Chapter 467

First, steam began to rise from his entire body, then patterns gradually appeared on the shell.

By the time Wizard Sean picked it up, it had already transformed into a proper teapot.

Wizard Sean examined the teapot closely, tapped it once, and the teapot slowly shifted until it fully transformed back into a turtle.

After completing all this, Wizard Sean silently checked his mental state—somewhat tired, but not overly so.

Wandless casting required far stricter control than using a wand, and Wizard Sean had spent most of his energy on this.

The moment he looked up, he met Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze:

“Wandless casting… a dangerous skill… you need more practice.”

Professor McGonagall said slowly, and after a few seconds, her frown softened.

“But unquestionably, you achieved a perfect score, child—well done—”

After the Transfiguration exam, everyone hurriedly ate lunch and immediately returned upstairs for the Charms test.

“How did it go?”

In the corridor, Hermione looked up at Wizard Sean.

“Not bad.”

Wizard Sean said.

“That means a perfect score—but I’ll get a perfect score too. If everyone gets perfect scores, then only later mistakes matter… I think I’ll have a chance to surpass you this time, Wizard Sean.”

Hermione said, clutching her book, then turned to Jia Jia Siting.

“And you.”

“I suppose so.”

Jia Jia Siting readily conceded.

Harry and the others couldn’t get a word in, but they didn’t care.

Harry was determined to achieve outstanding grades in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions—only then would he meet the Auror requirements listed in A History of Magical Employment;

Ron shared the same vague idea as Harry; he had tucked A History of Magical Employment beneath a pile of books and left subtle markings on the Auror page.

Neville remained as nervous as ever, constantly reviewing his notes.

“I think Professor Flitwick might test a special charm—the Happy Charm. You’d better review it ahead of time.”

Before entering the exam room, Hermione urged them urgently.

Harry and the others took it seriously—after all, everyone knew Hermione was Professor Flitwick’s second-favorite witch.

Sure enough, Hermione was right: Professor Flitwick tested the Happy Charm.

Harry, nervous, overdid his motion; his partner Ron burst into hysterical laughter and had to be taken to a quiet room for an hour before he could attempt his own charm.

As Wizard Sean cast the charm, Jia Jia Siting started laughing before even being spoken to—so much so that Wizard Sean wondered if he’d already cast the spell.

After dinner, students rushed back to the common room—not to rest, but to review Potions and Astronomy.

The day ended like this.

In the evening, Wizard Sean read beside the stained-glass window of Ravenclaw Tower.

He reread The Tale of the Three Brothers once more, and mist slowly rose beneath the deep blue, silent sky.

Far away in Dorset.

Newt had just lulled the three noisy Nifflers to sleep when he unconsciously recalled those Christmas days from last year.

As he watched the mist rise, a relaxed smile crossed his face, and he drifted slowly to sleep.

…

After an unknown length of time, Newt opened his eyes and turned slowly in place; the surroundings seemed to materialize before him.

It was a vast, open space—bright, clean—with a dilapidated building right before him.

It was a Victorian-era house, and on its wooden door hung a sign reading “Children’s Home.”

A black cat… no, a Niffler… lay atop the sign, gazing at him with emerald eyes.

“Mr. Scamander.”

The black cat said.

“Respected Bastet.”

Newt smiled.

He occasionally came to this dream, and when the black cat studied Weather Magic and Spatial Magic earnestly, he felt perhaps the ancient legends were true.

“What would you like to learn today?”

Newt asked.

As he asked, he also remembered his long-dormant creative passion—most of the manuscript for Dreams and Deities had been completed.

Perhaps soon, Bastet would see this book in others’ dreams.

“Today, I ask for nothing.”

The black cat said, sitting on the wooden sign, its fur glinting in the lamplight, radiating a mystical holiness.

“Then… Leta… I… when can I see her?”

Newt grew momentarily distant.

“I need memories, Mr. Scamander.”

The black cat explained gently.

It subtly glanced at its chest—where not only a plate-like alchemical artifact rested, but also a deep, dark stone.

The Resurrection Stone.

Its power could summon the spirits of the dead, but it naturally had limits.

—The user must have a clear impression of the deceased spirit.

Yet the black cat’s mind held no image of Leta at all.

“Of course, of course—trade must be fair.”

Newt said after a moment of daze.

Beloved Bastet wielded the magic of dreams; any mortal wishing to trade with it must pay a price.

He would never believe that trivial magical knowledge could persuade this powerful magical creature to cross the boundary between life and death for him.

“I give you my memories—I willingly relinquish them—I only wish to see her…”

Newt kept saying.

“What did you say?”

After Newt agreed, the black cat had been rummaging through the mist, and after a few seconds, it tossed a Pensieve onto Newt’s lap with its tail.

The Pensieve landed in Newt’s hands; his face flushed:

“Can you use a Pensieve beyond the Veil…?”

He murmured.

“This place is my dream.”

The black cat lifted its paw and gracefully drew a circle in the air, indicating its size.

“Ah…”

Newt smiled, awed and genuinely delighted by such powerful magic as he used the Pensieve.

“I need to be with you.”

The black cat leapt over, curiously studying Newt’s silvery memories.

Its paws rested on Newt’s shoulders, its fur brushing his face—Newt thought this might be the strangest dream he’d ever had.

“I need to see her, Mr. Newt.”

The black cat repeated for the final time.

“I understand…”

Newt, shyly, avoided looking directly at the black cat, instead burying his head beside it into the Pensieve.

In the memory, it was a rainy day.

Young Newt Scamander sat alone in a dim waiting area, staring blankly ahead.

Moments later, he felt something tugging at his wrist; he looked down and saw Pickett the Bowtruckle swinging from a loose thread on his sleeve.

The thread snapped; Pickett fell, and Newt’s button rolled away down the corridor.

Newt and Pickett watched it go, then both ran after it.

Newt reached it first; as he bent to pick up the button, he noticed a pair of female feet before him.