What Arthur needed to do now was reforge the Philosopher's Stone—reshape it into a vessel designed to hold life force.
Ranni's soul was already a complete god-soul, unimaginably powerful.
All she needed was a body that suited her, and she could be reborn.
As for lifespan? Arthur wasn't worried in the slightest.
Leaving aside the fact that the stronger he grew, the longer his natural life would stretch…
Once he cleared Elden Ring and held the foundations of an entire world in his hands, if even then he couldn't solve his lifespan problem, well—he might as well feed himself to the Erdtree.
After the Christmas holidays, life settled back into its familiar rhythms.
Arthur studied diligently, steadily advancing in alchemy.
Voldemort, after being burned once, grew suspicious and restrained his attempts to seize the Stone.
Dumbledore continued to watch his "Chosen One" from the shadows.
Even Snape was buried so deep in research on his new potion that he sneered at Harry less and less in class.
His disheveled, sleepless appearance even made Harry wonder if the man had been exhausting himself trying to get through the trapdoor guarded by the three-headed dog.
By the way, when Hermione returned to school after the holidays, she immediately pressed Harry and Ron about what they'd discovered about Nicolas Flamel.
The answer, of course, was obvious—
They had forgotten entirely.
The two had spent the whole holiday buried in Arthur's games.
So, only Hermione kept chasing the mystery.
Ron didn't care, lazing through his days without a worry.
Harry wasn't in a rush either—he didn't care what was behind that door. He only wanted to make sure Snape didn't get his hands on it.
In his eyes, Snape was still the thief. But seeing Snape's sour, frustrated state lately, Harry guessed he hadn't yet succeeded.
And why not just ask Arthur?
Sorry—he was far too busy working on restoring Ranni's body.
This routine lasted until March.
Hermione, meanwhile, was already revising furiously for the end-of-year exams.
Harry and Ron thought she'd gone mad—exams weren't until June, nearly three months away!
Arthur had even asked her once: since he'd already drilled all the first-year material into her until she mastered it, why bother with more review?
Her answer: "It's a habit. In primary school, before any exam, I always rewrote all the key points from my books."
Arthur sighed. If only he'd had that habit back in his last life—he could have picked any university in China.
"Ron, put down those stupid cards!" Hermione scolded. Her tone carried that familiar edge of hating iron for not becoming steel.
They were her friends; of course she didn't want to see them fail exams and repeat the first year.
"Honestly, there's still ages before exams. I'll just borrow your notes when the time comes," Ron shrugged, tossing the cards aside.
Arthur gave him a pitying look.
Hermione's notes? Every page, every line was "key content." Borrowing them was no shortcut—it was a death march.
Just then Neville hopped into the common room, legs bound stiff together.
"Leg-Locker Curse. Malfoy again," Ron muttered darkly. "You've got to learn to fight back."
Well, Ron's words weren't wasted—Neville would gather his courage soon enough.
Though his first rebellion would be against Ron himself.
Seamus tried to lift the curse but was promptly refused.
Who could trust his magic? At this rate he was just as likely to blow off Neville's legs as he was to free them.
The boy's explosive charms were getting wilder—he'd gone from singeing his eyelashes to burning off entire patches of hair at the back of his head.
These days, even Quirrell—or the parasite Voldemort—would've praised his "refreshing" new look.
Harry had been trying to read, but with the noise, he finally gave up. He picked up Ron's cards instead.
"Another Dumbledore card. Wait—hold on! I think I've found Nicolas Flamel!"
He shoved the card in Ron's face.
Ron leaned in, reading aloud:
"Dumbledore is famous for defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for his work on alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel, and for discovering the twelve uses of dragon's blood…"
"No wonder it sounded familiar!"
Hermione immediately pulled out her iPad and searched for the book mentioning Flamel—the one Arthur had digitized for her.
Meanwhile Arthur thought idly: Those twelve uses of dragon's blood… did Dumbledore include drinking it?
That book was, in fact, the clue Arthur had tossed Hermione's way. The library held a copy too, but he'd bundled it with other casual readings for her.
"Look here! Nicolas Flamel is the only known wizard to have created the Philosopher's Stone. It can turn any metal into pure gold and brew the Elixir of Life." Hermione turned the book for Harry and Ron to see—but her eyes slid sideways, questioning Arthur.
Arthur met her gaze, gave a small nod. Yes—this was what Quirrell was after.
That night, Arthur was just about to log into the Elden Ring when a knock came at his door.
He opened it—only to be seized by Harry and Ron, one on each side, hauling him bodily down the corridor.
"Arthur, what's wrong with you? We've been waiting forever—you promised we'd go ask Hagrid about the Stone tonight!"
Arthur's face filled with question marks.
When did I ever promise you that? Did we even talk about this?
And wait—why was Hermione here too? She knew the truth already. Why was she tagging along in their nonsense?
Hermione, watching her cousin dragged out of the common room, covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. She was shaking with it, terrified of waking the other students.
Breaking free of Harry and Ron, Arthur leaned down to whisper to her:
"Why are you coming along? You already know the truth."
"I wasn't planning to. But they came knocking, and I'm a little curious too. Aside from the dog, what other protections are there? Might as well hear it from Hagrid." Hermione winked playfully.
Arthur sighed. No use fighting it. He followed as Harry and Ron led the way to Hagrid's hut.
The two boys knocked eagerly.
The door swung open, and even from the back of the group Arthur felt a wave of heat gush out.
Ah, just as he suspected—the big softie had already been tricked by Quirrell into revealing Cerberus's weakness, all thanks to that dragon egg.
But Hagrid himself remained blissfully unaware, cheerfully tending his egg.
"What're yeh lot doin' here this late? I've no time fer games tonight." Hagrid's tone was sharp, impatient—he clearly wanted them gone.
Before they could reply, he started shutting the door.
"We know. The Stone—Fluffy's guarding the Philosopher's Stone," Harry blurted.
The door creaked back open.
"Alright, come in."
Inside, Harry went on, "We think Snape's trying to steal it."
"What? Professor Snape? Don't be ridiculous! He's one of the professors protecting the Stone," Hagrid snapped.
"Enough. You know what you need to do. Snape would never try to steal the Stone. Now off with yeh." He gestured them toward the door again.
"Wait—you said 'one of'?" Hermione caught his words at once.
"Aye. A few professors set the protections. Truth be told, I don't reckon anyone'll get past Fluffy. Only me an' Dumbledore know his weakness. Now, out! If yeh get caught wanderin' at night, you'll lose points."
From the side, Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Hagrid was standing directly in front of the fireplace, blocking the view, shooing them with exaggerated haste. Too obvious.
"...Hagrid," Arthur said quietly, "you're hiding something from us, aren't you?"
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