Morning light slanted through the tall windows of Chris's study, casting long rectangles of warmth across the polished floor. He tapped his fingers against the empty parchment before him, his mind circling back to a task he'd been postponing for weeks. With Hogwarts only days away, the time had come to fulfill his promise to himself: informing Dumbledore of Voldemort's final demise. The letter would need to be precise, informative enough to be believed but vague enough to protect his identity. This would require careful thought, and perhaps a second opinion.
"Jilly, Bouncy," Chris called softly, his voice barely disturbing the morning quiet.
Two soft pops announced their arrival, Jilly appearing with her usual dignified posture while Bouncy materialized mid-bounce, his large ears flapping with enthusiasm.
"Master Chrissy called for Bouncy!" the energetic elf exclaimed, practically vibrating with eagerness. "What can Bouncy do for super-wonderful Master today?"
Jilly shot her fellow elf a look of fond exasperation before turning to Chris with a slight bow. "How may we assist you, Master?"
Chris gestured to the empty parchment. "I need your counsel on a delicate matter. I've decided to send Headmaster Dumbledore a letter informing him that Voldemort has been permanently eliminated."
Jilly's amber eyes widened. "Is Master certain this is wise? The Headmaster is a powerful wizard with many resources to investigate such claims."
"That's precisely why I need your input," Chris replied, leaning forward in his chair. "The letter must be convincing enough that he believes it, yet contain nothing that could trace back to me."
Bouncy's ears perked up. "Ooh! Secret-secret letter! Bouncy is good at secrets, yes he is!" He lowered his voice to what he clearly considered a whisper but was hardly quieter than his normal speech. "Bouncy never told anyone about Master's special bathtub that makes bubbles shaped like little dragons!"
Chris suppressed a smile. "Thank you for your discretion, Bouncy. In this case, I'm thinking of something a bit more significant."
"Perhaps," Jilly suggested thoughtfully, "Master should consider what information the Headmaster would need to believe such a claim. Details only someone truly involved would know."
"Excellent point." Chris nodded, pulling the parchment closer. "I'll need to mention the Horcruxes, as that's the key piece of information Dumbledore likely already suspects but hasn't confirmed."
"And the timeline?" Jilly prompted. "When the dark wizard truly fell?"
"Yes, that too. The death of Voldemort's wraith happened over a year ago. Those with the Dark Mark felt it too, Dumbledore surely noticed the reaction from Professor Snape."
Bouncy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly piped up. "Master should mention the Boy-Who-Lived! Headmaster is always watching him, always planning for him!"
Chris looked at Bouncy with newfound appreciation. The excitable elf's observation was surprisingly astute. "You're right, Bouncy. Mentioning Harry might be the perfect way to emphasize that the prophecy is no longer relevant, that Harry can now have a normal life."
With these considerations in mind, Chris began to draft his letter. His quill moved deliberately across the parchment, each word chosen with care. He wrote, then crossed out, then rewrote several times before arriving at a version that satisfied him.
"Now for the precautions," he murmured, drawing his wand. He cast a series of complex charms on the parchment, spells to disguise his handwriting, to remove any magical signature that might identify him, and to ensure the letter couldn't be traced back to its origin through magical means.
"The parchment itself, Master," Jilly reminded him. "Ordinary stock from Flourish and Blotts could be traceable to your purchases."
"Good catch." Chris summoned a sheet of common parchment from his supplies, the kind sold in bulk to Ministry offices and businesses throughout magical Britain. Untraceable through its sheer ubiquity.
He carefully copied his final draft onto the new parchment, the disguising spells working to transform his handwriting into an unremarkable, generic script that could belong to anyone.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," he wrote,
"As you were no doubt aware, Tom Riddle, AKA Voldemort was still alive. I am writing to inform you that Tom is now completely dead. He was able to previously survive due to the creation of several Horcruxes. Thankfully, more than 12 months ago, I was able to locate one of these Horcruxes and use a family ritual to eliminate him and all of his soul shards. You no doubt saw the effect through those with the dark mark.
As a person who fought Voldemort and his legion of death eaters, I hope this provides you with some closure. Remember, prophecies are not infallible.
Regards,
A concerned citizen.
Hopefully this allows young Harry a proper childhood."
Chris sat back, examining his work. The letter was brief but contained just enough specific information to be credible. The mention of Horcruxes would certainly get Dumbledore's attention, few wizards knew of such dark magic, fewer still would connect them to Voldemort. The reference to the family ritual was deliberately vague, suggesting an old pureblood with access to ancient magic without specifying which family.
"What does Master think will happen when the Headmaster receives this?" Jilly asked quietly.
Chris considered the question. "Initially, doubt. Then investigation. He'll likely check with Snape about the Dark Mark's reaction last year. He may even attempt to trace any remaining fragments of Voldemort's soul and find none. Eventually, he'll accept the truth."
"And the boy?" Bouncy asked, his usually animated face solemn.
"That's my hope, Bouncy," Chris replied. "That Dumbledore will stop pushing Harry toward a confrontation that no longer needs to happen. That he'll allow him to just be a boy, not a weapon or a sacrifice."
He sealed the letter with plain wax, using no signet or identifying mark. For delivery, an ordinary post owl wouldn't suffice, too easy to trace back to the owlery it came from.
"Jilly, could you bring me one of the enchanted message birds from the east wing?" Chris requested.
The dignified elf nodded and disappeared, returning moments later with a small wooden box. Inside sat what appeared to be an origami owl, folded from parchment so fine it was nearly translucent. These magical constructs, created by a Japanese wizard who had once visited his ancestors, could deliver messages anywhere in Britain before dissolving into dust, leaving no trace of their origin or path.
Chris attached the letter to the paper owl, then whispered, "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The construct's eyes glowed briefly before it fluttered from the box, circled the room once, then disappeared in a soft flash as it began its journey.
"It is done," Chris said quietly, a weight lifting from his shoulders. One more loose end tied up before the new school year began.
Bouncy beamed, the serious moment already forgotten. "Now Master Chrissy is ready for super-fun third year at Hoggy-warts!"
Chris smiled. Indeed he was.
...
With the letter to Dumbledore dispatched, Chris drew a fresh sheet of parchment toward him, his mind already shifting to the second task of the day. This letter would be very different, not anonymous, not cryptic, but a direct communication from one wizard to another. And not just any wizard, but Nicolas Flamel himself, the legendary alchemist whose six centuries of life had produced wonders that modern wizardry could barely comprehend. The Philosopher's Stone had rested in Chris's vault for over a year now, secured after he'd removed it from Dumbledore's ill-conceived protection scheme. It was time to return it to its rightful creator.
He selected his finest parchment for this correspondence, a cream-colored sheet with subtle enchantments woven into its fibres that prevented tampering or unauthorized reading. The quality of the material would communicate respect before a single word was written. Chris dipped his quill in midnight-blue ink and paused, considering his approach.
Flamel was no ordinary wizard. At over six hundred years old, the alchemist had witnessed the rise and fall of magical empires, the birth of modern magical theory, the establishment of the International Statute of Secrecy. He had known Dumbledore when the Headmaster was merely a brilliant young student. How did one address such a figure? With deference, certainly, but not obsequiousness. The ancient alchemist would have seen flattery in all its forms across the centuries.
Honesty, then. Direct but respectful communication.
"To Master Nicolas Flamel, Most Distinguished Alchemist," Chris began, his script flowing elegantly across the parchment.
"I write to you with the deepest respect for your unparalleled contributions to magical knowledge. Your treatise on the alchemical properties of dragon blood revolutionised potion-making, and your work on metallic transmutation remains the foundation upon which all modern understanding is built. Few wizards in history have advanced our collective understanding as significantly as you have.
It is therefore with a mix of humility and urgency that I contact you regarding the Philosopher's Stone."
Chris paused, weighing his next words carefully. He needed to explain his possession of the Stone without revealing too much about his first year at Hogwarts or his knowledge of Dumbledore's plans.
"You may be aware that your Stone was recently kept at Hogwarts School, ostensibly for its protection. What you may not know is that this arrangement placed the Stone in considerable danger. Through circumstances I would prefer to explain in person, I became aware of a plot to steal it, a plot that would likely have succeeded, given the inadequate protections surrounding it.
Acting to prevent this theft, I secured the Stone myself. It has since been kept in a warded vault with protections far more substantial than those at Hogwarts. However, I have never considered it mine to keep. The Stone is your creation, the culmination of your life's work, and it rightfully belongs with you and Madam Perenelle."
Chris dipped his quill again, considering how to approach the matter of returning the Stone. A direct meeting would be ideal, the opportunity to speak with Nicolas Flamel would be invaluable. Yet he couldn't risk the alchemist informing Dumbledore of his identity.
"I propose two possible methods for returning your property:
First, we could meet in person, at a location of your choosing. My only condition would be a magical oath of anonymity regarding my identity. This is not due to any nefarious intent on my part, but rather because certain parties might take an unhealthy interest in my heritage.
Alternatively, if you prefer no direct contact, I am prepared to return the Stone via a secure magical delivery method of your specification. In this case, I would ask only for confirmation of its safe arrival.
Whichever option you prefer, please know that my intentions have only ever been to ensure the Stone's safety and its return to its rightful owner."
He concluded the letter with signature using only his first name, Christopher. While he sought anonymity from Dumbledore, establishing a genuine connection with Flamel required honesty, well enough honesty before the oath is made.
"I will instruct my owl to await for response.
Christopher."
Chris reviewed the letter carefully, ensuring the tone struck the proper balance between respect and confidence. Satisfied, he folded it precisely and sealed it with emerald-green wax, still omitting his signet ring on the molten material.
For this special correspondence, only his personal owl would do. Unlike the standard tawny or barn owls common in the wizarding world, Chris's owl was a magnificent snowy specimen with unusual silver-tipped feathers. A gift from the goblin nation following the acromantula hunt, the bird possessed enhanced magical resistance and an uncanny ability to find even the most hidden recipients.
Chris moved to the window and whistled softly. Within moments, the snowy owl glided from its perch in the manor's owlery, landing gracefully on the windowsill.
"Hello, Athena," Chris greeted, stroking the bird's feathers gently. "I have an important task for you."
He attached the letter to the owl's leg using a silver clip enchanted with protective spells. "This is for Nicolas Flamel. He may be difficult to find, he and his wife are known to value their privacy. Use whatever means necessary, but deliver this directly to him, no intermediaries."
The owl blinked her intelligent blue eyes, seeming to understand the significance of the mission.
"Wait for his response," Chris instructed. "No matter how long it takes."
Athena gave a soft hoot of acknowledgment before stretching her wings and launching into the clear blue sky. Chris watched until she became a distant speck against the horizon, wondering what would come of this communication. A meeting with Nicolas Flamel would be an extraordinary opportunity, six centuries of magical knowledge and wisdom, modern perspectives that even the Founders' Grimoires couldn't provide.
And even if Flamel declined a meeting, the proper return of the Stone was still the right thing to do. Chris had removed it from Hogwarts to prevent Voldemort from obtaining it, not to deprive its creators of their masterwork. With Voldemort gone for good, and Chris already ageless from the Hallows, there was no reason to keep it any longer.
Chris turned back to his desk, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Two important letters sent, two loose ends from his previous years at Hogwarts addressed. The coming school year was looking more promising by the moment.
...
The final weeks of August slipped away like water through cupped hands, each day filled with last-minute preparations for the coming school year. Chris divided his time between studying sections of Hufflepuff's Grimoire, practicing controlled wandless magic, and reviewing the third-year curriculum to ensure he wouldn't accidentally display knowledge beyond what he should know. All the while, he kept an eye out for Athena's return, but his snowy owl remained absent, presumably still seeking Nicolas Flamel or waiting for the ancient alchemist's response.
"Perhaps she hasn't even found him yet," Chris mused one evening as he closed a heavy tome on Ancient Runes. "Flamel has had centuries to perfect the art of privacy."
He wasn't particularly concerned by the lack of response. The Stone remained secure in his vault, and he understood that matters involving such a legendary artifact couldn't be rushed. For someone who had lived over six hundred years, a few weeks was barely a moment's consideration. The issue could wait until the winter holidays if necessary.
On the eve of his departure, Chris emerged from his study to find Ambrosia Manor transformed. Tiny magical lights floated along the corridors, casting a warm golden glow over the ancient wood paneling. The scent of roasting meats, fresh bread, and something sweetly spiced wafted up from the kitchens. Curious, he followed the delicious aromas downstairs.
"Master must not peek yet!" Bouncy appeared suddenly before him, practically vibrating with excitement. The house-elf wore what appeared to be a miniature bow tie affixed to his usual uniform, clearly dressed for a special occasion. "Bouncy and Jilly have super-special surprise for Master Chrissy's last night!"
"A surprise?" Chris asked, unable to suppress a smile at the elf's enthusiasm.
"Master will see, yes he will!" Bouncy bounced on his toes, ears flapping with each movement. "Master should wear his nice robes for dinner, yes indeed! Very fancy tonight!"
Amused and touched by whatever his elves had planned, Chris returned to his chambers and changed into formal robes trimmed with deep sapphire blue that matched his eyes. When he descended again an hour later, Bouncy was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase, practically glowing with pride.
"Master looks most handsome!" the elf declared. "Now Bouncy will escort Master to the special feast!"
Chris expected to be led to the formal dining room, but instead, Bouncy guided him through a side passage and out onto the west terrace. There, beneath the star-scattered sky, a table had been set with silver candelabras, fine china bearing the Ambrosia crest, and crystal goblets that caught the light of floating lanterns arranged artfully around the space.
Jilly stood beside the table, her usual dignified demeanor momentarily softened by the hint of a smile. "We thought Master might enjoy dining under the stars on his final evening," she explained with a small bow.
"It's wonderful," Chris said sincerely, taking in the beautiful setting. "You've outdone yourselves."
The meal that followed was a showcase of culinary magic. Course after course appeared, each more impressive than the last, roast duck with orange glaze, tender venison in wine sauce, vegetables harvested from the manor's gardens and prepared with herbs that made their natural flavours sing. Every dish represented something Chris had particularly enjoyed throughout his time at the manor.
"We remembered all Master's favorites," Bouncy explained proudly, serving a side dish of glazed carrots with honey and thyme. "Bouncy and Jilly have been planning for weeks and weeks!"
"I'm honoured," Chris replied, genuinely moved by their thoughtfulness. "This might be the finest meal I've ever had at the manor."
Jilly, who normally maintained a professional distance during meals, had been convinced to join him at the table, though she perched on the edge of her chair as if ready to leap up and serve at any moment. Bouncy had no such reservations, chattering excitedly between bites about all the preparations they had made.
"We even made special dessert!" he announced, eyes widening dramatically. "Secret recipe from Hufflepuff's own kitchens! Jilly found it in the old books!"
On cue, a magnificent treacle tart appeared, still warm from the oven, alongside a bowl of clotted cream infused with vanilla. The first bite confirmed it was indeed exceptional, the perfect balance of sweetness and depth, with hints of spices Chris couldn't quite identify.
"This is remarkable," he said, savouring another bite. "How did you discover this recipe?"
Jilly looked pleased despite her attempt at maintaining decorum. "When Master brought home Hufflepuff's Grimoire, I noticed references to her kitchen journals. Our library contained copies from when the Ambrosia family hosted Helga centuries ago."
Chris raised his goblet in toast. "To Jilly and Bouncy, the finest house-elves any wizard could hope for. Thank you for making this manor a true home."
Bouncy's eyes immediately filled with tears of joy, while Jilly blinked rapidly, her composure momentarily slipping to reveal deep emotion.
"Master is too kind," she managed, her voice slightly unsteady.
As the evening drew to a close, they sat together beneath the stars, talking of the coming year and Chris's plans. The elves listened intently to his hopes for a quieter term, offering their own suggestions for maintaining anonymity while still pursuing his goals.
"Bouncy will keep the manor perfect for Master's return at Christmas!" the energetic elf promised. "Everything will be super-shiny and ready!"
"And we shall continue researching the materials you requested," Jilly added more practically. "The texts on spatial manipulation from Ravenclaw's Grimoire have provided several promising avenues for exploration."
Later, as Chris completed his packing in the quiet of his bedroom, he felt a profound appreciation for the two beings who had become far more than servants. In many ways, they were the closest thing to family he had in this new life.
Morning arrived with gentle golden light filtering through his curtains. Chris woke early, already accustomed to the routine of school preparations from his previous years. His trunk stood packed and ready, his school robes pressed and folded on top, his wand in its holster at his wrist. The chain around his neck held the miniaturised Grimoires, their weight a constant reminder of his unique knowledge and responsibility.
Breakfast was a subdued affair compared to the previous night's feast, though no less thoughtfully prepared. Jilly had made all his breakfast favorites, while Bouncy had arranged flowers from the garden as a centerpiece.
As the clock chimed ten, Chris knew it was time to depart. King's Cross was a significant distance away, and even with magical transportation, he preferred to arrive with time to spare.
Chris turned to both elves, who stood side by side near the entrance hall. "Thank you for everything. Not just the preparations, but for all your support this summer."
Bouncy could contain himself no longer and launched forward, wrapping his arms around Chris's legs in a tight hug. "Master Chrissy must be safe at Hoggy-warts! Must write to Bouncy and Jilly! Must eat proper meals and not study too late!"
Chris patted the emotional elf's back, smiling despite the lump forming in his own throat. "I promise, Bouncy."
When the excitable elf finally released him, Jilly stepped forward. Unlike Bouncy, she maintained her composure, though her eyes shimmered suspiciously.
"The manor will be waiting for Master's return," she said simply, offering a formal bow that somehow conveyed more affection than many embraces could.
Chris nodded, knowing she would understand the depth of his appreciation without effusive words. He stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the manor's protective wards shimmering around him like a gentle embrace.
With one last look at his home and the two loyal figures standing in the doorway, Chris activated the portkey that would take him to the wizarding section of King's Cross. As the familiar pulling sensation caught him behind the navel, his last glimpse was of Bouncy waving frantically while Jilly stood straight and proud beside him.