Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

Harry stared, dumbfounded, as Dumbledore retrieved Voldemort's Horcrux from the drawer and placed it in front of him—wait a minute, shouldn't this thing be destroyed immediately? Why keep it around, hoping it'll lay eggs or something?

As if sensing the thoughts behind Harry's expression, Dumbledore chuckled, opened the notebook, and deftly picked up a quill to write inside it.

Curious, Harry leaned in and saw the over-a-century-old Dumbledore using handwriting as shaky as a first-year student's to write: "Senior Tom, I met that Harry Potter today! Just like my parents said, he's incredible! No wonder he's the Savior who defeated the Dark Lord!"

The words Dumbledore wrote vanished quickly, and almost immediately, a new line appeared, the handwriting urgent and eager:

"Argyll, what do you mean by 'defeated the Dark Lord'? The Dark Lord is so powerful that even that old... er, even Headmaster Dumbledore might not be able to defeat him. Who exactly is this Harry Potter?"

"I don't know all the details either." (Harry shot Dumbledore an increasingly skeptical look.) "But I do know that Harry Potter is the only person who has survived the Killing Curse! It must be because he somehow reflected the spell back onto the Dark Lord!"

The diary remained silent for a long while, seemingly deep in thought. Meanwhile, Harry finally seized the opportunity to ask, "Professor, are you… using Voldemort's Horcrux to extract intelligence from him?"

"Very astute, Harry." Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Indeed, I intend to use this Horcrux—the only one that can be safely communicated with—to gather information on Voldemort. However, when I say 'safe,' I only mean relatively so. In my possession, this diary can't cause much harm. But if left in the hands of a first or second-year student, Voldemort could use it as a medium to drain their life force, gradually regaining his strength and ultimately achieving a form of resurrection."

"Professor, who is this 'Argyll' that Voldemort mentioned…?"

"Well, I couldn't very well use my real identity to fish for information from young Tom, could I? So, fabricating an identity and a backstory was necessary… Ah, Tom has finally responded! For a moment, I was worried I had broken it." Dumbledore picked up the quill and resumed writing.

"Oh, right, Harry, the reason I called you here today is to ask for your help in persuading two people. If you don't mind assisting an old man, I suggest you work on your homework while you wait. Argyll still has about forty minutes before bedtime."

Harry nodded, took a seat opposite Dumbledore, and pulled out his Chemistry homework.

Forty minutes later, Dumbledore closed the diary, tucked it back into the drawer, and cast several protective spells on it just in case.

Then, he stood up, tapped his wand lightly on himself, then did the same to Harry (who felt a subtle magical energy envelop him). Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, Dumbledore turned to the seemingly dozing phoenix by his side. "Fawkes, if you would be so kind—take us to 47 Rue de Montauban, France."

Fawkes let out a soft trill and swooped onto Dumbledore's shoulder. A moment later, Harry felt himself engulfed by an endless blaze. When he opened his eyes again, he and Dumbledore were standing in a brightly lit square. Around them, groups of three or four people sat at tables, drinking wine and eating seafood. Laughter and conversations in a language Harry couldn't understand filled the night air.

A cool breeze swept past, causing their wizard robes to billow gently. Yet, oddly enough, no one seemed to notice the old man and the young boy who had just appeared out of thin air in a burst of fire.

"Professor Dumbledore, where are we? And—huh? When did that house appear?"

As Harry glanced around, a two-story villa—entirely different in architectural style from the surrounding buildings and exuding a distinct medieval aura—materialized before his eyes. The address on the door read: 47 Rue de Montauban.

"This is where two old friends of mine have chosen to live in seclusion." Dumbledore strode up to the door and knocked three times. A moment later, the wooden door let out a long sigh, and a face slowly emerged from its surface. In a mechanical voice, it spoke: "Professor Dumbledore, please leave. My masters have said they will not agree to your request. They only wish to live out the remainder of their days in peace."

"Regardless, I would still appreciate it if you could deliver a message for me." Dumbledore grinned. "Tell them that Dumbledore has found a second great adventure."

The face on the door remained motionless. A few seconds later, the door sighed again and swung open from the inside.

"Come along, Harry." Dumbledore gestured for him to follow. "Whether or not I can persuade my old friends to change their minds will depend on you."

Following Dumbledore into the villa, Harry was taken aback. Unlike its medieval exterior, the interior was brimming with modern technology—electric lights, a television, plush sofas, underfloor heating, air conditioning. To Harry's astonishment, he even spotted not one, but two escalators.

In the center of the living room, two individuals—so ancient that the word elderly seemed insufficient—sat surrounded by strange little trinkets scuttling across the floor and tables. They were engrossed in watching the 1980 film Superman II.

Without hesitation, Dumbledore made himself at home, settling into a single-seat sofa and motioning for Harry to approach. "Harry, don't just stand there—come meet Nicolas Flamel and Perenelle Flamel."

"Uh, hello, Mr. Nicolas Flamel, Mrs. Perenelle Flamel." Harry pushed down his shock, stepped forward, and bowed slightly to the two unnervingly pale figures. At the same time, he had a pretty good idea why Dumbledore had brought him along.

"Honestly, Albus, can't you let my wife and me enjoy our last days in peace?" Nicolas Flamel shot Dumbledore an exasperated look. "You're over a hundred years old yourself—why are you still as stubborn as a child?"

"This time, I'm not lying to you. I've truly discovered a brand-new adventure." Dumbledore pointed at Harry. "Harry can prove it. And, to complete this adventure, I genuinely need the help of you and your wife. Harry, would you mind doing this old man a favor? Show the Flamels a spell from another world to open their eyes."

Harry thought for a moment, raised his right hand, channeled his magic, and cast a transformation spell upon himself.

In an instant—

Harry Potter, Dragonborn Edition, made his grand entrance!

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