Drowsy in the dim light, William awoke to find himself in an unfamiliar room.
Judging from the surroundings and the faint, lingering scent of restorative potions, he was likely in a hospital.
His head ached fiercely as he sat up, reaching for a cup on the bedside table. A sip of the potion immediately eased the throbbing in his skull, leaving him sharp and alert.
As he savored it, he realized he'd never come across this particular potion before.
The aroma, color, and soothing effect suggested it might be a blend of moonstone powder and sneeze wart syrup to relieve mental fatigue.
It was even tastier than the restorative potions he knew, almost like a fizzy tonic, and clearly more potent.
He made a mental note to find out more about it later—who knew, maybe he'd end up with a flask of it one day, like tea.
This urge to try new potions was a habit he'd picked up from countless hours spent brewing in the time loop.
Looking around, William noticed a fresh bouquet of lilies beside several get-well cards. He picked up one of the cards and saw that it was from Cedric and the others.
A quick glance around the room revealed Fawkes, the phoenix, perched atop a stand, watching him with beady, intelligent eyes.
Since its self-sacrifice at Gringotts, Fawkes had become a wrinkled, scruffy hatchling again, a visible sign as to the cost that, the so-called "Blessing of the Phoenix" required.
William gave it a grateful smile, knowing that Fawkes' magic had enabled him to drive off the dark-robed wizard.
Beside him lay his wand, resting on top of a stack of first-year textbooks. Reaching for it, he felt an unexpected hum of energy through the wand, just like resonance he'd felt at Ollivanders when he first held it.
It was only then that he realized the magnitude of change within himself: his magical energy had multiplied several times over!
On impulse, William tried a simple transfiguration spell.
But he overdid it, and instead of transfiguring a wooden chair, he blew it to pieces, startling Fawkes.
Transfiguration required delicate precision, and with his new magical reserves, his spell had simply been overloaded.
Frowning, William decided to let his body settle for a moment, sensing his magic, now so abundant it felt nearly boundless.
If an average 17-year-old wizard's magical strength was a "100," William's had leapt from a mere 20 to well over 80. When he finally opened his eyes, he murmured, "This is Blessing of the Phoenix?"
"Precisely," said an elderly voice. William looked up to see Nicolas Flamel entering, wearing a dragon-hide apron. Behind him floated a metal cart carrying a pot of stew.
"I prepared a hearty portion of dragon meat using the prime cuts from that share you gave me," Flamel said with a grin. "Even took a trip to Africa to find some rune-patterned snake eggs to add to the stew—they bring out that unique flavor."
William's brow shot up. Rune-patterned snakes were classified as XXXXX-level magical creatures by the Ministry, highly dangerous and prized by dark wizards as pets.
The value of their eggs was astronomical, known for enhancing mental acuity in potions. There was a thriving black market for both the snake and its eggs.
Flamel's casual mention of using them in a stew—along with dragon meat, no less—left William a bit stunned.
If he'd come across those ingredients, he'd have brewed a potion on the spot. This was the difference between those who had, and those who did not.
Though it pained him to think of all that potential potion material gone, he was also ravenous. Shrugging, he joined Flamel by the cart, where two small, nimble metal arms were tossing herbs into the pot.
Floating beside it was a cookbook titled Fantastic Beasts in the Pot.
"Just a bit of simple alchemy," Flamel chuckled, noticing William's curious expression. "A minor invention, really."
But it was more than that.
William had never seen anything like it—Flamel's skill in alchemy was clearly beyond anything ordinary wizards could manage.
After watching the cart in fascination for a moment, he took a seat and dug into the stew with Flamel.
The taste was unbelievable, perhaps the best meal he'd ever had. He could only imagine Hagrid's face if he knew that one of his beloved "little darlings" had been stewed.
"Your increase in magic," Flamel said after a few bites, "was indeed a result of the Phoenix's Blessing."
The blessing was a rare phenomenon, a ritual where the phoenix sacrificed itself to exponentially boost the recipient's magical strength.
Its effectiveness depended largely on the individual's capacity to channel the power.
If someone were capable of absorbing the full extent of a phoenix's magic, they would receive it in entirety. But for William, the magic had stopped short of that.
"What a waste," William sighed.
"It's only the beginning," Flamel said kindly. "Albus thinks strengthening your magic should be a priority now—otherwise, the Ravenclaw ring will be wasted."
"Professor Dumbledore told you?" William asked, surprised.
"Of course. How else would I have known to write you?" Flamel chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.
"You've got talent, so don't waste it. You'll need to keep growing stronger. Your current magic may seem powerful, but it's only enough for minor spells. The more powerful wizards draw on far greater reserves, often through various magical methods."
William hesitated. "I thought phoenixes were immortal. Doesn't that mean it could grant its blessing endlessly?"
"Not at all," Flamel replied, shaking his head. "A wizard can only receive the blessing once, and it's only granted to those deemed worthy. Besides, Fawkes is the last known phoenix in the wizarding world."
William raised an eyebrow, interested. "Has anyone else received Fawkes' blessing?"
"Albus did, though at that time Fawkes belonged to someone else."
"Who?" William pressed.
Flamel smiled but left the question hanging. "It's a story best heard from Albus himself."
William sighed, exasperated with the wizards' habit of withholding information as though he couldn't handle the full truth.
He'd faced down dragons, endured the Ravenclaw ring's powers—what else could possibly shock him? Unless, of course, they were about to tell him Dumbledore was… something else entirely.
"Mr. Flamel, do you have any idea who that dark-robed wizard was?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that either, William," Flamel replied with a sympathetic smile.
William was about to press further when Flamel stood, looking toward the door.
"That's all I can share for now. And thank you for that one-sixth share of the dragon; it's a generous gift. I believe there's someone waiting to see you. He's been here for quite a while…"
"Who?" William asked, curious.
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door.
"Ah, the Head of the Auror Office—Scrimgeour," Flamel said with a slight nod.
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