Madam Flamel summoned Harry's pumpkin juice goblet that he'd forgotten by the couch and it settled almost silently on the left side of his plate. He slid his left hand on the table to confirm it's location, then felt with his right hand and found another goblet on the right side of his plate. He wondered what was in it. In his explorations, he found a linen napkin and placed it in his lap, as well as two spoons, two forks, and a butter knife. He tried to swallow his nervousness. When Aunt Petunia had him set the table posh like this, he'd never been allowed to eat with the family, so he didn't know when to use what fork or spoon.

Deep inside, he knew Madam Flamel wouldn't mind if he asked (she always encouraged questions in class after all), but he was so used to suppressing his questions that they didn't even rise to the surface of his consciousness.

A chair screeched on the wood floor across from Harry and he jumped slightly, glad he hadn't been holding his pumpkin juice when Sir Nicolas sat down at the table.

"Nicholas! Put down that book. You're not paying attention to what you're doing and you startled Harry."

"It's okay," Harry said feeling his cheeks heat up.

"Oh dear! My apologies. Perenelle… the Phoenix lore. It absolutely unprecedented for someone to absorb the ability. You saw the healing?"

"Yes, I told you. Now, Harry here is the salad. I've levitated the dish, it is to your left about 6 inches in the air. The salad spoon and fork are at 3 o'clock."

Harry's shoulders dropped a bit… salad was so hard to manage gracefully, but he reached for the bowl and found the serving utensils and used them to grab some salad and place it on his plate. The salad had a very faint aroma of citrus or vinegar along with the greens. Harry inhaled trying to get a better sense of it.

"That's not very much, Harry!" Sir Nicolas commented when he had placed the fork and spoon back in the dish and thanked Madam Flamel. "Take another scoop!"

Harry had to resist the urge to feel his plate to see how much he'd selected. He had no idea as the salad was nearly weightless. He tried to grab a little more and was fairly certain he only managed to put a few more leaves of lettuce on his plate.

Harry sat still listening to Sir Nicolas and Madam Flamel scoop salad onto their plates, waiting to hear them start eating. Aunt Petunia had drilled him too many times on table manners… he knew he had to wait until the hostess started eating to begin.

"Bon appetit!" Madam Flamel announced as the tines of her fork clinked against her plate. Harry let out a small sigh as he reached for his fork and knife and worked on skewering pieces of salad on his fork and used his knife to cut away any large bits hanging off the fork. His first bite was a surprising burst of flavor… something fruity but with a sharp tartness and then followed by a soothing creamy texture that settled the tang. He must have shown his surprise on his face because Madam Flamel chuckled.

"Oh, Harry, I should have told you about the salad. I used greens from my garden, with pickled beets, dried cranberries, and crumbles of soft cheese—I made a vinaigrette salad dressing," Madam Flamel explained.

"I've never had anything like it," Harry said. "It's very surprising… and delicious."

"I'm glad you like it. Now I can tell that Nicolas is dying to pepper you with… "

Sir Nicolas spoke before Madam Flamel had finished her sentence, "Harry, tell me exactly what happens with your tears… do they feel different than they did before? Any tingle of magic? Has anyone commented on their appearance? Phoenix tears, you know, glitter like little prisms."

"Oh, I don't know. No one mentioned their appearance… I mean they are small. I never saw the Fawkes' tears… do you mean like little rainbows? When I repair things now, people say they are rainbow-colored."

"What, really? How do you mean rainbow-colored? Show me!" Sir Nicolas's chair scraped against the floor and his voice was coming from higher up.

"Nicolas, sit down. Let Harry eat for goddess' sake. He's barely been able to take one bite."

"Oh, yes, so sorry. After dinner, you must demonstrate your repairing spell for me so that I can see the rainbow. It might be connected to your phoenix abilities."

"My phoenix abilities?"

"Well, I'm just curious… if your tears are healing, do you have other phoenix attributes? Such as the ability to regenerate? To carry immensely heavy loads? To know when you are needed? To have near-immortality?"

"Uh," Harry felt his throat closing. "What do you mean? Am I turning into a bird? I'm not a phoenix. I'm just Harry." He thought of Mei and how they were stuck in an in-between spot between the Jiāorén world and the wixen world… neither of one nor the other. He didn't want that.

"Well, of course not… you're still you… and yet with your encounter with the phoenix and the basilisk… their essence entered your bloodstream at nearly the same time… something clearly happened. Deep, old magic."

"Nicolas, stop it. You're frightening the child. Doesn't he have enough to contend with?" Madam Flamel demanded.

"But, Nelly… this might be the answer… the key to the…"

"Hush. Let him eat!"

"The key to what?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Albus and Nicolas are always talking themselves into circles. That's what they do best. Theories and ancient magics. Chasing hallows, prophecies, and eternal-life stones. They love knots they can't untangle. They forget sometimes that there are real people behind the tangles who are just trying to get on with their lives."

"And I'm one of their knots? But why am I casting rainbow shields? I want to know. How can those things have changed me?"

"See, Nell, he wants to know. He's curious, too."

"Yes, but let him eat his dinner."

Sir Nicolas harumphed but his fork scraped across his plate as he tucked into his dinner.

Harry pushed his salad around his plate some more trying to get another bite on his fork. It was taking him a long time to eat. He had put an empty fork into his mouth a couple of times and found a wet leaf in his lap. He tucked it into his napkin.

He took a sip of his pumpkin juice blinking as the sweet and sour fought for dominance in his mouth.

Madam Flamel sent their salad plates and utensils to the kitchen where Harry could hear them being washed in the sink, by magic presumably… he hadn't heard anyone else and he imagined if they had house elves, he wouldn't hear anything at all as that was a mark of a good house-elf.

"You don't have house-elves?" Harry asked.

"Oh, now you've done it, Harry!" Nicolas hooted.

"Very observant, Harry! You are familiar with house-elves? I thought you grew up in a muggle house?"

"Yes, I did. I met a house-elf last year. Dobby. He was the Malfoy's elf and he was trying to save me from the Chamber of Secrets," Harry's voice trailed off.

"That's unusual behavior for a house-elf," Madam Flamel said.

"Yeah, that's what Ron said, too."

"Oh, I imagine he was severely punished… the Malfoys… many dark wixen came from that family," Sir Nicolas said.

"He was freed… so no, they didn't punish him."

"Freed. What? For certain? I can't imagine that they'd do that."

"I… helped them… they didn't want to," Harry admitted.

"And how did you manage that?" Sir Nicolas asked, laughter barely concealed in his voice.

"It was after the Chamber of Secrets, in Professor McGonagall's office. Malfoy came bursting in… and I could hear Dobby making strange noises by his feet."

"Wait, this was after you were injured… you couldn't see?"

"Yeah. And Professor Dumbledore hinted that it was Malfoy who gave Ginny the diary… and then I realized that I was there when it happened… when Mr. Weasley and Malfoy got into an argument at Flourish and Blotts… that he must have put it in Ginny's cauldron then."

"This is Riddle's diary that Dumbledore told us about? The one that was enchanted by Voldemort when he was a student?"

"Yes, it held his memories and he used it to make Ginny do things… petrify the cat, kill roosters, threaten muggle-borns, let the Basilisk out…"

"This Ginny… how is she now? She's very young, yes?" Madam Flamel asked.

"Yes, eleven or maybe she's twelve now. Well, she's in Egypt now with her family on holiday visiting her older brother, Bill. They all came to visit me a couple of weeks ago and she was having a hard time… but I think she's been talking to a mind healer and that she's doing better. She blames herself for…" Harry motioned to his eyes.

"Ah, that's hard."

"Yeah."

"But how did you trick Mr. Malfoy into freeing his elf?" asked Sir Nicolas.

"I stuck the diary in my sock and gave it back to him and he handed the sock to Dobby."

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"

"I didn't know if it would work."

"And this elf, Dobby, was happy to be freed?" Madam Flamel asked.

"Yes, he hated the Malfoys. He had to punish himself every time he tried to warn me against them. Ironed his ears and hit himself on the head with lamps. It was awful."

"Ah, but he's not a common house-elf, this Dobby, is he?" Sir Nicholas surmised. "It was hard for Nelly. We're both from old wixen families, so we both inherited house-elves, but she always thought the magical bond was unhealthy for all of us… but the house-elves didn't want to be freed. At least ours at any rate. It took a lot of work to free ourselves from the bond, and now we have to do our own laundry… I'm six-hundred and sixty-three years old and still washing my own socks and pants!"

"As well you should!" Madam Flamel stated. "We worked with our house-elves until we found them comfortable homes. And you know, that we will take in house-elves at the Center if they are seeking employment, but we are clear about the jobs and expectations and they are paid in terms that they are comfortable with."

"Did Dobby get a job at the Center? Could he?"

"I don't think he has, but we'd certainly hire such a free-thinking elf. It is a tricky thing to employ a house-elf because we have very different views and expectations. Many wixen have abused that misunderstanding over the centuries… and someday may come to regret the injustice that they have exacted on the house-elves," Madam Flamel said.

"She says 'we' but really she was the one who made this decision…"

"And you supported it… you helped me figure out new spells to do the jobs that the house-elves used to do… we both had to step in when Veesy died… she was our last house-elf—here, have some Cassoulet, the serving spoon is at 3 o'clock—she wished to stay with us until she died and we made sure she was very comfortable in the end…"

Harry found the spoon and scooped a rich brothy-smelling soup with chunks into the bowl that Madam Flamel had magically settled on his plate. He dipped his spoon into it and determined that it was a chicken and vegetable dish that he liked very much. He dabbed at his chin in between bites, afraid that he had dribbled soup.

"Well, what choice did I have? I wanted my linens laundered and my bread hot! Have some bread, Harry. I made it this morning."

"Oh, you fuss about it, old man, but you know that we did the right thing by the house-elves. It is too easy to become lazy and arrogant and forget the old magic that governs the house-elves. Too many old houses have done just that and look at them… no heirs to speak of or worse, children born as squibs and cast out to live among muggles with no knowledge of their families."

"Oh, do you have children?" Harry asked before he really thought of it, while he was soaking up the last of the broth with a piece of bread.

There was a long moment of silence where the only sound was the ticking of a clock from the living room. Harry felt the heat rising in his neck as he realized what a terrible question it must be.

"Yes, though they died a long, long time ago. And so did their children, and their children's children. We had to fade from view… it became too complicated and our family is so vast now… there have been over 40 generations of Flamels since we were first married… we had to stop attending weddings and funerals and births… it became too much very early on in our long lives. Also, there was some nastiness over the stone…"

"Hush, Nell. Henri is not worth mentioning. He was power-hungry… it was bad business."

"I didn't say anything, Nicolas! You're the one who mentioned it."

"I didn't say anything. You did! Harry, you see our great-grandson, Henri… he wanted to… well, that is done. And a long time ago. Better not to mention it."

"Right, better not to mention it."

"Would you like some custard, Harry? I made it yesterday with milk from Abeforth's goats. It has a light lemony flavor… I quite like it myself, though Nicolas thinks it is too goaty."

"Er, sure?" Harry said.

His bowl had been magicked away and a crystal goblet rang out as it made contact with the china of the plate in front of him. He found the base and traced the delicate cut crystal pattern up to the lip of the dish.

"There is a spoon at the top of your plate, at noon, Harry," Madam Flamel directed.

Harry found the little spoon and scooped a bite of custard, apprehensive of something that might taste goaty. But he found that it was rich and creamy and absolutely heavenly. He paused as it melted in his mouth, savoring the flavor.

"Ha! He likes goat custard!" Sir Nicholas crowed.

"Indeed he does, Nic, would that you could appreciate it," Madam Flamel teased.

"I will set the dishes to washing and then we're going to my laboratory… I need samples of your tears and then you're going to show me your repairing charm!" Sir Nicholas announced.

Harry took his time finishing his custard as he wondered how Sir Nicolas planned on obtaining his tears. Sir Nicolas hopped up as soon as he scraped the last remnants of custard from the crystal and whisked away the dishes. They set to washing with a clatter in the sink and then he had a hold of Harry's wrist and was pulling him along down a corridor.

"Nicolas, let him hold your arm!" Madam Flamel called after them, her voice bouncing off the walls behind them.

Sir Nicolas didn't stop and Harry continued to trip behind him, his other hand reaching out to steady himself on the corridor wall.

Harry's hand knocked against a wooden post that must have been the door frame. The space had a peculiar odor… lingering sulfur mixed with bitter herbs as well as the smoke from a fire. Harry wasn't sure if he liked it.

Sir Nicolas continued to pull him into the room and then pushed him to sit on a rickety stool. Harry worked on not toppling off it while Sir Nicolas puttered around the room making glass bottles tinkle and papers scratch against surfaces until he circled back to Harry.

"Here, Harry, cry into this," Sir Nicolas pressed a small glass jar into Harry's hand.

"Er," Harry uttered.

"Oh, right. Let's see. Take off your glasses," Sir Nicolas said and Harry felt the air moving in front of him and then the air was filled with a sharp scent.

"Oh wow, is that an onion?"

"Yes, don't turn away. Inhale. My apologies… it was all I could think of!" the old man muttered as he pushed Harry's hand holding the vial up to catch the tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. "That'll do. Now, hang tight and we'll see what these do…"

"Oh, merde!" Sir Nicolas exclaimed as something glass crashed to the floor and shattered. "Rep… Oh, wait. Harry. Would you do the honors?"

"What broke?" Harry asked, tottering on the stool.

"Just a water glass. Though it is one of Nelly's favorites from a master glassblower who… well, they are hard to find anymore since the shop burned down during the reign of terror."

"Crikey, it's that old? But it'll be rainbow-colored if I repair it. She'll notice," Harry was remembering how a broken goblet had turned Aunt Petunia apoplectic one Christmas Eve years ago.

"It's all right—I can do a duplication charm and replace the missing glass and this one will be one I keep in my laboratory as a memento of our time together!"

"Oh, all right then. Reparo," Harry flicked out his wand and pointed in toward the floor where he'd heard the glass shatter.

He heard the glass grind together with a squeal and the formed glass spinning on the floor like a top.

"C'est magnifique!" Sir Nicolas exclaimed as he picked up the glass from the floor and took a couple of steps so that he was standing very close to Harry and he could hear him turning the glass slowly in his hands as he examined it. Harry was tempted to reach out and touch it, to see if he could discern a difference with his fingertips.

"So it is rainbow-colored?" Harry asked, flicking his wand back into the holder on his wrist.

"Ah. Rainbow… yes, like a prism… like the sun through drops of rain. It is such a curious thing. To infuse things around you with this quality of light… to break down light into its purest form. Incroyable!"

Sir Nicolas let out a long sigh and set the glass on the table.

"Ah, let us examine the tears now. Perhaps they will reveal some of their secrets."

"How will you do that?"

"I have a scrying bowl that is designed for this. It is rumored to be Morgana's… and it is very old. It was ancient when I first obtained it in 1411 and that was nearly 600 years ago."

"Oh, wow. That's a long time to be alive."

"Yes, indeed. And I'm ready to move on. Which is good as our time is nearly up. I would like to make sure you have what you need, though, before I have to move on. Perenelle, too, she's very fond of you, you know. So, yes, let's see what Morgana's scrying bowl has to say about your tears."

He tottered off across the room and there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across a wood surface and then he came back at a much slower pace as if he were carrying something weighty. Sir Nicolas settled it on the table next to Harry.

"Can I touch it?"

"Yes, but just the outside of the bowl. Don't put your fingers inside."

Harry pushed his hands along the surface of the table finding that it was covered with powdery substances… salt or other finely ground minerals he thought based on the texture. He raised his fingers to his nose to see if he could identify what it was, but it had an odor that he didn't recognize.

"Oh, what's that on the table?" Sir Nicolas exclaimed and he muttered a cleaning charm and the powder was whisked away in an isolated breeze.

Harry rubbed his fingers clean on his trousers and then felt along the table again until he found the bowl. It was a stone bowl that had been chiseled into shape with a fine fluting that ran up from the base to the lip of the bowl like the spines of a thistle. Harry could feel a thrum of magic pulsing through the stone that made his fingertips tingle and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"All right then, let's see what Morgana's scrying bowl thinks of your tears." Sir Nicolas clinked the glass vial he'd gathered Harry's tears in against the stone basin.

Harry held his hands against the bowl and could feel something happening. Sir Nicolas gasped.

"Ah! Oui! It is as I suspected. A very unique case… but this is unexpected. I wonder… does Albus know?"

"What is it? What do you see?"

"The Phoenix and the Basilisk… of course. A struggle between light and dark. And there's your mother's sacrifice—so strong, what a witch! And then there is the… the Dark Lord. All contained within your magical core."

"What do you mean the Dark Lord?"

"He is a part of you… from the time of your mother's blood protection… they are both within you."

"You can see all of this?"

"Morgana shows it to me… on the surface of the scrying vessel."

"What does it mean that he is a part of me?"

"Just like the Phoenix and the Basilisk and your mother… you contain a bit of him as well."

"How is that possible? He tried to kill me."

"Ah. That I don't know. I'll ask Albus. Maybe he knows."

Harry's stomach turned. He felt an urge to run… to get as far away from the thought as he could.