A/N: Special thanks to Marthen Gabriel, my first reviewer. This chapter is especially for you! I assure all who reads this fic that my writing will improve as the story proceeds. I'll try to upload two to three new chapters each week.

April Flamel

Harry's face fell. Dumbledore was the only one in the room.

"April should be here any minute now. You're a little early, Harry."

Dumbledore waved a hand towards a chair near him, indicating for Harry to take a seat.  "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head, as he tried to wipe his wet palms on his robes.

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth, signed contentedly, and then asked, "How was your summer, Harry? Nothing out of the usual, I hope."

"The same. I tried to keep out of the Dursleys' way as much as I could. They left me alone most of the time. It has been like this ever since I told Uncle Vernon that Sirius is my godfather."

What Harry did not tell the headmaster was that the Dursleys seemed to be getting tired of his 'subtle' reminders of Sirius Black, a convicted murderer who escaped from the heavily guarded wizard prison Azkaban. Afterall, the Dursleys had never met or heard from Sirius Black, and had began to doubt if Harry indeed knew the escaped prisoner.

Harry also left out accounts of the frequent nightmares he had in the summer. They were mostly of the night of Voldemort's return and Cedric Diggory's death. But his scar had not been hurting, so Harry thought he could afford to keep his nightmares to himself. Harry knew Dumbledore was already very worried with Voldemort's return and now he was also occupied with helping clear Sirius' name. The last thing Harry wanted now was to add to Dumbledore's burdens. He also did not want the headmaster to regard him as not being able to take care of himself and his emotions.

A loud bang interrupted Harry's thoughts and brought him back to the present with a start. The door to Dumbledore's office burst open.

A woman with long black hair and dark brown eyes was standing at the doorway. She was wearing muggle clothes – a leather jacket over a tank top, and faded blue jeans. Harry guessed that she was in her mid-twenties.

"I'm not late, am I?" The woman strided into the room with big confident steps, not waiting for a reply. "Hello, Albus."

Dumbledore acknowledged her greeting with a warm smile and a raise of hand.

The woman's dark eyes travelled around the room and landed on Harry.

"You must be Harry Potter. The famous Boy-Who-Lived," she gave Harry a wink, followed by a wide grin. She did not make any effort to hide the amusement in her eyes.

Under normal circumstance, Harry would have cringed and felt uncomfortable when he heard himself being referred to as 'The Boy-Who-Lived'. But there was something in the woman's tone and look in the eye that told him she was subtly mocking the ridiculous title.

Harry let out a breath that he was unware he had been holding since she entered the room. He liked this woman.

"Oh no! I've forgotten my manners again. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, Harry. I'm April Flamel. Please call me April."

Harry shook April Flamel's extended hand and returned her grin. He had one burning question that had been in his mind ever since his conversation with Dumbledore the evening before. He wondered when would be a good time to raise it.

Harry anxiously wanted to know how April Flamel could help make Sirius a free man again. He had been replaying Ron's words that Dumbledore's judgment could be trusted, in his mind over and over again. Harry himself had never doubted the headmaster's judgment. Well, almost never anyway. The only thing Harry had yet to understand was how Dumbledore could place so much faith in Severus Snape, a former Death Eater.

Harry had expected April Flamel to be somewhat older. Perhaps someone in her late thirties or forties. He was a little taken aback to find out that the person who might hold the key to his godfather's freedom was only about ten years older than him.

But maybe because of her background…of having an ancestor who was an extremely accomplished alchemist, April possessed wizarding powers and experience beyond her age. "If Dumbledore thinks she can do it, there's no reason why we should doubt her ability," Ron's voice echoed in Harry's head once again.

April must have read his thoughts. "Harry, Albus must have told you that I will try to help prove that Sirius Black is innocent. I'm sure you must wonder how I will go about doing that."

Harry could only nod blindly.

"But before I go on further, I would like to remind you that I will try, but I cannot guarantee that I will succeed."

Harry blinked. April sounded exactly like Hermione now.

April seemed to notice Harry's disappointment as she switched to a more gentle voice and almost whispered to Harry, "But you can have my word that I'll try my best. My very best to help."

April swept her waist-long hair behind her shoulders and started pacing around the room. Her face taking on a graver expression. For what seemed like an eternity, to Harry at least, she came to a halt abruptly and turned to face Harry.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you the full details right now, Harry." She paused, as though considering her words carefully. "What I can reveal however, is that it has to do with something that was dear to my ancestor Nicolas Flamel."

April shot a look in Dumbledore's direction before continuing, "I understand that you have come into contact with Nicolas' masterpiece in your first year."

Harry's eyes widened and he tried to find his voice. "But…the Sorcerer's Stone was destroyed more than three years ago!"

This time, neither Albus Dumbledore nor April Flamel met Harry's eyes.

A few seconds crept by. It was Dumbledore who finally broke the heavy silence. "April, I believe you have to prepare for your lessons tomorrow."

"That's right!" April sprung into action once more, striding to the door. "I'll see you around, Harry. Good night, Albus."

"Good night, April." Dumbledore closed the door after April departed. When he turned around from the door, the twinkle in his eyes was more pronounced than ever. "A rather…umm…spontaneous girl, isn't she?"

***

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