Leaving Professor Nicolas Flamel's office.
It was already late.
Ian traversed a long and empty corridor, the marble floor underfoot polished by time to a mirror-like smoothness. On both sides of the corridor, on towering candlesticks, magic flames danced incessantly, emitting a warm and dim light, weaving a tapestry of light and shadow with the chilly moonlight from outside the window.
As the temperature grew colder, little wizards returning from holiday, ending a day of heavy study, huddled together for warmth in front of the common room fireplaces.
Even the number of little wizards venturing out for night strolls had decreased significantly. Although the campus market now offered various heating gadgets, those little contraptions ultimately failed to provide true whole-body warmth.
"Those sands are truly the Hourglass Sand." Ian rubbed his hands together, exhaling a cloud of white mist, his indistinct reflection mirrored in the window by the corridor. A thin layer of frost quietly formed on the window grille, like exquisite ice flowers, hazily obscuring the view outside.
The moonlight shone through this frost, becoming softer and more mysterious. The presence of frost not only added tranquility and chill to the night but also rendered the corridor ever more enigmatic and unfathomable.
"What Professor Nicolas Flamel said might be right, a civilization that could trim and utilize time would definitely leave some trace in the great river of history." Ian stood before the window, where the temperature was even lower than indoors, still digesting the news he received from Nicolas Flamel.
Although Nicolas Flamel had informed him of the black-robed skeleton and his contract, to Ian, it wouldn't bring any harm, however, he still eagerly hoped to find clues about the black-robed skeleton and the civilization that fell into the Misty Illusion Realm—out of curiosity, one might say, also considering his interests.
If he couldn't figure out why that civilization perished, it posed a significant threat to Ian, after all, the black-robed skeleton now seemed resolutely attached to him.
Who knows whether the entity that wiped out this civilization would pay attention to the black-robed skeleton's reappearance in the human world; the calamity capable of sinking an entire civilization into the Realm of the Dead was undoubtedly more than a natural disaster.
Ian couldn't tell Nicolas Flamel all the information, hence Nicolas Flamel clearly wouldn't know why the civilization related to the black-robed skeleton was destroyed.
"Manipulating time and hence suffered time's revenge?" Perhaps Nicolas Flamel thought so, but Ian was different; after all, he witnessed the civilization's collapse in the Misty Illusion Realm.
It wasn't just a physical destruction; rather, the entire civilization was "thrown" into the Misty Illusion Realm, implying a "punishment" that exceeded mere time rule backlash.
It absolutely harbored some willful act—if this speculation was correct, Ian's act of "harboring" the black-robed skeleton surely posed a certain level of risk.
"Alas, why do all these messes have to fall on me? Isn't that another form of misfortune?" Ian drew a series of question marks on the window with his fingers.
He glanced at the clock hanging in the corridor, sensing it was almost time for his little class, so he gathered his thoughts and turned towards the staircase.
Nicolas Flamel's office was in the castle's hall; to get back to the Ravenclaw common room, Ian had to climb the stairs, and when he reached the staircase, the spinning stairs were just shifting.
No choice.
Ian could only stand at the stairway waiting.
Meanwhile, he took in the castle where he lived—the small hall surrounded by intricately carved stone pillars, the soft magic lamps hanging from crystal chandeliers on the ceiling.
Hogwarts at night carried a unique charm before the lights went out. The air was laced with a faint scent of lavender and magic potion, undoubtedly Snape brewing some odd potions in the dungeon.
"Phew~"
Ian exhaled another cloud of white mist, tucking his slightly frozen hands inside his robe, contemplating whether he should gamble his alchemy reputation on researching the "Warm Hands 2.0." As the first version of the heated shorts product failed miserably, perhaps he should design a more normal magic version of the warm hand gadget.
"If I can find a way to encase the fire, carrying the {Soul Furnace} trait, in a container for energy, maybe my Warm Hands 2.0 could even help students in combat."
"Throw it out to blow up enemies, I can even replenish my magic power—a triple win; students win once, I win twice, balancing Galleons and strength enhancement effectively."
Ian felt like the cold had awakened his genius, popping such brilliant ideas into his head; he was eager to dive into the Room of Requirement for some product design after the "class."
If Nicolas Flamel could manage the Magic Metal Ulu, it wouldn't just be regular flames that could be stored—storing a wisp of Fiery Fire wouldn't be out of the question.
"It will definitely become a world-shaking product comparable to nuclear-powered warmers, nuclear-powered electric cars!" Ian's mind raced, his gaze fixed on the shifting staircase ahead.
The rotating speed of these stairs wasn't particularly fast, thus typically when they shifted positions, one usually had to wait anywhere from five to over twenty minutes. They drew elegant arcs through space, each corner seamlessly fitting together.