Alone in his office sat an exhausted man.
Hair disheveled, stubble grown, cheeks gaunt.
Looking in the mirror, he mocked himself—what a state for Britain's Prime Minister.
He knew why he was so haggard.
...Wizards.
Until reaching this Prime Minister's seat, he'd thought them mere fantasy—humans wielding supernatural power.
But they existed, and only successive Prime Ministers were told of their existence.
And most detestably, a certain wizard faction—Death Eaters or something—was even causing damage to this world.
A bridge built less than ten years ago snapped in half, dozens of cars sinking into the river.
Two brutal murders occurred, and a hurricane of abnormal weather struck the western region, causing massive human and material damage.
Even weather was depressed—all Britain now covered in strange fog.
All these incidents allegedly caused by wizards.
Absurd... utterly absurd.
Though they weren't even enemies, why must they suffer such attacks?
Just for being looked down upon, these Death Eaters or whatever were harming them.
Consequently, they faced storms of criticism day and night. Even now, reception phones rang ceaselessly.
"Damn it...!"
Indescribable struggles existed before reaching this Prime Minister's seat.
Failing to enter schools, spending years as a ronin.
At school, endless studying days, no easy days even after graduation.
Bowing to unpleasant people, being berated, taking stomach medicine regularly—he could persevere only because he aspired to reach Prime Minister and change the nation.
Yet because of these incomprehensible wizards, his position was already precarious, about to be dragged down.
Unacceptable... yes, unacceptable.
If permitted, he'd drop missiles on their world right now.
But... he couldn't fight people whose location was unknown, whose powers unclear.
If he could prove their existence, he'd search full-force and dispatch military, but now he'd just be thought insane.
Why, he thought.
They hadn't even noticed wizards' existence.
Naturally weren't enemies.
Yet why must they suffer such unreasonableness?
What had they done?
He wanted to crush them.
Thinking thus, pitch-black something filled the Prime Minister's heart.
These Death Eaters killing them half-jokingly, and the Ministry or whatever that couldn't handle it.
Anyone—he wanted someone to crush these threats to peace.
—Even if that meant selling his soul to a demon.
"Shall I grant that wish?"
As if slipping into that heart's gap, a soft voice was heard.
The Prime Minister, startled by the sudden voice, turned around.
Whether an angel or demon stood there.
Either way, an unbelievably beautiful girl sat on the desk.
The Prime Minister had seen stars and top models.
He should have seen many called beautiful.
But compared to this girl here, all faded—she was simply beautiful, vividly so.
"Wh-who are you...?"
"One who worries for the magical world's future... and one who wishes harmony with you."
The girl showed a bewitching smile unsuited to her youthful appearance and descended from the desk.
Even such a single action riveted his gaze.
The Prime Minister had never believed in magic more than now.
Even without actually using magic, he'd believe now.
Because such an otherworldly creature couldn't normally exist.
"Prime Minister... your indignation is correct. You have the right to direct anger at wizards."
Walking unguarded right before him, the girl spoke:
"And if you desire it, I can lend power."
The Prime Minister swallowed and looked at the girl.
Strangely, he didn't think 'what can this girl do?'
Rather, he noticed himself wanting to know what this girl could accomplish.
"What can you do?"
"What do you want done?"
Answering a question with a question.
But that was synonymous with answering she could do anything if desired.
The Prime Minister sweated coldly and spoke decisively:
"...If I said I want to eliminate those unjustly threatening our lives, would you cooperate?"
At the Prime Minister's words, the girl smiled eerily.
A satisfied smile as if those were the very words she wanted to hear.
"If desired, I'll line up all Death Eaters' heads before you."
Not a bluff... probably not.
If he wished, this girl would truly accomplish it.
She possessed strange intensity making one think so.
The Prime Minister grinned to hide fear and spoke:
"No, that would dirty the room, so I'll pass. Dispose of corpses yourselves."
Apparently, if gods abandon, gods also save.
Realizing luck had come around, the Prime Minister decided to first consider what his power could accomplish.
***
That day, Nicolas Flamel welcomed an unusually rare visitor.
Though his remaining lifespan was brief, unable even to rise from bed, a friend's visit was joyful.
As he took his wand to offer minimal hospitality, that hand was gently lowered.
"This is fine, Nicolas."
"Mm, I see..."
The visitor... Albus Dumbledore.
One of the few wizards Nicolas respected, who'd once researched alchemy together.
Feeling slightly apologetic for being immobilized when he'd specially visited.
"So Albus, may I ask why you've come? As you see, there's nothing here."
Nicolas was a dying old man on the verge of lifespan's end.
Having finished tidying affairs, almost nothing remained around him.
Yet Dumbledore coming meant something existed here.
Normally visiting without reason might be fine.
But now, the magical world faced unprecedented crisis.
Nicolas thought he wasn't a man who'd move so wastefully at such times.
"Well now, Nicolas. I want your memory."
"Memory? What do you want to know? I'll tell you anything."
No longer anything to hide from Dumbledore.
If he needed it, surely for the magical world's future.
He'd tell him anything.
But Dumbledore quietly shook his head at Nicolas thinking thus.
"No, no, Nicolas. I think you don't know about it."
"Don't know? About my own memory?"
"Yes. More precisely, you probably don't remember."
At Dumbledore speaking cheerfully, Nicolas looked somewhat offended.
True, this body was an old man before death, but he didn't remember being that senile.
First, being told so by fellow old man Dumbledore was disagreeable.
Probably sensing such displeasure, Dumbledore offered explanation without collapsing his smile:
"Ah Nicolas, don't take offense. This isn't about your memory having problems, but probably being under Memory Charm."
Nicolas's eyes widened at Dumbledore's casually stated words.
I see, Memory Charm.
Then naturally he wouldn't remember.
Honestly he didn't feel so senile as to be charmed, but in his current bedridden state, anyone could cast Memory Charm on him.
"I see. Then first we must find when that memory is."
Even Memory Charms weren't perfect.
However modified memories were, extracting memories themselves via Pensieve could reveal true memories.
Dumbledore had previously succeeded recovering true memories from a house-elf named Hokey whose memories were fabricated.
Considering that, extracting true memories from Nicolas wasn't difficult.
"This is my conjecture... probably around Christmas three or four years ago."
Last year at the Department of Mysteries battle, Mirabel displayed tremendous immortality.
Deflecting Killing Curses, instantly restoring severed arms.
Seeing that, Dumbledore was certain she used Horcruxes.
From unchanged appearance, probably one in number.
The terrible act of splitting souls twice or more affected appearance.
That's why Voldemort lost his handsome youthful appearance and ended up looking that way.
And another concern was that regenerative power.
That inhuman regeneration instantly restoring lost flesh wasn't normal even using magic.
Even healing master Madam Pomfrey needed overnight to regenerate one bone, yet Mirabel healed an arm instantly.
Clearly abnormal.
Then Dumbledore recalled the Philosopher's Stone Mirabel once targeted.
The Stone was shattered. But if Mirabel hadn't given up, that girl might try making it herself.
But the Philosopher's Stone was alchemy's profundity, the destination—even that girl couldn't easily make it.
But if she had the sage who created it's memory, different story.
Thinking thus, Dumbledore had come this far.
"If so, take it."
Nicolas placed his wand to his forehead and produced mist-like substance.
Putting that in a nearby vial, he entrusted it to Dumbledore.
"Yes, my thanks, Nicolas."
Obtained quite easily, but because the other party was Nicolas.
Other paths searching for memories would be extremely difficult, groping based on conjecture.
Especially next would surely not go easily.
An unavoidable path exploring Mirabel's past, and receiving memory from someone not easily handled.
But just thinking made him already reluctant.
Would that woman—Maevis Beresford doting on her daughter—do anything disadvantageous to her daughter?
"Dear me, quite difficult indeed."
Without revealing Mirabel and Voldemort's immortality secrets, no chance of winning.
But neither were easy paths.
Voldemort probably used Horcruxes, but he'd split too many, making searching laborious, while Mirabel used Philosopher's Stone besides Horcruxes, and probably one more thing combined.
One dispersed, one concentrated.
Different directions, but both equally threatening.
But absolutely invincible beings didn't exist in this world.
Voldemort and Mirabel were no exceptions—both had committed several mistakes.
First Voldemort—starting with making Harry the prophesied chosen child, he was making uncharacteristic mistakes as if dancing to fate.
And Mirabel also seemed overly hasty to live.
She should have waited longer.
Graduating school, spending adequate preparation time, then moving wouldn't have been late.
Then stopping her would have been extremely difficult.
...No, considering he'd probably have received death's curse without Grindelwald's arrival, she might have moved with obstacles like himself or Voldemort absent.
Yet what she did was exposing her true nature far too early.
Exploring the past might reveal something.
Something making her hurry... the foundation of that ambition might become visible.
Leaving Nicolas's residence, Dumbledore thought of two runaway talents and closed his eyes worriedly.
Then immediately returning his face to the sage's, he Disapparated to Beresford residence.
***
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