The Sorcerer's Stone—any wizard who knows of it rarely remains indifferent. Gold is secondary; the real allure is the so-called immortality effect of the Philosopher's Stone. Immortality—how many people could resist such temptation?
Even so, there are a few exceptions. Nicole May and his wife Perenelle, for example, have both lived for over 600 years. Young wizards like Harry cannot even begin to imagine what kind of existence someone who dares to use the Philosopher's Stone must lead. And certainly, the people at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eye, don't consider the risks of stealing the Stone—they either ignore the danger entirely or fail to comprehend it.
"So, under these circumstances, you're expected to protect the Philosopher's Stone from one or a few extremely dangerous wizards? Is that right?" Solim leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs lazily. He clearly did not take the idea that someone might steal the Stone seriously. "Don't you know how powerful it is? If you want to die, go alone—don't drag others into it."
Harry and Ron were left completely dumbfounded. Solim had made it clear: despite their belief that they were the last line of defense for the Stone, their efforts were essentially as effective as trying to close a wooden gate. Reluctantly, they accepted it.
"Now that you know the Council of Elders exists, do you really think they'd ignore something like the Philosopher's Stone?" Solim asked, his tone pointed.
"I can't say I understand the Stone fully, but I know far more than you. My great-great-grandfather's father is still alive and has contributed greatly to the European wizarding world."
Solim was shocked. Heavenly grandfather? That was two generations older than Dumbledore—truly ancient.
"Besides, how many people have even dared think about the Philosopher's Stone? Grindelwald, Voldemort—at the height of their power—never considered it. Why? There are obscure reasons. And now, a few wizards come to Hogwarts under Dumbledore's nose, trying something. Do you really think a few young wizards who can't even cast a Disarming Charm are involved?" Solim said with a wry smile, barely suppressing his amusement.
"Fine," he continued, "if you want to play treasure-guarding, go ahead. But don't fool yourself into thinking you can tamper with the Philosopher's Stone. Someone else has it covered."
Solim admitted he was slightly intrigued by immortality himself. Yet, after truly understanding the Stone, he suppressed any desire to use it.
The Council of Elders, after all, controlled the entire continent. When the Philosopher's Stone appeared, countless people tried to seize Nicole May's secret. But few could even locate him. Even if someone reached the door of May's home, challenging a master alchemist would be akin to suicide. Eventually, Nicole May handed over the Philosopher's Stone. Whether under pressure or willingly, it was now under the protection of the Presbyterian Church, granting him a unique status. Many in the Church had lived to advanced ages thanks to the Stone.
With the backing of the Council of Elders, who could even think about the Philosopher's Stone? Protection extended to Nicole himself, including elite wizards stationed at his residence year-round. Every new Philosopher's Stone was recorded, assigned, and escorted meticulously, much like an armored convoy.
Alchemy, fundamentally, is transformation. Life itself consumes vitality, and the Philosopher's Stone replenishes the user's life force. Yet vitality cannot be transformed like ordinary substances. The Stone must convert life force from other living beings into energy the user can absorb. This is the grim truth of the Philosopher's Stone.
So, whose vitality is used? Nicole May's experiments were countless, with innumerable lives lost in the process. Originally a small workshop, he later joined the Presbyterian Church, essentially creating a controlled production line for the Stone. This allowed for greater efficiency and output, but raw materials—human-like life—were always in short supply. Wars erupted whenever the materials were scarce; peace returned when they were sufficient.
Solim, though pragmatic, drew the line at consuming others to survive. A person can be evil, he believed, but there must be a bottom line. Using the Stone to kill others for one's survival crossed that line. He could not accept it.
"Okay, you can play your treasure-hunting game," Solim said, dismissively waving them off. "But remember: do not entertain the idea of the Philosopher's Stone. Even if success is impossible, the risk is too great."
Although Solim had never seen the Stone himself, he suspected that the version Nicolas Flamel gave Dumbledore was not the full version—it could probably be used once or twice at most. Nicole May, protected by the Council of Elders, likely only allowed a "castrated" version to be given.
As Potter and Weasley's group left the small classroom, Draco led Neville to the next room to practice the Disarming Charm. Solim, alone, pulled out the Marauder's Map he had obtained from Filch.
"I solemnly swear that I have no good intentions," he muttered, pointing his wand at the map. One by one, names appeared across the parchment, marking locations in Hogwarts. Harry's movements were tracked, as were Draco and Neville's. Solim expected his own name to appear as well—but it did not.
Instead, a strange, irregular ink blot appeared where his name should have been, shaking and attempting to form letters before scattering again.
"What the—?!" Solim shouted, tensing. He could not understand it. The map was reliable; other names were fine. Why was his different?
"Did someone curse my name?" he wondered aloud. Perhaps a shielding or distraction spell prevented tracking. But why? He was just an illegitimate child of little significance. Even if he killed a troublesome ghost, his family would hardly target him at Hogwarts.
Resolute, Solim decided to study the magic of names during the upcoming vacation. He had to uncover why the map refused to show him.