Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to September, guys! Let's smash whatever goals we've set ourselves this year. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
"So Perenelle will be the binder?" I asked, leaning forward now.
"You can't bind your own unbreakable vows by yourself? I would have expected you to have reached that level by now," he said, something lurking behind his eyes.
"That's impossible," I retorted instantly. Because it was. Magic did not like being bound, and no one wanted to die. Your own intent to not die would prevent the vow from taking hold. It was like asking someone to cast the killing curse on themselves. The magic just could not work in that way. Nicholas tsked in a way that made it seem like I had said something exceptionally obtuse.
"If you ever want to reach the same level as Albus or even that upstart Dark Lord of yours, then you must remove that word from your vocabulary. What you must learn, Harry, is that wizards like us, we are gods. And for us, nothing is impossible." He grabbed a hold of my hand from the table, and then his wand was in his grip again. Now that I wasn't thinking about where he had drawn it from, I could look at the wand more closely. It was old and gnarled. Not just because of how long he had lived, I suspected. Something told me this wand had looked old the day it had been made. The wood refused to run straight, bending this way and that. The tip was pointed in a different direction from the handle, such that pointing it straight ahead had the tip facing the left by a few degrees. That must have made aiming that thing a nightmare, I thought.
And then he was waving the wand around our joined hands.
"Do you, Harry James Potter, swear never to knowingly and willingly divulge the information regarding the Philosopher's Stone which I will give you tonight?"
"I will," I said, and a thin tongue of brilliant flame shot forth from his wand and wound its way around our hands like a red-hot wire. I gasped at the sensation. I could feel it, the weight on my magic. He nodded at me next.
"Do you, Nicholas Flamel, swear to give me full access to the whole body of written knowledge available to either you or your wife and give me the freedom to select three of my choosing, never acting to influence that choice by untoward means and taking no steps to deny me access to the chosen works after having made the choice, and even defending my access to the chosen works if within your power to do so?"
He gave me a look, working over the words in his mind.
"I will," he said, and then another thin tongue of flame joined our wrists.
"So we have vowed, so we may be bound," we said in unison, and then I gasped as the flames tightened before burying themselves in our skin. I looked at my wrist and could see a vague pattern that represented the vow.
"Okay, you can talk now," I said, leaning back into my seat and waving my hand through the air in as casual a way as I could manage, even as I could feel the weight that constricted around my magic. It felt like it was not going to do anything, but it was there. Present, waiting, watching, judging. I thought about telling Sirius what they were going to say, and I felt it press down on me. Not painfully, but just subtly so as to remind me of its presence. That was good at least. It meant there was going to be no chance of accidentally divulging the secret—not like I worried about that overmuch.
"What do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?"
"As much as anyone else, I guess. It's the only thing that can break the rules of magic, yes. It allows you to accomplish the final goal of alchemy: turning lead into gold and creating the elixir of life," I said.
"As good an answer as any. But what if I tell you you've put the cart before the horse?"
"What?"
"The original goal of alchemy had little to do with either lead or gold. And the elixir of life? While we were obsessed with immortality, we believed more that the elixir would be found rather than made. The creation of my stone changed that."
"That's impossible. There are accounts from philosophers born before you were that detail their desire to transmute lead to gold. Alain de Lille, Albertus Magnus, even Roger Bacon—they all died at least a couple of decades before you were even born, and they all sought the elixir of life. They wanted to make it," I refuted him instantly. The information came from Harry's memories. Let's just say Hermione's research into the Philosopher's Stone had been thorough.
"Of course, of course. And when was I born?"
"1330 AD," I said, and Perenelle began to laugh while Nicholas just chuckled.
"Oh, that's a good one, yes," he said.
"I still cannot believe that people ever believed that."
"People are stupid. You can make almost anyone believe almost anything if you give them a good enough reason." He said the words like he was quoting something. If he was, I was unfamiliar with the source literature.
"So what are you saying? You made up being born in 1330? When were you born then?"
"I was born sometime around 9 AD," he said, and I stared at him. He had to be fucking with me.
"That's—"
"Impossible? I already told you to remove that word from your vocabulary," he said somewhat sternly.
"I was born in 9 AD, and Perenelle in 12 AD, in a city you might have heard of: Pompeii."
"You were born in Pompeii? What the fuck?"
"Indeed. Now let us tell you how it all happened and how we came to be here. When we do, you can decide if you think we are crazy or liars or not." I instantly cleared my mind. How the fuck hadn't I even noticed his probe?
"Like I said, we were born in Pompeii as…" He was about to say, and then his wife placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Names have power," she reminded.
"Indeed. You may know us as you know us now. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. It's the names we've used for centuries now, so I guess they are as true as any other. We were born there, and we grew up within two powerful noble families. Perenelle's family had had magic for generations, while I was what you might refer to as a muggleborn. If not for her, I might have lived my whole life never truly learning of my gifts. But Perenelle and I, being of a similar age and class—for there was no real divide between the magical and the mundane back then—were educated together. And when it came time for her to learn magic, Perenelle would learn during the day and then sneak off to teach me at night," he said with a fond smile, his own hand reaching out to tighten around her own.
"When it came time to be married, I wanted only one woman and she wanted only one man. Many opposed the match. We were too close in age, some said. We were too far apart in status, others had said. Perenelle's house had waxed while mine had waned over the years. But everyone who opposed it either came around to the genius of it or stepped out of the way entirely." The way he said the last sentence made me pretty certain that he had had something to do with their change of hearts.
"Oh, what interesting poisons Perenelle concocted in those periods." Oh? I almost instantly re-evaluated the woman by his side. Of course, I'd thought her dangerous in her own way, but knowing I was sat on the same table as a mistress of poisons made me thankful I had brought my own drink.
"Back on topic, Nicholas," she said, leaning into him.
"Yes, yes. We were married. I was how old again?"
"He was twenty-one, and I was eighteen. The opposition to our marriage had seen us spend more years unmarried than most would have at the time. We had to reject several suitors even."
"Oh, you just reminded me of poor Persephone, my love."
"There was nothing poor about Persephone. She dared to poke her head where it was not wanted. If she did not want to spend eternity as a cursed creature, then she should never have." I raised an eyebrow.
"Like I said a million times, my love. She was being forced."
"And if she did not have the will to resist that spineless coward of a father, then she deserved what she got." Perenelle was the true danger, I was beginning to realize.
"Now, shall we get back to the story?" she asked, gazing straight into her husband's eyes.
"Forgive me, Harry. Old age has made me prone to rambling." Perenelle scoffed by his side the second he finished speaking.
"Nicholas came out of the womb rambling. Don't let him deceive you."
"Well, be that as it may, back to the story then," he said, before pausing.
"And where were we again?"
"You had just gotten married," I said.
"Oh yes. Perenelle and I lived many years married, and I won't say those days were perfect, but they were simple, and they were happy. We had gold aplenty to keep ourselves from penury, and on the side, Perenelle ran a potions shop where she sold tinctures and remedies to people from all over the city. I, on the other hand, had fully been taken in by alchemy. The ability to turn one thing to another. The art of transfiguration was yet to gain widespread popularity at the time. I think only a few people who had completed successful voyages to Africa were even aware of the art. So alchemy it was for me. And I was good at it. My brain could compute exchanges like anything else. And then one day, decades later, Perenelle got pregnant." He stopped there, taking a breath. His wife leaned over, squeezing his shoulder. From what I could tell, this was not going to be a happy ending, considering there was no child here and the Flamels were famously childless.
"You see, Perenelle's potion shop had exploded in popularity over the decades. She was the most gifted potions mistress in the world, and she sold her inventions rather than hoarding them in a family grimoire somewhere to never see the light of day, so during peak season, there were lines that could stretch all the way around the corner." He looked over at his wife, pride shining in his eyes, before said eyes darkened as they turned back to me with their attention.
"With the benefit of hindsight, the potions shop was a mistake. It was a mistake to share the gift of magic with the mundane. Their minds simply cannot comprehend it, lesser creatures that they are. So when Perenelle prepared a remedy for a regular customer, a pregnant woman, and the woman lost the baby—despite the fact that the remedy Perenelle had prepared had related to the common cold and not the pregnancy at all—the blame turned to her. Perenelle had just begun to show her pregnancy, and the muggles in their infinite wisdom decided that I must have done something to the woman's baby to get my own. It was my mistake, holding lectures on alchemy and teaching the concept of equivalent exchange. The fools thought the woman's baby would be an equivalent sacrifice for one of my own. How silly. Even a hundred mundane children would struggle to equal one healthy magical child. If I had used alchemy to get Perenelle pregnant, they would have been able to tell. But no. They ran with their ignorance."
"I thought we could ignore them. They would learn better with time. It was a mistake. Knowing what I know now, we should have run. Left in the dead of the night. Not left a single trace of ourselves for those creatures—for they lowered themselves beneath beasts in the end." He took another long breath, like he was preparing himself for what came next.
"And then one day while I was out gathering ingredients for Perenelle, they struck. Wards were far from advanced at the time, and we had none to speak of, neither of us being competent enchanters at the time. They had planned it perfectly, falling upon her while she was abed, snatching her before she could get to her wand. They took her to the village center, and then the idiots I had held classes before tried to use a transmutation circle to restore the woman's baby to life at the cost of Perenelle's. It failed, of course. The silly mundanes. But they kept trying, and then one had the genius idea that maybe they needed to kill ours first. By this time, I was just returning home to find my house in disarray." He leaned over, taking his wife's hand in his, and then his tone changed, becoming mechanical and emotionless.
"I found them in time to watch them stab my wife through the stomach and kill our baby. Wrought with rage, I smote the man who had done it with a spell I still cannot remember to this day. I know nothing of him had remained once I turned my wand upon him. The rest scattered, faced with someone ready to defend themselves. But I had arrived too late. Our child was dead for their foolishness, and my rage needed sating," he said, before looking up to meet my eyes now.
"I had already completed the theory for the Philosopher's Stone at this point but abandoned the idea of making one, for the cost was too great. But now Perenelle was in need of the elixir. Nothing we had was strong enough to heal what they had so carelessly inflicted. So in my rage, I decided that I would show them true alchemy. I used the entire city as my transmutation circle. None were allowed to leave as I surrounded it with salt and began the exchange. With my magic, I triggered the volcano. And with my alchemy, I reaped their souls and pain, offering them to magic in exchange for an object of immense power."
"The Philosopher's Stone," I gasped. Thousands of lives. It had taken thousands of lives to make one. That was why he didn't care about telling me about it. 79 AD was a far cry from 1995. If I killed thousands of muggles, there would be no place I could hide where the ministries would not hunt me down.
"Indeed. And it worked. Perenelle was the first to receive the elixir of life. She was healed, good as new. I mourned my actions, in the end. The catastrophe I had inflicted for my rage. A smaller sacrifice would have been enough to create something to heal Perenelle alone. But when it is late at night and I turn to look at the woman I have loved for almost two thousand years, there is only one thought that comes to mind—worth it," he said.
"Okay, so I get how you made the Philosopher's Stone, but what does that have to do with me? Or even Russo?"
"We intend to make another here," Nicholas said, and I froze, becoming ramrod straight. My wand fell into my fingers. They had killed thousands of muggles for the first one. While I didn't judge because they were muggles and had it coming for what they'd done, this was different. This was magical blood he intended to spill. Could I outduel Nicholas Flamel? Maybe. But I sure as hell could toss a wrench in this planned massacre of his.
"Oh calm down, Harry. We aren't monsters," he said.
"And I should just believe you when you say that after you just confessed to planning a massacre? I don't know what makes you think you'd get away with this, but I assure you, I will end you both." Nicholas just chuckled.
"I can see why you would arrive at that conclusion, but I assure you it is shortsighted. We already began the process, after all, and I know for a fact that not a single person has dropped dead."
"Yet."
"I designed the transmutation myself, Harry. I have said there is no risk. The old transmutation that had required thousands of lives is almost two millennia old at this point. You think there haven't been developments in the art? You think I myself have not gotten better as an alchemist? It is a different game now. I need no lives. The magic being expended by the duelists on the stage, as well as the emotions of the audience, are what go towards fueling the transmutation into my stone," he said.
"But would that be enough to take the place of thousands of lives? Sure, there are over a thousand spectators, but can emotions take the place of lives?"
"Well enough. What is life without emotion? And these are magical emotions. Like I told you earlier, a hundred mundanes cannot equal one wizard or witch. Besides, the stone I will be creating will be a less powerful one. I don't need any more gold at this point. We just need the elixir to continue living as we have been, and since you were part of our old stone getting destroyed, you shall help us."
"Nope. No chance of that. Dumbledore did the destroying of your old stone. If you want my help, you're going to have to cough up that reward you were talking about."
"Fine. We will bless you with a vial of our elixir, and in exchange, you will watch Julian Russo. If he attempts to escape with our stone, then you shall stop him."
"Deal, but I want three vials," I said, haggling.
"Fine."
A/N: Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.