There was something… different about Nicolas Flamel.
At first, it was subtle.
A hesitation where there should have been concern.
A calmness where others would show restraint.
A perspective that did not quite align with the present.
It wasn't cruelty.
But it wasn't compassion either.
It was… distance.
I watched him carefully as he adjusted a delicate alchemical array, his movements precise, almost absent-minded in their perfection.
"You're thinking too much," he said without looking at me.
"I'm observing."
A faint chuckle.
"Good. Then observe this."
He gestured toward the artifact on the table.
A small ring—unremarkable at first glance.
"Infused with stabilised magical intent," he explained. "It regulates ambient magic around the wearer."
I picked it up, feeling the structure of the enchantment immediately.
Layered.
Refined.
Elegant.
"Not a spell," I murmured.
"No," Flamel replied. "Something better."
That was the difference.
Albus Dumbledore taught magic as philosophy.
As morality.
As responsibility.
Flamel taught it as—
craft.
Pure.
Unrestricted.
And that difference fascinated me.
"Morality changes," Flamel said suddenly, as if plucking the thought directly from my mind.
I glanced up.
"With time," he continued. "With perspective. With… longevity."
A pause.
"You stop seeing things as right or wrong."
Silence filled the room.
"What do you see them as?" I asked.
Flamel smiled faintly.
"Effective. Ineffective."
Interesting.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Just… logical.
The lessons intensified.
Artifact creation.
Magical theory.
Ingredient synergy.
Potions blended seamlessly into alchemy, the two disciplines revealing themselves as parts of a greater whole.
"Everything transforms," Flamel said one evening. "You just need to understand how… and why."
I did.
Faster than I should.
Faster than anyone had a right to.
My hands moved instinctively now, constructing arrays, stabilizing reactions, refining magical output with near-perfect efficiency.
"You're adapting quickly," Flamel noted.
"I'm improving what I learn."
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
"…Yes," he said quietly.
"You are."
Days blurred together.
Knowledge accumulated rapidly.
Magical artifacts became simpler to construct.
Enchantments clearer.
I crafted my first stable item by the third day.
Improved it by the fourth.
By the end of the week—
I was no longer learning.
I was innovating.
That was when I realized something.
Flamel wasn't holding back.
Not truly.
But he wasn't teaching everything either.
Not intentionally.
Just… selectively.
Not out of distrust.
But out of habit.
Seven hundred years of knowledge couldn't simply be handed over.
But I didn't need it to be.
I could reconstruct it.
Improve it.
Surpass it.
One evening, I stood alone, examining a partially completed artifact—an experimental piece combining stabilization runes with ambient magic absorption.
My mind moved rapidly, connecting ideas.
Alchemy.
Ancient Magic.
Dark Magic.
Not separate.
Compatible.
A faint smile formed.
"That's the key…"
Not choosing one path.
But combining all of them.
Behind me, quietly—
Nicolas Flamel watched once more.
Silent.
Observing.
Because what he was seeing…
Wasn't just talent.
Wasn't just intelligence.
It was something far more dangerous.
Adaptation without limit.
And for perhaps the first time in centuries—
Even he wasn't entirely certain…
Where that would lead.