Perhaps.
It is already close to dawn.
The mornings in the Forbidden Forest always come later than elsewhere. The dense canopy blocks out all the moonlight, leaving only unfathomable darkness.
This place was once the site of a battle, where the aftermath of magic left the ground scorched and barren. But now, those scars of destruction are quietly being covered by new vines and fresh green.
Yes, the plants destroyed in the previous battle are regrowing under the influence of the eerie domain, the tender green vines entwine around the ancient trees' new trunks like something fresh.
It still looks just as distorted, unreal.
The air remains suffused with a scorched scent, reminding that something unusual once happened here. Hermione seems cold as Albus Dumbledore conjures up a campfire. It could perhaps be considered the most real thing in this place—Albus Dumbledore, this century's greatest White Wizard, always has some magical wonders.
In the distance.
The wind rustles the leaves.
As if whispering about some secret soon to be uncovered. The Bronze Gate stands in the center of the glow, its surface marred with runes flickering in the twilight like the scales of a slumbering giant.
"This is indeed a bit peculiar."
Albus Dumbledore's silver hair and beard glimmer faintly in the darkness. The tip of his wand touches a complex rune on the gate as if confirming something.
The rune flickers with his touch, like a star struggling not to extinguish. Hermione and Snape both feel a sense of bewilderment at having touched an area beyond their knowledge. Of course, compared to Hermione, Snape is slightly more knowledgeable; he can roughly guess what difficulty Dumbledore might have encountered.
Indeed, that is the case.
Dumbledore furrows his brow.
He is using magic power to attempt to discover the correct operational sequence of the Bronze Gate.
However.
Immediately after, the old man's wand tip hovers above the runes on the Bronze Gate, silver threads of magic power spreading like a web but suddenly dissipating upon touching a certain symbol.
Obviously.
This is a failure.
The complexity which can combine countless possibilities cannot be easily tested using the process of elimination, let alone the fact that this door's magic runes can produce many effects.
To Dumbledore.
Such a design might be a method to prevent reverse engineering.
Because of this.
Even a slight mistake.
Could lead to an unpredictable effect; no one knows what kind of disaster it might trigger. Such circumstances even make Dumbledore cautious, only carefully probing. He has managed to deduce something, clarifying his understanding to some extent, but it's still not clear enough.
"Not yet..." Dumbledore's sigh startles a night owl from the treetops. He adjusts his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes reflecting the eerie glow of the runes gradually fading.
"The arrangement of these alchemy arrays is older than I imagined. Hmm, this door… is stranger and more dangerous than we thought."
He indeed discerns something, yet remains puzzled by his findings. There's no help for it; there are too many mishmash runes above, and his collection of books can only provide scanty information.
"Uh..."
Hermione Granger stands quietly to the side. Since Snape's stern warning last time, she has refrained from approaching the pile of ancient books, but her gaze still occasionally sweeps across Dumbledore's stooping back.
Her fingers nervously twist a corner of her robe. Without a choice, although she forces herself not to curiosity in those forbidden knowledge, worry clutches her heart like an invisible hand.
Ian seems to have truly entered the door, without any news, without any sign. How can the little witch not feel anxious for her classmate's safety?
"Your silence is unnerving, Miss Granger." Severus Snape suddenly speaks, his voice less piercing, more contemplative.
"Usually your questions can give trolls a headache."
Of course.
He's still bound to mock a few of the students from the house he dislikes.
"I..."
Hermione lifts her head and meets Snape's eyes, black as ink. To her surprise, there is no usual sarcasm, but rather an emotion she can't comprehend.
"I'm just... wondering if Ian might need help."
She answers softly, her voice distinct in the silent Forbidden Forest.
Snape's mouth twists into a semblance of a smile: "Caring for friends is a Gryffindor virtue, or foolishness? I can't distinguish between the two in you."
Though the words are caustic, the tone unconsciously softens.
And at this moment
Dumbledore suddenly sighs, the weariness in his voice making both turn to look at him. The old wizard slowly rises, his robe covered in soil and dry leaves, yet he seems unbothered.
"The creation of this alchemy artifact is far too ancient... It doesn't belong to any known magic system. Even with all the knowledge I've gathered over the years, it's difficult to see its true nature."
Dumbledore slowly lifts his head, a trace of helplessness flashing in his eyes. Indeed, having vast knowledge doesn't equate to omniscience; even a comprehensive collection of books doesn't cover all knowledge through the ages.
Faced with multiple systems woven together, forming a concoction-like creation that's bizarrely stable without collapsing, even Albus Dumbledore finds it exceedingly puzzling.