Chris slipped away from the crowded corridor between Potions and Ancient Runes, ducking into an empty classroom. His fingers traced the outline of the ancient parchment in his pocket, the letter from Nicolas Flamel that had arrived that morning. Now, finally alone, he could read what the legendary alchemist had written. He cast a quick detection spell to ensure no hidden surprises lurked in the seal or parchment, then carefully broke the alchemical wax seal, his heart beating faster with anticipation.
The parchment unfolded with a soft crackle. Preservation charms of extraordinary quality hummed beneath his fingertips as he smoothed the letter on an empty desk. The handwriting was elegant but not ornate, flowing across the page with the confident precision of someone who had perfected their script centuries ago. Tiny alchemical symbols decorated the margins, subtly shifting and changing as if alive, a protection against unauthorized readers that Chris recognized from his studies of ancient magical texts.
He began to read, the words of a six-hundred-year-old wizard flowing off the page like a conversation between colleagues:
To Christopher,
Your letter regarding the Philosopher's Stone was most unexpected. Few are aware of its presence at Hogwarts last year, and fewer still would have had the means, motive, and opportunity to secure it as you describe. That you have kept it safe these many months without attempting to use it speaks to a character I find both intriguing and reassuring.
I must confess that when Albus informed Perenelle and me that the Stone had disappeared from its hiding place, we were not entirely displeased. The protections he had arranged were, as you delicately suggested, inadequate for an artifact of such power. His intentions were noble, but his execution left much to be desired.
Your offer to return our property is appreciated and accepted. Your condition of anonymity is understood and respected. Too often have I seen the burdens that unwanted fame or notoriety can place upon one's shoulders. After six centuries of life, I have learned the value of privacy.
I propose we meet one month from today, on October 3rd. This will allow both of us adequate time to prepare. I shall contact you again three days prior with a location, a neutral place of meeting where neither of us will be at disadvantage. The mutual oath you suggest is acceptable. I have crafted many such oaths over my lifetime and will bring one that protects both our interests equally.
You have piqued my curiosity, young Christopher. It is rare indeed for someone to possess both the ability to outwit Albus's protections and the wisdom to recognize that power such as the Stone confers is best used sparingly, if at all. I find myself looking forward to our meeting.
May your time bring you knowledge, and your knowledge bring you wisdom,
Nicolas Flamel
P.S. Your owl is quite remarkable. She found our current dwelling despite enchantments that have successfully hidden us from the Ministry, the press, and Albus himself for the past decade. I took the liberty of providing her with specialized nourishment before her return journey, though she still faced a considerable flight.
Chris read the letter twice more, letting every word sink in. Flamel had agreed to meet, to take the oath, to retrieve his Stone. More than that, there was a tone of respect in the ancient alchemist's words, treating Chris as a potential equal rather than a child. The reference to Dumbledore's inadequate protections carried a hint of shared perspective that boded well for their future meeting.
"One month," Chris whispered to himself, carefully refolding the letter. That would give him enough time to prepare properly, to determine exactly what information he wanted to share with Flamel and what questions he wished to ask. The alchemist's centuries of experience would make him an invaluable resource, particularly regarding advanced magical theory and possibly even blood maledictions, if Chris could earn enough trust to broach such topics.
He tucked the letter into an inner pocket of his robes, closer to his heart than his original hiding place. A smile tugged at his lips as he considered how perfectly this had worked out. Not only would he return the Stone to its rightful owner as promised, but he might gain a powerful ally in the process. One who held no allegiance to Dumbledore's plans for Harry Potter, who no longer had a stake in prophecies or Dark Lords.
The classroom door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts. Susan poked her head in, Hannah visible just behind her.
"There you are!" Susan said, relief in her voice. "We've been looking everywhere. Runes starts in five minutes."
Hannah stepped into the room, her eyes immediately zeroing in on Chris's expression. "You read that mysterious letter, didn't you? I can tell by your face. What was it? Who's it from?"
Chris joined them at the door, adjusting his book bag on his shoulder. "Just some family business," he said casually, the deflection coming easily. "Nothing particularly exciting."
"Family business," Susan repeated skeptically, falling into step beside him as they hurried toward the Runes corridor. "On parchment that looks older than Hogwarts itself, with a seal I've never seen before, delivered by an owl that disappeared for weeks."
"My family has... eccentric traditions," Chris offered with a small shrug, not quite meeting her eyes. "Some distant relatives prefer the old ways of communication."
Hannah snorted. "That's the vaguest explanation I've ever heard. But fine, keep your secrets, Christopher Mysterious Emrys. Just remember, friends help friends with their 'family business' when needed."
"I'll remember that," Chris promised, genuinely touched by the offer despite knowing this particular family business was far too complicated to share. "And I appreciate it more than you know."
They reached the Runes classroom just as Professor Bathsheda Babbling was calling for everyone to take their seats. As Chris settled between his friends, his mind was already racing ahead to October 3rd and the meeting that could change everything. For now, though, he forced himself to focus on the lesson at hand. After all, even the most extraordinary wizards needed to master the basics.
...
The corridor on the seventh floor was mercifully empty as Chris paced back and forth, concentrating on his need. Three passes, each with the same thought focused in his mind: "I need to see Cassie." On his third turn, the wall shimmered and transformed, an ornate door materializing where blank stone had been moments before. Chris glanced quickly in at his HUD to ensure no one had witnessed the room's appearance, then slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.
The Room of Requirement had transformed into Cassie's preferred sanctuary: a sprawling garden that defied the physical limitations of Hogwarts castle. Flowering trees stretched toward a ceiling enchanted to mimic the sky outside, now painted in the soft oranges and purples of early evening. A stream wove between patches of wildflowers and carefully tended herb beds, its gentle burbling creating a soothing backdrop. The air was fresh and sweet, carrying hints of jasmine and honeysuckle.
"Big brother!" The delighted cry came from nowhere and everywhere at once, before Cassie's form coalesced from the very air itself. She appeared as she always did, a glowing, ethereal girl with flowing silver hair and wide, curious eyes that reflected the castle's ancient magic. Her feet barely touched the grass as she bounded toward him, her form shimmering with excitement. "You came back! I was waiting and waiting and the days were so long without students and you promised but I still worried and…"
"I missed you too, Cassie," Chris interrupted with a warm smile, extending his hand toward her spectral form. Though physical contact was impossible, she placed her translucent hand over his, creating the illusion of touch through a gentle warmth that flowed between them. "The castle feels more alive now that you're free to express yourself again."
Cassie twirled happily, sending ripples of magical energy through the garden. "The stairs are moving properly again! And the portraits can visit each other! And the ghosts say they feel more anchored than before!" She paused, her expression turning suddenly serious. "I fixed the warning wards too. No more bad things hiding in the castle without me knowing."
"That's excellent work," Chris said, settling onto a bench that seemed to grow from the ground specifically to accommodate him. "How are you feeling? Any lingering effects from being bound for so long?"
Cassie considered this, her form flickering slightly as she accessed the deeper awareness that connected her to every stone and corridor of Hogwarts. "I'm stronger now. Each day more students walk the halls, and their magic feeds mine. Their laughter helps too." She brightened again. "Tell me about your adventures! Did you find more secret chambers? Did you read exciting books? Did you fly on dragons?"
Chris laughed, her enthusiasm infectious. "No dragons, I'm afraid. But I did fight an army of acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest."
Cassie's eyes widened to impossible proportions. "The spider-king! I could feel him, you know. His magic was old and dark and tangled into the forest's edge. Now it's gone, and the forest feels... cleaner."
"The forest is safer now," Chris agreed. "We cleared out the entire colony. But more importantly, I found Hufflepuff's Chamber beneath the hollow where the spider king lived."
He described the beautiful living chamber with its tree roots and glowing moss, the simple hearth stone that served as an entrance, and most importantly, Helga Hufflepuff's Grimoire of healing magic. Cassie listened with rapt attention, occasionally interjecting questions or expressions of wonder.
"Three founders now," she whispered reverently when he finished. "Godric's courage, Rowena's wisdom, and Helga's compassion. Only Salazar remains."
"For now," Chris said with a slight smile. "But that's a project for another time. Right now, I have a different challenge that might benefit from Helga's knowledge."
He explained about meeting Astoria on the train, his recognition of her name, and what he knew about the blood malediction that would eventually claim her life. Cassie's expression grew solemn as she listened.
"The little one with the bright eyes and brighter heart," she murmured. "I felt her when she entered the castle yesterday. Her magic sparkles, but yes, there's a shadow within it. A small dark knot that shouldn't be there."
"Can you sense the nature of the curse?" Chris asked, leaning forward eagerly.
Cassie shook her head, silver hair rippling like water. "Not precisely. Magic this personal, this blood-deep, is complex even for me. But I can feel its shape, it sleeps now, mostly. It will wake as she grows."
"Then I need to understand it before it wakes fully," Chris decided. "Jilly!" he called.
A soft pop announced the house-elf's arrival. Jilly took in the magical garden and Cassie's ethereal presence without surprise, having met the castle's personification the previous year.
"Master called for Jilly?" she asked with a dignified bow.
"I need books from the Ambrosia library," Chris explained. "Specifically, anything we have on blood maledictions, their nature, detection, and especially cures or treatments."
Jilly nodded, her large ears quivering slightly as she considered the request. "The northwest alcove of the ancient magics section contains several relevant tomes. There are also family grimoires that mention blood curses in the restricted collection. Would Master prefer a broad selection or the most promising volumes?"
"Bring the most promising first," Chris decided. "The ones most likely to contain actual cures rather than just theory."
"Jilly will return shortly," the house-elf promised before disappearing with another soft pop.
While waiting, Chris explained more of his plan to Cassie. "Hufflepuff's Grimoire contains healing magic far beyond what St. Mungo's practices today. If I combine that with the Ambrosia library's resources, I might find a way to cure Astoria's malediction before it begins to seriously affect her."
"Helping without being asked," Cassie observed, her ageless eyes watching him with a mixture of childlike affection and ancient wisdom. "Helga would approve."
Before Chris could respond, Jilly reappeared, now bearing a stack of leather-bound tomes that reached from her hands to her chin. The books varied in size and apparent age, but all bore the unmistakable aura of powerful magic.
"These are the most promising texts Jilly could find," she announced, carefully placing the stack on a table that materialized from the garden floor at Cassie's silent command. "The black tome with silver bindings is particularly relevant, as it contains the Ambrosia family's historical encounters with such curses."
Chris approached the table, running his fingers reverently over the spines of the ancient books. Some were bound in materials he couldn't immediately identify, others were clasped with locks that recognized his magical signature and clicked open at his touch. "This is perfect, Jilly. Thank you."
"Will Master require anything else? Refreshments, perhaps, or additional writing materials?"
"Tea would be lovely," he replied, already opening the black tome she'd highlighted. "And perhaps some parchment and ink for notes."
As Jilly disappeared once more, Chris settled at the table, the first book open before him. Cassie floated to his side, peering over his shoulder at the yellowed pages covered in script that shifted between languages as they watched.
"I'll help," she declared, her childlike determination bringing a smile to his face. "I remember things. Old things. Maybe something about blood curses that the founders knew."
"Thank you, Cassie," Chris said sincerely. "Between your memory, these books, and Hufflepuff's Grimoire, we have a real chance of helping her."
Together, they began the slow process of sifting through centuries of magical knowledge, searching for a cure that modern healing had deemed impossible. Outside, the enchanted sky darkened into evening, but within their garden sanctuary, the pursuit of hope had just begun.
...
The black tome with silver bindings turned out to be exactly what Chris needed. He had barely made it through the first chapter when a particular passage caught his eye, the words seeming to leap from the page: "Of the Breaking of Blood Maledictions and Their Permanent Undoing." The title alone sent a surge of hope through him. He leaned closer, fingers tracing the ancient text as he began to read the detailed account of how the Ambrosia family had encountered and countered such curses in the past.
"I think I've found something," he murmured to Cassie, who hovered nearby, her silvery form casting gentle light across the pages.
She floated closer, peering over his shoulder. "The words keep changing for me," she said with a hint of frustration. "Sometimes I can read them, and sometimes they turn into symbols."
"It's family magic," Chris explained, not looking up from the text. "The book recognizes me as an Ambrosia, but it's confused by your... unique nature."
The text described blood maledictions as "curses most profound, woven into the very essence of a bloodline, passed from generation unto generation like an inheritance most foul." Unlike common hexes or even powerful curses that affected an individual directly, blood maledictions altered the magical core itself, becoming so intertwined with the victim's magic that most healers considered them untreatable.
Yet this Ambrosia grimoire presented three potential methods for curing such afflictions.
The first was a complex ritual requiring the participation of seven blood relatives, each representing a different degree of consanguinity to the afflicted. The ritual involved sacrifice, not of life, but of magical potential, with each participant permanently giving up a portion of their magical abilities to cleanse the cursed bloodline.
"That won't work," Chris said with a sigh. "Astoria might have seven blood relatives willing to participate, but the sacrifice required... no family would agree to it, especially not one like the Greengrasses."
The second method involved a suppression spell rather than a true cure. Using runic arrays embedded in jewelry worn constantly by the afflicted, the malediction's effects could be temporarily contained, allowing the victim to live relatively normally. However, the containment required constant maintenance and renewal of the enchantments, typically every lunar cycle. More critically, the text warned that suppression merely delayed the inevitable, over decades, the curse would adapt, growing stronger until it eventually overwhelmed even the most powerful containment.
"Again, not ideal," Chris muttered, making notes on a piece of parchment. "Better than nothing if we can't find anything else, but not a true solution."
It was the third method that captured his full attention. The text described a potion of extraordinary complexity, requiring ingredients so rare that some were already extinct. The brewing process demanded precise astronomical timing, specific magical conditions, and a level of skill few modern Potions Masters could claim.
"The Malediction's Bane," Chris read aloud, excitement building in his voice. "A potion most potent, requiring the distilled essence of phoenix tears freely given during a lunar eclipse, powdered horn of the legendary white unicorn, seven drops of willing blood from the last living bearer of the curse, and the heart of a flower that blooms only beneath a new moon in soil mixed with volcanic ash and basilisk scales."
Cassie's eyes widened. "That sounds impossible," she whispered.
"Difficult," Chris corrected, "but not impossible. The ingredients are rare but not unobtainable. We should already have them in storage at the Manor."
He continued reading, learning that the potion, once properly brewed, required three doses taken at precise intervals determined by the afflicted's date of birth. The text explained that the potion worked by completely severing the curse's connection to the victim's magical core, then rebuilding the damaged portions with "untainted essence" provided by the rare ingredients. Unlike the suppression method, this cure was permanent and complete.
"Jilly," Chris called softly, not looking up from the book.
The house-elf appeared instantly. "Master has found something useful?"
"Potentially," Chris replied, showing her the list of ingredients. "Do we have these in the family stores? I know some are exceptionally rare."
Jilly studied the list carefully, her large amber eyes narrowing in concentration. "Phoenix tears from a lunar eclipse... the Ambrosia healing cabinet contains thirty two vials, preserved for forty five generations. White unicorn horn powder... yes, from the Northern expedition of 772. The flower..." she paused, "...yes, in the botanical vault, preserved under stasis charms."
"And basilisk scales for the growing medium?"
"From the remains of the beast slain by Claudius Ambrosia in 683," Jilly confirmed. "All ingredients are available, though some in limited quantities."
Chris sat back, a mixture of relief and determination washing over him. "So it's possible," he said, more to himself than to the others. "We have the means to create a cure."
"Will Master be brewing the potion soon?" Jilly inquired.
"No," Chris replied after a moment's consideration. "The brewing itself isn't the challenge now. It's how to administer it to Astoria."
He stood, pacing the garden path as his thoughts raced ahead. "She doesn't know me beyond our brief interaction on the train. I can't simply approach her and say, 'I've discovered you have a blood curse and I've brewed a cure.' She'd be terrified, suspicious, and rightly so."
Cassie floated alongside him, her form rippling like silver water as she considered the problem. "You need to become her friend first," she suggested with childlike simplicity.
"Exactly," Chris agreed. "This needs to be handled delicately. The curse isn't active enough yet for her to show symptoms, which means she might not even know about it herself. Or if she does, it's a deeply private family matter."
He returned to the table, gathering his notes into a neat stack. "I'll need to build a connection with her gradually. Find natural opportunities to interact despite being in different houses and years. Once I've established trust, I can wait for her to confide in me about the curse, or if necessary, 'discover' it through some plausible means."
"And then offer the cure as if you've just found it in your family's records," Jilly concluded, understanding his approach.
"Precisely," Chris said. "It will take time, months, perhaps the entire school year, but rushing could jeopardize everything."
He gazed out at the enchanted garden, where stars now twinkled in the artificial sky. Saving Astoria would require patience and care, qualities Hufflepuff herself would have valued. The potion was complex but achievable. The ingredients were rare but available. The real challenge would be human rather than magical: earning the trust of a young girl whose life literally depended on it.
"I'll start tomorrow," he decided. "Small gestures, casual interactions. Nothing that would seem unusual or raise suspicions."
As Chris gathered the books to return to the manor with Jilly, he felt a sense of purpose settling over him. This was different from his other projects, not about gaining power or knowledge for himself, not about changing the course of wizarding history or preventing a war. This was simpler and somehow more profound: saving one girl's life because he could, because he had the knowledge and means that no one else possessed.
"You're going to help her," Cassie said, not a question but a statement of faith. "You'll find a way."
Chris nodded, tucking the most useful tome under his arm. "I will," he promised, both to Cassie and to himself. "Whatever it takes."
As he prepared to leave the Room of Requirement, his mind was already mapping out the coming months, opportunities to interact with Astoria, ways to form a connection across house and age divisions, and ultimately, how to offer her a future she'd otherwise be denied. The supposedly quiet year he'd hoped for was taking yet another unexpected turn, but this one, at least, felt right in a way that warmed him from within.