Winter had fully arrived—Winter is Coming.
A few owls braved the blizzard-swept skies to deliver mail, enduring countless hardships. They needed Hagrid's care to regain their strength before taking flight again.
The power of the Cold God in his left hand stirred faintly with the celestial signs, only to be ruthlessly suppressed.
This was a dark force, far more malevolent than the blood-and-fire magic of the Lord of Light. Harry had been carefully managing it, and with balance already achieved, it could no longer stir up much trouble.
Though roaring fires blazed in the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall, the corridors were pierced by bone-chilling drafts, and the classroom windows rattled under the relentless assault of the icy wind.
Everyone eagerly awaited the Christmas holidays, roughly two weeks long, which Harry likened to a shorter version of winter break.
To be honest, while Chinese winter breaks lasted over twenty days—longer than this— the academic pressure there was on another level entirely.
Muggle life was rough.
Oh well. Of course, Harry had no desire to spend the holidays cooped up with the Dursleys, so skipping the break suited him just fine.
Ron and his twin brothers also planned to stay at Hogwarts, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were off to Romania to visit Charlie.
Ever since Hagrid let slip about Nicolas Flamel, Ron and Hermione had been scouring books for his name.
Harry was certain he'd seen it before.
But Ron and Hermione drew blanks, and in the end, it was Harry who found the answer.
As it turned out, Flamel was a renowned alchemist and close friend of Dumbledore's. In 1382, he successfully created the Philosopher's Stone, achieving the pinnacle of alchemical mastery. This granted him and his wife, Perenelle, a lifespan stretching 665 years.
Because of his friendship with Dumbledore, Harry had once spotted Flamel's name on one of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog cards.
Harry had been obsessively researching Dumbledore, hunting for any weaknesses, so he often studied even the cards...
Where there's a will, there's a way.
Such was Harry's brilliance!
Digging deeper, Harry discovered that Flamel, having lived so long, had left a trail of legends. The records were plentiful if you knew where to look. He could even use crystal ball divination, fitting Harry's stereotypical image of a wizard.
In 1927, Flamel had aided Albus Dumbledore in their fight against the dark wizard Grindelwald. In Paris, he used a crystal ball to predict the location of a gathering, directing Newt Scamander and others to dispel a fiery protective charm and prevent the city's destruction.
Harry hadn't realized a legendary wizard's magic could be so devastating—comparable to a nuclear weapon in terms of destructive range. Grindelwald had reached that level of power.
Everyone knew Dumbledore was stronger than Grindelwald... or maybe not. Harry felt he could go toe-to-toe with Old Dumbledore, like it was a fifty-fifty shot.
One possibility: wizards' physical bodies were frail. No matter how powerful their magic, Harry could match them, depending on distance and preparation.
Another possibility: their legendary duel had left both Dumbledore and Grindelwald shattered, their resolve broken, their powers diminished. Dumbledore might be weaker now than decades ago.
Or perhaps: Dumbledore had reached a state of perfect mastery—subduing dragons, taming tigers, his magic pure and untainted, his killing intent entirely absent—so Harry couldn't sense his true danger.
Harry leaned toward the last theory, silently raising Dumbledore's threat level in his mind.
Hermione struggled to accept that Flamel was so famous, feeling her status as the group's brainiac was under threat.
She kept complaining that he wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century or Notable Magical Names of Our Time. Nor could she find him in Important Modern Magical Discoveries or A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry—because, as it turned out, Flamel was practically ancient, his achievements largely from centuries past.
Then she turned her ire on Ron. It was bad enough that she had to resort to books and still came up empty, but why didn't Ron know anything either? Why did Harry have to figure it out himself?
Harry's brain cells should be reserved for more important things, like studying.
Ron protested that he knew plenty about the wizarding world, but Flamel was just too old. Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card was so common—barely a one-star rarity—that Ron had never paid it much attention. He kept one in his collection to gather dust, only bothering with the SSR cards' descriptions.
"Besides," Ron shot back, "can you name a famous French scientist from the fourteenth century?"
Hermione smirked. "I can."
Ron was speechless.
Hermione: "Sorry, that's just how it is when you're a know-it-all."
Ron: "I'm sorry, I spoke too loudly."
Hermione: "If 'sorry' fixed everything, what would we need police for?"
Ron: "Don't push it!"
Hermione: "Maybe you should figure out how to use that external brain of yours first."
Harry: "Stop fighting, you two! You're not going to kill each other like this!"
By now, Harry had a solid guess about Dumbledore's treasure: there was a good chance it was the Philosopher's Stone.
It granted immortality and could turn base metals into gold.
Immortality—Harry figured he might already have something like that, thanks to the King's Power. But the Stone could extend that gift to others, and Harry always needed more gold. Those special constructions burned through money fast.
He wanted it...
Greed, ambition... the King was the embodiment of the world's greatest desires!
Wonders! Oh, wonders!
Didn't the mighty King deserve a few wonders of his own?
He wanted it for the wonders alone.
But wanting was useless. Stealing it outright would be foolish. If Harry were Dumbledore, he'd keep something that valuable on his person at all times, swapping the real Stone with a fake for Fluffy to guard. No one would know the difference.
No wonder Chinese novels were full of killing for treasure—it made sense.
So urgent...
"Ron," Harry said, "hypothetically... if we planned to assassinate Dumbledore, would that be too despicable?"
"What?" Ron blinked, utterly baffled.
"Haha, just kidding."
Christmas came, and Harry was overwhelmed with gifts, which was both a delight and a hassle.
Mrs. Weasley sent him one of those signature Weasley sweaters and a huge box of homemade fudge. Hermione gave him a large box of Chocolate Frogs. Others sent heaps of food, too, and Harry, never one to waste, devoured it all. Big appetite, no problem.
One last package remained. Harry picked it up, feeling its lightness, and unwrapped it.
A silvery-gray, liquid-like substance slipped to the floor, pooling in a shimmering heap.
Ron gasped.
"I've heard of this," he whispered, awestruck. "If I'm right—this is insanely rare and valuable."
"What is it?"
Harry lifted the gleaming fabric from the floor. It felt strange, like woven water.
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," Ron said, his face radiating reverence. "I'm sure of it—try it on."
Harry draped the cloak over his shoulders, and Ron let out a shout.
"It is! Look down!"
Harry glanced at his feet—they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, only his head floated in the reflection, his body completely invisible.
He pulled the cloak over his head, and his reflection vanished entirely.
Harry sensed something... unfathomable about this cloak. It pulsed with powerful magic... maybe even other forces, but he couldn't quite see through it.
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