Neville stared at a dark mirror, its surface only showing him as he approached. On the silvery plane he saw his parents, unlike they had ever been in his memory. They smiled proudly at his dumbstruck expression, and for a mere moment he wondered if they had been trapped inside, their souls separated from their bodies. The longer he stared, he realized that it was not his parents staring back at him, his parents were insane, wandering around in a ward at Saint Mungo's. As the Healer on hand had explained, there was precisely nothing wrong with their souls, they were in every way still his parents, but they were incurably mad, and unless some unforeseen change took place in the treatment options for insanity, they would remain that way all of their days. He instructed Neville to not give up hope, not ever.
When he eliminated what was patently impossible, he realized he was only looking at something like a painting of his parents, only it was one that he was painting himself. Their faces started to change. The apparitions of his parents before him were the result of an advanced enchantment on the mirror, and he guessed this was the obstacle Dumbledore made. Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick McGonagall, Quirrell, Snape, and Dumbledore. Checking his Remembrall, he decided he was not forgetting anything. It may not be very useful, but it's never failed me, not once.
Putting some thought into it, the Philosopher's Stone seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He knew he could not use it, Hermione would need a miracle, and really they were only trying to keep it from Quirrell, Voldemort, or whoever it was. If the Stone could be made by Flamert, he has to know how to destroy it. From his friend's angry mutterings, he had some idea that the alchemist had been using his creation to keep himself alive, which was most likely what motivated the preservation of the Stone, and Neville considered they may not be able to get him to give it up especially only for the sake of keeping it from a dark wizard who was supposed to be dead.
And yet, as he stood there, he was achieving little.
Where's Quirrell- why isn't he in here? Has he given up? Does he have it? The idea frightened him, but he guessed he should have prepared himself for the idea, given that they had chased him in, of course he would get there first. What happened here? How do we destroy the Stone now? How do we stop Quirrell? How can I get my friends out of here?
The surface of the mirror changed to reveal Victor Crabbe standing behind him and he swiveled, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Crabbe? Where the-"
"Quirrell was here and he has the Stone. He put the dog thing straight to sleep and moved the big plant out of the way of the door. He passed though the other door without the key and made the chessmen break each other."
"The troll?"
"He killed the troll and he just picked up a few of the potions to smell them."
"And you were trapped in the mirror?" The mirror was where the Stone was hidden- somehow. Quirrell must have needed Crabbe to get at it, though I can't figure out why. Crabbe nodded. As the black flames went out behind them, Neville remembered Snape was supposed to have been seen with Silver.
"Where's Draco?" Hermione asked, voicing the question everyone was thinking as at last they came through the fire. Her face bore a look of deep concern. She's figured it out. Of course she has.
"Probably with Quirrell. Quirrell has the Stone and he's using Silver as a hostage to get the Elector of Life."
"He could have used anyone." Ron interrupted.
"Ron, no one else is missing except you and Draco. If he kidnapped anyone else, he would have had to spring the trap right then." the Ravenclaw explained. She paused while Crabbe repeated everything he had said to Neville. The mood in the room darkened considerably.
"Goyle's going after Dumbledore." Ron mentioned.
"It's too late for that." Hermione explained, cutting him off. "Qui- Voldemort's already trading Draco for Nicolas Flamel, if he's here."
"Where are they meeting?" Neville asked. "Maybe we could surprise Quirrell." The idea was met with little confidence, even from Ron. "It's starting to look like our only chance." he added. I don't know what I can do against him- I really don't, but I can't leave Silver up to him.
"I'm not sure it is." Hermione countered, her voice absent of the hope he might have expected with the suggestion of a chance. "He needs Flamel, right? That's why he didn't leave right after he got the Stone. He can't find him, or he would have found him months ago and just forced him to make another Stone."
"What are you saying?" he asked. "Are you saying he needs Dumbledore to get Flamel?" All of a sudden it made sense- in Gringotts, the Stone was in Flamel's vault, but Flamel was nowhere to be found. The lock was separated from the key and as a result the Stone was safer than it ever could have been in Hogwarts. Somehow, he planted the idea in Dumbledore's mind to move it. There was no way to be certain, it could have been a word of advice from a friend under the Imperius- or Quirrell himself. He broke into the vault after the fact to convince Dumbledore he had made the right decision.
"He's some sort of recluse- prefers the quiet life." Hermione explained, probably remembering one of the many books she had read on the subject. "He and Dumbledore were old friends, though. If Dumbledore had the key to his vault, or if they shared the vault he probably had some way of getting in contact with him." There was a silence as all listened for what she would say next. "Apart from attacking Voldemort, our only chance is to get to Flamel first." she announced.
"Are you saying we kill Flam- Hermione, he didn't even do anything!" Ron objected. "We can still get Quirrell- well, he's using Snape now, if we surprise him-"
"Ron, we haven't been able to surprise him yet. Every step of the way we've been playing right into his hands, and it's because we've been going about this like children. For your information, I'm not suggesting we kill Flamel- we convince him not to come when Dumbledore calls. I know where he lives in France- it was in one of the books in the Restricted Section." All at once another mystery unraveled before Neville as he thought about it- one possible reason to seek a teaching position at Hogwarts was to have access to those books specifically, but he had drawn too much attention to himself with the troll. He could have been meaning to make a distraction of it- but it got out of hand.
"If we don't allow Dumbledore to trade him, Malfoy dies and he still has the Stone!" Crabbe objected.
"Whose side are you-" Ron started. "We can't allow him to get Flamel and the Stone, no matter who dies- we still have a chance. He thinks he's won- if we just attack him all at once, Dumbledore can kill him before anyone dies! You don't know what he was like during the war, he won't just trade the Stone for one life-"
"Malfoy isn't just one life, he's a whole line and I'll be damned before I let it die." The Slytherin swore vehemently, frustrated the discussion was hardly going his way.
"Oh, so that's what's important here- it's alright if bloody You-Know-Who comes back, I don't suppose-"
"Shut up, both of you!" Hermione shouted, her strained eyes wide with anger. "You're going after Voldemort and getting yourself killed if you like, Neville and I are going to find Flamel- we can't expect both plans to work, if either of them do." Crabbe and Ron looked angry enough to be forced to work together, but it was nothing new for the latter, at least. I guess their interests line up. They're both going after Quirrell- well, Snape, I think. "Neville, are you coming?"
"Yes." He muttered, following her closely as the four of them left through the disappearing purple flames, taking it at a bit of a run. "Where are we going?"
"Non-magical Paris-" she started. "-the last place anyone would think to look. We're taking the Floo from Professor McGonagall's office."
None of the obstacles got in their way as they left, even the chessmen stepped aside.
Apparently it was somewhere in Hogwarts: A History that there was only one fireplace capable of international travel in Hogwarts, and they were fortunate enough that its owner was either tied up somewhere or an Inspector, whom they could attack at will.
"She can't run around in my appearance anymore and she's probably hoping to keep close to Professor Dumbledore." Hermione had said as they were running. Neville frowned. His impression of Alecto was that she was tricky and not at all predictable. They threw open the office door without bothering to knock and the Ravenclaw screamed at the sight of a tough-looking woman chained to the ceiling with dark green chains, probably conjured. Checking his Remembrall, he really had never met her, but it seemed he was alone on that.
"I recognize her- she was following me once- it's not important." Hermione said as she grabbed the Floo powder. She had significantly more interest in the Network as a means of travel than flying, and he had been happy to explain how it worked, as his grandmother would occasionally use it to take him places. She never bothered to tell him about it, because he would only forget, but he managed to pick up a few things. "Le Masque de Fer" she announced as she cast the powder into the fireplace. Both of them entered without hesitation.
"How do we know he's not gone yet?" Neville asked as they surfaced in what appeared to be a Muggle bar, which his grandmother had told him to avoid.
"We don't, this may be a waste of time." Hermione explained, ducking through patrons. The sign on the door said 'Salon' something, but he was confused as to what it had to do with hair. "Voldemort's always been two steps ahead, so we have to jump the gun a bit if we're to catch him off guard."
"Right- and what's a gun?"
"Something I wouldn't mind right now." she muttered vaguely in response. They were out on a crowded street in a part of the city that smelled like concrete and cigarettes, not quite what he had imagined of the fabled Paris in the morning. Maybe it's still pretty in the magical part. According to Hermione, Flamel lived most of his life in the city in peace with the Muggles, or 'normal people' as she called them before faking his death after creating the Philosopher's Stone centuries ago. Guess he couldn't very well keep up the act too long, he and his wife still young and chipper as everyone else gets old.
"What do we do when we find him?" Neville asked, trying his best not to doubt that they would find him.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." Hermione responded, again uselessly and again without turning around.
"Hermione."
"What?"
"Why are you acting like this?" I guess I can't entirely eliminate lack of sleep.
"What?" she asked, frustrated.
"You're not acting like you."
"Well 'I' can't handle this. Whatever I am now can, at least for now." She opened the door to what appeared to be a restaurant with a townhouse on the second floor. Inside they were assaulted by a wave of new scents, and as they waited at the front, a waiter came by and started talking to them in French, which it appeared Hermione could at least passably speak. They must do things differently in Muggle schools. Eventually he seemed satisfied by her attempt.
"Zere is no one by zat name 'ere." He explained, probably in reference to the alchemist or his wife.
"I- I know that sir, just anyone who looks like him." Neville had a harder time figuring out that request, but the waiter explained that the man who lived upstairs was an eccentric, going about in robes and all that. They never minded, as he was generous enough and he had a good taste in cheese. As she asked for a key, he waived away the notion and told her she'd better knock, since he hardly enjoyed being disturbed.
"How'd you know he'd be here?" Neville asked as they went upstairs.
"I didn't, but he's a creature of habit, apparently, and he'd never leave the cheese shops of Paris. An author quoted Professor Dumbledore in a book on his work with the alchemist, and he said he had a fondness for this particular street. In his day, if you lived in the city, you died in it sooner than relocating- the French were highly regional, even more so than-"
The door opened in response to her knocking.
"Hogwarts robes?" The man's old blue eyes blinked once in confusion. "They look so different now..." His appearance rather surprised Neville, as he had been expecting a young man, or at least younger than he was, his salt and pepper hair more salt than pepper. A similarly old woman stared at them from around the corner.
"I'm sorry sir, this is important."
"It's always important." he barked unexpectedly. "You people don't know how to let things happen." Again, Neville's expectations had been defied. Where he had hoped for someone who would understand immediately and help them, or at least help himself, there was a veritable curmudgeon. I suppose he really does prefer the quiet life.
"Please, Voldemort's taken the Philosopher's Stone and he's coming after you-"
"Color me surprised." Flamel spat. "I have enough of the Elixer to order my affairs before death." The idea stopped Hermione in her tracks.
"You can't have already decided on dying-"
"Can't I? You're not going to get the Stone back, are you?" Neville found himself liking the man less and less. It was true, though, at the moment it appeared there was no way to regain the lost treasure, not with it in Voldemort's hands.
"Well, we're only here to keep you from answering Professor Dumbledore if he tries to trade you for the hostage. He's a student."
"He hasn't contacted me."
"It's only a matter of-"
"Do you really think he'd do it? Give his old enemy a chance to live again for the life of a student?" He almost laughed, but he looked at Neville's expression. "No, he'll take the blame for the loss. He's probably writing the boy's parents already." The alchemist sat down as his wife poured three glasses of wine, none of which were touched. "You don't know him very well if you think he'll do it. He knows I'd ask why, and I'd never go if I knew the reason."
"But you've already accepted dying." Neville protested, more confused than anything.
"I can't very well make another Stone, can I? I don't have another soul to lose."
"You- you lost your soul?" Hermione asked, voice caught in her throat.
"In a manner of speaking- don't ask me how I did it. There are things we can't just make, not with Alchemy or any of the old magicks, even the darkest of the arts- and some of these things have immeasurable value. What do you think you could do if you just stopped worrying about whether or not you should? What do you think you could become if you stopped looking at yourself in the mirror? Maybe you would decide you were doing it temporarily, perhaps you would tell others you were only doing it for the greater good. It is easy to rationalize sacrificing what is precious, and it is easier still to end up living with guilt." Neville was not sure whether the old man was talking about himself, Dumbledore, or who if neither of them.
"Is that why you don't talk?" Neville asked. I don't know how I'll face Silver if I can't overcome this.
"Neither of us like politics, but he would never become a recluse over it. As long as he and I had ties, there would be those who could find me." He sighed. "All the same, you are probably right, though suffice to say it's complicated."
"Sir... I confess that most of... this has... escaped my understanding, but do you want your creation being used to bring back Voldemort?" Hermione asked, almost pleadingly. "Won't that only... add more regrets?"
"I imagine it would, but as your goal was to keep me from answering the summons from your Headmaster, so commendable a keeper of the students he would Floo me for this kind of favor, you have well and truly wasted your time." He took a drink. "He will not summon me and I shall not go unbidden. Voldemort will not get to use the Stone and the student will die."
As the air hung in silence and Hermione started to turn to go, Neville wondered if what they were doing counted as sacrificing Silver.
The fireplace flared briefly and a smile cracked on the old alchemist's face.
"Well, I'll be damned."
