Hello! This is my first piece of fanction, and something I had been thinking about for awhile. After all, it seems to me that older wizard = more powerful wizard, thus by logical deduction Flamel should have been the most powerful wizard in the world. So this is a little bit wish fulfillment style, a little bit of what it would be like to be Flamel. Still, this fic is decidedly non-canon, a totally alternate ending which takes place sometime during book 7, before the battle of Hogwarts. Also, definitely a 1-shot

Please feedback! Any comments are much appreciated, although keep it constructive. I don't read much fan fiction, or write much of anything at all, and this was 100% for fun, so enjoy :3. (Also check out the one or two HPMOR references in here: it's my favorite piece of fanfiction, and one of my favorite pieces of fiction, ever)

In a large manor on the outskirts of Paris, there is a room. The room is filled with odd glass containers, crumpled boxes, glowing lights, fizzling flasks, and an unusually large pink boar's head. All around papers are scattered, covered with what appear to be random scribbles and rapid writing. In the center of the room there is a raised pedestal, with a small metal device on it. Most importantly, however, is the man. He's an old man, appearing to be at least eighty. He moves slowly throughout the room, but no movement is wasted: his steps are filled with purpose as he moves about, occasionally making small changes to some project or other.

As the man slowly turns a large glass lens a few crucial inches left, a light knock is heard at the door. The man stops, and stands before waving his arm gently. The door slowly swings open, and in walks a woman. She matches the man in age, though like him seems to possess vigor beyond her years. Still, her movements are slow, and calculated, and her face is grim. She approaches the man, and slowly reaches out to hold his hand. The two begin to talk, their words succinct: more than 600 years together had made communication effortless.

"Nicolas" the woman whispers.

"Perenelle" the man replied, a frown slowly appearing on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Dumbledore." she whispered.

"How?" Nicolas responded, quietly.

"Murder."

Nicolas jerked forward, setting up a brisk walk that Perenelle struggled to keep up with. His face was stern, and underneath his mind was in turmoil. Nicolas had collaborated with over a dozen wizards in his 669 years, but Dumbledore had been different. He had possessed an insight and cunning that Flamel had never seen in anyone before. The only thing more painful than ending their research together so Dumbledore could teach had been cutting off all communication to Dumbledore five years earlier, to convince him that Nicolas and Perenelle had truly ended their lives. Still, it had been necessary: Dumbledore would never have settled for the stone's continued existence while someone hunted for it. But Dumbledore's death would not go unavenged. The two continued to talk, their words shifting to the more comfortable outdated French of their youth.

"Who killed him?" the man asked, trying to figure out who would have had the motive to kill Dumbledore. Flamel had stopped keeping up with politics hundreds of years earlier.

"Voldemort, or maybe one of his cronies" the woman replied.

"Who?" Flamel replied, stopping at an intersection to hear Perenelle's response.

"He's the Dark Lord of the current generation, and a pretty nasty one. They're calling him the worst dark lord in history."

"They always do." Nicolas replied. He had seen even more dark wizards than he had research partners, and every single one had been called the worst Dark Lord in history. Still, if Dumbledore was dead that meant that this man had power, and Nicolas would need to be extremely careful. Even if it was one of the cronies, which Flamel doubted, this Voldemort was responsible for Dumbledore's death. His mind made up about what he would have to do, he suddenly turned around and headed down a discrete side passage, pulling out his wand and occasionally muttering a word. Perenelle followed, her face showing mild shock.

"Nicolas! So soon? These bodies are barely past a century!" Perenelle voiced her concerns, worry covering her face.

"I'm sorry Pear, but I need to be at full strength."

Shock crossed Perenelle's face as she realized what her husband had in mind. Old wizards tended to be more powerful, but only out of experience. A youthful body with an old body's mind, especially one as intelligent as hers or Nicolas's, was fearsome indeed, but luckily unattainable to most.

The pair reached what appeared to be a dead end, before pulling out their wands. Flamel put his wand to his wrist, and looked at Perenelle who did the same. A small motion and blood welled up on their wrists, which were pushed onto the stone. Simultaneously they spoke seven words, seven passwords to seven ancient and powerful guardian charms. Anyone nearby not speaking the words would have been unable to hear them: try too hard and their ears would bleed. The wall slowly peeled back to reveal a large, empty room. Empty that is, except for a single, small brown package nestled on the floor. Flamel walked over to the package, opening it to reveal a beautiful blood red gemstone. His touched his wand to the stone, and single tiny fragment slipped off into his hand. He glanced at Perenelle, who only nodded, then repeated the process before handing the second chip to his wife.

As Nicolas headed back toward his lab, he contemplated again the stone.

Brewing the Elixir of Life was not particularly difficult if one had a Philosopher's stone: it was making the stone that was so difficult. 14th century France had focused almost exclusively on Alchemy, and both Flamel and Perenelle had been geniuses of the craft. Still, both had been almost on the brink of death before creating the Stone. They both had created it within months of each other, independently. They were also the only ones to have done so in recorded history: knowledge on how to create the stone could not be passed along by any method, and it took a lifetime of dedicated alchemy research in the mind of a genius to produce such a stone, and no society since Flamel's and Perenelle's had been able to produce such a genius.

The pair had actually been rivals initially, but after their successes and eventual death of everyone close, the pair had become a couple, and even a married one. Their union was more of convenience than affection: they enjoyed each other's company and intelligence, but their passion laid in magic, not love.

Dumbledore probably was capable of making the stone, but Flamel knew the man was not interested in the time involved or even the result: the man seemed to relish death, the only part of him Flamel did not understand. Following Dumbledore's request five year prior, Flamel had dutifully packed up and disappeared, telling the man he wanted to die someplace peaceful. Of course, Flamel had no such intention: he was nowhere close to being ready to die. It had hurt to lie to Dumbledore, but necessary to protect the man. The Stone needed more protection anyways, and thus Flamel had set up the most powerful safe place he could, although it was little use: nobody had actually tried to steal the stone yet.

Flamel smiled when he reached the lab. The process of making the stone was fun and easy, taking a mere twelve hours. It would be perfect to distract him from Dumbledore's death. In fact, even drinking the elixir would probably distract him from everything: during the process, the body dies and then melts away the age, literally leaving a puddle of tan goop on the floor. It was painful and disgusting, not to mention the several month adjustment to a new body. It was why Perenelle had been reluctant to repeat the experience when the bodies were still so "young", but both agreed that staying the same age was for the best.

Nicolas smiled, and began to work,

It had been nearly five months since Flamel had discovered Dumbledore's murder, and he was ready for action. He was dress in typical black robes, with no identification. Perenelle stood by, a concerned look on her face. Nicolas knew that she worried: the two had become close over the years, excellent companions. He had asked if she wanted to come, but she would never risk her life like that: normally neither would Flamel, but Dumbledore was the most important person to him since Perenelle herself. Flamel didn't value much, but he did value brilliance and research ethic, and Dumbledore had had enormous amounts of both.

With that final thought, Flamel gripped his wand tightly in his hand before disappearing with a crack.

Nicolas reeled as he appeared in the dark alleyway, before reaching out for a wall to steady himself. It had been quite a jump to apparate from France to London, and Nicolas was thankful for his new, youthful body. Stepping quickly out of the alleyway, Nicolas began to do what he had come to Diagon Alley to do: find Voldemort. Flamel quickly found his target: a middle aged, year fearful looking man. He held his wand tightly in his pocket, and whispered "legimens". It was one of many skills Flamel had picked up during his long life. The mind reading charm was quick work, and Flamel slipped into the man's mind, quickly pulling out the relevant information.
"Malfoy Manor" Flamel muttered. Finding out Voldemort's location was even less difficult than Flamel had imagined: though the man maintained a degree of removal from the public eye, everyone knew who was in charge and where he was based. It was time: Flamel disappeared again, his destination burning strongly in his mind.

Flamel appeared on a hilltop, and looked down. In the near distance a large, elegant manor stood, with a large courtyard in front. Three small figures dressed in black were walking toward the gate, and paused for only a moment before passing through. Nicolas smiled, before putting his wand out in front of him.

"Cerne Maxima" Flamel muttered, and an almost lens-like disk grew out of wand, until it was slightly larger than Flamel's face. He peered into it, his eyes running over the myriad glowing walls that now seemed to surround the manor. Flamel flicked his wand dismissively, and the lens disappeared. Nothing about the manor's defenses seemed particularly exceptional: the wards were strong, but conventional. Flamel smiled, and again disapparated into the night.

Nicolas appeared again, almost 100 meters away from the beginning on the wards. He stood silently beneath the tree, and began to speak out a long list of wards he had compiled over the years: one did not reach almost 670 by being careless when approaching a Dark Lord's base.

"Protego Maxima, Adimpleo Abscondere, Ultimum Protegant..."

Flamel continued for nearly five minutes, finishing with a slight spell to render his wards invisible to the naked eye. Despite the effort, Nicolas seemed no worse for wear. As a final precaution, Nicolas flicked his wand toward the ground, bringing up a dozen stones, each a couple inches across. Nicolas muttered a few more words, then the stones slowly faded into invisibility. Nicolas was especially proud of this trick, although he made sure to use it sparingly lest someone find a way to bypass it.

Finally prepared, Nicolas walked out onto the main road. He stood in the middle of the road, wand outstretched as he prepared himself. Flamel shouted out four words, each one guttural, almost demonic: it was difficult to comprehend how they had come out of a human's mouth. An enormous bolt of power erupted from Nicolas's wand, streaking through the air. The bolt seemed to be slowed momentarily when it hit the barriers, but with an enormous crash it shattered through, planting itself in the lawn before disappearing, leaving only a small scorch mark. That shield breaker was one of the most powerful in existence, and Flamel doubted anyone alive but him knew it anymore. Backed by Flamel's strength and skill, it had destroyed the wards around the manor, although they were stronger than Flamel had expected: they had been cast with strength and skill.

Moving forward, Flamel noticed a trio of hooded figures in masks moving out from the front of the manor. They moved with murderous intent toward Flamel. As a group, all three raised their wands and shouted "Stupefy!" Flamel didn't even bother raising his wand: such a simple spell wouldn't even come close to hurting him. Sure enough, the spells were absorbed easily. The trio fired twice more, each spell being absorbed into Flamel's ward.

The trio stopped for a moment, clearing conversing. Then the middle of the pair raised his wand again, and spoke in words so soft Flamel couldn't even hear them "Avada Kedavra". Shocked, Flamel apparated back 100 meters, muttering ancient French curse under his breath. Never had he known people to turn so quickly to the killing curse, especially lackeys such as these. Clearly they had a preference to interrogate him, but not a strong one. Flamel would have to be more careful than he had expected to need to be.

Still, Flamel still had hundreds of tricks up his sleeve, and he knew just the trick for such an encounter. It would be perfect to counter the most likely large force inside the castle. But first, Nicolas had to deal with the trio. Raising his wand again and smiling devilishly, Nicolas shouted out "Metus Allucinatio!" The middle of trio fell to floor, his hands covering his eye while he screamed. The other two brought their wands up, their words beginning to mouth the killing curse, but it was too late: they too fell to the floor screaming as Flamel cursed them both.

Flamel moved forward quickly, before muttering "Somnium" three times to put the trio to sleep. The spell was incredibly weak: and shield could block it. But the three were completely defenseless now as horrible visions rocked through all fives sense. Flamel used the spell both as a mercy and an act of condescension. The trio wouldn't wake for hours, and by then Flamel expected whatever the government was in England now to be swarming this place.

Flamel walked toward the manor slowly, planning. He did not want to kill anyone except for Voldemort: death was something Flamel had come to despise above all else. Of course, taking a mansion of skilled dark wizards alive would take far more effort than killing them. If Flamel intended to kill, he could simply use the thousands of animated diamond warriors he kept in a trunk back in Paris. Diamond was easy with a philosophers stone, and Flamel had had plenty of time to build up his army of lightning quick and incredibly deadly warriors over the years: a simple incantation would wake them. Still, they were too deadly: Flamel was saving them in case a country declared war on him.

Taking the manor hostage was equally out of the question: although Flamel could demonstrate his power and make threats, it would be too easy for Voldemort to escape. Going through the manor and taking down everyone individually would take too much time: they would mass on him, or the local government would show up. Flamel sighed: it looked like he would have to do it the tiring way.

Flamel stopped at the front of the manor, expecting reinforcements to arrive at any time for the fallen trio. He was about to cast three very powerful spells and he needed to do it quickly: the first would alert anyone in the manor to his presence. He raised his wand:

"Templus Purifico Magia" Flamel said the words slowly, and mentally set the field for the entire manor. The spell would clear out the latent magical aura, preventing it from affecting Flamel's next two spells. On a small scale, the spell was very useful for controlled experiments: on a large scale, it was both draining yet necessary for precision spell work on the scale Flamel was planning.

"Templus Finite Incantatem" That spell was a classic, but it forced Flamel to bend over with the strain, but he quickly picked himself up again quickly, before shouting out finally "Templus Interitus Sopor".

With a groan Flamel slid to the ground, but with a grim smile across his face. He was sure no other wizard in the world could have cast all three of those spells over such a large area, except maybe Perenelle. The initial spell had set up a cleansed area inside the manor, but this was dangerous: anyone magical would be able to feel it, and even if they did not know what was happening they would be suspicious. The next spell took down all shields up to a certain level of power, determined by how much power Flamel put in. And Flamel had put in a lot of power. This would take down any shields the occupants kept on themselves all the time. Finally he had cast a sleep charm that, although easy to block with a shield, was very difficult to reverse until the person woke up naturally almost twelve hours later. It was the perfect follow up, and Nicolas knew that there could be no more than a half dozen wizards left in the manor.

Hearing a noise, Nicolas quickly downed two Pepperup Potions from his bag. They would revitalize him, although he would be exhausted completely in an hour or so. He stood up quickly, facing the entrance of the manor. Out emerged another trio: a tall man with long blonde hair, a shorter, very skinny woman with crazy black hair. But what occupied Flamel's attention was the man in the middle: from what Flamel had heard, clearly Voldemort.

Flamel groaned inwardly. He had hoped that the story he had pulled from the man's mind had been exaggerating, but Voldemort was clearly the kind of Dark Lord who liked to look evil. He literally had red snake eyes and creepy ashen skin, Flamel noted. He would be doing the world a favor by killing him.

"Are you the one who killed Dumbledore?" Flamel said, his voice chilly.

"How dare you speak to the Dark Lord like that!" the women screamed, raising her wand maniacally, "please Lord, let me kill him."

"No dear Bella, not yet." The man's voice was almost snake like, a hiss underlying every cold word. "Who, are you?"

Nicolas had debated whether or not to reveal who he was, but he would probably kill all three of these anyway. Besides, with Dumbledore dead he had no reason to hide anymore. "Flamel" he stated simply.

Nicolas was shocked by the man's reflexes, but relaxed considerably when Voldemort screamed "Imperio!" he felt the spell wash over him, but ignored it. He and Perenelle had long since trained to immunity from the imperio curse, out of fear someone would force them to make a stone.

Voldemort's eye filled with hate at being resisted, but he simply twitched a hand and turned to return inside. The woman raised her wand again gleefully, and the man reluctantly did the same.

The duel was short. The man went down almost instantly: he wasn't particularly motivated or skilled, and an unconventional stunner was enough to take him down. The woman was more trouble, but still no match for Flamel's 600 years. She used a lot of tricky magic, and Flamelle was glad he had cast some of the weirder shielding spells earlier. Still, Flamel needed to hurry and there was no time to enjoy a duel: he took her shields down with a weaker version of his earlier spell to enter the manor, and then it was a stunner and she was down. He was moderately surprised she had not tried to kill him: the man certainly had begun to mouth the killing curse almost immediately, but the woman seemed to want to have more fun, without having enough time to learn to take Flamel seriously. He didn't kill either of the pair: it didn't seem necessary

Voldemort had only just reached the door when Flamel took the woman down. He turned slowly, and smiled. "I'm not sure why, but I suppose I thought the great Alchemist Nicolas Flamel would be a little bit worse of a duelist. Still, you won't be any match for me." Voldemort bowed condescendingly toward Flamel, then raised his wand. Flamel returned the gesture, hoping it was correct: dueling etiquette changed every other decade, and most people didn't even bother.

"Shall we begin?" Voldemort asked, shooting off a dark purple spell before even finishing his words. Flamel narrowly sidestepped the spell, and was surprised to see it pass through all of his shields. He didn't recognize the spell, but something of his should have stopped it. He only sidestepped out of habit and safety: he was lucky he had.

"I created it myself," Voldemort laughed high and crackling. "I knew you would have many ancient and powerful shielding spells. Nothing I had ever read would be a match: luckily I've invented a few of my own spells. They were intended for Dumbledore, the old few knew enough old magics, but they'll be perfect for you." Voldemort slashed downward, sending an arc of the same purple energy toward Flamel, parallel with the ground. Flamel was forced to jump, propelling himself up with magic, before settling gently to the ground again.

Flamel shuddered inwardly. This man was clever, and apparently intelligent enough to invent new magic: a very difficult feat. Still, he was right: none of Flamel's spells would protect against entirely new magic invented to bypass shield spells. Still, Voldemort was not the only with access to unconventional magic, and unlike Voldemort Flamel had had centuries to learn that showing off for your opponent was always a bad idea: better to end it quickly.

"Claustra Maxima" Flamel shouted, his wand making an overemphasized downward flick. Flamel had only a moment before the power drain hit him: he dropped to the ground like a stone, trembling as his spell drained his already depleted power rapidly to overcome Voldemort's wand's natural protection.

With a loud snap that echoed around the courtyard, Voldemort's wand snapped in two. Flamel smiled. "It takes a lot of power to destroy a wand with magic," Nicolas said, as he slowly rose to his feet again as he recovered. "I had to develop the spell myself, and Perenelle and I are the only ones who know it, and I'm the only one to ever cast it. This is the third time I've used it on an opponent, and all three I feared for my life. You should feel honored, being victim to such a powerful spell. Still, I didn't get to be 600 by being a risk taker." Flamel knew he was being cruel by taunting the dark wizard, but it was his small petty revenge for Dumbledore's death. It wasn't like the man didn't deserve to be taken down a peg.

Voldemort's initial shock quickly turned to rage after Flamel's speech. He raised both his hands and screamed as he fired a blast of pure magical energy at Flamel. Flamel grinned again: without a wand to focus it, even this much power would be weak: a teenager could have blocked it.

Flamel raised his wand. "It's over Voldemort. Time for what you deserve." Flamel approached Voldemort until he was mere feet away. But Voldemort raised his hand quickly, and a wand flew to his hand from where it lay by the blonde man's man side.

"AVAVA KEDAVRA" screamed the snake man, his voice filled with loathing. There was an enormous flash of green light, and the sound of exploding stone. Flamel was already twenty meters back, his wand pointed at Voldemort: as soon as the Killing Curse has failed he had moved back, breaking both the wand in Voldemort's hand and the one that lay by the woman's side: it was far easier to shatter a wand when it wasn't in the hands of its willing owner.

Voldemort stared in shock at Flamel. "How?" he said, his voice sounded weak and listless in the face of total defeat. It wasn't surprisingly: Flamel always say the same reaction when the killing curse failed. He smiled, and held out his hand where a small rock appeared.

"I enchant these rocks to be invisible and follow in the air around me. They're also enchanted to sense the Killing Curse, and move immediately to block it. Perenelle and I spent weeks trying to think of a counter for the killing curse, but she won in the end. In retrospect it seems obvious doesn't it?" Flamel smiled, and moved forward. "Goodnight," muttered Flamel. "Somnium"

Voldemort's eyes filled with hate at being taken down by such a simple spell, then slowly slumped over into sleep. Flamel placed his wand at the man's temple. An interesting side effect of the elixir was that it prevented its user from using the killing curse, ever. Still, it was a small price to pay, especially since there were dozens of ways to kill a man with even basic magic. For example, a simple strong…

"Impedimenta"…

to the brain would be enough to stop blood flow enough to kill anyone in seconds. Nicolas rose slowly, then moved toward the gate. Who knew when authorities would arrive, and he would have to leave the manor to Disapparate, having left the anti-apparition jinx intact early. Once he was safely outside the manor, Flamel disappeared.

He arrived home midafternoon, a mere hour after he had left. Perenelle was sitting down to tea, a custom they had picked up many years earlier when Dumbledore stayed with them. Flamel smiled, and sat down. The battle would knock him out soon, but he would enjoy some tea before his twelve hour respite. Perenelle smiled at him, acting casual but secretly relieved he knew.

"Well? How was it?" she asked.

"Worse than Vlad and his swarm of Vampires, but still not as bad as Baba Yaga." Nicolas replied, shuddering to think to the true worst witch in history. He had been forced to take her down, with a dozen other wizard before she blew up a Volcano and destroyed Europe.

"Sounds nasty" said Perenelle.

"Exhausting" replied Nicolas, before standing to retire to bed early.