Just now, Basil had actually been ready to teleport away at any moment.
But with Harry there, they should have been fine, so he held himself back.
Besides, he had the Fenrir Wolf Echo, which gave him a vitality a hundred times greater than that of an ordinary person.
Even so, despite having already examined the Three-Headed Dog from head to toe through Hogwarts in his mind—
When he truly faced that dangerous Magical Creature, he could not help but ignite the Dragon Blood of Red Dragon.
After that state faded, his body became much sturdier.
He had no desire to turn into some hulking brute.
A broad-backed, muscular, handsome dragon-prodigy image could fuck right off!
And there was no need to guess who had caused this.
Whenever anything happened at Hogwarts, just look for Dumbledore!
So, while Harry and the others calmed down and discussed the Three-Headed Dog, the trapdoor that had flashed into view, Basil's spell, and his wand, Basil enlarged the headmaster's office.
He watched everything happening inside.
Seeing the burning look in Dumbledore's eyes as he watched his image—
Basil got goosebumps all over.
Then the voice that was likely Nicolas Flamel expressed its shock at just the right moment. "How is this possible? An eleven-year-old boy! Voldemort is understandable. After all, he reduced himself to ashes, sliced up his soul, and forcibly manifested and materialized the magic that existed only as a concept within his body and soul. But this boy? He merely has the blood of some foolish dragon beast! Judging by his age, he probably inherited it from his ancestors, just as you inherited the Phoenix power from yours. But even Phoenix power only brings you closer to becoming an Archmage than others. That final step depends entirely on your own flowering and fruition in the field of magic. But this boy?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "This is definitely no ordinary dragon beast. It is closer to the power of an intelligent dragon like Smaug from Tolkien's novels. And it leans toward righteousness. You were not there. Unlike me, you could not experience everything firsthand through the Mist Condenser. That power was filled with majesty—open, radiant, and blazing like the vast sun. Perhaps it came from some lost age of history, stories that Muggles recorded as myths. His surname is Granger, and he was born with the power to control plants. Plants, the sun... Could he be Baldur? The god whom all things swore not to harm, the god of spring and joy, as well as light and mercy. Could the Granger family's command over plants originate from the power of spring?"
"No! What about the dragon? By your reasoning, Apollo would make more sense. He is also called the god of medicine, and medicine is often associated with plants."
"Yes, what about the dragon? Perhaps that awe-inspiring affinity does not come from the oath of all things? A red dragon? No, dragons symbolize demons. There are traces of dragons in the incantation for Fiendfyre as well."
"Have you gone senile? When you mention a red dragon, who else could it be? Don't forget what country you're from."
"Britain... Hiss. The red dragon that drew the Sword in the Stone and ruled Britain? That makes sense. That wand looks more like a knight's sword than a piece of wood. But the plants?"
"Have you forgotten Merlin? There are legends that he had succubus blood, but there are also poems describing him as a druid who lived in symbiosis with nature."
"Oh? That does make sense."
As Dumbledore finished speaking, there was a knock at the door.
He waved his hand. The Silver Mirror flew into the cabinet, while the humidifier-like object emitting silver mist sucked in the fog along with the image.
"Come in."
"I look like Grindelwald?"
"That man was Nicolas Flamel?"
"Why did it end here?"
"They were rambling about myths, and they actually got it right!"
"What exactly are the traits of an Archmage? Why didn't they say?"
"Does this make me an Archmage?" Feeling the stream of "magic" flowing through him, brimming with majesty and heat, Basil did not know whether to laugh or cry.
That old bastard Dumbledore really was impressive.
In truth, the reason he had not created any new Echoes was because he had been waiting for Dumbledore's Echo and Voldemort's Echo.
Compared to those two, even Harry's Echo paled in comparison.
On Thursday night, he had planned to spend another 5,000 gems to create Echoes for Harry, Hagrid, Ron, Draco, and Neville.
But—
The maximum number of Echoes the player can bear is 3. Create the Star of Salvation Echo?
"Can it be expanded?"
Yes. Spend 1,000 gems to raise the maximum number of Echoes the player can bear to 4?
"No."
That was the whole story.
For Voldemort's Echo, he intended to obtain it by killing him and taking his soul.
Hogwarts was Voldemort's body.
With a magical item as powerful as Ravenclaw's Diadem, Horcrux version, he could easily detect its location.
The reason he had not acted was that the only known things capable of destroying a Horcrux were Basilisk fangs and Fiendfyre.
The Basilisk was still alive, and turning it into a Summoning Card would cost 13,000.
That was 3,000 more expensive than Phoenix Fawkes.
As for knowledge of Fiendfyre, although there were books on it in the Restricted Section and he could easily summon those books out of thin air, there were simply too many forbidden books. He had no idea which one it was in.
Besides, he was still hesitating over whether to destroy the Horcrux after turning it into a card.
For Dumbledore's Echo, he intended to obtain it through friendship.
But Basil had yet to openly ask Dumbledore something like whether they were friends.
And, as everyone knew, Dumbledore was an old queer.
Especially now that Basil knew he looked like Grindelwald.
An even more handsome version, at that.
So, the matter of the third Echo had been dragged out until October without being resolved.
Still, Basil had not gained nothing these past few days.
The effects caused by everything he had done were gradually beginning to surface.
Percy, who had written to Mr. Weasley with a long list of suggestions, received a reply.
In the letter, only the Granger family's little money-saving tips received Mr. Weasley's praise and surprise.
According to him, if they lived that way, they would have enough spare money next month to buy Ron a new wand.
But everything else in the letter—policies such as issuing licenses to increase revenue for the department and for himself—
Was completely rejected and harshly rebuked.
He said that he had noticed the enormous profits of the Muggle World long ago.
In fact, the Malfoy family had initially amassed a great deal of wealth through precisely that.
It was only after the protection laws were enacted, coupled with their desire to integrate into the upper circles of the Ministry of Magic, that they painfully cut those ties.
They presented themselves as utterly irreconcilable with Muggles.
When their department had been established, many pure-bloods who recognized this had wanted to join, especially the Malfoy family, hoping to get a share of the pie.
If he had not remained steadfast in that department and refused the temptation of multiple promotions—
Then under the influx of capital, the conservative and feudal wizarding market might have collapsed, become distorted, and ceased to exist.
Only those pure-bloods would profit, while the lower and middle classes would become sacrifices.
The era when having a wand meant being able to support oneself might disappear as well.
Integration required time and preparation.
Some of the research in the Department of Mysteries, such as the Astral Chamber, was related to this.
Honestly, hearing Percy relay all this with a grave yet proud expression, Basil was utterly stunned.
By that logic, wasn't Arthur Weasley the swordbearer of Britain's wizarding and Muggle worlds? Their bridgehead?
This was absurd opening the door for absurdity—absurd all the way home.
Before you continue