Chapter 724: The Origin of the Ministry of Magic
Wade’s gaze once again fell upon the golden water kettle. Its surface shimmered under the candlelight, glowing with an otherworldly radiance. Tentatively, he reached out, gently touching the warm metal. A strange warmth surged through his fingertips.
“Professor,” Wade asked, “you’re saying… this kettle came from another country?”
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, then walked to the window, gazing out at the sunlit Hogwarts grounds. He stood in silence for a long moment.
“Wade…” Dumbledore’s voice dropped, low and solemn. “Do you know how wizards came to be?”
A sudden unease prickled Wade’s skin. His fingers unconsciously smoothed the wrinkles from his robes, his mind racing back to the books he’d once read:
“The Theory of Magic’s Origin” claimed that magical ability was an innate talent… And there was another book—The Ancient Bloodlines…”
He paused, glancing at Dumbledore.
The Ancient Bloodlines was a forbidden text housed in the Black Family Manor—its pages made of human skin, its ink drawn from blood. It spoke of bloodline purity, rituals to test heritage, and spells born of sacrificial magic. A dark tome, indeed.
Dumbledore’s spectacles glinted in the sunlight, his expression unreadable.
Wade continued. “The book said wizards were descendants of ancient deities… and others… were the offspring of humans mated with ancient Fantastic Beasts.”
In that text, the former were the “Purebloods,” while the latter were the so-called “Mudbloods.”
Dumbledore gave a soft, silver-white nod. His long beard swayed slightly as he brushed a hand over the silverware on the table. Instantly, wisps of white mist began to rise from the cutlery.
“Humans…” the old man sighed, a hint of weary amusement in his voice. “Always eager to craft noble lineages for themselves. But in the ancient parchments, there’s another account of wizardkind’s origin—one that many historians believe may be the true one.”
With a gentle flick of his wand, scrolls began to rise from the bookshelves, floating into the air like living paintings. They unfurled before them, drifting past in silent procession.
Dumbledore’s voice deepened, echoing as if from the far reaches of time.
“In the prehistoric ages, scattered across the world, were certain… peculiar regions. Places that resembled wounds in the fabric of the universe—or perhaps the eyes of the world itself.”
The illusion shifted.
A desert’s heart erupted with golden sand, glowing like molten light. Cacti sprouted, bloomed, and withered in seconds—then rapidly grew again.
A dark cave mouth. A flock of birds flew past—then froze midair, lifeless, dropping to the ground. Around them, skeletons of beasts and humans lay scattered, untouched by scavengers.
A secluded lake in a quiet forest. No birds, no insects, no fish. The water’s reflection showed not sky or trees, but a ghostly, flickering battlefield—men locked in eternal war.
Dumbledore murmured, “These places… some spew strange sands that accelerate, halt, or even reverse time. Others kill instantly on contact. Some grant foresight. Some twist the minds of creatures…”
“Most who touch them die. But a rare few survive. Their blood becomes infused with the power of these sites. And so, they are revered—treated as gods.”
He paused. “That is how the first wizards were born.”
The illusion changed.
Elaborate robes, adorned with jewels and gold, draped the figures of early wizards. Standing high above, they commanded ragged laborers to haul massive stone blocks and timber, building towering structures around the source of their power.
“To study these places… and to hide their own godlike abilities from the covetous, the earliest wizards constructed magical towers and temples—then concealed them from the world.”
As the vision unfolded further, Wade watched as wars raged around the towers. Some crumbled into ruin, swallowed by darkness. Others grew, expanding outward, drawing more wizards in robes, their towers marked with symbols of power and authority.
“Knowledge and power always breed order… and inevitably, power,” Dumbledore said, his eyes flickering with a complex, ancient light. “While only a few of these sites eventually became schools, the majority transformed into the first Ministry of Magic. The wizards who once stood as gods descended from their pedestals… and became rulers.”
The image shifted again.
One tower swelled in the distance, rising higher and higher—until it dominated the skyline. Over time, its height increased, yet the base sank, as if the earth itself were consuming it.
Time rushed forward.
Where the tower once stood, new skyscrapers rose. Carriages of stone and iron, dragons of flame, moved through the streets. People walked beneath black umbrellas, stepping through rain-soaked, humid alleys. A red telephone booth, torn and frayed, stood broken on the corner—ignored, forgotten.
“This,” Wade breathed, “is the Ministry of Magic of Britain.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Wade, the magical world is far vaster than you’ve ever seen. Across every nation, their Ministry of Magic holds a counterpart to the Department of Mysteries.”
“Those institutions study the most dangerous magic in existence. And among all fields, the research into time… is the most prioritized, the most deeply pursued.”
Dumbledore lifted the golden water kettle. With a slight tilt of his wrist, golden sand poured slowly from the spout.
Under his control, the grains did not scatter. Instead, they were drawn together by an invisible force, coalescing into a single, transparent glass jar.
Wade recognized it instantly—the same jar the headmaster had once carried in his pocket, filled with honey drops.
But now, this ordinary glass vessel glowed with an unearthly aura.
The sand gathered, swirling into a churning, shimmering current, radiating a dazzling, diamond-like light.
Dumbledore spoke softly. “You’ve realized it, haven’t you? These sands… are the same as those in a Time-Turner’s hourglass. But their purpose… is not the same.”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
