering them?"
Dumbledore nodded gently. "It certainly seems you do a great deal of reading in your spare time – Madam Pince is always mentioning to me just how many books you've been devouring in the library."
Dylan chuckled.
"A Pensieve allows a wizard to extract memories from their mind using magic and store them," Dumbledore explained. "And it has the remarkable ability to completely reproduce every single detail, even those buried deep within the memory. It allows the owner of the memory, or indeed others, to step inside the memory that has been stored. But you understand, don't you? This particular Pensieve belongs to the school, and successive Headmasters have used it throughout the ages. Precisely who created it, nobody truly knows. Even if you were to thoroughly study every single magical rune upon it, there's no guarantee you would fully understand the principles behind its creation."
Dylan rubbed his chin.
"I understand, Headmaster, that achieving this won't be an easy task," Dylan said, his expression firm. "But I am absolutely prepared to put in the effort required. Studying magic, to me, is the greatest joy there is."
Dumbledore looked at him with a touch of surprise. After a silent moment, he finally spoke. "I must say, I hadn't expected someone as young as you to already possess such insight. I truly hope you manage to hold onto that pure intention, and do not... do not stray onto a darker path later on."
The Headmaster's voice was slightly hoarse as he said this. Dylan glanced at him again. Indeed, Dylan had cultivated a habit of appearing calm and cheerful in any company. Even if his mind was quietly grumbling that the Headmaster's pointy hat was more unsettling than a Boggart, he could manage it without so much as a twitch of his eyelashes, turning his internal thoughts into pleasantries on the tip of his tongue.
"Thank you for your guidance, Headmaster," Dylan said with a smile. "I will certainly keep it in mind. I intend only to pursue the true essence and wonder of magic, not to rely on it, or on grand, empty pronouncements, to harm the world. In fact, Headmaster, I believe that magic is a product that stems from the world itself. If the world were to be harmed or distorted, magic itself would become twisted. So you can rest entirely assured, I would never do anything to harm the world."
Dylan's words gave the Headmaster pause once more. "You..."
Dylan tilted his head. "Is something the matter?"
"That thought of yours... it's a very good one."
"I think so too!"
The Headmaster smiled faintly, the question he had been about to voice ultimately remaining unsaid. Provided the child's core intentions were genuinely pure, that was enough for now.
At this thought, Dumbledore stood up. He walked over to the Pensieve. Silvery-white mist swirled lightly from it, curling around him. The Headmaster's already abundant white hair was enveloped by the silver mist. The silver strands seemed to intertwine with the swirling vapour. The mist trailed down from his hair, condensing into fine, star-like points on his shoulders, making his white hair look as though it were threads spun from moonlight itself. It gave him the air of a scholar seasoned by the years, yet also carried a mysterious aura, hinting at the secret memories held within the Pensieve.
"You know," the Headmaster said softly, stroking the rim of the Pensieve, the runes carved upon it glowing with faint lines of silver light under his touch. "I'm actually quite willing to tell others about the uses of a Pensieve, it's just that most people don't seem terribly interested. Since you are willing," he continued, "I can show you how to recognise some of these ancient magical runes right now. They do have many uses, of course, but these particular ones are primarily concerned with matters of memory."
Hearing this, Dylan's heart gave a little leap of delight, and he stood up as well, walking towards the Headmaster, the carpet feeling soft beneath his feet. When he reached the Headmaster's side, Dumbledore gently waved a hand, the edge of his robe brushing against the Pensieve's rim. Some of the ancient runes, touched by the swirling silver mist, began to glow a faint blue.
"Look at this set of entwined runes," the Headmaster said, his finger hovering above the mist. Droplets of memory, like shimmering fragments, fell from his fingertip into the basin with a soft plinking sound. "They signify stripping away and rebirth – not of life, of course. Look here; every single groove has held the dawns and dusks of Hogwarts' successive Headmasters."
As the Headmaster's words fell silent, the swirling silver mist suddenly churned into a vortex. Within it, a silhouette wearing robes from the Middle Ages appeared. Then, the figure shifted and changed repeatedly.
"This is..." Dylan stared at the changing figure for a moment before turning his head to look at the surrounding walls. "The memory images of the successive Headmasters?"
"Yes, my boy," Dumbledore confirmed. "They are gathered here by the magic of the runes."