Vacation. It's vacation time.
The concept of a school vacation really only holds meaning for students.
The idea of a break between periods of study is something exclusive to one's school years. What kind of vacation does an adult get?
In that sense, this vacation was the first I'd had in over ten years.
Of course, if Deek heard me say that, he'd probably be flabbergasted and ask if I hadn't just been playing around for four years since coming to the 20th century. But a vacation has its own special feeling, doesn't it?
The worry about the future start of the term, the catharsis that comes from that limited time, and the fact that it's something you can only get as a student—all these things give a school vacation a certain nostalgia that's different from a regular holiday.
And the very first thing I did during this precious vacation was to research the Philosopher's Stone.
...If you were to ask why I'm conducting such research during a vacation that's meant for rest, I would have to answer that it's a wizard's instinct, and I can't help it.
In any case, that was the reason giant cauldrons were now set up in a corner of this high-end London hotel room.
If a hotel employee were to see this sight, they would be horrified, but since I could clean it up without a trace using magic, there was no problem. Probably.
Dropping a useless piece of scrap iron into the bubbling cauldron, I was in the process of transmuting it into gold with the Philosopher's Stone as a catalyst.
Even in the 19th century when I attended Hogwarts, alchemy was not a very promising field. Hogwarts only taught Potions, a sub-discipline of alchemy, and proper alchemy was barely touched upon.
That was because most things that could be done with alchemy could also be done with a wand. Most people preferred wand magic, which could be performed with simple movements, over alchemy, which required a high level of magical understanding.
In that sense, alchemy was a dying art. I myself only started learning about it after I began corresponding with Nicolas.
Of course, since my correspondent was the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel, and I myself was a man overflowing with talent in various fields, my achievements grew rapidly. But I was never skilled enough to create a Philosopher's Stone.
Recalling the principles of alchemy, I carefully stirred the cauldron as it turned a golden hue.
As I tempered the iron in the steam for a long while, I began to understand why all the alchemists without a Philosopher's Stone were already dead. This stuff was definitely not good for your health.
And the finished product itself was quite impressive.
With the Philosopher's Stone as a catalyst, the lump of brass had truly transformed into an ingot of gold. This wasn't the fraudulent trick of a common pseudo-alchemist; it was real.
If you were to put it through a Muggle's elemental analysis machine, it would surely register as 100% pure Au.
After a moment of admiration, I took out the Philosopher's Stone, rolled it in my hand, and thought.
But even with the ability to create gold like this, it wasn't particularly helpful to me.
My compression bag was already overflowing with gold ingots from the Lestrange family, and the wealth of the Harry-doting Sirius Black was also beyond imagination.
In other words, the ability to make gold nuggets was pretty much useless to me.
Then what about the Elixir of Life made from the Philosopher's Stone?
As one could tell from the fact that Nicolas lived to be over 600, the greatest power of the Philosopher's Stone was the ability to grant immortality.
...Which would have been a very useful power, if not for the fact that the body holding the stone was that of a ten-year-old boy.
I spent some more time poring over the alchemy books I had spread out to study the Philosopher's Stone, but eventually, I closed them all and put them away.
Right, no matter how great a product of alchemy this stone was, I was not an alchemist.
Perhaps if I dedicated about ten years to alchemy, I might reach a level where I could properly utilize it, but I was, first and foremost, a wizard.
Therefore, it was only right that I use this Philosopher's Stone in my own way. Nicolas probably would have wanted that as well.
I placed the stone on the desk and channeled magical power into my 'eyes'.
My eyes, which emitted a golden light, began to shine even more brightly, showing me a vision different from the world of visible light.
The color of the stone is red. Red is the color of blood. Blood is the color of life.
Pouring twice the usual amount of magical power into my 'eyes', I stared at the stone for a long time, exploring its essence.
How long had I been observing the stone, turning it this way and that?
By the time Deek, who had come to call me for a meal, and Harry, who had come to see what I was doing, were startled by the golden glow filling the room and quietly left, I was finally able to decipher the essence of the Philosopher's Stone. I let out a quiet exclamation of wonder.
"The regression of matter to its essence."
In alchemy, it is said that gold is the most perfect of all substances.
Of course, Muggles, who have discovered that all substances in the world are made of elements created by different combinations of protons and electrons, might scoff and ask how a lump of 79 protons could be a perfect substance.
But the alchemists were no fools. In a sense, they were right.
The 'gold' the alchemists spoke of was not just an element. Rather, it was a term closer to an Idea, symbolizing perfection. The gold of reality was merely the substance closest to the Idea of gold.
In that sense, the Philosopher's Stone had the power to return a substance to its most perfect state.
Even a common lump of iron, according to the alchemists, was a fragment that had fallen from its most perfect state.
Through the Philosopher's Stone, it was possible to stimulate the property of wanting to return to the most perfect Idea of gold. In reality, this manifested as the element changing into gold.
Human immortality was the same.
The Philosopher's Stone manifested the property of causing the human body to revert to its perfect essence.
To a more perfect state within one's own mindscape. To escape the process of approaching death and maintain one's form.
This was truly an unbelievable object.
Perhaps this item possessed an authority comparable to the Elder Wand I now held.
My admiration was brief, as I soon thought of a way to utilize the Philosopher's Stone.
The Ancient Magic I use is magic that deals with the most fundamental parts of existence. Primal emotions, basic elements, and so on.
So, what would happen if I used the Philosopher's Stone, a medium for essence regression, as a catalyst in the application of this Ancient Magic?
What would happen? It would become ridiculously powerful, that's what.
Calculating the result in my head without even holding a wand, a chill ran down my spine.
At least twice as strong. No, maybe three times.
Of course, this would require devising a way to use the Philosopher's Stone, created as an alchemy catalyst, as a catalyst for Ancient Magic.
...It seemed I had found myself a new research project for a while.
*
Research was research, but I had quite a lot to do during the vacation. And two days after the break began, our task for the day was set.
We were going to deliver happiness to the Black Manor.
A ribbon-tied cage from which only the sound of soft breathing could be heard. Inside, there was only an shabby gray rat, kept from waking by a magical spell.
This grotesque object, which didn't match the decorations at all, would be the greatest gift Sirius Black had ever received in his life.
After waking up in a luxury hotel in London, Harry and I said goodbye to Ardeura, Deek, and Hedwig, and then headed for Number 12, Grimmauld Place with the cage in hand.
Of course, since Grimmauld Place was in a Muggle residential area, we were dressed in Muggle clothes. Harry, uncomfortable in something other than robes for the first time in a while, kept fidgeting with the t-shirt he was wearing.
Protected by the Fidelius Charm, Number 12, Grimmauld Place was invisible to everyone except Harry and me. We walked down the magical secret path and knocked on the door of the Black Manor.
Harry shouted, "Sirius, we're here!"
And almost as soon as he spoke, the door clicked and opened.
The person holding the doorknob was none other than Kreacher.
Kreacher saw us and said, "Oh, Aisen-nim, Harry-nim. Please come in."
And from behind him, there was a clattering sound, followed by Sirius's scream.
"Gah! Kreacher, you bastard! Did you pour oil on the floor?!"
Hearing the noise, Kreacher said to us with a bold face, "Hmm, it seems the floor cleaning was a bit excessive. As you know, our master is rather clumsy."
Seeing that Kreacher and Sirius were still not on good terms, Harry and I shared a bitter smile.
A moment later, Sirius approached us, his clothes glistening after having slipped on the oily floor.
"Harry! It's so good to see you! Aisen, it's been a while for you too."
Sirius, who had welcomed us with a huge smile, soon showed a somewhat disappointed expression.
"But, I never thought you'd send nothing at all for Christmas. And you both know I don't have anyone else to talk to."
At his words, Harry grinned and said, "Sirius, you won't be thinking that once you see the present we brought this time."
"Hm? What did you bring?"
With an exaggerated motion, Harry pointed to the cage I was holding. I smiled and held up the iron cage, shaking it with a jingle.
Sirius looked bewildered, but then his eyes widened as he saw the rat inside the cage.
For some reason, that rat was missing a few front toes.
Sirius shouted, "Good heavens, by Merlin's head! Don't tell me, Peter Pettigrew!"
I grinned and said, "Not so disappointed about not getting a Christmas present now, are you?"
"Of course not. This is, without a doubt, the best gift I've ever received in my entire life!"
With burning eyes, Sirius took the iron cage from my hand with trembling fingers.
Snatching the cage, he raised it to his eye level. Staring at Peter, who was sleeping soundly inside, oblivious to his fate, Sirius let out a beast-like howl.
Kreacher, who was watching, commented, "Oh, dear. He truly is a son of a bitch. If Mistress Walburga saw him, she would lament that learning Animagus magic had turned his brain into a dog's as well." (TN: Kreacher uses a common Korean curse word, "gaesaekki" (개새끼), which literally means "son of a dog/dog child" but is used like "son of a bitch." It's a pun here since Sirius's Animagus form is a dog.)
Normally, Sirius would have told Kreacher to shut up, but right now, Kreacher's words didn't even register in his mind.
"Peter, Peter. My friend. Why did you run for so long when we were destined to meet like this?"
Sensing the murderous intent in Sirius's eyes, Harry said, "Sirius, you're not actually thinking of killing him, are you?"
"Harry, don't tell me you think this scum who deserves to die should live? If it weren't for him, your parents would still be alive!"
Harry tried to calm down Sirius, who had lost his reason and was agitated by the fact that he had found Peter.
"Sirius, Peter certainly isn't worth keeping alive, but if you kill him, there'll be no way to prove your innocence."
I added a word of my own.
"That's right. Are you planning to keep hiding like this and leave Harry on his own?"
Sirius muttered with a dazed look, "...Right, I can't do that. No, of course not."
Then, Sirius threw the cage with Peter onto the dining table, calmed himself, and said, "Thank you. Seeing that rat bastard reminded me of Azkaban, and I got carried away for a moment."
Harry carefully said, "Um, Sirius. If you still can't calm down, as long as you don't kill him, couldn't you just torture him with the Cruciatus Curse?"
Hearing this, Sirius's face twisted in a different way.
He then looked at me. His gaze held both a reprimand for how on earth I had taught the boy, and a plea to rein him in.
As Sirius requested, I said to Harry, "Harry, that's not a bad idea, but using Crucio here could be disadvantageous at the trial later. In times like these, traditional Muggle methods are more useful. For example, waterboarding, or your fists."
Hearing my words, the twisted expression on Sirius's face vanished, leaving only resignation.
"Right, he was a kid who used Crucio when we first met. I just hope you'll raise him not to use the Killing Curse."
"..."
"?"
Seeing the now silent Harry, Sirius blinked. He forgot all about Peter and just thought of James. *James, it seems your son has grown up a little too tough...*
***