In his earlier letters, Nicolas had already learned of Tom's purpose in seeking the Philosopher's Stone.
But hearing it spoken aloud now, the old man's brows still furrowed together, his expression clouded with a quiet gravity.
"Tom… I've gone through some materials myself. There aren't many records about the Blood Curse, and its effects vary greatly depending on the caster."
"That Greengrass you mentioned—I've heard of her. That family is very skilled in social maneuvering. Their contract magic and unique way of conducting affairs are the key to their long-standing influence."
"In fact, over two hundred years ago, their family already had designs on the Philosopher's Stone. Back then, I simply hid away and ignored them."
The old man chuckled. "And yet, after all the twists and turns, two centuries later, the Stone still ends up being lent to them."
"Do you… have any way to cure it completely?" Tom asked. Depending on the Stone to prolong life could only solve the problem temporarily. What if in the future he and Astoria had children who also inherited the Blood Curse?
Wait—no… shouldn't that be with Daphne?
Tom suddenly realized his thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory.
While the boy stood there distracted, Nicolas spoke again. "There are ways. In fact, there are two."
Tom instantly straightened, listening intently.
"The first," Nicolas began, "is to fight poison with poison—use an even stronger curse to suppress the effects of the Blood Curse. For example, curse them to live for a hundred years?"
"But it might be painful. Even if the Blood Curse is suppressed, it still exists. Two curses clashing inside the body… that's a torment few can endure."
Tom waved his hands quickly. "No, no—pick another. They're both girls. I won't have them suffering like that."
"You do know how to care for people." Nicolas smiled, tapping Tom lightly on the forehead. He'd expected Tom to refuse, and wasn't surprised in the slightest.
"The second… is a blood replacement."
The old man's expression turned far more solemn. "Blood Curse. The name itself tells you—it's an inherited curse bound to the bloodline. Not only must the blood be replaced… even the heart might need to be changed. The implications are far-reaching, and not easily explained in a short time."
"I'd rather you discover the reasons and answers yourself through study."
When Nicolas had agreed to meet Tom, it had been mainly as a favor to Dumbledore. But now, he truly admired Tom's talent—and even entertained the thought of finding a successor to pass his mantle to.
To Nicolas Flamel, life and death had long lost their sharp edges, but he still wished to leave some trace of his existence in the world.
So now, he was speaking as a mentor thinking of his student's future.
Tom understood the old man's good intentions. He didn't press further, but instead took out the "anti-disarming bracelet" he had designed.
The old man examined it and nodded repeatedly. "Your fundamentals are solid, but you lack a system—you're piling up knowledge by sheer force, which makes the work feel too much like craftsmanship rather than artistry."
"For example, here in this line work—you could make it far more ingenious…"
Tom listened intently to every flaw Nicolas pointed out, jotting them down in a notebook, nodding from time to time with a sense of sudden clarity.
Andros knew nothing of alchemy, and Grindelwald had no time for it, devoting himself entirely to his own power. Tom truly lacked a teacher in this field.
Even in the magical study spaces, it would be hard to find a better instructor than Nicolas. He might not have been the "King of the Century," but in alchemy, he was undoubtedly among the best.
In a hundred years, you might find one or two "Kings of the Century," but in the past several centuries, there had been only one Nicolas Flamel—rarer still.
After speaking for a while, Nicolas finally stopped, still full of ideas but unwilling to say too much too soon. Tom needed to start from the very basics under his guidance before they could go deeper.
"Puck!"
Nicolas tapped the arm of his lounge chair, and with a pop, a house-elf appeared. Nicolas instructed it to prepare a room and dinner for Tom. Though walking hadn't tired him much, spending a whole morning watching beauties on the beach had worn the old man out—so he retired to his room for rest.
Tom, left to himself, wandered through the house, picking up each alchemical tool to examine it. In an afternoon, he'd only managed to explore one kitchen and one sitting room.
The next day, they boarded a luxurious carriage pulled by Aethonans and made their way back to Paris.
Paris was divided into twenty arrondissements, and Nicolas' home was in the 8th—the district best known for the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. The old man liked its bustling charm, saying it let him feel the warmth of ordinary life.
They slipped into a shabby little shop on the street. Nicolas lightly pressed the bell on the table, and the back wall began to ripple, forming a wide arched doorway.
Stepping through, Tom found himself in a grand estate, only slightly smaller than the Greengrass family's. But instead of a castle, the grounds held a cluster of lavish palaces.
"Looks a bit like Versailles, doesn't it?" Nicolas said with a grin. "Back in the 18th century, I was bored and took a position as Louis XIV's art adviser. I used a few tricks to make him think it was alchemy."
"Some of my suggestions even made their way into the real Versailles. When I saw how good it looked once finished, I decided to build one for myself."
Tom gave him a big thumbs-up.
Living long really was the greatest advantage—you could meet anyone.
To enter the palace, one had to walk through a hundred-meter-long Hall of Mirrors, lined with hundreds of mirrors and dozens of arched windows.
There were far too many rooms in this palace, so five house-elves handled daily upkeep. Nicolas assigned Puck to attend to Tom exclusively during his stay, meeting his every need.
In a tea room, Tom was introduced to Madame Perenelle Flamel. The elderly lady's condition was much like Nicolas'—her energy lasted for only short periods each day. After a few minutes of conversation, Tom excused himself so as not to tire her.
But she seemed to like him, inviting him to join her for morning tea the next day. Tom naturally agreed.
Leaving the tea room, Nicolas led Tom to the place most important for him—the library.
The old man handed over a notebook. On the first page was a list of dozens of book titles, with even more filling the pages that followed.
"This is your task. Read these books in order. Every day I'll check your progress, and if you don't understand something, save your questions—I'll answer them all once every three days."
Tom nodded earnestly, taking the reading list. Then, looking a little embarrassed, he asked, "Professor, could I start tomorrow? I have a friend here in Paris—I promised I'd meet her."
"A friend, eh? Male or female?" The old man's expression shifted instantly into mischievous gossip.