"I would look. But I probably wouldn't do it alone. And I wouldn't do it only once."
Rock's voice was calm. Nicolas Flamel could tell he meant every word.
"Albus, you have a very good student. That's wonderful."
Dumbledore was gently wiping the corner of his eye. He gave a soft laugh and nodded. "Yes. I'm fortunate to have found a student like this at my age. Just like Newt back then."
"Newt…" Flamel's expression softened with old memories. He chuckled. "I always thought Jacob was rather impressive too."
"They both turned out well, didn't they?" Dumbledore said quietly.
"Enough, child. Pay no attention to these two old men. Have some more tea."
Perenelle's voice was gentle as she set down a fresh cup and slid the plate of untouched cakes closer to Rock.
Rock quickly thanked her and took a sip, keeping his head down. He was genuinely afraid Flamel would ask another impossible question.
Thankfully, the mirror question seemed to be the last one. The two men went back to talking, this time about old stories rather than research.
By dusk, Dumbledore stood and patted Rock's head. "Well then, Nicolas. I'll return in three days."
"No trouble at all," Flamel said, rising to see him out.
"There's no need. Our conversation stirred up quite a few memories. I'd like to walk alone for a while."
Dumbledore declined the escort and turned to Rock. "Three days, little Rock."
He walked to the door without looking back. His figure seemed strangely lonely. Once outside, he Disapparated.
Rock took a slow breath. Three days. That was all the time Dumbledore and Flamel had given him to learn from the greatest alchemist alive.
"Come, Rock," Flamel said. "We can begin before dinner."
He sounded almost impatient. Rock nodded. This was exactly what he wanted. Three days wouldn't be enough to absorb six centuries of knowledge, but it was still an incredible gift.
"Yes, sir."
They entered a study lined wall-to-wall with books. Rock's mouth fell open.
The moment he stepped inside, his irises shifted into swirling silver-gray nebulae. Countless glowing lines appeared before his eyes.
Flamel watched him with quiet satisfaction. "So my feeling was correct. The Stone awakened something in you, didn't it?"
Rock quickly pulled his focus back and bowed slightly. "Yes, sir. The Stone helped me a great deal."
Both during the analysis and afterward, the rewards had been priceless.
"Good." Flamel smiled warmly. "The Stone can be a bridge, Rock. But it is not the destination."
Rock blinked, not fully understanding, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. I'll remember."
"Excellent. Albus said you were talented. These three days are the only thing I can give you."
Flamel raised a hand. Dozens of books floated off the shelves and landed in front of Rock.
"It's a bit much to ask, but I need you to finish all of them in one day."
He pulled out a small vial of silver-gray potion and set it down. "When you start to fade, take one drop."
"Thank you."
Rock accepted the vial without hesitation. Flamel smiled and settled into a nearby armchair.
Rock didn't waste time. He picked up the first book and started reading. Perenelle peeked in later, saw the scene, and quietly closed the door again.
On the first day, Rock finished every book with only a few hours to spare. Flamel said nothing. He simply sent Rock to eat and get some sleep.
On the second day, Flamel led him into the garden and pointed at a single flower.
"Don't use your wand. Don't use magic. Tell me what drives this flower from bud to bloom to withering. Sunlight? Rain? Soil?" He paused. "How do those things become color, scent, and life?"
Rock stared at the flower. This wasn't a trick question. It was the heart of alchemy itself.
He remembered the vision from his third analysis of the Stone.
After a long silence, he answered. "Sir, it isn't driven by any single thing. The transformation is a dynamic process involving many forces and constant energy exchange."
"Sunlight falling, soil offering itself, the flower's own drive to open."
Flamel nodded slowly. Rock had already touched the threshold of natural wisdom.
"Very good."
Flamel bent down, collected a drop of dew from a petal, swept a bit of ash from the windowsill into his palm, and plucked one of his own hairs. He held them out.
"Rock, pick up a fallen leaf and whisper a wish or memory into it."
Rock found a dry yellow leaf on the ground. He thought of the quiet joy he'd felt back at the manor and spoke the memory into the leaf before handing it over.
Flamel accepted it, placed everything together in his palm, and closed his hands.
There was no flash of light. No dramatic alchemical reaction. But through Rock's eyes, he clearly saw new lines forming inside Flamel's hands.
Flamel chuckled and opened his palms. The mixture had become a small handful of soil.
"What do you see?"
"On the surface it's just dirt. But in my eyes… it feels like it's alive now. The lines are different."
"Correct. Now it carries your joy and my memory. Its value isn't in the change of form. It's in the story that was added."
Flamel gently placed the soil into a nearby flowerpot.
"Let's go back inside, little Rock."
Back in the study, he handed Rock a notebook stained with old ink. "All great secrets are hidden inside failure. Success is a fixed point. And an ending."