Chapter 270: Nicolas Flamel
Dumbledore was silent.
Phineas seized the moment.
"And, Professor, if it weren't for my age, magical rank, and reserves, I daresay my skill in Transfiguration would nearly rival yours."
He wasn't boasting. As the inheritor of Godric Gryffindor's legacy—whose strength lay in the art of Transfiguration—Phineas had a deep, innate understanding of the field. While his practical accomplishments might not yet match Dumbledore's, his potential was undeniable.
Dumbledore let out a quiet sigh.
"In that case, proceed as you've planned. We old men won't interfere."
Phineas smiled.
"Don't worry, Professor. I won't ruin Harry's education. After all, I taught myself most of it."
Nicolas chuckled at Dumbledore's faint glare. He said nothing—half enjoying the argument, as if hoping for a real show to unfold so he could spectate.
So time passed, with Phineas teaching Harry, occasionally arguing with Dumbledore or Nicolas, until mid-August arrived.
It was an important day for everyone in Nicolas's manor—and for Phineas, it would be unforgettable.
Perenelle had chosen the date of her own death. After ceasing to take the Elixir of Life, her remaining time was fixed. Because of the Elixir, she and Nicolas could not only determine when they would die, but prepare for it in full.
Her passing caused no commotion in the wizarding world. Perhaps many had already forgotten the powerful witch who once bested Nicolas Flamel himself.
Only Nicolas's direct descendants—those tied to the Flamel lineage—were informed. Thus, at Perenelle's funeral, only a few stood present: Phineas, Harry, Sirius, Dumbledore, and her family.
As arranged by Nicolas, Perenelle was laid to rest in the quiet woods beside the manor, where birds chirped freely and the trees stood tall in peace. The birds were not startled by their presence. On the contrary, they flew to Phineas's shoulders and chirped softly, as if mourning too.
"She raised them all," Nicolas said with a wistful smile.
"She used to say I only cared for alchemy and not her, so she started raising sparrows sometime last century. Now, the forest is full of their descendants. She loved them, and they loved her. I think… she'd be happy here."
Phineas nodded gently.
"A woman as kind, gentle, and close to nature as Perenelle would be."
Nicolas raised his wand and gently levitated Perenelle's body into the prepared grave, covering it slowly with earth.
Beside the new grave stood another—prepared for him. He and Perenelle had been together for nearly six centuries. They'd never truly been apart.
Phineas fell silent at the sight of the empty gravestone. A tightness gripped his chest, like a fire with no release.
Nicolas noticed. He patted Phineas's shoulder without a word.
He knew Phineas understood death. It wasn't grief in its purest form—more a cocktail of sadness, longing, and reluctant acceptance.
Perenelle's time had come, and Nicolas's would soon follow. By his own plan, he would die on August 30.
Harry was devastated. Unlike Phineas, he didn't yet grasp the idea that death could be another kind of journey. He had only just come to know Nicolas and Perenelle, and both had treated him like family.
Nicolas had taught him stories, played chess and Gobstones. Perenelle, even though house-elves could have handled it, cooked for him with her own hands—giving Harry a warmth he'd never known.
To Harry, they were like grandparents.
On his birthday, they'd given him gifts: Perenelle a full Quidditch kit; Nicolas an alchemical device—a modified Muggle television that worked in Hogwarts without wires or power, capable of receiving Muggle broadcasts.
Those joyful days came to an abrupt end. Though Harry knew their deaths were long planned, it didn't ease the pain. He cried bitterly.
Sirius, who hadn't spent much time at the manor, felt sorrow but not devastation. He stood silently beside Harry, offering quiet comfort.
Dumbledore stood solemn and dignified as he paid his respects.
"She's just gone ahead to help me explore the next great adventure," Nicolas said quietly to Phineas.
"There's no need to grieve. Death isn't frightening, is it?"
Phineas nodded.
"I know. But… I'll still miss her."
He recalled how Perenelle would scold him for staying up late, warn him not to follow Nicolas's bad habits, and always prepare him a warm breakfast. Her absence left a quiet hole in the heart.
He pursed his lips and said nothing more as they returned to the manor.
Later that week, several of Nicolas's outstanding descendants gathered at the manor.
Nicolas had summoned them on purpose. Though he hadn't often involved himself in their lives, they were his family nonetheless. Before his end, he wanted to leave something behind for them.
"I've called you here for two reasons," he said. "First, Pere has passed, and I won't be far behind. You can make this public in September. Second, I have some final arrangements for you."
He paused.
"First, I won't tell you where Pere and I chose to be buried. Once we pass, this manor will vanish. Don't try to find us."
"Second, I've left vaults in Gringotts. They're yours to divide. Sera will give you the keys after I pass. Lastly—my alchemical legacy."
He held up a heavy, ancient book.
"This is The Book of Abraham the Jew. It's what I used to create the Philosopher's Stone. This is the true version—twenty-one pages long, not the widely circulated copies. Its knowledge runs deep."
He opened the book. Symbols and illustrations filled the pages: Hebrew letters, golden coins, kings, priests, astrologers, geometric shapes, arcane sigils—many beyond understanding.
"Only those with great talent in alchemy will grasp it. I leave it to you, along with some foundational texts. If one of your descendants proves capable, let them try. As for the rest of my possessions, I have other plans. Don't seek them out."
They nodded in acceptance. Nicolas distributed the books himself.
"Alright, you can go," he said, firm and final.
Once they left, the manor vanished from their eyes.
Inside, Nicolas turned to Phineas with a smile.
"Phineas, I know your alchemy has advanced beyond these notes. Still, I leave them to you—along with Sera, the manor, and its items. They were Pere's companions, and mine."
Phineas nodded, not refusing. While the notes held limited value for him, they were sacred in their own way. And one day, he might pass them to a deserving heir—though the formula for the Philosopher's Stone would be destroyed. Its cost, in souls, was too high.
Alchemy is built on the principle of equal exchange. Nicolas had lived by that rule. Entrusting all this to Phineas wasn't just a bequest—it was a request for stewardship, for legacy.
In the days that followed, Nicolas seemed eager to share every last insight. He constantly asked Phineas to record his thoughts and techniques.
As August neared its end, Dumbledore began leaving the manor more frequently—likely pursuing matters related to Voldemort.
"Senior Nicolas, rest. We've recorded most of what you know. You don't need to rush. I still have some Elixir left. We could—"
"No," Nicolas interrupted gently.
"Pere never left my side in life. I won't make her wait in death. It wouldn't be right."
Phineas sighed. The idea of losing this wise old man—his mentor and friend—was hard to bear.
Nicolas noticed and smiled.
"Don't look like that. I've lived an extraordinary life. My parents gave me a good education. I learned Latin and Greek, which helped me copy manuscripts for nobles—how I discovered alchemy."
"In my middle years, I met Pere—my soulmate. She steadied me, grounded me, helped me pursue real alchemical understanding."
"Later, I acquired the Book of Abraham. It took me 21 years, but with the help of a Hebrew scholar, I deciphered it and created the Philosopher's Stone."
"I was young and ambitious… and foolish. I defied Perenelle's warnings. The Stone caused terrible tragedy across Europe. But she stayed by my side. Her love brought me clarity. Eventually, I became a legendary wizard."
"And then I learned the truth: the Stone I created wasn't the real Philosopher's Stone. It was an alchemical device—a crude one—powered by countless souls to sustain life."
"The real Philosopher's Stone has always existed. What I made was a shadow."