[Note: Read up to Chapter - 170 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]
.
.
.
.
Crack!
With a sharp crack of Apparition, Aris and Dumbledore appeared in front of an old house.
"This isn't London anymore, is it?" Aris asked, eyeing the architecture around them. The style was clearly nothing like that of the UK.
"Quite right. We're in Paris, France," Dumbledore replied with a knowing smile. "You'll find out exactly where soon enough…" He kept the boy in suspense, striding calmly toward the house ahead.
"There's a spell over this place!" Aris muttered, instantly sensing the strange magical aura as he drew closer.
"Of course," Dumbledore said smoothly. "This is the residence of Nicolas Flamel—the greatest alchemist in the world. Naturally, it's well protected."
"I heard not long ago that some criminals were sniffing around, trying to get their grubby hands on the Philosopher's Stone Nico created… all for some shameful little schemes."
Dumbledore explained it as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, though he offered no details about the Philosopher's Stone.
Not that it mattered—Aris already knew full well.
Wasn't the one after the Stone none other than old Voldy's lingering soul?
In truth, he probably knew more of the inside story than Dumbledore himself, but of course, he couldn't just blurt it out. Rather tricky to explain how he'd come by such knowledge.
Then, a spark lit in Aris's eyes.
Now then… perhaps there was a way to drop a hint—an excuse to reveal a little. Something along the lines of a prophecy, maybe…
As long as he didn't spill too much, it wouldn't rattle the plot overmuch, would it?
With that thought, he spoke casually, as if off-hand:
"Professor Dumbledore, the one chasing after the Philosopher's Stone must already know it isn't here. Otherwise, you wouldn't have brought me along quite so freely, would you?"
"Little rascal, stop playing dumb. You already know what's hidden in the corridor on the fourth floor, don't you?" Dumbledore gave the boy a long, meaningful look before stepping up to the old house and knocking lightly on the door.
"Indeed, that's hardly a secret anymore." Aris gave a shrug.
"Even Harry's twigged onto it. Oh—and Ronald and the rest as well…"
"I only hope they grasp the seriousness of the matter and stop charging about like headless chickens," Dumbledore said, casting Aris another knowing glance.
It was as though he already knew the whole picture.
Looking at the silver-haired old wizard, Aris couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion. This old fox seemed almost prophetic himself—how else could he know so much, weaving one careful scheme after another?
Such wisdom felt bottomless—like staring into an abyss.
"Actually, Professor," Aris said suddenly, his tone turning grave, "I observed the stars some time ago… and found some unusual signs."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's interest was immediate. He'd seen Aris's skill in astrology back in the Forbidden Forest, and his curiosity was piqued.
"Go on then—tell me."
Aris inclined his head, his gaze growing distant, his eyes darkening with depth.
"The once-dim Demon King Star… has begun to glow faintly once more…"
"This means that someone once immensely powerful is on the verge of making a comeback—after years of lying low and mending their strength."
"I reckon, Professor, you know exactly what that points to, don't you?"
Aris dropped the hint just enough, but stopped short of spelling it all out.
Sure enough, Dumbledore's eyes flickered at the words, and he sank into thoughtful silence.
At that moment, the door of the old house creaked open of its own accord.
An elderly man, his face lined with countless wrinkles and his steps trembling, slowly emerged before them.
"Oh, Nicolas, it does me good to see you still on your feet!"
Dumbledore snapped out of his reverie, spread his arms, and embraced the frail figure with care. It was a hug so gentle it looked as though he feared the slightest extra pressure might shatter the old man's bones.
Nicolas Flamel—alive after more than six centuries—still clung to life in this world, though his body was worn and withered. Barely able to move about, he certainly no longer seemed capable of anything too taxing.
"Dumbledore, is this the gifted youngster you spoke of?"
Nicolas's gaze quickly shifted to Aris. His eyes were striking—clear and sharp, without the slightest haze. They even seemed to glimmer with light, utterly unlike the weary eyes of an old man.
"Hello, Mr Flamel," Aris greeted politely.
"Right then, come in. I'm in the middle of an experiment and can't step away for long!"
With that, Nicolas Flamel turned briskly and headed inside.
His gait was peculiar—tiny, measured steps, as though he feared even stretching his legs too far might risk a fracture. Aris couldn't help but suspect that most of the old man's muscles had long since gone stiff, perhaps even beyond proper control.
Dumbledore watched Flamel's retreating back for a moment before turning to Aris, his expression deadly serious.
"How confident are you in that prophecy of yours?"
"I can't claim absolute certainty," Aris replied, "but I doubt I'm far off. I can feel the wheel of fate grinding into motion. A great cycle is about to begin anew. And it's not only tied to the 'kingdom of God' spoken of by the centaurs, but also to a demon king thought long fallen."
"What else did you foresee? Any specific events?" Dumbledore pressed, his expression growing ever more grave.
He knew full well that Aris's predictions carried weight—otherwise the centaurs would never have given the boy such respect and trust.
"No… you know prophecy isn't as straightforward as pulling memories from a Pensieve." Aris gave a shrug.
"I see… I see…" Dumbledore muttered under his breath, then led Aris into the old house.
The moment they stepped through the corridor, Aris paused, eyes widening.
"Hm? There's more to this place!"
They had entered an enormous laboratory, where Nicolas Flamel stood at the centre, tinkering with a collection of odd-looking instruments. It was clear he was in the midst of an experiment.
"No wonder he said earlier he was busy with alchemy and couldn't step away for long…" Aris thought, watching the old man whose hands still trembled even as he worked. A flicker of genuine admiration rose in his chest.
To devote oneself to a single pursuit, and keep at it for more than six centuries… that was truly something.
Six hundred years of knowledge and experience—all honed on one path.
No wonder folk say Nicolas Flamel is the greatest alchemist still alive today!
"Strange… it shouldn't have turned out like this…"
At that moment, Flamel paced back and forth before the lab table, muttering in mild confusion.
Aris stepped closer and caught fragments of his words. From the sound of it, the alchemy experiment hadn't given him the results he'd been hoping for.
Turning his gaze toward the workbench, Aris immediately called forth Moss.
In the blink of an eye, Moss appeared on the test bench—his form projected faintly across Aris's iris.
"Scan and collect Nicolas Flamel's test data. Analyse and reconstruct!" Aris commanded.
"Work to restore the proper experimental steps and results. Moss, it's in your hands now."
"Yes, Master."
Moss's deep, resonant voice echoed in Aris's mind.
.
.
.
.
Drop Power Stonessssssssss!
[Note: Read up to Chapter - 170 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]