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Cassandra sniffed out a business opportunity, honed by her upbringing in the Malfoy family.
Veratia, on the other hand, sensed a chance to make some coin, purely for the sake of earning a bit of gold.
Over the years, she had hoarded her dowry, piling it up in her vault without daring to spend a single Knut—old Viennese folk like her were terrified of poverty, a fear passed down through generations... or rather, ever since Gellert swiped her fortune, her obsession with money had reached new heights.
Unless it was for buying something for Harry, she truly couldn't bear to part with even a single coin.
"It's clear you're all quite interested in this," Mr. Flamel said with a cheerful chuckle. "But I still need to refine them. At the very least, we need to set up the relay stations for the Wizarding Network. Otherwise, where would those portraits hide, eh? Don't you think?"
"Have some sherbet lemons, Mr. Flamel," Dumbledore offered, holding out a handful of candies.
Mr. Flamel stared intently at the sweets in Dumbledore's hand, then shifted his gaze to Dumbledore's face, locking eyes for a moment before pointing at his own toothless gums.
The expression was unmistakable—
"I thought you had teeth?" Harry asked with concern. "Is your Elixir of Life running low?"
"No worries, my boy," Mr. Flamel said with a hearty laugh. "I've got enough Elixir to outlive most of the students at Hogwarts today."
Oh...
So that's how you lot face death, is it?
If Mr. Flamel knew what Harry was thinking, he'd surely give him a good scolding—I'm not eager to meet death so soon, and isn't it because of your blasted computer?
Without that computer, he might have long lost the will to keep going.
But with it, everything changed—every day brought new experiences. As a self-proclaimed tech enthusiast, Mr. Flamel seemed to have found a new path to shine.
"Most?" Harry asked curiously. "Why most?"
Mr. Flamel didn't answer, only giving Harry a quick once-over.
In his mind, he thought, Guess why I said 'most'? You're a walking Philosopher's Stone, lad. Who's ever heard of a Philosopher's Stone—the very thing that makes the Elixir of Life—dying of old age?
"Oh, we should get to the point," Mr. Flamel said, finally remembering the matter at hand. "So, what brings you all here, and in such a tidy group?"
"We'd like to ask you about Death and the Dark Lord," Dumbledore said to Mr. Flamel. "Sybill Trelawney, the great-granddaughter of the legendary seer Cassandra Trelawney, made a prophecy about Voldemort…"
Dumbledore recounted Professor Trelawney's prophecy, and Mr. Flamel fell into deep thought.
"If you're so certain her prophecy is true," Mr. Flamel said, looking up, "let me ask you this: Newt has mentioned that Voldemort pledged himself to Death. So now we have a problem—Professor Trelawney's prophecy conflicts with Newt's claim. Who should we believe?"
At that moment, Newt entered the alchemy chamber.
Upon hearing about Professor Trelawney's prophecy, Newt lowered his head sheepishly.
"Sorry," he said, head bowed. "I only heard it from the American wizards. As for who Voldemort truly aligned himself with, I don't know the details. At least, the American wizards believe he's sided with Death."
The alchemy chamber fell silent as everyone pondered the possibilities.
"What if…" Harry ventured cautiously, "like I said before in the Headmaster's office, we could summon Death and ask her directly what's going on? Whether Voldemort has truly joined her?"
"You think Death would answer you?" Newt asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or that Death is easy to talk to?"
Harry thought for a moment and nodded. "I met Death in Cassandra's mindscape. She seemed… quite approachable, actually. I think she's a kind old lady."
Everyone turned to Harry with an "excuse me?" look.
Death, approachable?
But Cassandra didn't contradict Harry. In fact, she too had met Death and found her not entirely unreasonable.
If Death had truly wanted to take her, she wouldn't have escaped.
Just then, Mr. Flamel shuffled off with quick little steps toward the library nook.
A moment later, he returned, clutching a massive tome.
He slammed the book onto the table, flipped through a few pages, and looked up. "I think Harry's idea is worth considering. I've met Lady Death myself, and she's not as unapproachable as you might think—look here, this book details a method to summon Death. If the Lady Death I met is the same as Harry's kind old lady."
"But Death wears a black robe and carries a scythe," Cassandra said, pointing at an illustration in the book. "The Death we saw was wearing a black trench coat…"
"Times change, Miss Malfoy," Mr. Flamel sighed. "You can't expect an old lady to keep wearing a tattered black cloak forever, can you? Doesn't Death deserve to follow fashion?"
And, well, Mr. Flamel had a point.
Death did have the right to pursue fashion. A black trench coat replacing a black cloak wasn't exactly unthinkable.
But the scythe? What replaced that?
A black FN-57? Or perhaps a P90?
"Look," Mr. Flamel said, pointing at a diagram in the book. "We need to draw this array with specially prepared blood and burn certain alchemical materials in a bowl to summon Death to the mortal plane—temporarily, mind you."
"Why does such a spell exist?" Harry asked, frowning.
"There are always those who wish to see their departed loved ones," Mr. Flamel said, glancing at a pensive Dumbledore. "The Resurrection Stone can summon the souls of the dead across the divide of life and death, but there's only one, and no one knows where it is. So, ancient alchemists made a pact with Death and devised this method."
"What if Death tries to kill us?" Veratia asked.
"This array not only summons Death but can also bind her," Newt said, leaning over Mr. Flamel's shoulder to read the book's description. He turned to Veratia. "Though, I'm not convinced a mere array could trap Death. It's like these runes here—Merlin's beard, I don't believe a simple spell could banish an angel or demon from a house warded with an expulsion charm…"
"I hate to break it to you, Newt," Mr. Flamel said leisurely. "But I've tested most of these runes. In 1466, in France, I used one of these spells to banish a demon."
Newt froze, clearly not expecting Mr. Flamel to have such a verifiable record.
"A demon?" Harry asked, intrigued. "Are there really demons in this world?"
"Oh, Harry," Mr. Flamel said with a mysterious smile. "Before you got your Hogwarts letter, did you believe in wizards?"
And, well, Mr. Flamel had a point there too.
"So, what alchemical materials do we need?" Harry asked, craning his neck to look at the book. "Let's see… Cerberus fur, Stygian flowers, and some dragon scales… I know about dragon scales and Cerberus fur—there was a three-headed dog guarding the trapdoor, wasn't there? But what are Stygian flowers?"
"Well…" Mr. Flamel mused, turning to Harry. "I have some Stygian flowers in my collection, relics from the Eastern Roman Empire's royal treasury…"
At this, everyone in the room looked at Mr. Flamel with newfound respect.
Relics from the Eastern Roman Empire's royal treasury…
It wasn't entirely surprising, though. After all, Mr. Flamel had been around during the defense of Constantinople, witnessing the grim moment when that basilisk slithered out of the St. Romanus Gate only to be obliterated by an Urban cannon.
"Now we just need Cerberus fur and dragon scales," Harry said, scratching his chin. "For dragon scales, I reckon Ron's brother Charlie, who works with dragons in Romania, would have plenty. As for Cerberus fur, that's a job for Hagrid—you know how he always has the oddest collections."
"I can vouch for that," Newt said, nodding in agreement. "Merlin's beard, do you know how shocked I was when I learned Hagrid's rug was woven entirely from unicorn hair?"
"Half-giant or not, Hagrid's heart is purer than most," Harry said to Newt. "Unicorns only approach those with pure souls—you know that."
"Compared to Hagrid, I'm not exactly pure of heart," Newt admitted, covering his face in embarrassment.
Dumbledore let out a sigh.
"Then it's settled," Mr. Flamel said with a cheerful grin. "You lot handle gathering the dragon scales and Cerberus fur, and I'll provide the Stygian flowers. Once we've got everything, we'll meet back here in the alchemy chamber… Oh, and Albus, please stop popping into my alchemy chamber unannounced. You know an old man like me can't handle such surprises."
"I'll be more mindful, Nicolas," Dumbledore said with a chuckle, stroking his beard.
When Harry returned to the dormitory, he immediately sought out Ron.
"Ron," he said, "could you help me write a letter to Charlie? I need to buy some dragon scales from him…"
"No problem at all!" Ron said, thumping his chest. "Leave it to me—but you'll have to lend me Hedwig. Mum says I won't get an owl until Christmas."
"Deal," Harry said with a nod.
After sorting things out with Ron, Harry didn't waste a moment and headed straight to Hagrid's hut.
To his surprise, Lupin and Sirius were already there, gathered for a chat. Each held a massive tankard—though in Hagrid's hands, it looked like a normal teacup. In Lupin's and Sirius's hands, however, the tankards were practically as big as their heads.
When Harry opened the door, Hagrid was in the middle of blowing his nose with such force that the sound reverberated like a giant's trumpet, startling Harry.
"Blimey, Hagrid," Harry said, heart racing. "I thought Seamus was blasting thunderbolts!"
Hagrid chuckled heartily and patted the seat beside him. "Come in, sit down! I'm just so chuffed—heard the news about Sirius being cleared! Merlin's beard, I never would've guessed Ron's rat was Peter Pettigrew. And to think I blamed Sirius all this time, I'm just—"
Hagrid's voice cracked, and he choked up.
"Blimey, blimey…" Hagrid shook his head. "I even doubted you…"
"It's not your fault, Hagrid," Sirius said, patting Hagrid's arm. "Truth is, I didn't exactly defend myself. Back then, I thought I deserved to pay for my mistakes…"
He'd meant to pat Hagrid's shoulder, but the height difference made it tricky, so he settled for the arm.
"You even gave me that motorbike," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes. "Don't worry, I've kept your old mate in tip-top shape—it's right outside."
"Motorbike?" Harry asked, intrigued. He'd never heard about Hagrid having a motorbike.
"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said, gesturing animatedly. "When I pulled you from the ruins that night, your godfather came roaring up on his motorbike, pale as a ghost, shaking all over. I knew he was heartbroken over James and Lily. He said, 'Give me Harry, Hagrid. I'm his godfather, I'll take care of him—' Ha! But you know me, Dumbledore gave me orders. I told him no, said Dumbledore wanted you with your aunt and uncle. He argued at first, but in the end, he gave in and told me to take his flying motorbike to get you there. 'I don't need it anymore,' he said. And that's how I got the bike."
Harry felt a sharp sting in his scar, as if a memory was stirring.
"I think I remember something, Hagrid," Harry said, clutching his head. "It's fuzzy, but… I think you took me on that motorbike. And Sirius, too—he rode with me, didn't he? And maybe on a flying broom, though it wasn't a full-sized one."
"Ha!" Sirius slapped his thigh, pointing at Harry. "There you go, you're remembering! Your first flying broom was a gift from me. Lily gave me an earful for it—chased me with a frying pan, even landed a couple of whacks, though I dodged most of 'em, haha!"
"Sometimes I think Lily raised three kids," Lupin said, shaking his head with a wry smile. "You, James, and Harry—all three of you acting like overgrown children. You and Prongs, especially."
"But you've got to admit," Sirius said wistfully, "Lily's cooking was something else. In Azkaban, I'd think about her meals, but the Dementors would swarm every time, so I had to force myself to stop."
"Oh!" Hagrid suddenly perked up, scrambling to his feet. "Speaking of Lily's cooking, she taught me one of her recipes. I make it all the time—want to try some?"
"Absolutely," Sirius and Lupin said in unison.
Harry's brow twitched. A bad feeling crept over him.
Sure enough, Hagrid lumbered over to a cupboard and pulled out four enormous rock cakes.
Sirius and Lupin, blissfully unaware of the danger, cheerfully accepted the rock cakes. Sirius, ever eager, took a big bite.
"Blimey, this is hard!" he groaned, clutching his jaw. "Feels like I bit a boulder…"
"You've got to soak them in water first," Harry advised. "You haven't had proper food in ages, so your teeth might need some help. Here, like this."
Harry used a spell to slice the rock cake into smaller pieces and dunked them into a massive tankard of water.
The rock cake absorbed the water quickly, softening into the familiar texture Harry knew well.
He speared a small piece with a fork and popped it into his mouth. The softened rock cake was, indeed, quite tasty.
"Really?" Sirius asked, eyeing Harry skeptically. He followed suit, softening his rock cake and giving it a try.
"I owe you an apology, Hagrid," Sirius said with a grin. "It's actually delicious—not a bit worse than Lily's."
In his head, he added, Just bloody rock-hard.
Hagrid beamed, delighted by the praise, looking for all the world like a 500-pound child.
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