Rebirth In A Magical World - Chapter 76

The next few days dragged as I couldn’t wait to meet Nicolas Flamel. I tried to imagine what it would be like living through so many centuries. Flamel grew up before the Statute of Secrecy was in place. He must have seen many changes in both the magical and muggle community.

When it was time to visit the house of Flamel, rather than take magical means of transportation, Mum decided it would be better to walk. She had grown up in Paris and wanted to show me the streets where she lived while growing up.

It was fascinating walking through the streets of Paris. The city was brimming with magic unseen. The muggles seemed to be scurrying around and never seemed to notice all the secret enchantments surrounding their city.

There are plenty of spells designed to encourage muggles not to pay attention to magic. Its how the Knight Bus can move around without detection.

One thing that caught my eye for a moment was a street sign that was named after the person we were visiting.

I nudged Mum’s arm, pointed at the street sign, and asked, “Mum, why do the muggles have a street named after Nicolas Flamel?”

She gave a silvery laugh and cheerfully explained, “Flamel was rather well known in the 14th and 15th centuries. Magic wasn’t as big of a secret back then. Wizards and Witches would sometimes mingle with certain circles in society. Flamel gained a reputation as an Alchemist, and rumors of his ability to create gold spread like wildfire. Annoyed by people clambering after his techniques, he withdrew from public life. After his assumed death, the myth of his skills remained and turned into an urban legend.”

It was a little challenging to imagine magic being out in the open, even if it was only known in small circles. Secrecy defines wizardry today. Almost all of our laws have something to do with keeping the secret. It’s why the original council of wizards was dissolved, and the Ministry of Magic was formed.

Many magical families still resent the magical government intruding on their lives. Before the Statute was signed, people mostly governed themselves.

I curiously looked around the buildings and asked, “Does he live on the street named after him?”

Mum shook her head and replied, “No, we’re headed to 51 rue de Montmorency.”

I noticed ancient runes and symbols carved into the stone walls. The windows were darkened, only giving vague hints to what was inside. Muggles walked by like they didn’t see the rusty iron-forged sign advertising the services of an Alchemist. Honestly, the place didn’t look like a home at all. It looked more like a workshop masquerading as a house.

My suspicions were confirmed when Mum opened the door without a care in the world and motioned me to follow. The first floor was mostly wide-open, with a few doors on the back wall. Usually, that would mean the room was spacious, but it was cluttered, filled with shelves and tables full of random items.

My magical sense that I had been keeping up ever since the portkey incident was screaming at me. Everything in here seemed to pulse with magic, from a harmless looking lamp to an old tattered pair of boots. In the corner, beakers full of strange-colored liquids on a shelve drew my eye. I clamped down on my urge to start examining everything. I had resolved not to touch strange items if I couldn’t figure out what they did.

Mum seemed ignorant of my inner d.e.s.i.r.e to pick apart everything in the room and seemed content to sit and wait in a cushy blue chair. Soon, a faint voice called out, “Camille, it’s so nice to see you again.”

Turning in curiosity, I saw a stunningly pale elderly woman whose skin was like wax. Her hair was white as snow as if she had never had color in it. Aged wrinkles lines hinted at her advanced age, but her pale blue eyes seemingly twinkle with energy and delight.

She moved through the room slowly, as if it took a great effort to take each step.

I was a little surprised at her age when I first heard about the Philosopher’s Stone from the book. I had assumed the immortality that it granted would somehow stop you from aging. This lady not only moved as if she were over six hundred years but looked like it as well.

Mum smiled at the lady and replied, “Perenelle, I’m glad you replied to my letter.”

Perenelle waved away Mum’s response, “Nonsense, it’s nice to receive visitors. We don’t get many these days.”

Slowly turning her head in my direction, she asked, “Now, who is this strapping young man?”

Mum motioned for me to join her and replied, “This is my son Alex, the one I mentioned.”

Perenelle gave me a grandmotherly smile, “So you’re the one your mother write me about. She told me you were interested in meeting my husband, Nicolas.”

Trying not to make it obvious, I glanced subtly around, hopeful to see the six hundred-year-old alchemist.

Perenelle smiled at my eager look and suggested, “Why don’t you head down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Nicolas has been at it for days and could use a good distraction.”

She pointed towards a door in the back and added, “It’s right through that door.”

I shot Mum a look, and when she nodded. I got up and eagerly headed downstairs. It sounded like he was working on an alchemy project. I hadn’t really studied Alchemy much, other than to learn that you needed a good foundation in the main branches of magic.

I tried to be as quiet as I could going down the stairs. I knew if Nicolas was experimenting, the worst thing I could do was distract him. The stairs led deep underground, far enough, so if there were an accident, it wouldn’t affect the house too much.

The bottom opened up to a surprisingly clean and well-lit workroom. From all the clutter upstairs, I had been expecting a little more chaos. It reminded me of Mum’s potion room. In the center of the stone room was a white-haired wizard of average height, sitting on a stool and leaning forward and muttering something under his breath. He appeared to be intensely examining a rock of some sort under a ridiculously big magnifying glass.

Deciding not to interrupt him, I took a seat in a small wooden chair along the wall. Waiting patiently for him to finish, I examined the room in curiosity.

There was a little bit of everything in the room. On the fall wall were some plants I didn’t recognize hanging from the ceiling. Although hanging may not be the best term, it looked like they were being restrained with ropes and didn’t appear to be pleased about it.

I hated magical plants. For some reason, I don’t mind magical creatures, but plants that can move and attack you, no thank you. I couldn’t wait until I was able to drop Herbology. Personally, I blame Mum for my intense dislike of plants, who takes their eyes off of a kid in a magical greenhouse.

I turned my attention away from the angry plants, on the adjoining wall, there were shelves filled with potion ingredients and other knick-knacks. On the opposite side of the room were empty cages that were thankfully empty. There were tables full of empty beakers and burners. In the center of one table was a potion cauldron surrounded by round glass containers filled with some cloud-like aether.

Ok, now that I got a good look at the place, I was getting vibes of a mad wizard. Many wizards are a little wacky in the first place, and six hundred years is plenty of time for a wizard to go crazy. I shook my head. I shouldn’t be throwing stones. I mean, I have a hawk-throne in a secret tower with a crazy old man in a painting. I bet if someone found that out, they would assume I’m mad as well.

As I sat in silence, Nicolas retrieved his wand and tapped the stone he was examining. The rock started buzzing, and I leaned forward, curious about what was about to happen.

My eyes widened in concern as the buzzing intensified, but Nicolas seemed to be fascinated by what was happening. Before I could say anything, the buzzing vanished, and the rock seemed to silently explode in slow motion, filling the room with purple powder.

Unable to prevent it, I inhaled some of the powder and started coughing uncontrollably. Seconds later, the powder vanished as Nicolas waved his wand and eyed me in surprise.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Unable to do more than cough, Nicolas pointed his wand at me, and the sensation vanished.

Finally, able to breathe correctly, I replied, “I’m Alex Fawley.”

“Fawley,” he muttered several times to himself, “I knew a Fawley a few hundred years ago. Went by the name of Anton, he was a crazy old coot. You wouldn’t happen to be related, would you?”

Nicolas’s ancient waxy face furrowed in concentration as he stared at me with his faint blue eyes.

A snort nearly escaped me, if Anton is crazy, then what are you? Choosing not to voice my thoughts, I replied, “Yes, we are related.”

“Wonderful,” he murmured and then turned back to his work, content to ignore my existence. I was a little surprised about his lack of reaction. He didn’t even question why I was in his lab.

Before he could get too absorbed in his work, I fired off a few questions, “What was that rock? What did you do to it? Why did it explode?”

Nicolas turned with a happy smile on his face, “I have no idea,” He cheerfully admitted. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

His answer illuminated that he was a pure scholar. I had been curious about the type of personality it would take to continue to experiment throughout the centuries. Nicolas seemed to be all about the pure pursuit of knowledge. He didn’t seem to care to put the knowledge to use in the real world. He wanted to know how things worked, and although his version of immortality appeared to have some severe flaws, it has allowed him to continue his research.

Wanting to know more about what he did, I asked, “Was it an alchemy experiment? I thought alchemy involved more potions than anything.”

Nicolas turned to me and explained, “Alchemy is so much more than that.”

I gave him my full attention as he seemed to morph into a teacher than a mad wizard.

“Alchemy is often confused with potion-making. The truth is far more complicated than that. Alchemy is the study of what happens when you start combing three disciplines.” Nicolas explained.

Showing me three fingers, Nicolas lowered one for each discipline he named, “Potions, Transfiguration, and Chemistry.”

I blinked in rapid succession, “Chemistry?” I clarified in confusion. I remember having a conversation with Ryan O’Conner about the subject. He was one of my roommates and was muggleborn. When he first heard about potions, he had assumed that it was like chemistry and had given our dorm a crash course on chemistry. Back then, I seemed to have a better understanding of what chemistry was, now I just somehow know it’s what muggles use for their science.

Nicolas nodded excitedly, seemingly pleased to have found an audience willing to hear him explain alchemy. “Oh yes, the three disciplines play a key role in alchemy. Only by adding them together can the secrets of alchemy be truly unleashed.”

Not knowing where to begin, I fired off the two questions on the top of my mind, “I thought muggles invented chemistry and isn’t it supposed to be extremely dangerous to mix the magical arts?”

Nicolas waved away my first question, “Bah, in the beginning, it was us alchemists who taught muggles who had a passion for wanting to understand. Unable to perform magic and become alchemist, they focused their entire attention on the elements and learned how to manipulate them without magic.”

Nicolas smiled at me, “It’s quite amazing how far they’ve come. You should look into their so-called science. You might be surprised by what they have learned despite being so limited.”

Nicolas trailed off as he seemed to relive old memories. Mulling over what he said, I had to agree with him. Muggles were clever little buggers. Maybe I should try to get a hold of some muggle books. They may come in handy one day.

Nicolas seemed to come out of his memories and asked, “Where was I?”

“Mixing magical disciplines.” I helpfully replied.

“Ah, yes. Very dangerous indeed. It takes a deft touch to succeed, and even then, it can be dangerous. More than one alchemist has blown themselves up in the pursuit of knowledge.” He explained.

Nicolas passionately added, “It’s why there are so few true alchemists left in the world. Most of those who claim to be alchemists are just those following in the footsteps of their forebears. Unwilling or unable to branch out and look for new mysteries, they are content following the guidelines the previous generations of alchemists discovered. A true alchemist must embrace the unknown and explore the mysteries of magic no matter the risk.”

I tried not to roll my eyes on how he skirted right on by how many alchemists had blown themselves up. No wonder Alchemy is not one of the main subjects at Hogwarts. I heard a rumor that you can learn alchemy in your sixth and seventh year if you are skilled enough.

Seeing that Nicolas seemed content to answer questions, I continued peppering him with questions while he worked. Throughout the day, he showed me all sorts of interesting things he had created. Some were by design, others were accidental and were challenging to replicate. He could spend years, sometimes decades, on a single experiment.

I realized that some of his success as an alchemist had to be attributed to his long life. When you have centuries to experiment, spending a decade on a project no longer seems unreasonable. We might have been down there all day if Perenelle didn’t force Nicolas to take a break for lunch.

Upstairs on the first floor, Nicolas motioned for me to follow him through a back hallway. Once I got through the door on the far end, I received another surprise. I could see the countryside from the windows. Small rolling hills and trees decorated the horizon. We were not in Paris anymore.

I could tell that even Mum was surprised at the view, somehow their house was built in multiple places.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Nicolas smiled at my confusion, “We live in England. Rather than leave my old workshop behind, I decided to connect the houses.”

I decided that it had to be the hallway we walked through. Ignatia’s books were like a primer on transportation magics and had given me a good foundation when it came to spatial enchantments. If I had to guess, I would say that the hallway resembles vanishing cabinets and archways.

During lunch, I continued to ask Nicolas questions. Not so much on magic, but what it was like living through the centuries. Growing up, I had sometimes mused about seeking a path to immortality. Not because I feared death. Being reincarnated seemed to imply that death wasn’t the end, only the next step in a longer journey.

But, I still wondered what it would be like; one lifetime didn’t seem like it was enough in this magical world. I’m not saying I would want to live forever, but living for five or six centuries would be nice.

When I was younger, I had sometimes imagined getting a hold of the Philosopher’s stone or perhaps creating my own. But, seeing how frail and ancient Perenelle and Nicolas Flamel were had dulled my d.e.s.i.r.e. What use was immortality when a simple handshake could break bones and made me so frail that I didn’t want to leave the house. Not to mention, they hardly seemed to be living. I think they welcomed us visiting because they were lonely. Even though we were very distantly related, all of their real family was dead, and I imagine it was difficult making new friends when they would just die and leave you alone. If I decide to seek a longer life, I will find a new path

Thinking about how lonely immortality seemed to make them made me ask, “Why didn’t you use the Philosopher’s stone to make your friends and family immortal?”

Mum’s eyes widened, and she smacked my arm, “Don’t be rude,” she hissed.

Perenelle and Nicolas exchanged glances for a moment, “We did,” Nicolas quietly explained. “Although the amount of elixir the stone can produce per year is limited. We had enough for our children and grandchildren. But, because the stone only keeps you alive and doesn’t prevent you from aging. After a few centuries, they decided they were ready to depart this life. We are all that is left.”

Nicolas reached over and patted his wife’s hand, as glimmer had formed in her eyes. “One day, we will make that journey as well.”

Breaking the somber mood, he added with a wink, “But, until then, I will continue with my research.”

Trying to change the subject, I asked, “Is it true that you can make real gold? My transfiguration professor said that it was impossible to fool a goblin with magical transmuted gold, and warned that goblins would not be pleased by any attempt to fool them.”

Nicolas smiled and admitted, “Goblins and I have a complicated relationship.”

He pulled out his wand and pointed towards the living room. The wall on the far side of the room, spun in place, revealing a stone pedestal with a mostly red stone with white streaks running through the center.

My eyes widened as the rock soared through the air, that had to be the Philosopher’s stone. They must not have moved it to Gringotts yet. Nicolas slowly reached up and grabbed the stone that was floating in front of him. He touched it to one of his spoons, and I watched the spoon turn from metal into gold.

Nicolas tossed me the spoon to inspect. “It’s real gold,” He explained. “Not even a goblin could tell the difference. They seem passionately divided on whether it’s a good or bad thing that I can make gold. Some of them love me, and others hate me. Centuries ago I hatched out an agreement about how much gold I would make. It all seems a little silly now, I haven’t needed to make gold in centuries.”

Before I could ask anything else, there was a polite knock at the front door. Perenelle got up, went to open the front door. She sounded pleased when she opened the door and saw who it was. My jaw nearly dropped in surprise when she came back followed by a rather tall, thin wizard with a great bushy beard and half-moon glasses. It was Professor Dumbledore.