Description: Yet another sugar-induced plot bunny.
Intro: Harry gets a visit from Nicholas Flamel after the Stone is destroyed and finds out a few things about eternal life.
Harry could see a glint of gold above him and reached out, thinking it was the Snitch. However, the glint turned into a pair of gold-framed glasses, and Harry ended up nearly punching his headmaster in the nose. The old man jerked backwards, toppling off the chair he was on and landing on the floor.
"Was that really necessary, Harry?" Dumbledore wheezed.
"Sorry. I see a flash of gold and it's almost a reflex. Blame Oliver Wood. He's the one who trained me to do that."
The old man's eyes twinkled. "It's okay, Harry. How are you feeling?"
Harry did a mental self-check. "I've still got all my fingers and toes, don't I?" Dumbledore nodded. "Well, then I guess I'm fine. What happened to Quirrel?"
"He's dead. Now, you must understand, Harry, you're not responsible for his death."
"Yes I am. And frankly, I don't feel much guilt over it."
Harry could see the worry in Dumbledore's eyes. "You don't?"
"No. It was his bloody choice – sorry, professor – to throw in with Voldemort. Once he did that, he lost any chance for pity."
"I see. Well, Harry, you must understand that things aren't always in black and white. There are always shades of gray–"
"But this wasn't one of those shades. This was evil, plain and simple." Harry opened a Chocolate Frog, seizing the little bastard before it could hop away and popping it in his mouth. He looked at the card inside- Dumbledore. As he read the card, something sparked in his brain. "Sir? What happened to the Stone?"
"It has been destroyed."
Harry was floored. "Why on earth would you do that?"
"Because otherwise, Voldemort might try to steal it again."
"…You could have just put out word that the Stone was destroyed, you know. It would have been simple enough to convince him that it no longer existed. Obviously, he's not the brightest crayon in the box, so he probably would have gone for it. And if not, he would have had to spend the time to check all the other stuff that he thought might have been lies." Harry shook his head, before continuing. "So, does this mean that the Flamels will die now?" Dumbledore nodded, his face solemn.
"Unfortunately, yes. Although they have enough Elixir of Life stored up to set their affairs in order, eventually yes, they will die."
"Ah, bugger…Sorry, professor," Harry said. "Was it your choice or theirs to destroy it?"
"It was Nick's choice. Frankly, I think he's had it with this life."
"What?"
"Maybe it would be best if he explained…" Dumbledore stood, his joints creaking, and went to the door. "Nick?" A kindly-looking old man with a beard to rival Dumbledore's strode into the room. Harry knew he was at least five times Dumbledore's age, but the man's posture was straight, his cheeks were rosy, and Harry could see a sharp intellect behind his blue eyes.
"Harry Potter, I believe?" Harry nodded, and the man shook his head, mildly surprised. Every time he had been introduced to someone, their eyes had automatically slid up to his scar. Flamel's eyes had remained rooted on his. "Just want to thank you for saving my Stone, even if it has been destroyed. Let me rephrase that. I want to thank you for keeping the Stone out of Voldemort's hands."
Harry shrugged. "It was no problem. Ten thousand in small bills, and we'll call it even." The man threw back his head and roared with laughter, and Harry could see Madam Pomfrey shoot him a dirty look, even though Harry and his guests were the only ones in the hospital wing. "Sir? May I ask why you wanted to destroy the Stone?"
Nick's eyes grew dark. "It was a necessary act. We had to keep Voldemort from getting his undead paws on it, and besides, I'm not such a fan of this life anymore anyway."
"But why did you have to destroy it?"
"Because unless it was destroyed, my wife and I would indeed continue living forever. We're tied to the Stone, just as much as it is to us."
"But…eternal life! You could have taken on Voldemort alone and won!"
"Look kid, eternal life ain't all it's cracked up to be! When you get to be six hundred and sixty-five, you find out that sometimes, death is a good thing! When you wake up each morning and lose ten percent of your body weight in your good-morning piss, you start to wonder if you might be better off dead. And then there's the hair and teeth falling out, organs complaining to you, watching your newest generation of friends die…and don't even get me started on the liver spots. I stay out too long and I immediately turn brown. And I won't even mention the sagging bits and pieces…"
"Enough!" Harry cried, wishing for a quick Memory Charm. "I think I've heard more than I want to about that."
"I know. That was the plan."
"You still could have fought off Voldemort."
"At best, all I could have hoped for against Voldemort would be a stalemate, and that's only because of my circumstances."
"Right. You'd think you guys could have figured out something. And what'd Mrs. Flamel have to say about this?"
Flamel scoffed. "She's just as bloody sick of this world as I am, if not more. When you know the Kama Sutra back to front and have used it so much that even that has gotten boring, you tend to look for other things to interest yourself. She's plum run out of things to interest herself with." The example of preservation in front of Harry sighed. "When all your friends, the friends you made after them, and the three generations of friends after that have all died, you find more and more reason to dislike the world you're in. I'm bloody ready to die. I think Mrs. Flamel is too."
"Alright…but you couldn't have just…"
"No, no we couldn't. If we had left it to you, it still wouldn't have worked."
"Oh, all right. You win."