Chapter 1: Charmed Life

Disclaimer: Nicholas and Perenelle aren't mine. That's why this is here - it's fanfiction, therefore, I am a fan. Illuminated?

AN: It's not that Nicholas is incompetent, just that Perenelle is fierce and critical. NOT a good combination. You might find there's an overdose of clichés and quotes in here.

'Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die.'
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Nicholas Flamel
DOB – 1324

married

Perenelle Jourdemain
DOB – 1332

1364
I absently stirred one of the nine potions Nichols and I had been concocting for the last three months. They had to work – they just had to! Apart from the fact that Nicholas would strangle someone if they didn't (probably me, due to lack of cats), I would almost certainly go insane.

We'd searched the mouldy book we found in the attic (you wouldn't believe what we found in the attic) for any little clue about changing lead to gold, or eternal life, or anything else the reputed Philosopher's Stone was supposed to do, and found seven completely different potions. Nicholas and I had added our own versions, and left the potions to– well, to mature, I suppose.

And so we'd kept the extremely complicated potions simmering for ninety days – luckily, potions were always my strong point, and Nicholas wasn't too bad at them, either. Meanwhile, we were trying to go about our lives as normal, faithfully concealing the fact that we were a witch and wizard, and maintaining Nicholas' apothecary.

Now, however, I was standing in the cellar of our house, with potion ingredients and spell books for company. And Nicholas, of course, but he was fervently leafing through multiple copies of old, decrepit manuscripts, and didn't really count. I carefully poured a small amount of potion into a container, moved on to the next cauldron, and did the same.

As I was filling up the ninth container, an idea almost knocked me over.

I could try combining some of the potions!

Quickly, as though time had any effect on the quality of the liquidised spells, I took more containers out of the cupboard at my feet (Nicholas considerately puts everything near the ground because I'm not very tall). I began to mix cauldrons one and two, three and four, five and six, and so on. It occurred to me that I should probably record what I was doing, so, instead of fetching writing materials, I performed a quick memory-enhancement charm. Gradually, I worked my way through various combinations.

It wasn't until I mixed numbers three (Nicholas') and seven (mine – it's my lucky number) that something even remotely interesting happened.

"Nicholas!" I hissed. "Stop slaughtering your eyesight and look at this!"

My husband looked up blearily – the bags under his eyes were extremely obvious in the wandlight – and muttered a half-formed, "Wha-?"

By this time, my precious mixture was forming a solid – I think Nicholas called it a 'precipitate'.

I rolled my eyes (something I'd been very prone to since marrying Nicholas), and showed him the now red potion. Nicholas' eyes lit up.

"You've done it, Penny!" he exulted, hugging me.

"Careful!" I choked out, trying not to spill my precious concoction. "And it's Perenelle!"

---

Insert eight years of experiments with the Elixir of Life (mainly conducted by me), and a few small- OK, quite large- oh, all right, then – massive – shouting matches and take yourself to 11:53pm on my fortieth birthday, most of which I spent shut up in a draughty basement.

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1372
"Penny!"

"What? And it's Perenelle, Nicholas," I snapped.

"I've got it!"

"What?"

"This!"

"Get to the point, Nicholas," I sighed in exasperation.

"The – the Elixir of Life!"

That got my attention. "Really?"

"Really." An idiotic grin was plastered all over his face.

"Well?"

"Well – what?" Suddenly he was looking uneasey, and I wondered why.

"Have you tried it yet?"

"I- I was hoping you- er- you might," stuttered the man.

Another roll of the eyes, followed by some extensive yelling, words which should not be heard by a lady, never mind said, and (on Nicholas' part) stuttering.

"You're hopeless!" I finished, rather harshly, and taking the potion from my husband's not-quite-trembling grip. I downed it in one, long gulp.

I would like to say I felt something, or heard angels singing, or was surrounded by light, or whatever, but, truth to tell, nothing even slightly remarkable happened. Since I didn't immediately keel over and die, Nicholas Flamel drank a little himself, which eventually led to him gaining the reputation of being the greatest alchemist in the world, even though I did most of the work.

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And that was how I began my charmed life.

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AN: Reviews, anyone?