44 - Research

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After leaving the Weasley house, Wes returned to Hogwarts, where he could fully immerse himself in his research. His goal was clear—the Philosopher's Stone.

The Philosopher's Stone, also known as the Sage's Stone, was the ultimate treasure of alchemists, capable of turning ordinary metals into gold and granting eternal life.

In the dim candlelight of his office, Wes carefully lifted a small fragment of what was believed to be a Sage's Stone and placed it under the warm glow of the sun filtering through the window. The stone shimmered, neither fully solid nor liquid, existing in a unique state that many called the "fifth element."

As he gazed at it, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if he could feel the sorrow and agony of countless souls trapped within the stone. Their whispers echoed faintly in his mind, filled with resentment.

"The Philosopher's Stone must never be used directly."

Wes knew this well. The process of creating the stone often involved sacrificing human souls, binding them in an eternal prison. If used without proper precautions, the wrath of these souls could erupt unpredictably, bringing disaster to the wielder.

Unless, of course, he could communicate with them one by one—just as Van Hohenheim once did—to soothe their torment. But that method required time and patience, luxuries he did not have.

Frustration gnawed at him. He longed to wield the stone's power, yet the consequences of direct use were too great.

"I need to gather every piece of information on the Philosopher's Stone," he murmured.

The stone was not exclusive to one world; myths of its existence spanned across different realms.

The Philosopher's Stone, The Stone from the Sky

These were just a few of its many names.

Wes strongly suspected that the Sorcerer's Stone, once created by Nicolas Flamel in the world of Harry Potter, was actually a variant of the Sage's Stone.

But Dumbledore had destroyed it. Had it still existed, Wes could have conducted a direct comparison. The thought filled him with deep regret.

Sighing, he placed a stack of books on his desk—Nicolas Flamel's alchemy notes, ancient manuscripts from various alchemical traditions, and theories on the stone's creation.

He unrolled a parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and narrowed his eyes in focus.

"Time to begin."

For three days, Wes locked himself in his office, lost in research. He barely noticed time passing. Food and water were delivered silently by his ever-loyal house-elf, Zandi, who never once disturbed him.

Parchments covered the floor, filled with scribbled theories, diagrams, and calculations. Wes himself was a mess—his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, his fingers stained with ink. His body exuded the faint, unpleasant scent of someone who had worked too long without pause.

His discoveries frustrated him.

"The Philosopher's Stone from the alchemy world is pure evil," he muttered. "It was created using the land itself, trapping millions of souls inside. It steals life from others to extend one's own lifespan—no wonder the spirits inside are filled with rage."

But what about Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone?

"Its principles remain a mystery… Flamel's notes don't record its method of creation!"

Annoyance surged through him. He crumpled a parchment in his fist and threw it to the ground, sighing deeply.

"This is infuriating!"

He briefly entertained the thought of using a spell to force Nicolas Flamel to reveal his secrets—but of course, that was impossible. Flamel had vanished from the world after entrusting the stone to Dumbledore. Even Dumbledore himself had no idea where he went.

And even if Wes could find him, threatening a man who had already chosen to die was futile.

He dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself to think.

"The Philosopher's Stone can extend life, that much is true. The key is how to purify it—how to rid it of its bound souls and turn it into a source of pure energy."

A new idea sparked in his mind.

He reached for his quill, ready to dive back into research. But the moment he touched the parchment, dizziness hit him like a wave. His vision swam, and he swayed on his feet.

"What's that smell…?"

A sour, unpleasant odor clung to him. Realization dawned—he had not bathed in days.

Muttering a cleansing spell, he rid himself of the stench and cracked open the window. The crisp, fresh air flooded the room, instantly refreshing him.

That was when he noticed the students outside, dragging their trunks through the courtyard.

"The holidays are over? No wonder I feel like I've been locked in here forever."

Exhaustion finally caught up to him. His body ached, his mind felt sluggish. He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open.

Surrendering to fatigue, he staggered to his dormitory, took a hot shower, and collapsed onto his bed. Sleep took him instantly.

—

Meanwhile, Zandi arrived at the office. With a flick of his fingers, the room responded like an orchestra to its conductor.

Parchments rose into the air, neatly stacking themselves onto the desk. Books walked back to their shelves, arranging themselves in perfect order. Ink bottles and quills returned to their original places.

Within moments, the once chaotic study was pristine once more.

Zandi smiled in satisfaction and left silently.

—

Wes didn't wake until noon the next day, when an urgent pressure in his lower abdomen jolted him from sleep. He groggily stumbled to the bathroom, relieved himself, and was about to return to bed when his stomach growled loudly.

A deep hunger gnawed at him.

"Master," Zandi appeared at the perfect moment, his voice soft and respectful. "Shall I prepare your lunch?"

Wes checked the time. It was nearly midday. After a moment of thought, he decided it might be best to eat with the students—it would help clear his mind.

"No, It's okay...I'll go to the Great Hall."

He washed up, straightened his robes, and made his way to the Great Hall.

The moment he entered, Fred, George, and Ron spotted him and waved excitedly. He acknowledged them with a slight nod but continued toward the professor's table.

Taking his seat, he tapped his knife lightly against his plate. At once, a perfectly cooked steak materialized before him, its rich aroma making his mouth water.

He devoured it in less than three minutes.

But his stomach still felt empty.

With another tap of the table, a second steak appeared. He ate that just as quickly. Then a third.

As he set down his utensils, fully satisfied, a familiar drawling voice interrupted.

"When did a mountain troll sneak into Hogwarts?"

Snape.

The other professors were staring at Wes in shock.

"I've been researching something lately," Wes said simply. "I haven't had time to eat properly."

Understanding flickered across their faces.

"Ah, I remember those days," Flitwick mused. "Painful, but fulfilling."

Someone asked if he had made any progress.

Wes shook his head helplessly.

The professors offered words of encouragement.

Only Lockhart remained oblivious, puffing out his chest and offering to share his "successful research experiences."

Before he could begin, the other professors immediately found excuses to leave.

Wes sighed. He had never met someone so shameless.

With his appetite ruined, he returned to his office.

—

The moment the door closed behind him, a soft chime echoed in the air.

Ding!

A translucent panel appeared before him.

Host: Wes Elvin

Worlds: Marvel, Harry Potter, Delicious in Dungeon, #@Alchemy%￥, Pirates of the Caribbean

Occupation: Wizard / Pharmacist / Alchemist

Level: 4

His eyes widened.

A new world had appeared.

And this time, he wouldn't leave out a single detail.