Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Alchemical Reactions
Disclaimer: The ten signs that I don’t own Harry Potter: One: I live in Canada. Two: I don’t have blonde hair. Three: I don’t have blue eyes. Four: I’m not a mother. Five: I’m broke. Six: I’m not published. Seven: I’m still in school. Eight: I’m not a world-renowned author. Nine: I have not met the cast of Harry Potter. Ten: I’m not JK Rowling.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to everyone who let me know that chapter four was missing! It’s up now…I had to retry at least twenty times to get it up. If that happens again, search this story at fanfiction.net… I update there first anyways…
Alchemical Reactions
Chapter Six
Harry`s Wand
Harry sighed as Ollivander snatched another wand away from his hand. What number was he at now—three hundred forty-two? Or was that number three hundred /thirty/-two? He and Mrs. Flamel had been in the shop for hours, testing what felt like the whole shop to find the right wand. The Weasleys had returned Harry to Perenelle with a friendly good-bye and the exchanging of owl addresses so they could keep an eye on the nice boy they’d met, and Perenelle had promptly taken him to get a wand.
They had been in the shop for over an hour now, probably closer to two than anything else. After having the fiftieth wand snatched out of his hand, Harry had ceased wanting a wand and instead desperately wanted to get out of the dusty shop and away from any and all creepy old men. Instead, he had been forced to stand there as wand after wand was shoved into his hand and then pulled just as quickly out of it, suppressing yawns and the urge to tell Ollivander to sod off. Every time Harry let out anything so much as a sigh, however, Perenelle shot him a look over the book she was intently reading. Harry barely avoided sighing again when this happened, instead attempting to entertain himself by looking at the magic in the shop with his Magical Sight. It had gotten dull after the first half-hour, however, and now he was resigned to being in the shop all day.
Contrary to Harry’s attitude about the process of finding him a wand, Ollivander was absolutely beaming at having such a “tricky customer” to deal with. The man never seemed to lose his enthusiasm—in fact, with every wand tried his cheerfulness increased exponentially. He kept mumbling to himself, talking about different wand types and combinations. All Harry could make sense of was that about one hundred wands ago (or so) Ollivander had begun to switch to combination wands—things such as holly and cherry tree with unicorn and demiguise hair. These hadn’t been much better than the others, though at least Harry had a break between wands as Ollivander had to go to the back of the shop for the combination wands.
“Here we are,” Ollivander grinned, coming back from the stacks. “Try this one—yew and cypress, with a phoenix tail feather and a basilisk tooth. Good for just about everything, from detail and care to blunt power. Especially suited to contrary young wizards,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Harry took the wand from his hand, not expecting anything to happen, as nothing had for the past three hundred and fifty or so wands. Instead, he could feel something coursing through him, something he had only felt vaguely while practicing magic without a wand. Silver sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, which Harry watched with his Magical Sight as the silver glow grew around him.
And then, without warning, everything turned black.
**
“What do you mean you tampered with the re-growing of his eyes?!” exclaimed a shocked Healer Fanchon. “I HATE YOU INFURIATING OLD MEN!”
“Men?” Flamel asked sharply. “Was Dumbledore here?”
“Albus? No, he wasn’t. It was Aberforth. One of his goats gored him again. He insisted that his bladder capacity be increased in the middle of the spleen-re-growing procedure! Why, in Merlin’s name, do you insist in interfering with things you do not have the training for? Or even the medical license, for Merlin’s sake!”
“I promise I’ll never do it again?” Nicholas offered meekly, timid in the face of Healer Fanchon’s wrath.
Her steely grey eyes flashed, and she glared at the ancient man, and Nicholas felt a brief surge of amusement before remembering to act cowed. “You’re lying. Because you’re just another one of those annoying individuals who believe they know best. This is just a game to you, you stupid, stupid man. You have no idea what sort of damage you could have caused him! First you actually let us do that procedure on his eyes—but tampering with it! Merlin!”
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said meekly.
“Sure you are,” she sneered. “You just want to know what astonishing affects your tampering had on the boy.”
“Well…”
“You’ve already seen some of them, haven’t you, you senile old man?”
“That is why I’ve fire-called you. I need you to make sure there was no damage…I wasn’t sure the magic would even take when I did it.”
“If you wanted to be sure there was no damage, you shouldn’t have done it!/You’re dealing with a /living breathing human being here, you fool! Not another experiment!” she all but screamed, and then continued to rant as Nicholas watched her pack her bag through his position in the fire.
“Oh, move aside,” she said when she had her medical kit ready. “I’m coming through, you idiot.”
Nicholas smiled, and moved out of the fireplace. He knew that Healer Fanchon wouldn’t be so angry if she didn’t truly care for Harry. That was good. He considered making her Harry’s personal Healer, to avoid the chaos that going to St. Mungo’s would cause. He’d have to discuss it with Perenelle first.
Fanchon continued to mutter insults under her breath, even as she dusted soot off her Healer’s cloak when she arrived at the Flamels. “Now, where did you put him, you bag of bones?” she asked gruffly, looking around the Flamel’s sitting room as if expecting Harry to be shoved under one of the couches.
“He’s in his room,” Perenelle said, entering the room. “I’ll show you the way, though I don’t know what good it’ll do. No one can get in.”
“Absolutely brilliant,” the Healer muttered. “You call me to see a patient I can’t even access/ and/ you didn’t warn me that a situation like this could have arisen!”
Perenelle said nothing, secretly agreeing with her. She would have a talk with her interfering husband later. As the saying went, ‘curiosity killed the cat…’
The door to Harry’s bedroom was wide open. Both Fanchon and Perenelle could clearly see what was occurring inside. Harry was floating above his bed, his eyes wide open and emitting an extremely intense silver magical light. His limbs were limp, dangling downwards and nearly touching the bed despite the fact that his torso and head were held high. A silver shimmer coated the whole scene, and stopped just at the entrance to the door.
“When he passed out earlier,” Perenelle began to explain, “It was just after he touched his new wand. I immediately took him home and put him in his room. I figured it had been the heat or something. But not even half an hour later this began, and Nicholas and I haven’t been able to get in since.”
“Oh dear,” murmured the Healer. She approached the barrier, gently touching it with her hand. It stung only slightly, leaving no mark on her skin. She pushed further and yelped as the barrier sent a shockwave of magic through her. Shooting a glare at Perenelle, who had not warned her, she put her hand in her pocket and placed her wand through the barrier before incanting her Healer’s oath.
“The knowledge I possesses will only be used to help others, never to harm them. When anyone is in need I will help them to the utmost of my ability. I will not reveal their secrets, destroy their privacy, or break their trust in me. Every living being is safe in my hands.”
Then, bracing herself, she stepped through the barrier. The magic flared briefly, stinging her skin, before fading into a much more tolerable sensation. She flashed a smile of triumph towards Perenelle. “Works every time,” she stated smugly, and then moved over to her patient.
The magic in the room was almost tangible, though Fanchon only felt a light sensation against her skin, akin to goose-bumps. Instead of pausing to contemplate the power that her young patient possessed, she approached his floating form. Running a few quick scans with her wand—all amplified greatly due to the magic in the air—she found no sign of physical harm. His magical core was fine, minus the fact that it had been released a bit too suddenly for Harry to handle. Something to do with his new wand, she’d wager. Instead of the magic being released through the wand as happened with most wizards, it had exploded out through his eyes too, as it was currently one of the most magical places in Harry’s body. Due to the shock of the whole experience and the sudden influx of magic towards the brain, Harry had passed out and was stuck in a state where he couldn’t reign in his magic.
The Healer was a tad uncertain as to what to do. Even with her knowledge of Healing and magical theory this case was unheard of. She knew that if she tried something like a stunner the magic surrounding her would probably lash out. Her best bet was a calming draught, though she fervently hoped that it would not interact negatively with whatever was occurring to Harry’s magic.
Shoving her hand into her medical kit, Fanchon withdrew a blue potion. While the calming draught was technically only used for emotional or physical calm, studies had shown that it also affected the magic to a degree and prevented flare-ups or accidental magic. Though, she supposed, that was probably because accidental magic and flare-ups were caused by intense emotions, but trying wouldn’t hurt Harry. Fanchon gently pried his mouth open and poured the potion in, rubbing Harry’s neck to ensure he swallowed. She waited with her wand at the ready, in case Harry fell suddenly from his floating position above his bed.
Five minutes later, Harry had floated himself gently down onto the bed and the magic in the air had dispersed, presumably returning to its originator. The barrier outside the door fell, and Perenelle and Nicholas—who had been waiting for it to fall—rushed into the room.
“He should be fine,” Fanchon said, nodding to Perenelle. “Your barmy husband decided to tamper with the re-growing process of his eyes so that he could channel magic through them.” She glared at Nicholas. “No idea for what purpose, except to perhaps torment the boy.”
“I didn’t think it actually worked!” protested Nicholas.
“You should have had some idea. Especially considering he went to pick up his wand. You know that wands open the magical core even further. The sudden influx of magic went straight to his eyes as his magic sensed a secondary outlet and could have caused him serious brain damage! There’s a reason why you have to be certified to even touch the brain with magic, let alone mess around in it!” she continued to rant, staring the sheepish Nicholas down. “I don’t think your disintegrating mind realizes what damage you could have caused! Just because you’re the oldest wizard on the planet does not mean that you have the right to mess around with a kid’s head! Maybe you’re too old and all that time in the sun has affected your brain, you old codger. Someone needs to put a leash on you.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Perenelle, staring intensely at her husband. “He ought to know better than doing what he did.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him. And make sure that one of you explains all this to Harry—otherwise he might lose control and fry his own eyes! I wouldn’t recommend that Nicholas teach him how to control it. Who knows what trouble he could cause…!” The Healer continued to rant, mumbling under her breath about insane old men and their interfering.
“How long do you think he’ll be asleep for?” Nicholas asked when Fanchon’s rant had died down to the barest insults.
She shot him a glare. “Give him a day or two, at least. He just channelled a hell of a lot of magic through his head. It’s like causing him a magical concussion. We’ll know how severe once he actually wakes up.”
“Thank you,” replied Nicholas, still slightly cowed.
“And next time—as I’m quite sure they’ll be one, seeing how accident prone Harry is—do not tamper with any magical procedure the Healers have to do!” Healer Fanchon said, glaring at Nicholas. “In fact, I’ll be informing St. Mungo’s to be wary of you dodgy old men.”
Nicholas nodded, not saying anything to cause Fanchon’s tirade to begin once more.
“I’ll be back to check on him tomorrow morning,” Healer Fanchon said, as she packed up her kit and put her wand away. “Try not to do anything remotely threatening in this room—his magic might flare again.”
“Thank you for all your help,” said Perenelle graciously, before escorting the Healer to the fireplace.
Once the Healer was out of the manor, Perenelle rounded on her husband. “What, in Merlin’s name, possessed you to do something so utterly /foolish/?” she asked in a deadly calm voice.
**
One Year Later…
/Damn that half-giant! /Albus Dumbledore thought to himself as he contemplated the missing Harry Potter. He had sent Hagrid off to find the wayward child but he had yet to appear, sending letters every few days detailing his lack of progress. The term was due to begin in just two weeks, and Dumbledore was seriously contemplating involving Alastor Moody in the search for the boy, though he knew that the old Auror severely disagreed with him on several points. Many, in fact. Yet, Dumbledore was having many issues in finding the child. The most significant one being that he no longer appeared on the Hogwarts registry—a puzzling phenomenon that worried him greatly. What could cause a child to vanish in such a complete manner? He was safe and alive, that much Dumbledore knew from his monitors, yet it wasn’t enough information. Not for the first time did he regret not tracking down the boy properly when he had initially vanished.
If Harry didn’t come to Hogwarts…Dumbledore didn’t know what he would do. It was absolutely vital to the success of the light that Harry be trained properly! Hogwarts would provide that necessary education, and hopefully save them all—yet the boy had vanished. He stared at the paperwork on his desk, contemplating a solution.
A recent journal on alchemy caught his eye. Nicholas Flamel. That was the solution; ask Flamel to help him. Though, he didn’t know if the ancient man would agree, it was his only hope. Calling in Mad-Eye Moody could only do so much, but if they had the actual location…
Dumbledore moved swiftly to the fireplace, pulling some Floo powder out of his robes as he did so. He threw some in the fire, calling out “Flamel Manor!” as he did so, before sticking his own head into the fire.
“Nicholas?” asked Dumbledore from his position in the hearth. His head had appeared in a pleasant looking sitting room, obviously there simply for the purpose of greeting guests from the Floo.
A house-elf appeared before him. “Hello,” said Dumbledore kindly. “Could you please find your master for me?”
“Teppy will be doing that, sir,” he replied before popping away. Nicholas Flamel walked into the room only moments later.
“Dumbledore,” he said calmly, not betraying any form of surprise.
“Nicholas, how are you?”
“Fine,” he replied shortly. “Why are you here?”
“I need your help finding Harry Potter. I know you can do that thing with your magic—”
“No,” Flamel interrupted him.
“No?” Dumbledore asked, genuinely shocked.
“I’m not going to help you find some poor child for you to manipulate. Find him yourself—you’ve had years to do so.”
“But he’s our only hope! You can’t just—”
“I can and I will. I don’t care if he’s your ‘only hope.’ Find him yourself. Voldemort has yet to reappear and you can hardly expect a child to deal with him.”
“But—” Dumbledore floundered, honestly surprised.
“No. Goodbye, Dumbledore,” Nicholas said, before using his wand to push Dumbledore out of the fireplace.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to everyone who let me know that chapter four was missing! It’s up now…I had to retry at least twenty times to get it up. If that happens again, search this story at fanfiction.net… I update there first anyways…
Alchemical Reactions
Chapter Six
Harry`s Wand
Harry sighed as Ollivander snatched another wand away from his hand. What number was he at now—three hundred forty-two? Or was that number three hundred /thirty/-two? He and Mrs. Flamel had been in the shop for hours, testing what felt like the whole shop to find the right wand. The Weasleys had returned Harry to Perenelle with a friendly good-bye and the exchanging of owl addresses so they could keep an eye on the nice boy they’d met, and Perenelle had promptly taken him to get a wand.
They had been in the shop for over an hour now, probably closer to two than anything else. After having the fiftieth wand snatched out of his hand, Harry had ceased wanting a wand and instead desperately wanted to get out of the dusty shop and away from any and all creepy old men. Instead, he had been forced to stand there as wand after wand was shoved into his hand and then pulled just as quickly out of it, suppressing yawns and the urge to tell Ollivander to sod off. Every time Harry let out anything so much as a sigh, however, Perenelle shot him a look over the book she was intently reading. Harry barely avoided sighing again when this happened, instead attempting to entertain himself by looking at the magic in the shop with his Magical Sight. It had gotten dull after the first half-hour, however, and now he was resigned to being in the shop all day.
Contrary to Harry’s attitude about the process of finding him a wand, Ollivander was absolutely beaming at having such a “tricky customer” to deal with. The man never seemed to lose his enthusiasm—in fact, with every wand tried his cheerfulness increased exponentially. He kept mumbling to himself, talking about different wand types and combinations. All Harry could make sense of was that about one hundred wands ago (or so) Ollivander had begun to switch to combination wands—things such as holly and cherry tree with unicorn and demiguise hair. These hadn’t been much better than the others, though at least Harry had a break between wands as Ollivander had to go to the back of the shop for the combination wands.
“Here we are,” Ollivander grinned, coming back from the stacks. “Try this one—yew and cypress, with a phoenix tail feather and a basilisk tooth. Good for just about everything, from detail and care to blunt power. Especially suited to contrary young wizards,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Harry took the wand from his hand, not expecting anything to happen, as nothing had for the past three hundred and fifty or so wands. Instead, he could feel something coursing through him, something he had only felt vaguely while practicing magic without a wand. Silver sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, which Harry watched with his Magical Sight as the silver glow grew around him.
And then, without warning, everything turned black.
**
“What do you mean you tampered with the re-growing of his eyes?!” exclaimed a shocked Healer Fanchon. “I HATE YOU INFURIATING OLD MEN!”
“Men?” Flamel asked sharply. “Was Dumbledore here?”
“Albus? No, he wasn’t. It was Aberforth. One of his goats gored him again. He insisted that his bladder capacity be increased in the middle of the spleen-re-growing procedure! Why, in Merlin’s name, do you insist in interfering with things you do not have the training for? Or even the medical license, for Merlin’s sake!”
“I promise I’ll never do it again?” Nicholas offered meekly, timid in the face of Healer Fanchon’s wrath.
Her steely grey eyes flashed, and she glared at the ancient man, and Nicholas felt a brief surge of amusement before remembering to act cowed. “You’re lying. Because you’re just another one of those annoying individuals who believe they know best. This is just a game to you, you stupid, stupid man. You have no idea what sort of damage you could have caused him! First you actually let us do that procedure on his eyes—but tampering with it! Merlin!”
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said meekly.
“Sure you are,” she sneered. “You just want to know what astonishing affects your tampering had on the boy.”
“Well…”
“You’ve already seen some of them, haven’t you, you senile old man?”
“That is why I’ve fire-called you. I need you to make sure there was no damage…I wasn’t sure the magic would even take when I did it.”
“If you wanted to be sure there was no damage, you shouldn’t have done it!/You’re dealing with a /living breathing human being here, you fool! Not another experiment!” she all but screamed, and then continued to rant as Nicholas watched her pack her bag through his position in the fire.
“Oh, move aside,” she said when she had her medical kit ready. “I’m coming through, you idiot.”
Nicholas smiled, and moved out of the fireplace. He knew that Healer Fanchon wouldn’t be so angry if she didn’t truly care for Harry. That was good. He considered making her Harry’s personal Healer, to avoid the chaos that going to St. Mungo’s would cause. He’d have to discuss it with Perenelle first.
Fanchon continued to mutter insults under her breath, even as she dusted soot off her Healer’s cloak when she arrived at the Flamels. “Now, where did you put him, you bag of bones?” she asked gruffly, looking around the Flamel’s sitting room as if expecting Harry to be shoved under one of the couches.
“He’s in his room,” Perenelle said, entering the room. “I’ll show you the way, though I don’t know what good it’ll do. No one can get in.”
“Absolutely brilliant,” the Healer muttered. “You call me to see a patient I can’t even access/ and/ you didn’t warn me that a situation like this could have arisen!”
Perenelle said nothing, secretly agreeing with her. She would have a talk with her interfering husband later. As the saying went, ‘curiosity killed the cat…’
The door to Harry’s bedroom was wide open. Both Fanchon and Perenelle could clearly see what was occurring inside. Harry was floating above his bed, his eyes wide open and emitting an extremely intense silver magical light. His limbs were limp, dangling downwards and nearly touching the bed despite the fact that his torso and head were held high. A silver shimmer coated the whole scene, and stopped just at the entrance to the door.
“When he passed out earlier,” Perenelle began to explain, “It was just after he touched his new wand. I immediately took him home and put him in his room. I figured it had been the heat or something. But not even half an hour later this began, and Nicholas and I haven’t been able to get in since.”
“Oh dear,” murmured the Healer. She approached the barrier, gently touching it with her hand. It stung only slightly, leaving no mark on her skin. She pushed further and yelped as the barrier sent a shockwave of magic through her. Shooting a glare at Perenelle, who had not warned her, she put her hand in her pocket and placed her wand through the barrier before incanting her Healer’s oath.
“The knowledge I possesses will only be used to help others, never to harm them. When anyone is in need I will help them to the utmost of my ability. I will not reveal their secrets, destroy their privacy, or break their trust in me. Every living being is safe in my hands.”
Then, bracing herself, she stepped through the barrier. The magic flared briefly, stinging her skin, before fading into a much more tolerable sensation. She flashed a smile of triumph towards Perenelle. “Works every time,” she stated smugly, and then moved over to her patient.
The magic in the room was almost tangible, though Fanchon only felt a light sensation against her skin, akin to goose-bumps. Instead of pausing to contemplate the power that her young patient possessed, she approached his floating form. Running a few quick scans with her wand—all amplified greatly due to the magic in the air—she found no sign of physical harm. His magical core was fine, minus the fact that it had been released a bit too suddenly for Harry to handle. Something to do with his new wand, she’d wager. Instead of the magic being released through the wand as happened with most wizards, it had exploded out through his eyes too, as it was currently one of the most magical places in Harry’s body. Due to the shock of the whole experience and the sudden influx of magic towards the brain, Harry had passed out and was stuck in a state where he couldn’t reign in his magic.
The Healer was a tad uncertain as to what to do. Even with her knowledge of Healing and magical theory this case was unheard of. She knew that if she tried something like a stunner the magic surrounding her would probably lash out. Her best bet was a calming draught, though she fervently hoped that it would not interact negatively with whatever was occurring to Harry’s magic.
Shoving her hand into her medical kit, Fanchon withdrew a blue potion. While the calming draught was technically only used for emotional or physical calm, studies had shown that it also affected the magic to a degree and prevented flare-ups or accidental magic. Though, she supposed, that was probably because accidental magic and flare-ups were caused by intense emotions, but trying wouldn’t hurt Harry. Fanchon gently pried his mouth open and poured the potion in, rubbing Harry’s neck to ensure he swallowed. She waited with her wand at the ready, in case Harry fell suddenly from his floating position above his bed.
Five minutes later, Harry had floated himself gently down onto the bed and the magic in the air had dispersed, presumably returning to its originator. The barrier outside the door fell, and Perenelle and Nicholas—who had been waiting for it to fall—rushed into the room.
“He should be fine,” Fanchon said, nodding to Perenelle. “Your barmy husband decided to tamper with the re-growing process of his eyes so that he could channel magic through them.” She glared at Nicholas. “No idea for what purpose, except to perhaps torment the boy.”
“I didn’t think it actually worked!” protested Nicholas.
“You should have had some idea. Especially considering he went to pick up his wand. You know that wands open the magical core even further. The sudden influx of magic went straight to his eyes as his magic sensed a secondary outlet and could have caused him serious brain damage! There’s a reason why you have to be certified to even touch the brain with magic, let alone mess around in it!” she continued to rant, staring the sheepish Nicholas down. “I don’t think your disintegrating mind realizes what damage you could have caused! Just because you’re the oldest wizard on the planet does not mean that you have the right to mess around with a kid’s head! Maybe you’re too old and all that time in the sun has affected your brain, you old codger. Someone needs to put a leash on you.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Perenelle, staring intensely at her husband. “He ought to know better than doing what he did.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him. And make sure that one of you explains all this to Harry—otherwise he might lose control and fry his own eyes! I wouldn’t recommend that Nicholas teach him how to control it. Who knows what trouble he could cause…!” The Healer continued to rant, mumbling under her breath about insane old men and their interfering.
“How long do you think he’ll be asleep for?” Nicholas asked when Fanchon’s rant had died down to the barest insults.
She shot him a glare. “Give him a day or two, at least. He just channelled a hell of a lot of magic through his head. It’s like causing him a magical concussion. We’ll know how severe once he actually wakes up.”
“Thank you,” replied Nicholas, still slightly cowed.
“And next time—as I’m quite sure they’ll be one, seeing how accident prone Harry is—do not tamper with any magical procedure the Healers have to do!” Healer Fanchon said, glaring at Nicholas. “In fact, I’ll be informing St. Mungo’s to be wary of you dodgy old men.”
Nicholas nodded, not saying anything to cause Fanchon’s tirade to begin once more.
“I’ll be back to check on him tomorrow morning,” Healer Fanchon said, as she packed up her kit and put her wand away. “Try not to do anything remotely threatening in this room—his magic might flare again.”
“Thank you for all your help,” said Perenelle graciously, before escorting the Healer to the fireplace.
Once the Healer was out of the manor, Perenelle rounded on her husband. “What, in Merlin’s name, possessed you to do something so utterly /foolish/?” she asked in a deadly calm voice.
**
One Year Later…
/Damn that half-giant! /Albus Dumbledore thought to himself as he contemplated the missing Harry Potter. He had sent Hagrid off to find the wayward child but he had yet to appear, sending letters every few days detailing his lack of progress. The term was due to begin in just two weeks, and Dumbledore was seriously contemplating involving Alastor Moody in the search for the boy, though he knew that the old Auror severely disagreed with him on several points. Many, in fact. Yet, Dumbledore was having many issues in finding the child. The most significant one being that he no longer appeared on the Hogwarts registry—a puzzling phenomenon that worried him greatly. What could cause a child to vanish in such a complete manner? He was safe and alive, that much Dumbledore knew from his monitors, yet it wasn’t enough information. Not for the first time did he regret not tracking down the boy properly when he had initially vanished.
If Harry didn’t come to Hogwarts…Dumbledore didn’t know what he would do. It was absolutely vital to the success of the light that Harry be trained properly! Hogwarts would provide that necessary education, and hopefully save them all—yet the boy had vanished. He stared at the paperwork on his desk, contemplating a solution.
A recent journal on alchemy caught his eye. Nicholas Flamel. That was the solution; ask Flamel to help him. Though, he didn’t know if the ancient man would agree, it was his only hope. Calling in Mad-Eye Moody could only do so much, but if they had the actual location…
Dumbledore moved swiftly to the fireplace, pulling some Floo powder out of his robes as he did so. He threw some in the fire, calling out “Flamel Manor!” as he did so, before sticking his own head into the fire.
“Nicholas?” asked Dumbledore from his position in the hearth. His head had appeared in a pleasant looking sitting room, obviously there simply for the purpose of greeting guests from the Floo.
A house-elf appeared before him. “Hello,” said Dumbledore kindly. “Could you please find your master for me?”
“Teppy will be doing that, sir,” he replied before popping away. Nicholas Flamel walked into the room only moments later.
“Dumbledore,” he said calmly, not betraying any form of surprise.
“Nicholas, how are you?”
“Fine,” he replied shortly. “Why are you here?”
“I need your help finding Harry Potter. I know you can do that thing with your magic—”
“No,” Flamel interrupted him.
“No?” Dumbledore asked, genuinely shocked.
“I’m not going to help you find some poor child for you to manipulate. Find him yourself—you’ve had years to do so.”
“But he’s our only hope! You can’t just—”
“I can and I will. I don’t care if he’s your ‘only hope.’ Find him yourself. Voldemort has yet to reappear and you can hardly expect a child to deal with him.”
“But—” Dumbledore floundered, honestly surprised.
“No. Goodbye, Dumbledore,” Nicholas said, before using his wand to push Dumbledore out of the fireplace.
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