Ethan sincerely hoped the Count would treasure this opportunity to remain alive.
After that deeply philosophical thought, he finally opened the books he had borrowed from the library.
The first one concerned alchemy.
Almost immediately, Ethan spotted a familiar word.
Albus.
His expression twitched.
"Albus…"
So Dumbledore's name literally came from alchemy terminology.
That somehow explained far too much.
The book traced the origins of alchemy back to ancient Egypt, where a wizard named Hermes had condensed the entire foundation of alchemy into thirteen cryptic sentences engraved upon an emerald tablet.
Nearly every modern alchemical text in the wizarding world was merely interpretation and expansion of those original thirteen lines.
And the ultimate goal of all alchemy…
The Philosopher's Stone.
Ethan stared at the page for several seconds before sighing dramatically.
"Honestly, if I really want to study alchemy properly, maybe I should just steal the Stone."
After all, alchemy revolved around a single final objective.
Everything else was merely a by-product.
The book compared it to Muggle alchemists accidentally creating gunpowder while chasing immortality.
Nicolas Flamel, meanwhile, had essentially ruined ancient alchemy forever by actually succeeding.
Once the Philosopher's Stone was created in 1383, most alchemists simply abandoned centuries of research and collectively arrived at the same conclusion.
Why continue researching…
When you could just steal it?
According to the text, Flamel spent the next several decades under constant attack by thieves, assassins, and desperate alchemists.
Oddly enough, those attackers usually reappeared days later in foreign countries with missing memories and at least one finger mysteriously transmuted into gold.
Eventually people stopped trying.
Which allowed Nicolas Flamel to enjoy several peaceful centuries of retirement.
Afterward, alchemy gradually divided into multiple branches. Some merged into Potions. Others evolved into runes, magical symbols, or enchantment studies.
Modern alchemy focused on far broader topics now.
That was when Ethan noticed another term.
Homunculus.
His expression froze.
"…Why does that sound familiar?"
The word felt strangely familiar, like something overheard during early childhood.
Considering Ethan himself originated from some catastrophic Dark laboratory experiment, the concept felt disturbingly relevant.
Perhaps someone inside the laboratory had spoken the word near him as an infant.
He quickly continued reading.
[Homunculi possess knowledge from birth. Though formed from materials within the vessel, they ultimately transcend those materials entirely. They represent one of the most secretive and complex branches of contemporary alchemy.
However, artificial life creation remains forbidden research. This text will neither explain nor answer further questions regarding the topic.]
Ethan slowly lowered the book.
Then he turned toward the Count with a deeply exhausted expression.
"Do I look stupid to you?"
The Count barely opened one eye from his position beside the fire.
"This is the second time you've asked me that question," he muttered sleepily. "So my answer remains the same. Why are you asking?"
"Because Dumbledore clearly tore pages out of this book and wrote his own replacement paragraph!"
Ethan pointed furiously at the page.
"What kind of censorship is this? If you're going to fake an ancient manuscript, at least try harder! The entire school recognises his ridiculously long curly handwriting!"
The so-called section on Homunculi occupied an almost entirely blank page, and the replacement text was unmistakably written in Dumbledore's elegant looping script.
It practically screamed:
Please stop reading this topic immediately, Ethan.
"Perhaps he's worried you'll go down the wrong path," the Count mumbled while attempting to fall asleep again. "You are a naturally evil little Dementor, after all."
Then he added lazily, "Though honestly, I agree with you. He didn't need to interfere. You already went down the wrong path ages ago."
"I just want to know what I actually am," Ethan muttered quietly.
The Count was silent for a few seconds.
"Children always want to know where they came from," he said eventually. "Same reason they wonder about biological parents."
Then the bird shrugged one wing.
"I don't bother thinking about it much myself. The first thing I saw after hatching was a basilisk. Everyone agrees it probably wasn't my mother. In fact, it likely ate my mother."
He yawned.
"But it doesn't matter. The ones who raise you are the ones who matter most."
"You're lying," Ethan said immediately in perfect Voldemort imitation. "Last time you claimed John carried you into a lighthouse furnace and hatched you personally."
The Count paused.
"…Was that the version I used last time?"
This was precisely why Ethan trusted the bird approximately as far as he could throw Hogwarts Castle.
The last time he trusted the Count enough to leave him unattended inside a wardrobe, Ethan later discovered it filled entirely with vole skeletons.
At this point, Ethan had lost nearly all optimism regarding the remaining library books.
Dumbledore had clearly borrowed every relevant title before him specifically to edit or censor anything "little Ethan shouldn't read."
Honestly, Ethan felt Dumbledore would make a better censorship officer than Headmaster.
Still, he opened the next book anyway.
Soul Preservation and Containment.
This text discussed a theoretical connection between the soul and magical power itself. Large sections described deeply unethical soul experiments conducted by the Department of Mysteries.
Naturally, the official Ministry manuscript politely avoided identifying exactly which species had been dissected and experimented upon.
To preserve "official dignity."
According to the text, the theory itself became widely accepted within the Ministry. The researchers responsible had even received the Order of Merlin, Third Class.
Several artefacts involved in the studies supposedly still remained inside the Department of Mysteries.
The brain tanks.
The Veil archway.
Ethan read the chapter twice.
The soul and magical power sharing the same origin actually explained much of his current condition.
Strengthening his soul directly strengthened his magic.
That part made sense.
But then another problem appeared.
If soul strength and magical power truly correlated perfectly, shouldn't Edward be one of the strongest wizards alive?
So how did ordinary wizards continue functioning normally after damaging their souls?
Voldemort himself existed in fragmented pieces yet remained terrifyingly powerful.
Clearly the relationship wasn't completely equal.
Perhaps strengthening the soul increased magical power, but weakening the soul didn't necessarily reduce it proportionally.
That explanation felt more logical.
Otherwise every Hogwarts professor should have been capable of casually defeating fragmented Voldemort.
"Wait," the Count suddenly interrupted. "You really want answers about your origin now, don't you?"
Since Ethan's constant muttering made sleep impossible, the bird finally climbed out of his owl bed.
"Then why not investigate the ruins of the original laboratory?"
Ethan pouted immediately.
"Guess why I haven't already."
He slumped deeper into the armchair.
"I searched every newspaper archive in the library. The Ministry never reported the incident publicly."
"And Rose and Edward definitely won't explain things directly. Neither will any professor."
The Count tilted his head slightly.
"…Actually," he said slowly, "I know where it is."
Ethan's head snapped upward instantly.
"What?"
"I already know what you're about to ask," the Count interrupted calmly. "'Why didn't you tell me earlier?'"
The bird stretched lazily.
"But let me ask you this instead. You never actually asked me."
Then he gave Ethan a deeply unimpressed look.
"People rarely ask an owl for life advice. Even when the owl is old enough to be your bloody ancestor."
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