"We're here."
Two figures appeared in the middle of a desolate stretch of land.
Dumbledore released Rock's hand and looked around at the empty landscape.
Rock studied the barren surroundings. "Protective wards?"
"Sharp as ever," Dumbledore said with a small nod. "Nicolas prefers not to be disturbed in what time he has left. He placed the wards himself."
Rock nodded and kept scanning the area.
A moment later the air in front of them rippled like water disturbed by a stone. Light bent and twisted until a heavy wooden door materialized out of nothing. It swung inward on its own.
A voice drifted out—younger than Rock had expected.
"Welcome, Albus."
Nicolas Flamel stepped through the doorway. He moved with an easy grace that didn't match his six-hundred-plus years.
Dumbledore stepped forward and pulled the older man into a brief hug. "Nicolas. This is the boy I told you about."
Flamel leaned forward slightly, studying Rock with clear interest. Rock quickly stepped closer.
"Mr. Flamel. It's an honor."
"Hello, child."
Flamel smiled and reached out to ruffle Rock's hair. "Just as I thought. There's something different about you."
Rock blinked. Different? His eyes?
"Shall we go inside, Nicolas?" Dumbledore asked.
"Of course. Come in."
Flamel turned and led the way. The door closed behind them the moment they stepped through.
The inside of the house wasn't what Rock had pictured. No obvious alchemical equipment, no towering shelves of ancient books. It looked like an ordinary home where an ordinary old man might live.
"Albus," a soft voice called, carrying a faint, old-fashioned accent that reminded Rock of Professor Binns—only warmer.
"And you must be the boy. Please, sit."
An elderly woman sat on the sofa. She was small and slender, her silver hair pinned up with the same elegant care Tina used. Her eyes were a bright, pale blue. She smiled at them both and gestured toward the chairs.
The room felt warm and bright. Rock didn't see a fireplace or any electrical wires. Everything here was probably alchemical in some way.
He sat beside Dumbledore. The two people across from him had lived longer than Hogwarts itself, and now they were both watching him in silence.
The pressure was unreal.
"We've heard what you did with our little stone," Nicolas Flamel said, studying Rock carefully—especially his eyes. It wasn't Legilimency. Just quiet observation.
Rock opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could stay calm in front of Dumbledore, but this was different. It took him a long moment to find his voice.
"I was only completing the task Headmaster Dumbledore gave me… and doing what I thought was right, sir."
Nicolas and Perenelle exchanged a glance. Both looked quietly amused.
"Child," Nicolas said gently, "whether it was a task or simply the right thing to do, those lines are rarely clear. You did well."
"If you had refused, Albus wouldn't have forced you."
Rock lowered his head. Lying to these two felt impossible. At the start he had only wanted to analyze the Stone for himself. He didn't deserve the weight they were giving him.
Perenelle waved her wand. Tea and small cakes floated over. She nudged the plate a little closer to Rock. "Eat, child. We don't often get visitors your age."
Rock nodded and took a careful sip of tea. It was fragrant and sent a gentle warmth through his whole body.
For a while the two oldest wizards in the world simply talked. Rock sat quietly and listened, forcing himself to stay sharp. Even the parts he only half-understood were worth remembering.
When they drifted into variations of ancient runes, Rock pulled out his notebook without thinking and started writing.
A soft gaze stayed on him the entire time. He looked up and met Perenelle's eyes. She was watching him with quiet warmth. He gave her a small, slightly embarrassed smile and kept writing.
Nicolas and Dumbledore noticed. They began tossing questions his way between their own conversation. Rock thought each one through before answering.
The questions started simple and grew steadily harder.
Finally Rock frowned, thought for a long time, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. Headmaster. I don't know."
Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking genuinely pleased. "Honestly, little Rock, the fact that you made it this far is impressive. Some seventh-years at Beauxbatons wouldn't have gotten this far."
Nicolas nodded in agreement.
Then he asked something that wasn't about studying at all.
"Rock, where do you think time is most fair?"
Dumbledore turned to watch him with open curiosity.
Rock considered it. A Ravenclaw-style answer would be that time treats everyone the same. But looking at the three people in front of him, another answer rose in his mind.
"Sir," he said, meeting Nicolas Flamel's eyes, "it's in loss."
Perenelle's hands came together in a soft clap. She smiled at her husband. "A wonderful answer, isn't it, Nicolas?"
"It is," Nicolas said, nodding. Six hundred years or a single day—both were just moments in the endless river of time.
"Time takes everything in the end. No one is exempt. That is absolute fairness."
Dumbledore's expression grew distant, as if the words had stirred old memories.
Nicolas leaned forward slightly, still smiling. "One last question. If there was a mirror that showed not your deepest desire, but your deepest fear… would you look into it?"
The room went quiet.
Rock was silent for a long time before he finally answered.
"I would look. But I probably wouldn't do it alone. And I wouldn't do it only once."