When he thought of them, he thought of a basilisk skull on a wall, or Headmaster Flamel financially neutering Lucius Malfoy, or Professor Flamel destroying Madam Umbridge. Harry, for the first time, wondered if they had a hand in directing a Dementor to Cornelius Fudge or Bellatrix Lestrange. It was too great a coincidence otherwise. Just an Auror, a criminal, and a politician? Not a defenseless child? Not a frantic parent? Not an old man in the crowd who used his wand rarely? There had been more than a hundred Dementors present according to all the reports...
No, when these two had enemies, those enemies felt the weight of the world.
"I hope you've learned well over the last two years?" the Headmaster asked.
"I hope I have." A non-answer for a non-question.
"Good," Professor Flamel said.
"We didn't manage half as much as we would have liked. Perhaps my successor, your Professor McGonagall, will continue in good stead. Perhaps not," the Headmaster said.
"So that's confirmed?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yes. Everyone contending for the Headmaster position gave it up after the Minister's position opened up. Another three are dead, two more are on their way to prison. They were a very unsubtle bunch of thugs," the Headmaster said.
Harry knew none of them – and was glad he never would.
"You have faced more challenges in this year than we would have wished. I swear that we tried to give you a calm year. But on the day it mattered most, bad weather and a clever wizard conspired better than we were able to defend. And that is life, Mr. Potter," Professor Flamel said. "Unfair and devious."
"I shouldn't have played Quidditch. I did resign the team after..."
"That is true," the Headmaster said. "But you should have been safe playing a game. We regret that you weren't."
What could Harry say to that? It was Rookwood, not the Flamels, who was to blame.
"You've done well with your friends this year. You've helped them to better themselves. Mr. Longbottom seems to have become some specimen in a greenhouse who decided to blossom," Professor Flamel said.
"I think you had something to do with that. Some spells you cast at the beginning of the year, on the Express. He was different after that."
"I merely undid some botched spells cast on him long ago. I wish Madam Pomfrey had detected them, but I don't think she has had reason to see Mr. Longbottom. It was your assistance with his wand and his confidence - and just being a friend..."
She trailed off.
And Harry nodded. A friend should ask questions and try to help. That was all it had been. Thankfully it had done some good.
"Continue to be curious," the Headmaster said. "Your projects were very interesting to hear about. I don't know if you will pursue rune-work or enchanting beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it seems to suit you so far. For it is a deep dive into books resulting in just a few little runes. You've got a sense of it, I'd say."
"It has been enjoyable." Harry just wished he had made more progress on the rune sets used in Godric's Hall. He'd gotten so busy with that spirit repellant he had made little time for his side project. Perhaps next year?
"Last, do not forget about your enemies," the Headmaster said.
Rookwood. The Wolf of Bandon. Voldemort. And many other names. He had no chance of forgetting. But... "I fear I won't be prepared on the day," Harry said.
"Well, you have a constant reminder." He nodded at Harry's hand.
That was a better way of thinking of it. Not as a loss, but as a reminder.
"Let me show you how I have survived. Just a moment. I don't do this often."
Whatever effect surrounded Flamel ended, taking down his disguise. Harry saw the old man's significant wounds, some of them horrifying. He might have all ten of his fingers, but he had lost much else. He had a dead eye, not replaced as with that one man who had come to Yule dinner, but dead and left dead.
The effect returned. Harry could remember what he'd seen, but he could no longer see what he'd just seen. It was unnerving.
This was a man who had fought and fought and not always won. Harry worried that he would fight and lose. He wouldn't get a chance to pick up those disfigurements. He wouldn't live long enough...
He kept those worries to himself, but he suspected the Flamels could read his face and see his mind revealed.
"I think you are becoming ready, Mr. Potter. But you do not have the luxury of time."
"No."
"Next year will be a hard trial. I've tried to derail Dumbledore's long-simmering plan. But I was unable, too much international pressure, too many of Dumbledore's supporters. This is planned as a kind of final monument to a 'great man.'"
"What will happen?"
"Next year a great and deadly tournament will come to Hogwarts. I will not be able to look out for you. And Minerva McGonagall is nowhere near my caliber nor Perenelle's. Nor even Albus Dumbledore's. Your fate will largely be in your hands, Mr. Potter. She will not have the skill, nor perhaps the inclination, to protect you."
At least he was being forewarned this time. "Might I know the name of this tournament so I can prepare?"
"It's called the Triwizard Tournament. It was ended long ago because of the death toll. Fools they are to resurrect it. Dumbledore...I wish I had realized early on what sort of fool he was."
Harry now knew, if the ghostly Dumbledore was anything like his once-living counterpart.
"I hear they plan to import dragons for it, if that gives you any sense of its reasonableness."
"As show pieces?" Harry asked, with a very bad feeling.
"No, for students to battle against," Professor Flamel said.
"I see," Harry said. He didn't even know where to begin when thinking about a dragon. His Sunfire spell would probably be useless. And dragon skin was a very effective armor. Could Fulmenifer pierce beyond it... His cutter, no, it would do nothing. Trickery? Deception? Sneaking? Perhaps. "Thank you. I will continue to prepare," Harry said, but he didn't know how.
"Your skill with a wand has increased since I met you. Keep working on it. Keep preparing. But try to think how your enemy thinks. Once you learn what he will do, take the longer view. Don't mess up his early move and allow him to try a second time. Figure out how to destroy him utterly at the end."
"Like how Professor Flamel goaded Madam Umbridge that day in class, then stuck a contract under her nose. She had been so angry she didn't even read it before signing it..."
"A fine bit of work," the Headmaster said. "Ended her. And brought four seats on the Board of Governors to an end. At least I've had a hand naming replacements. Two years is too little to do much, especially when the previous office holder had trained everyone available to help serve... Hogwarts is in a bad way at present."
Which confirms the whole thing had been well planned...and not just because they disliked Umbridge. They were thinkers.
These were some of the true lessons of Harry's years at Hogwarts. There was no course called How to Deal With Your Enemies, but it was surely being taught here under Headmaster and Professor Flamel. But not next year, unless Harry stepped up to fill in.
"I should get back to my friends," Harry said. "Thank you for all you've done."
"You're most welcome," Professor Flamel said. "Don't be surprised if we check in on you from time to time. Promising students, and we have had many, are the main reason we still hang about after all these years. The skilled ones, they really can keep surprising us. So learn and do us something interesting."
"That's my plan," Harry said.
"And that Lavender Brown is a pretty girl, but she just isn't right for you," Professor Flamel said.
Everyone had an opinion and all old women were matchmakers, weren't they?
Harry returned down the hallway before she could make another comment. Harry could hear both the Flamels laughing. Yes, they did still love life, didn't they? They were very dangerous and very interesting people.