Chapter 106 - Origin
Dumbledore sighed heavily, his voice hollow as he broke the news. Neither he nor Fawkes could do anything to stop the intense, brilliant flame now consuming and destroying the Philosopher's Stone.
As his words settled over the room, a thick, awkward silence descended upon the chamber. The children exchanged wide-eyed glances, not daring to utter a single syllable. Yet, their frantic expressions and shifting eyes spoke volumes, holding an entire silent conversation between them.
Dumbledore simply stood there, his usually proud shoulders slumped forward. He looked entirely deflated, like a man who had just suffered a catastrophic defeat.
In stark contrast to the silent, grim atmosphere, I was the only one who felt completely normal. In fact, if anyone was looking closely, they would see I was actually quite pleased with how things were turning out.
Unable to resist the opportunity, I decided to poke at the Headmaster again.
"So, Professor," I began, my voice cutting through the tension. "Would you mind explaining to me why this stone contains soul magic? How was it created?"
Dumbledore looked at me, his eyes weary.
"I do not know the exact details of its creation, Arthur. Nicholas forged the stone centuries ago, long before our time, back when he was only in his middle age. He never shared the exact process with me."
I cut him off with a sceptical tilt of my head.
"But you must have some guesses, right, Professor? Surely a wizard of your stature has a theory. After all, he is your closest friend and you are widely considered one of the most learned, brilliant wizards alive today."
Dumbledore gave me a dry, warning look.
"Stop buttering me up like that, boy. It won't work."
He paused, rubbing his temples before continuing. "But yes, I do have some theories. In alchemy, everything must strictly follow the law of equivalent exchange. To gain something, something of equal value must be lost."
He gestured vaguely toward the melting artifact.
"The stone is famous for two things, transmuting base metals into gold and extending a person's life. Now, turning lead to gold is not actually a massive magical feat. It is not incredibly rare. Many advanced alchemical items can achieve transmutation, some are just more efficient at it than others. But the extension of life? That is where the magic goes completely off the track."
Dumbledore's face darkened. "I do not know how Nicholas achieved this immortality, but he only managed to create the stone once. He confessed to me years ago that he could never make another one, even if he tried his hardest. He claims he doesn't know why the magic worked only that one time."
"Well, maybe I know the reason, Professor," I said, a cold smile touching my lips.
"I think I can connect the dots that you are trying so hard to ignore. Let's look at the history. Nicholas Flamel created this stone right around the mid-1300s, precisely when the Black Death was ravaging the entirety of Europe. Hundreds of thousands of people died in agonizing pain during that terrible plague."
I took a step closer, locking eyes with the old wizard.
"Muggle history says that the plague arrived out of nowhere and disappeared just as mysteriously. I don't think that plague was a natural disaster at all, Professor. I think that horrific plague was the deliberate work of your dear friend, Nicholas Flamel. The agonizing deaths of all those innocent people were the fuel used to forge this very stone."
Professor Dumbledore went completely rigid. He didn't speak. He didn't yell. Crucially, he didn't deny a single point of the grim theory I had just laid out before him.
"Perhaps, Arthur," Dumbledore finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I truly do not know."
"It's alright if you don't know, Professor," I replied smoothly, watching the stone burning under the heat.
"Because I know. And my Patronus definitely recognizes what is burning right now. This artifact simply does not belong in our world. If it were just made of dark magic and blood magic, I could almost understand it."
"Don't get me wrong, those things are inherently evil, but I can comprehend the human greed and the dark mentality that drives people to perform such acts. I can wrap my head around that kind of malice."
My voice dropped to a sharp, uncompromising whisper.
"But magic that tears, binds or tampers with the human soul is entirely different. The soul belongs to nature, to the fundamental laws of life and death. No one should ever dare to manipulate it. I don't care if a wizard is trying to cheat death for a noble cause like Nicholas Flamel or out of pure malice like Voldemort. Tampering with the soul is a line that must never be crossed."
The moment I finished joining the dots, a suffocating silence gripped the children. They stood completely rigid. Hermione was hit the hardest, as she was far more aware of history than the other two muddleheads beside her. She instantly clamped both hands over her mouth, her eyes welling up with heavy tears.
I stepped over to her side and gently patted her head.
"Don't worry, Hermione. Don't cry."
"Arthur, are you telling the truth?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Were so many innocent lives lost just to create a single stone?"
I glanced at the melting artifact, then at the defeated Headmaster, and finally back down at her.
"I am ninety-nine percent sure, Hermione. You cannot artificially extend human life without giving life in exchange. Nicolas Flamel's physical body is practically decaying, yet his soul remains bound to this world. To sustain that kind of soul power for centuries breaks the fundamental laws of nature. It requires a horrific price. The price was hundreds of thousands of people during the Black Death. They didn't just die. Their very souls were harvested to forge this stone."
I took a deep breath, watching the magical fire burn.
"Even if Flamel dies tomorrow, this stone wouldn't just vanish. It holds enough stolen energy to grant multiple people a form of pseudo-immortality. It is the grim manifestation of thousands of trapped souls."
Hermione broke down, a sharp sob escaping her lips. Ron and Harry quickly crowded around, trying their best to console her. She buried her face against my stomach, gripping my robes tightly as the harsh reality of the magical world finally shattered her innocence.
I slowly stroked her hair.
"This is reality, Hermione. This is how the world works."
Ron looked up, his face pale and bewildered. "But how is that possible? Flamel is a legendary alchemist! He is a great man who donated massive fortunes to Beauxbatons. Everyone admires him! How could he do something so evil?"
"That is the lesson you three need to learn," I said, looking at each of them.
"What a person actually does and how the public perceives them are often entirely different. You can never truly know the malice hidden behind a smiling face. Stop blindly believing everything you read in history books. Only believe what you can verify and understand. Flamel did great things for alchemy, yes, but those achievements do not nullify the mass murder he committed to build his immortality."
I paused, keeping my tone perfectly practical.
"But we are not the judges, nor are we the executioners. We don't have the authority to drag him to court. There are ministries and governments for that. We can only control what is right in front of us."
Harry's eyes sharpened. "Like destroying the stone?"
"Exactly," I nodded. "We can't touch Flamel, but the stone is a different story. We found it after surviving a lethal battle against Quirrell and Voldemort. By the right of conquest, this artifact belongs to us. What happens to it now is our prerogative."
Hermione sniffled, looking up. "But Professor Dumbledore said the stone is Flamel's private property, not even Hogwarts'."
I shrugged.
"Not our problem, Hermione. That is a headache for the Headmaster and the school. As far as we are concerned, we followed a dark thief into the deep dungeons, fought him, won and the artifact caught fire in the crossfire of spells. We don't know what it was and we certainly don't care. Besides, whenever the sky falls, there is always someone taller around to hold it up. We have our brilliant Headmaster to shoulder it. Won't you, Professor?"
I flashed a bright, sincere smile at Dumbledore.
The old wizard closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh. "You are a piece of work, Arthur. A real piece of work."
"Thank you for the compliment, Professor," I replied cheerfully. "I might just frame that quote and hang it up in my dormitory."
Dumbledore chose to ignore me, turning his weary gaze back to the burning stone. It was now more than half gone. There was no violent explosion or cracking wood. It was simply dissolving into nothingness, leaving absolutely no residue behind.
However, my enhanced senses granted to me by my reincarnation and the boons I had received from Mother Magic or Nature from destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes, detected a massive shift.
The atmosphere inside the chamber was growing incredibly thick, heavily saturated with raw magic and released soul energy. As the physical stone diminished, this mysterious, invisible pressure intensified, maturing into a pure, concentrated vortex of power.
It was a staggering presence. The sheer volume of ambient magic lingering in the room was going to be an immense benefit to our strength, providing a massive boost for the children, even if they were still too young to understand the gift heading their way.
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End of Chapter 106 - Origin