The final day passed quietly. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel simply shared stories with Rock—funny little moments from their long lives. Rock loved every second of it. Two people who had lived through six centuries had wisdom in every casual remark, and he soaked it all in.
As the late afternoon sun spilled across the garden, Flamel led Rock outside again.
"Take this flower with you when you go," he said, pointing to the pot Rock had buried the day before.
Rock looked up. He remembered.
"Mr. Flamel," he asked after a long pause, voice low, "aren't you afraid of death?"
Flamel smiled—the same gentle smile he'd worn these past few days. "I'm afraid of not having lived properly. These last years have been good."
Rock stood there, stunned. Before he could answer, Dumbledore's voice drifted across the garden.
"Looks like the two of you got along well."
"Ah, Albus. Perfect timing." Flamel patted Rock's shoulder. "Child, remember everything you've learned here. The most beautiful part of the future is that it hasn't been written yet."
Rock nodded. He picked up the flower pot, shouldered his backpack, and said his final goodbyes to both Flamels.
They walked a good distance before the protective charm shimmered and the little house vanished from sight.
"Ready?" Dumbledore offered his sleeve. Rock gripped it, and the world twisted away.
Back at the house, Perenelle watched her husband, still smiling. "You've been very happy these past few days, Nicolas."
"It was a fine experience, wasn't it?"
They looked at each other. The house felt different now—small traces of Rock everywhere—but those traces felt right. They shared a quiet, knowing smile.
Near the Scamander manor, Dumbledore stopped and studied Rock carefully. "You gained a great deal these last few days."
"Yes, Headmaster." Rock pulled out the device he had crafted to hold the Philosopher's Stone. "I made this myself. I took a few shortcuts with the materials."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. He took the object and turned it over in his hands. "You… created this?"
"Yes. Mr. Flamel helped a lot."
"I know he did," Dumbledore said, handing it back. "But the real credit belongs to you, Rock. Your own talent is what matters most."
Rock hesitated, then asked softly, "Headmaster… is today the day for Mr. Flamel and Mrs. Perenelle?"
Dumbledore gave a single, gentle nod. "It was their decision the moment they gave me the Stone, little Rock."
He placed a hand on Rock's shoulder. "Go on home. I won't come in."
"Goodbye, Headmaster."
Rock bowed slightly and walked toward the manor gates. The iron doors swung open as the outer lights flared to life.
The front door opened before he reached it. Tina stood there, Newt right behind her.
"Grandpa. Grandma."
Rock stepped into their arms.
"Rock, where's Headmaster Dumbledore?" Newt asked, puzzled.
"He went back to the Flamels'."
Newt and Tina exchanged a look. Newt lingered at the door a moment longer, watching a faint flash of light vanish in the distance, then quietly closed it.
They didn't say anything. Rock, exhausted from three days with almost no sleep, went straight to his room and collapsed on the bed. He was asleep in seconds.
The next morning his internal clock woke him at the usual Hogwarts hour. He came downstairs and paused. The kitchen lights were already on, and Newt sat on the couch with the kneazles.
"Up already? You could've slept longer."
"I'm fine, Grandpa. I'll see if Grandma needs help."
Tina, apron on, turned when he entered. "Little Rock, you should rest more."
"I'm good, Grandma. Need any help?"
She studied him for a long moment, then smiled softly. "Hand me those plates when you're ready. Breakfast is almost done."
Rock carried the plates to the table. "Breakfast, Grandpa!"
"Coming."
They had just started eating when Theseus pushed open the front door, cane tapping.
"Theseus, join us?" Newt asked.
Theseus waved him off and walked over to ruffle Rock's hair. "Stay away from crowded wizard areas for a while."
The three of them looked at him.
"The Ministry's doing a full sweep for dark artifacts," Theseus said simply. "Things are going to be noisy for a bit."
Rock understood at once. So the Ministry had already started moving. That explained why Lucius would be able to plant the diary so easily later.
He didn't mind staying home. Last night he had already decided: this holiday he would master alchemy from the ground up and prepare for what was coming. The basilisk year was almost here, and he wasn't trusting luck.
At the very least, he wanted to make a few useful items for the study group. Maybe he'd even talk to Fred and George about it.
Everything else could move forward at its own pace.