From Repairing Stone Bricks to Rewinding Time

Dumbledore—the famous Dumbledore—sat at the head of the long table, yet no one could discern a flicker of emotion on his face.

Of course, that might simply be because his beard was so long it completely obscured the lower half of his face.

The entire Hogwarts faculty sat around the long table, their expressions solemn and silent. They waited for Dumbledore to speak. Within the ancient, austere room, the atmosphere felt stagnant.

"I believe everyone here felt it two days ago."

The old man spoke slowly, his voice vibrant and his articulation remarkably clear, standing in stark contrast to his age.

"To be frank, I cannot be certain what kind of person, or thing, emitted that magical fluctuation."

"After our extensive discussions, cautious speculation, and communication, we still cannot determine what it was. However, one thing is certain."

"After speaking with headmasters of magic schools and law enforcement agencies around the world, I can confirm that this phenomenon was global. Beyond that, however, we remain entirely in the dark."

He made a gesture.

"If any of you present have any theories, please, speak up. We need to discuss this, to pool our wisdom, do we not?"

After a long pause, Dumbledore saw his colleague of many years, Professor Minerva McGonagall, speak.

The lady wore a black pointed hat, appearing both dignified and elegant. She cleared her throat and said, "I feel it was a message, an invitation of some sort. I could sense from that fluctuation that He meant no malice—at least, not for the moment."

The pronoun she used was 'He', a term in the mystical world typically reserved for deities.

Madam Pomfrey also spoke, her voice always conveying a sense of rigorous precision.

"While I cannot perceive the message within the fluctuation as clearly as Professor McGonagall, after conducting physical examinations on all the students yesterday, I have reached a conclusion."

She nodded solemnly at her colleagues: "The fluctuation did not affect them. In fact, some young wizards even saw their magical levels rise slightly due to that peculiar thrill."

"Severus, what is your take?"

Dumbledore spoke suddenly, questioning the gloomy man sitting to his right.

This man had greasy black hair hanging to his ears and was dressed entirely in black; thanks to his appearance and attire, he exuded an oppressive aura.

Furthermore, his voice matched his appearance, low and carrying a strange, sharp precision.

"At the very least, it was not him."

As these words were coldly tossed from his mouth, the temperature in the candlelit conference room seemed to drop. Aside from Dumbledore and Severus, the expressions of everyone present shifted.

Dumbledore made another gesture, signaling him not to continue.

The old man stood up, his grey robes trailing on the floor.

Dumbledore spoke again with an air of inescapable duty, this time far more gravely.

"In truth, everyone, I can sense the precise meaning of the message within that fluctuation."

"Just as Professor McGonagall said, it is indeed an invitation."

"The location is Estaing, in France. I shall depart tomorrow to investigate. The duration is uncertain; I hope you will all perform your duties and manage every aspect of Hogwarts during this time."

He paused for a moment, his eyes swirling with unreadable emotions. After a while, he continued, his tone terrifyingly slow.

"If I do not return within a week, the position of Headmaster shall be handed to Minerva McGonagall."

He nodded toward Professor McGonagall and then announced: "Meeting adjourned! Everyone, please go and rest; it is getting late."

With that declaration, the meeting concluded, and he seemed to become more relaxed. The others walked out in twos and threes, leaving only McGonagall, Severus, and Dumbledore—who was pulling a bag of sweets from somewhere—at the table.

"Are you really going?" the man called Severus asked suddenly, his expression gloomy.

"Of course. If someone invites you somewhere, how could one refuse? One cannot be an impolite person."

Dumbledore winked at him playfully. Severus Snape turned his head and left without a word.

Professor McGonagall looked at the old man with concern: "But we don't know if it was him, or perhaps another."

"Rest assured, Minerva. I have already confirmed that my old friend is still staying safely in Nurmengard. And as for Tom, I don't believe he has the power; otherwise, he would be the one sitting here right now!"

Dumbledore said cheerfully, his tone lively.

He appeared entirely unconcerned. However, only he knew his true thoughts. Professor McGonagall shook her head and stood up to leave as well. Only the white-bearded old man remained in the conference room, eating his sweets.

His expression was indifferent.

Dumbledore moved quickly. His efficiency was terrifying.

The old man, who was the most powerful white wizard of the contemporary age, used Apparition with his Elder Wand early in the morning and arrived in Estaing. This beautiful village was located in the French countryside, nestled among mountains and rivers with a charming environment.

The ancient, pointed-roof houses remained largely undamaged, retaining their antique charm. He had to admit, at first glance, he had almost taken a liking to this small place.

However, he had come here for serious business, not for sightseeing.

Dumbledore released his magic to search the village, and it was not until the third pass that he discovered a small anomaly. It was like a single hair on a bedsheet—if one did not look closely, it was impossible to see.

He stepped toward that spot.

Passersby on the street ignored him, letting the tall old man with a beard reaching his waist walk freely.

He arrived at the location and found it was the entrance to a villa. Just as he reached out to ring the doorbell, the scene before him shifted abruptly, and he found himself in a void.

The feeling here was as if he were at the center of the universe, surrounded by swirling celestial bodies that shimmered enchantingly. Even Dumbledore was mesmerized by the sight for a moment. He attempted to cast a spell with his Elder Wand, but the moment he drew it, the wand vanished.

A young voice remarked, "Ah, interesting. This is the first enchanted wand I've seen that is quite so unique."

"Who might you be?"

Dumbledore prepared a wandless spell with practiced composure, but the young voice merely laughed and shifted the topic: "Never mind that for now, old man. You are the first to arrive here, and I would like to congratulate you for it."

His words left Dumbledore stunned and somewhat amused; he could not fathom the man's intentions. But soon, he noticed the celestial bodies beginning to rotate—and the young voice spoke again.

"Forgive my slight rudeness, but that is simply my nature. You successfully navigated the illusions and found this place. You have passed the first trial, though there is still a second."

"A trial?" Dumbledore smiled with curiosity. "There ought to be a reward after a trial. My dear sir, might I ask if there is one? If possible, I would hope the reward is my life and freedom."

The young voice burst into laughter: "A sense of humor—a rare quality. To remain calm and self-controlled in the face of an unknown existence is a commendable trait. Very well, sir, you wish to know the reward for the trial?"

He turned serious.

"The reward is a brand-new path."

As the words fell, the celestial bodies spun and flew before him.

Dumbledore's gaze was drawn to the rotating white star. Even though he did not wish to be, that inexplicable attraction pulled at him like honey; he found himself completely unable to look away, and he did not even know why.

The surrounding scenery began to blur, leaving only that star in his vision. In the next second, he found himself standing on an empty plaza floating in the sky.

"This is...?"

"Just as I said. Merely a small trial, old man."

A young man stood with his back to him, hands clasped behind his back, standing perfectly straight. He was tall, his black hair tied into a ponytail that hung down his back.

"I passed?"

"Yes. You passed."

A thought surfaced in Dumbledore's mind—he asked, "And what if I hadn't?"

The young man turned around, nodding at him with a mischievous smile: "I'd rather not tell you."

Pale, thin, and handsome—that was Dumbledore's first impression. In the second second, however, he ignored all of that and stared fixedly into the young man's eyes.

Those eyes.

They seemed to contain starlight; just a single glance gave one the illusion that their soul was being drawn away.

Seeming to notice this, the young man smiled helplessly and snapped his fingers. Dumbledore noticed a black shadow flicker between his fingertips.

He said gently, "My apologies. Since this is the world of souls, the illusion I cast upon myself has failed."

Dumbledore joked, "So, your eyes are truly like this?"

"Ah, yes. As I have progressed in the way of magic, my body has undergone some changes, and this is one of them. I have no choice but to cast a long-term illusion on myself."

"But let's put that aside. Oh, I haven't asked your name yet. I am He Shenyan. And you are?"

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Quite a mouthful, but that's alright."

He Shenyan clapped his hands with a smile, and the sunlight that had been overhead vanished instantly, replaced by a pitch-black night without stars.

He snapped his fingers again, causing a floor tile in the middle of the plaza to shatter. Just like that, this peculiar meeting officially began.

He pointed to the shattered tile and asked, "Tell me, Mr. Dumbledore, without using a wand, is there any way you could restore this broken tile?"

"I can try."

Out of politeness, Dumbledore did not sound overly confident.

He was filled with confusion and intense curiosity regarding the current situation and everything the young man had shown him—but at the same time, he understood that this was certainly not something a wizard could accomplish.

For a fleeting moment, Dumbledore even thought this might be a god's prank.

The tall, sturdy old man extended his right hand, magic gathering rapidly in his palm. It had been a long time since he had tried to cast a basic spell with such seriousness. A few seconds later, he shouted, "Reparo!"

And so, the shattered pieces of the tile reformed into their original, intact state.

He Shenyan applauded, nodding as he said, "Surprising, Mr. Dumbledore. You did the best you could under limited conditions. However, I shall reveal to you a completely different possibility."

Once he finished speaking, he pointed casually, and the tile Dumbledore had just restored shattered once more.

Dumbledore was shocked to discover that this was not done in the form of any spell he recognized.

He Shenyan sensed his shock and smiled: "It's nothing of great importance. Please, watch."

Dumbledore watched closely as he extended his right hand, slender and powerful. With a casual flick of his finger, magic equal to what Dumbledore had used flowed out, but what he did next made Dumbledore's eyes widen.

He saw He Shenyan use that tiny bit of magic to make the tile's time flow backward in an instant—it first returned to the state after Dumbledore's spell, then to the state after He Shenyan had shattered it with magic, and finally, to the state it was in when it first appeared.

There was no trace of residual magic; it was just an ordinary floor tile.

Dumbledore was dumbfounded.

"Do you understand now?" He Shenyan asked with a smile.

"You... you, how did you do that? Please forgive my rudeness."

Dumbledore was somewhat incoherent, trying to recover from his loss of composure once he realized it. He Shenyan, however, did not care about such things; he smiled and pulled Dumbledore down, and the two of them crouched.

He Shenyan pointed to the floor tile and explained patiently, "The principle behind that simple spell you just cast is using magic and willpower to force an object to return to the state it was in at a moment in your memory."

"You might not quite understand what I mean, as this touches upon the essence of magic. However, you must have witnessed its manifestation many times when using that spell; it resembles a reversal of time, does it not?"

Dumbledore nodded, stunned.

He Shenyan continued, "Exactly, that is the reality behind this spell, Mr. Dumbledore!"

"And this is also what I intend to reveal to you—think about it: if simply using magic to restore an object to its pristine state from memory can produce a reaction similar to time reversal, then why shouldn't I simply make it reverse time directly?"

He Shenyan raised his right hand and traced a word in the air—the very incantation Dumbledore had shouted earlier, Reparo. He plucked the black magical incantation from the air and kneaded it together.

A black sphere of magic appeared in his palm. He shattered another floor tile and tossed the sphere onto it. After a flash of light, the black sphere vanished, and the tile was restored to its perfect state.

He added, "You see, even without employing those profound applications, I can simply alter the operating mechanism of this spell, provided you understand the essence of magic well enough."

Dumbledore looked up, staring at He Shenyan in a daze. After a long silence, he asked, "What is the essence of magic?"

The mage smiled and replied, "It is a miracle. Anything that is impossible yet happens nonetheless—that is a miracle."

He pulled Dumbledore to his feet and extended a hand, offering a handshake.

Dumbledore did not take his hand immediately; he remained in a state of profound shock. "Er, sir, may I ask what you mean?"

He had even instinctively used honorifics.

He Shenyan raised an eyebrow and said with a touch of humor, "I would like to teach at your Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—what do you think?"

He returned the honorifics in kind.

A moment later, Dumbledore finally grasped his extended hand.

"I must insist that you teach me," the old man said solemnly.