Chapter 3
Nicolas Flamel cried out in agony as he was shoved into his desk by a man in a hooded black cloak, the tip of a wand pressing firmly into his jugular.
"Where is the stone?" the man demanded, his voice naught but a mere hiss.
"The – the stone?" stammed Nicolas. "I'm – I'm afraid I-I don't know what you –"
"Don't play the fool, Flamel. I am not in the mood to play your childish games of riddle and denial." The man dug his wand firmer into Nicolas' throat. "You know exactly which stone I am talking about. There is only one stone that I would be after."
"The Philosopher's Stone," said Nicolas, terrified.
"Ah, so you're not as stupid as you are old. Give it to me."
"You won't find it!" Nicolas summoned up what little courage he had; as scared as he was, he refused to go down without a fight. "So long as I'm alive, you'll never know the true location of the Philosopher's Stone."
"Oh? Then I suppose it's a good thing I don't need you alive," whispered the man. "I do thank you for divulging that crucial piece of information to me."
Nicolas paled dramatically. "Now – now, see here a minute, there's no need to take such drastic measures –"
The door to his study creaked open. To Nicolas' horror, his wife poked her head through the gap.
"Nicholas? I hope I'm not intruding on anything, dear," Perenelle said. Nicolas desperately wished he could tell her to run, to get away while she still could. "I was just wondering if you and your – your guest," here, she shot the hooded man a nervous glance, "would like some tea?"
"No," said the hooded man, turning to her. "I am afraid there are more important things than tea."
He yanked open the door and grabbed Perenelle by her hair, dragging her inside the study. Startled, she let out a hoarse cry of pain, her wizened fingers pulling at the hooded man's to no avail; he was much too strong, and she was too feeble.
"No, no please!" Nicolas clapped his hands together, begging. "Don't hurt her, not my wife, please!"
"You refused to tell me the location of the Philosopher's Stone," said the hooded man, "and so you must be punished before I kill you. How long can your wife scream in agony before her heart gives out?"
. . . .
One Week Later
Draco unfolded the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table the next morning, pausing in the act of bringing a piece of sausage to his mouth.
Harry noticed and asked, "What's the matter?"
"Nicolas Flamel is dead," answered Draco, handing the paper to Harry. "Died a week ago, according to reports. He was an alchemist and the creator of the Philosopher's Stone."
"The what?"
"It's an Elixir of Life," said Hermione, dropping into the empty seat beside Harry, clutching her own copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand and her breakfast plate in the other. "It extends the life of the user. Nicolas Flamel created it and lived to be six-hundred-and-sixty-five before he – before he was murdered." Harry's brows rose in disbelief and Hermione nodded solemnly. "I know. It's almost too hard to believe."
Draco glanced up at Dumbledore, who looked very grave and wasn't eating anything. "Dumbledore and Flamel apparently knew each other, too," he said. "Great friends, they were – or so the books say."
"There was an entire sub-section about their friendship," said Hermione in agreement. "I borrowed one of Flamel's memoirs not too long ago, in fact."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked.
"Think about it, Harry," said Draco softly. "Flamel went to great lengths to hide the stone, however don't you think it'd be kind of hard to hide something as powerful as that?"
"I see," said Harry. "So you think Dumbledore knows where it is?"
"I'm sure of it." said Draco. "Of course, most people would believe that he just was saddened by the death of his friend, but look at him." He paused, allowing Harry and Hermione to turn and stare at Dumbledore, whose fingers were steepled. The wrinkles had deepened like crevices in his face. "He looks worried."
"I would be, too," said Blaise, who had overheard the conversation from his place beside Draco. "Everyone knows that the stone is a terrible thing. People would kill to get their hands on it."
Draco's lips twisted. "Someone just did."
Blaise almost choked on a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "No way! Someone actually found the old bastard?"
"Yeah, because Flamel was found murdered in his home last week, along with his wife," said Hermione. She handed him the paper, unfazed when he snatched it out of her hands eagerly. "The only thing I don't get is why."
"Same here," said Harry.
"You two were raised by Muggles," said Draco. "You wouldn't understand."
Hermione bristled. "Just because we weren't born in the Wizarding world, doesn't –"
"Oh, don't get like that," snapped Draco, before she could start. "I meant it's only something that people from Dark families would know about. Blaise and I – and dozens of other people at this table – were raised on stories like this. You see, once the 'owner', so to speak, of the Philosopher Stone dies, it becomes something like a magical beacon. It wants another owner so that it fulfil its duty."
Harry shivered. "That's awful."
"Exactly. It'll lure people toward it – and if more than one person shows up, they'll be a fight to death, I'm sure of it," said Draco. "But no one has ever been able to find Nicolas to kill him … except now."
They all looked down at the Prophet sitting on the table between them, dread curdling in their stomachs.
. . . .
"Albus, you have to move it," said Minerva, later on that evening. She trembled uncontrollably from grief and fear. "It cannot stay here, amongst the children! What if that monster was to get in here?"
They sat in Albus' office. Minerva had collapsed into one of the chairs, her head swimming. How could Albus sit there at his desk so calmly, as if the world hadn't turned on its head and delivered to them the worst news imaginable? Did a wizard like him feel fear at all?
"My dear," murmured Albus, "this is Hogwarts. It is safe."
"Safe!" Minerva grasped the arms of her chair tightly. She felt rather faint. "We thought Flamel's hideout was safe just like we thought Lily and James' house was safe ten years ago, and look what's happened! That stone should be buried somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where nobody can find it. Instead, you want to keep it in this castle, where hundreds of innocent and unknowing students live? It's unthinkable!"
"I would rather that stone be here, where I can keep an eye on it."
"Albus, you know that there are students here who'll be able to sense it," said Minerva sharply. "You know they possess the qualities the stone desires. What if a child decides to follow what they think is their gut instinct, and wind up in possession of the stone?"
"Then we shall take extra precaution," said Albus. "You know quite well that I'm not happy about this either, Minerva, but it must be done. We cannot let this stone fall into enemy hands – or any hands at all, until the time comes when we find out how to destroy it."
Minerva opened her mouth to argue, but no words were forthcoming. Defeated, she snapped her jaw closed and sat back. How in the world were they going to protect the children?
. . . .
"I borrowed this from the library," said Hermione, slamming a heavy tome on the table in the Slytherin common room. She had stood outside for a good five minutes until someone came along and found her, fetching Harry and Draco when she asked for them. "It has information on Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone. I asked Madam Pince about it – took a bit of cajoling, but she finally led me to it. It was right at the back, amongst some of the oldest books I've ever seen, and it's no wonder I wasn't able to find it. I bet you it has much more information than the memoir."
She spoke quietly, glancing nervously at the other Slytherins as if worried that they might overhear her. Sighing, Draco took out his wand and cast a silencing charm around them.
"Thanks," she said. "I want to learn everything I can about it. I mean, you said it's dangerous now that it doesn't have an owner."
"That's correct," said Draco, nodding. "But why would that make you want to learn more about it?"
"Because I don't know much of anything about it, and I hate not knowing something. And since Harry doesn't know much about it either, I thought it'd be best if all learn together."
"I'd like that," said Harry, appeased. He sat forward. "I've been wondering about the stone myself, actually."
"See," said Hermione to Draco, gesturing at Harry. "He agrees with me. It was a good idea after all."
Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "That doesn't bother me. But do you really think it best to do this in the middle of a common room, where anyone can watch us?" He glanced around. Nobody had taken much of an interest in them. However, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the other Slytherins started to get suspicious, especially if Hermione frequently visited with old, thick books.
Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, you're right! I didn't think about that. But – but where else could we go?"
"Let me think about that," said Draco. "For now, we'll just do it here."
"Alright."
Hermione peeled open the book. The three of them leapt back as a cloud of dust rose into the air.
