He walked back to the workbench and picked up a palm-sized, square device from a pile of parts. The device's outer shell was transparent, revealing its complex internal structure—countless tiny gears, springs, and crystals, shimmering faintly in the light of the magic lamp.
"This is one of my proudest creations," he said, placing the device in Dumbledore's hands.
Dumbledore looked down at the device, carefully observing its internal structure. The gears were turning slowly, the springs were beating rhythmically, and the crystals were emitting a faint glow. The whole device looked like a beating heart, full of life and vitality.
"What is this?" he asked.
LeMay's lips curled into a slight, mysterious, and somewhat smug smile. "Energy."
"Energy?"
"Yes. Energy." LeMay took the device and held it up to Dumbledore. "It doesn't need any external energy; it generates its own. The turning of gears, the beating of springs, the gleam of crystals—their interaction forms a never-ending cycle." He paused, his voice deepening. " Muggle are still burning coal, oil, and natural gas. They use those limited, polluting energy sources to power their machines. But my device—it only needs air to generate an endless supply of energy." Dumbledore's pupils contracted slightly. "Endless?"
LeMay nodded. "Theoretically, yes. In reality, its lifespan depends on the durability of the materials. The gears I used are made of a magical alloy, capable of running for hundreds of years; the springs are specially treated, able to bounce tens of millions of times; the crystals are natural, able to glow until they shatter." He placed the device back on the workbench and sighed softly.
"If Muggle get their hands on this device, their energy problem will be solved. They won't need to mine coal, extract oil, or burn gas. They'll only need air to power everything."
He turned around and looked at Dumbledore, his clear blue eyes swirling with complex emotions.
"But the world wasn't ready. The first thing they did after getting their hands on the device wasn't to use it to benefit humanity, but to use it to make weapons. More powerful weapons, faster weapons, more lethal weapons."
Dumbledore silent. He knew LeMay was right. He knew that human history was a history of war, and that every technological advancement was accompanied by more killing and destruction. He didn't blame LeMay for hiding these inventions, because he himself didn't know what the consequences would be if these inventions were misused.
" Nicolas," he said softly.
"Um?"
Do you regret it? Regret living so long, watching the world gradually improve and gradually worsen?
LeMay remained silent for a long time, Dumbledore thought he wouldn't answer. Then, he sighed softly, his voice hoarse and calm. "No regrets," he said. "Having lived so long, I've seen a lot. Good, bad, beautiful, ugly. Some things made me happy, some made me sad, some made me angry, some made me helpless. But I have no regrets."
He paused, then a faint, somewhat relieved smile appeared on his lips.
"Because I'm still alive. Being alive means seeing more possibilities. Maybe one day, the world will be ready. Maybe one day, my inventions will truly benefit humanity. Maybe one day, everything will get better."
He turned around and looked at the starry sky outside the window, his clear blue eyes sparkling with a light beyond his years.
"I may not live to see that day. But I know it will come."
Dumbledore looked at him, remained silent for a few seconds, and then smiled.
"You're such an optimistic person, Nicolas."
LeMay shrugged. "Having lived for over six hundred years, if you're not optimistic, you'd have gone mad long ago."
The two elderly people exchanged a glance and smiled simultaneously. The laughter echoed in the quiet workshop, intertwining with the sounds of gears turning, springs pulsating, and crystals sparkling, creating an indescribable, warm, and harmonious melody.
LeMay walked to the corner and took a box from a cabinet. The box was small, made of wood, and had some fine scratches on its surface, making it look quite old. He placed the box on the workbench and opened the lid.
The box was full of trinkets.
"These are all little things I've made over the years," LeMay said, a hint of childlike excitement in his voice. "Some are useful, some are useless, and some I don't even know what use they are."
He picked up a round, pocket-watch-like object and handed it to Dumbledore. "This is a weather forecaster."
Dumbledore took it and opened the cover. Instead of hands, the dial displayed several small, ever-changing Crystal Ball Crystal Ball. One was blue, representing sunny days; another gray, representing cloudy days; one white, representing snow; and one transparent, representing rain. At that moment, the blue Crystal Ball was glowing, while the others were dark.
"Tomorrow will be sunny," LeMay said. "Perfect for going out."
Dumbledore closed the lid and handed the object back to LeMay. "Granted?"
LeMay glanced at him, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Guess?"
Dumbledore didn't guess. He simply watched as LeMay took more trinkets out of the box.
A palm-sized object, like a compass. LeMay said it could indicate direction, not north or south, but the "correct" direction. No matter where you were, no matter where you were going, it would point to that most correct direction. Dumbledore asked, what is the most correct direction? LeMay thought for a moment and said, I don't know. I made this, but I've never used it.
A slender, pen-like object. "It writes," LeMay said, "not with ink, but with light. Every word you write with it lingers in the air for a few seconds before disappearing. "Dumbledore asked, "What's it for?" LeMay thought for a moment and said, "You can use it to write love letters. After you finish writing, the recipient sees it, and then it disappears. No trace, no evidence. "Dumbledore laughed and said, "You must have used one when you were young. "LeMay laughed too, but said nothing.
A square, matchbox-like object. LeMay said it could make a sound—not music, not language, but a kind of pure vibration that could soothe the soul. You open it, hold it to your ear, and you can hear that sound. It will calm you down, make you forget your troubles, and give you an indescribable, warm sense of security. Dumbledore asked, "Have you used it?" LeMay was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. "Many times."
A round, coin-like object. LeMay said it glows, not from magic, not from fire, not from any known light source. It only needs to absorb a little light to store it, and then release it in the darkness. If you put it in the sunlight, it will become very bright; if you take it into the darkness, it will slowly release that light, illuminating its surroundings. Dumbledore asked how long it would glow. LeMay said, "It depends on how much it absorbs. If it's exposed to the sun all day, it will glow all night."
Dumbledore held the small, coin-like object in his palm. Under the magic lamp in the studio, it absorbed the light, growing brighter and brighter until it resembled a small, warm star.
"These little things," Dumbledore began, his voice low, "If Muggle get their hands on them..."
"I know," LeMay interrupted him, "So they've always been here. In this box, in this workshop, in this forgotten stone house."
He paused, a faint, somewhat helpless smile appearing on his lips.
"Maybe one day they'll go out. Maybe they won't. But at least for now, they're here. Safe, quiet, waiting." Dumbledore looked at the little things for a long time. Then he put the coin-like object back into the box and closed the lid. "Thank you, Nicolas," he said softly.
LeMay looked at him, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his clear blue eyes. "Thank me for what?"
Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds. "Let me see this."
LeMay didn't say anything. He simply put the box back in the corner, then walked back to the window and looked at the starry sky outside.
" Albus," he suddenly spoke.
"Um?"
"Why do you think Voldemort did this?"
Dumbledore walked to his side, also gazing at the starry sky outside the window. "Because he's afraid," his voice was calm and composed. "He's afraid of death, afraid of failure, afraid of being looked down upon. He wants power, he wants eternity, he wants to control everything. But he doesn't know that true power isn't about controlling others, but about controlling yourself."
LeMay nodded.
"Yes. He's lived so many years, yet he doesn't even understand this." His tone carried a hint of self-deprecation, but more of a teasing tone. Anyone familiar with this Alchemy Master knew that this was just his personality.
Always optimistic, cheerful, and lively.
This is perhaps something an excellent Alchemy must possess. After all, imagination is crucial to Alchemy, and preserving childlike innocence is the greatest enhancement to imagination.
Many people have lost their imagination.
For example, Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, didn't speak when he heard this. He just looked at the starry sky, at those twinkling, eternal, silent stars.
Outside the window, the moonlight, like water, spills over the lavender field, turning the purple flowers into a silvery-white sea. A breeze carries the faint fragrance of flowers and the occasional chirping of insects from afar.
LeMay yawned.
"I'm old and tired."
After he finished speaking, he turned and walked towards the door.
Dumbledore watched his retreating figure and remained silent for a few seconds.
Goodnight, Nicolas.
LeMay waved without turning his head. "Goodnight, Albus."
He walked out of the studio, the wooden door closing slowly behind him. Dumbledore stood alone by the window, gazing at the starry sky and listening to the silence. In his hand, he still held the small, coin-like object. It emitted a faint, warm, and gentle light in the darkness, like a tiny, beating heart.
Dumbledore looked down at it for a long time.
Then, he sighed softly and put it in his pocket.
He didn't know how much time had passed—maybe an hour, maybe two—when a golden ray of light Accio from outside the window, pierced the glass, and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder.
That was a Phoenix.
Its feathers were golden-red, gleaming warmly in the moonlight; its eyes were black, deep and bright; it was not large, not much bigger than an ordinary eagle. It perched on Dumbledore's shoulder, tilted its head, looked at LeMay, and let out a clear, bell-like cry.
Dumbledore raised his hand and gently stroked its feathers. The movement was light and gentle, with the patience and composure of an old man. " Fawkes."
He spoke softly, a hint of barely perceptible expectation in his voice.
The Phoenix cried out again, then opened its mouth and spat out a small ball of golden flame. The flame hovered in the air, slowly rotating, and finally transformed into a line of tiny, golden characters.
Dumbledore stared at the line of text, his azure eyes swirling with complex emotions.
"A message has been sent." His eyes turned serious. Beside him, LeMay, who had gone to bed but had rushed over upon hearing the news, looked at him without saying a word.
at this time.
The flames flickered in the fireplace, illuminating the two aged faces.
Starlight streamed in through the window, mingling with the dim glow of the Oil Lamp, creating an indescribable, warm, and mysterious atmosphere in the room.
Fawkes stood on Dumbledore's shoulder, its golden feathers gleaming warmly in the moonlight. Its eyes were fixed on the line of golden text, as if it too was waiting.
The letter didn't actually contain many words, but it was packed with information. It was basically about what had happened in the town, which Fawkes had conveyed in this way.
Using Phoenix to deliver messages is definitely the safest choice. Although Owl are more common, they might even be Muggle for Scotland round-faced fat chickens by Owl.
Unlike the Phoenix, which is incredibly reliable and never misses a message, the Phoenix manifests itself directly in Apparition. Therefore, using the Phoenix to deliver important information is the safest option. The letter contained many unexpected elements.
Dumbledore a few seconds, then raised his hand and waved it gently. The line of golden text instantly vanished, turning into countless tiny specks of light that merged into the air.
"It's time to go back," he said, his voice calm and composed.
LeMay looked at him, his clear blue eyes swirling with complex emotions. He didn't speak, but simply nodded slightly.
Dumbledore turned and walked toward the door. Fawkes flew off his shoulder, circled once in the air, and landed on his outstretched arm.
" Nicolas." Dumbledore stopped in his tracks, without turning around.
"Um?"
"Thank you."
LeMay was silent for a few seconds. "Go, Albus. Go."
Dumbledore pushed open the wooden door and went out. Moonlight shone on him, casting a long shadow. Fawkes flew off his arm, tracing a golden arc across the night sky before disappearing into the horizon.
LeMay stood by the window, watching the aged, upright figure disappear into the night, and sighed softly.
"Go," he whispered. "Go, save the world."
The old man seemed to have figured out quite a few things using his own intuition.