Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 116: Correcting History
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 12:08:43 +0000 UTCNicolas hovered slightly above the stage, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to the crowd. "For those who do not know me, I am Nicolas Flamel, creator of the Philosopher's Stone. History remembers me as a great alchemist who achieved immortality alongside my beloved wife, Perenelle. But history is written by those who wish to be remembered in a certain way. The truth is far less noble."
The audience listened, enraptured, as Flamel continued. "When I was young, I fell deeply in love with Perenelle, but she was dying. No magic known to us could save her. Desperation led me to a terrible path—one of war and destruction. To forge the Philosopher’s Stone, I orchestrated a conflict that cost thousands of lives, sacrificing many for the sake of my own selfish love."
Gasps and whispers spread through the stadium. The greatest alchemist in history—a man celebrated for his wisdom—had instigated war for his own gain.
"I was too ashamed to reveal the truth, afraid of Perenelle’s reaction and the judgment of history," Nicolas admitted, his voice growing heavier with sorrow. "But one student at Hogwarts uncovered my sins. A brilliant but dangerous mind, Ekrizdis."
At the mention of the name, a ripple of recognition spread among the crowd. They recalled Dante’s words earlier.
"Ekrizdis discovered my crimes," Nicolas continued. "I tried to silence him, but he was beyond my power to defeat. He spared me that day. I never knew why."
Dumbledore sat frozen in his seat, his mind racing. How much of history had been twisted? How much had been hidden?
"Ekrizdis’ name became infamous for his experimentation with magic, his fascination with death magic," Nicolas said, voice tinged with regret. "I knew his research was dangerous, not for the reasons I claimed, but because it could reveal the truth about me. So, I led a campaign against him. I called him a monster, accused him of vile acts, and when he finally secluded himself in Azkaban, I gathered a force to storm his fortress."
The audience was hanging onto his every word. Even the disguised Death Eaters sat in stunned silence, They all felt Nicolas seemed to fit right with them.
"We failed to breach his protections while he lived," Nicolas said. "But when he died, we finally gained entry. What I found in Azkaban horrified me. Ekrizdis had uncovered secrets of death beyond anything I could comprehend. He had learned how to create and communicate with Dementors, how to use them for healing and saving people. His research could have reshaped magic itself."
The tension in the air was suffocating. Nicolas let out a breathless chuckle, void of humor. "I destroyed it all. I erased his life's work and called it evil. Because if his truth came to light, so would mine."
Silence.
A revelation so damning, so earth-shattering, that no one could find the words to respond.
Dumbledore looked pale. The man he had once respected had done something beyond unforgivable.
Nicolas turned back to Dante. "I have spoken the truth. Now, keep your word. Release me."
Dante's expression was unreadable. Without a word, he raised his wand. A flash of red lightning struck Nicolas’ ghost, and with a final, hollow gasp, he vanished, gone from the world forever.
Dante turned back to the silent audience. His voice, steady and commanding, carried through the stadium once more. "The most feared wizard of four hundred years ago left you a gift, Dementors, meant to aid healers and wizards alike. A tool, twisted into something else by those who feared them."
Still, silence.
"Next," Dante said, his tone calm, even detached, "we will speak of Armand Malfoy, the founder of my family."
Before anyone could react, a new presence entered the stadium. A ghostly figure glided toward the stage.
The Grey Lady.
Gasps erupted from the Hogwarts students and faculty. The legendary ghost of Ravenclaw had arrived.
Dante nodded at her in acknowledgment before stepping aside.
Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, turned to face the crowd. "My name is Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw."
The stadium remained eerily silent as Helena Ravenclaw stepped forward, her translucent form shimmering in the morning light. Her eyes, filled with wisdom and something akin to nostalgia, swept over the vast audience before she spoke.
"The four founders of Hogwarts were not self-taught prodigies. They had a teacher, a man who shaped their knowledge and guided them on the path of magic. That man was Armand Malfoy, the greatest wizard I have ever known."
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. The Malfoy name had long been associated with ambition and political maneuvering, not as the foundation upon which Hogwarts stood.
Helena continued, her voice unwavering. "Grandpa Armand not only taught the founders, but he was the one who selected the location of this school, its name, and its purpose. The books and knowledge from that era in the library, the very foundation of Hogwarts' curriculum, came from his hand. Even the enchantments that sustain this castle to this day, after a thousand years, were his doing."
Gasps spread through the crowd.
"He ensured that the legacy of the four founders would never fade, binding their work to Hogwarts so that their magic remained eternal. But he never sought credit. Instead, he left everything to his students and walked away, choosing a life of travel in his later years. My mother, Rowena, was his favorite student. She alone knew the full extent of what he was capable of."
The weight of her words settled over the gathered witches and wizards. For centuries, Armand Malfoy had been remembered as nothing more than an opportunistic figure who secured land and title through supporting a conqueror. But now, the truth painted him as the silent architect of Hogwarts itself.
Dante gave Helena a nod, and she retreated into the background.
He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping across the audience. "The next wizard we will speak of is Sun Simiao."
Few in the crowd recognized the name, while Dante continued "Sun Simiao was an eastern wizard, a master of potions and medicine, so revered in his time that he was known as the King of Medicine. His work laid the foundation for many of the potions we use today. However, after his death, his discoveries and work were twisted, his life-saving potions transformed into deadly poisons and curses."
Dante let the words settle before revealing the next piece of history. "During his travels, Sun Simiao encountered the Peverell brothers. Seeing the youngest without an artifact, he gifted him an enchanted cloak, a relic that would later be known as the Cloak of Invisibility. Over time, this story became distorted, and what was once a simple act of generosity turned into the legend of Death itself bestowing the Deathly Hallows upon three brothers."
A wave of stunned murmurs moved through the stadium. The legend of the Deathly Hallows had been passed down for generations, yet Dante had just rewritten its origins in a few sentences.
He allowed the audience a moment to process the information before speaking again. "The next wizard we will discuss is Tertius, an ancient Greek wizard whose contributions to magic have long been forgotten..."
Dante remained still for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the thousands seated before him. He could sense their uncertainty, their growing unease. Yet none dared interrupt.
He continued, his voice unwavering.
“Tertius was not born a wizard. He was a Muggle, an ordinary man with no magical bloodline to claim. But that did not stop him. He took a student under his wing, a young woman named Circe. In that era, the word 'witch' did not exist. Women were not allowed to learn magic, let alone practice it. But Tertius did not care for such laws. He taught Circe everything he could about the magic, defying the norms of their time. And then, he went a step further, he used her to become a wizard himself.”
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the audience. The very notion of a Muggle becoming a wizard was unheard of. Impossible. But some of the present recalled Argus Filch and the rumors of him becoming a wizard.
“Later on, the two of them worked together, venturing into the realm of human transfiguration. Circe became the first Metamorphmagus, the ancestor of all who bear that gift today. She was also the first to call herself a witch, claiming the title as her own. And Tertius… he became the first Parseltongue. A thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin would undergo the same transfiguration as Tertius to gain the ability to speak with snakes.”
A shudder passed through the crowd. Parseltongue, the gift of speaking to serpents, had always been associated with dark magic, with Salazar Slytherin himself. But now Dante was saying that Slytherin had not been born with the ability.
Dante let his words settle before continuing.
“The centaurs who now roam the Forbidden Forest are also the result of their work. Their ancestor was a wizard named Chiron. Circe transfigured him into what we now know as a centaur. His descendants remain with us to this day. They have the gift of foresight far beyond most of you, but you still look down on them”
The audience sat frozen in place. The things Dante spoke of—human transfiguration, the origins of Metamorphmagi, Parseltongues, even centaurs—felt like myths. Impossible stories. And yet… none could ignore him.
Among them, the more perceptive listeners had begun to notice something. Dante was leading them somewhere. Every wizard he spoke of, every revelation he unveiled, seemed to be building toward something greater. And so, they continued to listen.
Dante’s voice rang out once more.
“The next wizard we will discuss is Herpo the Foul.”
The very mention of the name sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.
“Herpo is often considered the first known Dark wizard, the very progenitor of the Dark Arts. But there is something you should understand—he was not a Greek wizard, as history claims. He lived in Egypt, though his work was later recorded by Greek scholars.”
Many were taken aback. Even those well-versed in magical history had never heard such a claim before.
“Herpo dedicated himself to the study of animal transfiguration and magical creatures. His work led to the creation and transformation of many species that exist today.”
Dante paused before delivering his next words.
“The merpeople were his creation. He crafted them with one purpose—to control the Nile’s yearly flooding and protect the people who lived along its banks.”
More gasps. The merpeople, one of the oldest magical races known to wizardkind, were not a natural species?
“The basilisk, too, was his work. But it was not born out of malice. He created it to aid people in hunting.”
The crowd reeled. The basilisk was one of the most feared magical creatures in existence. And yet Dante was saying it had once been meant to serve people?
“And then there are the creatures you call pixies. But originally, they were known as smurfs. These creatures carried diseases, leading to their extermination. Herpo, refusing to let them vanish completely, transfigured them into what we now know as pixies, eradicating the sickness they once carried. Some of you may have heard of them under another name, Nargles.”
A different sort of murmur spread through the crowd.
The Quibbler.
For years, the wizarding tabloid had proclaimed the existence of Nargles. Many had dismissed it as nonsense. But now, a terrible thought took root. Could the Quibbler have been right all along? Just like how it was right about Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
Dante pressed forward.
“Herpo spent his life altering and creating magical creatures, not for destruction, but for the benefit of people. And yet, for his life’s work, he was given the title ‘The Foul.’ Even today, you still reap the benefits of his creations, even though you do not understand what his work.”
A heavy silence fell over the stadium. For the first time, an uncomfortable thought entered the minds of those listening. Was this lecture meant to make them feel guilty?
Some felt defensive, resisting the idea. What did any of this have to do with them? These events happened long ago, long before any of them were born.
And yet… No one turned away. Something about Dante’s voice, his words, his presence, kept them captivated.
And so, they continued to listen.
Comments
Quackhead
Can we have one more chapter master pls just one mooore
Red Dragon
Moar!
