Chapter 96: The Dagger
"For five days. You were immersed in the ocean of knowledge for five whole days," Madam Perenelle teased. "No food, no water. I was starting to worry you might just keel over."
"Well, now that you're back, you should eat something," she said, offering him the floating tray.
"Thank you," Ryan said, accepting it. He took a small sip of iced plum juice and was profoundly grateful that the Flamel household's idea of French cuisine did not involve snails. Several more platters appeared, bearing French delicacies: seared foie gras, chicken confit, beef bourguignon, and a small serving of cassoulet.
After taking a restorative potion to soothe his long-empty stomach, Ryan had a sudden realization. Five days had passed. Had he missed the Order of Merlin ceremony? Had the Great Lakes massacre been solved? What had the Headmaster and Master Flamel been doing all this time?
"Where is Master Flamel?" he asked.
"You're calling him 'Master' a bit prematurely, aren't you?" Perenelle said with a chuckle. "He was planning to get your report on the third day, but you were completely unresponsive. Then Dumbledore came to him with some urgent business. They should be at Hogwarts now." She added, "I've already let them know you're awake. Your communicator has been selling quite well, by the way. They both have one, so you can contact them directly."
Of course, Ryan thought. Five days. With Dumbledore's influence, the communicator was likely already the must-have item in the British wizarding world.
"Thank you, Madam," he said. "I believe I have an answer that will satisfy Mr. Flamel." He picked up his communicator and saw that several new contacts had been added.
"'Ordinary Alchemist (Hobbyist)'... that must be Mr. Flamel," he muttered to himself. "'Percival Gellert'... and 'Gellert Albus'... could you two be any less subtle with your nicknames?" He rolled his eyes. The two of them even used the same profile picture. It was a family matter, he supposed, so he decided to ignore it and sent a message to the "Ordinary Alchemist."
Mr. Flamel, I believe I have the answer you were looking for. Are you at Hogwarts?
A reply came almost instantly. Yes. Come to the Headmaster's office.
In the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, three men and a bird were gathered. Nicolas Flamel had put down his communicator and was carefully examining a dagger that lay on Dumbledore's desk. The half-meter blade was lined with blood grooves, designed to hasten the bleeding of its victims. The hilt was so corroded that its original markings were illegible, a strange contrast to the blade, which was as smooth and sharp as the day it was forged.
"How did you find this?" Flamel asked.
Gellert, looking more vibrant than he had in days and dressed in a new set of robes, was lounging in the Headmaster's chair, much to the fury of the portraits on the walls. Those who recognized him were scandalized; those who didn't were quickly informed by their neighbors and were equally appalled that Dumbledore would allow such a person in his office.
Gellert, however, was unconcerned. "We didn't find it," he said, pouring himself a glass of water. "'Percival' found it. What can a slightly-above-average Auror like myself possibly do?"
Dumbledore, who had been unceremoniously evicted from his own chair, gave a weary sigh and began to recount the events of the past few days. After they had used their magical senses to examine the crime scene, they had discovered a faint trail. They followed it, with Gellert complaining the entire time about the incompetence of MACUSA's Aurors.
"The trail was so faint that even we almost missed it," Dumbledore had said at the time. "Don't be so hard on them."
"Fine, you're right," Gellert had conceded. "But a magical artifact of this nature... besides Nicolas Flamel, who else could have created it?"
"Don't forget the Deathly Hallows, Gellert. We once believed the Peverell brothers to be powerful alchemists, did we not?"
"That's different, Albus," Gellert had argued. "The Hallows are the stuff of legend, passed down through generations. And we know that behind every legend, there is a kernel of truth. But this... this weapon has no history, no legend. And I know you, Albus. You only look this troubled when you've encountered something truly unexpected."
"Every wizard's development can be traced," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with concern. "Every powerful magical object has an origin. But this dagger... it has no past, no known creator. It suggests that there are things happening in the wizarding world, things that even we do not know."
"Just tell me how you found it," Flamel interrupted, clearly uninterested in their philosophical debate. "And what happened when you did. I don't need to hear your private little chat."
A series of tactical coughs came from the portraits on the wall. Dumbledore, after a moment of awkward silence, continued as if nothing had happened. "Gellert and I followed the trail to the middle of Lake Huron, where we found the dagger on a small, rocky island."
The dagger had been plunged into a stone at the center of the island, which was surrounded by a powerful, active magical array. Six magical ley lines, originating from six different points around the island, converged on the dagger, feeding it with power. The moment they set foot on the island, they had felt a palpable, menacing aura, a sharpness that seemed to press against their very minds. If it had been anyone else, any ordinary Auror, they would have been driven mad or killed instantly by the sheer malevolence of the weapon. They both knew at once that they were dealing with an artifact on the same level as the Deathly Hallows or the Philosopher's Stone.
"Wait, Albus," Flamel said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with a flicker of recognition. "The six points, the ley lines... describe them to me again. In detail."
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