A/N: Yes, Albus is 76ish. Again, he looks 35. Why? Find out.

Chapter 30: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Harry squinted at the man, examining him for the first time. He was wearing a hooded red cape, white trousers, and a white shirt that were splattered in crimson blood. He had shiny, brown, shoulder length hair and impressive sideburns. Harry would have guessed that he was about thirty five years old, but—

"Nicolas Flamel?" Harry asked. Whatever emotion had caused him to burst from the wardrobe was draining to make way for shock.

"Have we met, sir?" asked Nicolas.

"We've never met, but…aren't you six hundred years old?" Harry blurted.

"Why, yes I am more or less." Harry could hear the faintest trace of a French accent when he spoke. Albus's eyes twinkled. Harry looked at Albus. There was something about him…an energetic glow that seemed to have intensified…

"Well," Albus said, "I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation for why two of my staff members were in my pajama wardrobe, and I'm almost as curious about that as I am about what's for dinner. Would the three of you care to join me in the other room?"

Minerva smirked. "Don't worry, Albus. We were only in there for all of ten seconds before Crockett did his best to rip the doors off their hinges…I'm sure there's an equally good reason why you and Nicolas Flamel are alone in your bedroom talking about what you shouldn't tell his wife. –And yes, please. Dinner sounds great. Crockett made me miss lunch."

They followed Albus and Nicolas into an adjoining room. Harry abstractly noticed Albus extracting the blood from his and Nicolas' clothing and replacing it in a delicate vial. Nicolas turned and walked backwards so that he could face Harry and Minerva like a tour guide. The movement was unexpected and eccentric, and Harry couldn't help but add it to a growing list of reasons he was beginning to like Flamel. Most of Harry's butt-hurt from fear of missing out was fading in the face of Nicolas's charisma.

"You're Harry Crockett," said Nicolas.

"See, Crockett? You're already famous. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to—"

"Yeah, I'm Harry." Harry grimaced at Nicolas and sent a wordless, wandless silencing spell at Minerva to keep her from talking about the vault. Minerva stuck her foot out in Harry's path. Harry barely dodged it, and Minerva passed off her motion as stretching.

"And you've heard of me from Albus?" asked Nicolas.

"Er, not exactly," said Harry, keeping one eye on Minerva. "Your reputation precedes you. Alchemy? Philosopher's Stone?"

Nicolas stopped walking backwards when he got to the long dining table and walked around to stand next to Albus. "You didn't tell me he was well read, too, Albus," he teased.

Albus replied quietly. "If he is, it is diminished to insignificance by his other gifts." Albus busied himself with a cabinet of drinks that Harry was sure could have been poured by magic.

"I'm really not well read," said Harry quickly. "I, er…just happened to have come across that information while…on a…mission."

"A venture capitalist mission?" asked Minerva, who had managed to counter Harry's silencing spell. Harry didn't know how to answer that and just glared at her instead.

"So, Albus has told you about me?" Harry asked hopefully.

Albus levitated a glass of mead each to Harry and Minerva. He handed one to Nicolas.

"Yes," replied Nicolas enthusiastically. "Most definitely." Nicolas glanced sideways at Albus, who's smile had become somewhat fixed. "In passing," he amended.

"How do you know Minerva?"

"I often assist Albus with his magical research and Ms. McGonagall and I have occasionally crossed paths."

"Oh," said Harry sheepishly. He couldn't help but think that Minerva knew a little more than she'd let on at lunch about Albus's "brain melding."

"So what kind of work do you do together? Twelve uses of dragon blood and all that?" asked Harry. Albus, who'd been examining his finger nails, looked sharply up at Harry, and Nicolas looked mildly confused.

Harry cleared his throat, but wasn't sure what to say.

"Ah, yes, Harry. That's what we were just doing. Just now. Discovering a tenth, eleventh and twelfth use for dragon blood," said Albus.

Harry winced internally, wishing he were a little less well read.

Nicolas leaned in, interested. "Are you a seer?"

"Erm…." Harry paused and looked at Albus. "Yesss—I am famished."

"As am I!" said Albus quickly. "Roopie!"

There was a small pop and Roopie the house elf appeared in front of the three men and Minerva looking distinctly harassed.

"Headmaster, sir, what is being needed, sir?"

"Roopie," said Albus, "would you be so kind as to provide some dinner for me and my three guests?"

Roopie twitched, whimpered, and looked like he was going to cry. Harry watched the pointed face dissolve and predicted what would happen—he lunged at Roopie before the elf could begin to bash his head against the wooden table.

Minerva whipped out her wand in alarm as Harry carefully wrestled the house elf into a safe headlock.

"Don't…hurt yourself," growled Harry into the long pointed ear, layering his voice with persuasion. He felt the elf shiver and still under his grip. He waited a moment until the elf was calm, and then let him go.

"You are an uncommonly gifted Seer," said Nicolas.

Harry snorted. "That wasn't Seeing. I had a house elf friend. You can always tell when they're going to try and punish themselves."

Nicolas raised eyebrow, but didn't say anything. They turned their attention back to Roopie.

"What's troubling you, Roopie?" asked Albus.

"Headmaster, sir, the kitchen is stopping working after dinner."

"What do you mean, Roopie? You're all taking a break?"

"No, sir, we is not taking a break! House elves is not taking breaks, sir! The kitchens is not having any food now, though. We isn't knowing why, sir. We is ashamed sir, but we is not being able to make food right now, sir."

Albus inhaled.

"That's alright," said Minerva. "Harry owes me a meal. We can go out to London. Of course, Harry probably won't want to buy you—"

"I would love to take you all out to dinner," said Harry. "What a great idea, Minerva. Thanks for asking." Minerva smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

"I need to go check the kitchens," said Albus. "I'll join you shortly?"

"I'll send you a message when we—um, when Minerva decides where we're eating," Harry reassured him. Albus nodded and looked down to Roopie.

"I'm sure you can see yourselves out. Roopie, would you take yourself and me directly to the kitchens, please?" They vanished with a crack.

"To the gates then, Ms. McGonagall, Mr. Crockett?"

They made their way downstairs to the circular headmaster's office and then down the escalator.

"How's your wife, Nicolas?" asked Minerva.

"Penny is just fine." He turned to Harry. "My wife Perenelle has taken to traveling a lot. It leaves me with more free time than I am used to - one of the many reasons I'm so grateful for my diversion working with Albus." He sounded almost like he was apologizing.

"I see," said Harry. "Where's she traveling?"

"She's been hopping from place to place. She's been in Egypt for about a year, and before that was China." He spotted Harry's shocked facial expression. "Mr. Crockett, I have been married to my wife for six hundred years. A year away for her is like a week's vacation for you." Harry nodded.

They reached the entry hall with the marble staircase. Nicolas's 600 years of practicing chivalry allowed him to get to the door first, and he held it open for Harry and Minerva. The night air was crisp. Minerva shivered and Nicolas conjured a luxurious fur cloak for her and slid it up to her shoulders. She pulled it close to herself and stepped out into the night towards the gate.

Nicolas hesitated on the top stair with Harry.

"You have a cloak?" He gestured at Harry's arm where the invisibility cloak was folded.

"Oh, um…"

"I suppose not," said Nicolas knowingly. He waved his wand and an shiny black cape appeared in midair in front of Harry, who caught it. Nicolas continued as Harry put on the cape. "I've seen that cloak before."

Harry sighed. "Of course you have."

"Unless I'm mistaken, it is a particularly fine cloak of invisibility?"

"That's the one," said Harry, resigned. "When did you see it last?"

"1478, Italy. An intellectual by the name of Leonardo had it. A queer sort of wizard, I tell you—he chose to live in the muggle world without magic. He perfected his hand as an artist, non-magical herbologist, and was always inventing non-magical ways to accomplish simple tasks."

They began strolling slowly across the vast lawn towards the gates. Nicolas continued his story.

"He was arrested on charges of sodomy shortly after I met him in Florence in 1476. Despite his dedication to living without the aid of magic, he wasn't fussed when I Confunded the officials in charge of his case and sprung him from prison. It would seem that imprisonment for his sexuality was not on the top of his list for journeys to experience."

Harry nodded. "And he had the cloak?"

"I spent two years shadowing the man, trying to learn from his lifestyle. After the two years, he finally confided that he didn't live entirely without magic. He kept one magical artifact that he'd inherited from his biological father. He'd been raised by a muggle who claimed that Leonardo was his son. Leonardo, a scholar of anatomy, knew that neither he nor any of the man's other "children" were biological heirs. When Leonardo turned seventeen, the cloak appeared to him in his chamber: a magical cloak that would render him invisible. There was a note, and all it said was-"

"Let me guess," said Harry, smiling. "Use it well?"

"'Usilo bene.' Sí, use it well. By that time, he'd discovered his wizardry and had been discovered by the wizarding community, and had already chosen his own path. A lifelong observer, though, he found the cloak irresistible. He would don the cloak and walk into the woods. Light of foot, he would be neither seen nor heard and could lose himself to the world. He allowed me to examine it, and it was unlike anything I'd ever seen. –I had, on the other hand, read about something similar. Even then, I'd been alive long enough to know that a cloak such as that was not common. I realized it was one of mythical Death's Hallows.

"I have only ever offered the immortality of the Philosopher's Stone to three people. Leonardo was one of them, but he declined my offer and died at the age of sixty five."

"May I ask who else you, um, offered immortality to?"

"I'd discovered how to make the stone a decade after marrying Penny. I offered her an eternity with me, and, obviously, she accepted."

Harry thought he was going to continue and talk about the third person, so he waited silent for a moment. Nicolas spoke again, but it wasn't the continuation Harry expected.

"I recommend that you don't discuss that particular artifact with Albus," he said softly, gesturing at the cloak. "I fear it would start something that Albus has moved past."

A cool wind blew around them.

"I know," said Harry, looking at the ground in front of him.

Nicolas looked at him curiously, both eyebrows raised. "You do know, don't you. Though I have never before had occasion to say so, it takes a man out of time to recognize one. When were you born?"

Harry chuckled and made sure Minerva was too far ahead to hear him. "1980."

"Albus knows, doesn't he?" asked Nicolas.

"It wasn't going to hurt him."

Nicolas nodded. "I think he fears how much he trusts you."

Harry sighed. "I'm just glad he trusts me…Now I just need to give him reason to."

"Come on!" Minerva called across the grounds. "I'm not going to live forever!"

Nicolas chuckled. "Her directness is refreshing."

They exited the front gate and Minerva insisted that they side-along apperated with her. Harry met Nicolas' glance behind Minerva and the pair of them grinned before being shoved through the elastic tube of apperation.

They landed, and immediately Harry was bumped and jostled by robed people flooding around him, some through the archway before them. On the ornate woven arch, hundreds of glowing fairies danced making up the words "Comede Noctem." When Harry read it, he noticed a peculiar lightening in his chest. The air came through his lungs clearer, and he noticed how each breath seemed to give him life.

"It's a spell," explained Minerva. "I've always wanted to come here," she said breathily.

"You have good taste," said Nicolas. "Have you been before?"

"No," she said.

"It's the most expensive wizarding restaurant in Europe—probably the world," said Nicolas passively. Minerva looked guiltily at Harry.

"Why does this feel like blackmail," Harry tried to mutter darkly, but it came out breathy and excited.

He remembered Albus. "Expecto Patronum!" he incanted. What Harry suspected was the most powerful patronus he'd ever conjured emerged from his wand. "We're at Comede Noctem," he told the silver phoenix, and it zoomed off to find Albus.

"We will wait inside," said Nicolas. He led the way through the arch, Harry and Minerva shuffling through behind him.

As if at the mercy of Cinderella's fairy godmother, a change passed over each of them as they crossed into the wide courtyard. Nicolas' crimson cape lengthened and turned to the finest silk. His soft, white, already formal shirt and trousers shined like an advertisement for Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, complete with gratuitous pectorals. His hair sparkled as if it had been blow-dried, and his face, all but the dashing sideburns, appeared smooth as an airbrushed photo.

Minerva transformed completely. Nicolas's fur cape vanished off her shoulders. Her day robes fluttered as if in a high wind, and morphed into a maroon, floor length ball gown. White gloves rose from her finger tips to the crooks of her elbows. Her hair hung in shining, relaxed waves past her shoulders.

Harry looked down at himself and saw that his robes had been replaced with a green plaid three-piece suit that he'd never admit he'd once admired in a shop window.

The night was warmer, Harry noticed. He would have been too hot in an overcoat, and Minerva looked relaxed even though her upper arms were bare. Along with the warmth came an at-ease calm that hadn't been present outside in the shuffling walk. Their own footsteps and voices carried easily to one another, but the voices of the other parties around were muted as if they were behind a curtain. Harry looked back at the arch, and outside the courtyard seemed grey and blurred compared to the warmth around him.

"I see why it's famous," Harry murmured.

Nicolas smiled and held out his gloved hand to Minerva. "This way." He took her hand, placed it on his elbow, and they crossed through the illuminated courtyard. They joined the short queue in front of a pair of great open wooden doors that were rounded at the top. At the hinge of each door stood a wizard in top hat and tails checking people in and seating them. When one wizard escorted a party away, another appeared to serve the line.

Minerva was deep in conversation with the mysterious, eternally youthful man on her arm, and he was listening like he had all the time in the world just for her. At another restaurant, perhaps, Harry might have felt like a third wheel. As it was, he was perfectly content to allow his gaze to wander back to the courtyard. His gaze alighted on spindly wooden benches among rosebushes, and fairies playing in a sparkling fountain.

A stirring caught his eye, and Harry looked to the archway in time to see a man approach from outside. The effulgence of the courtyard made outside look bland and unremarkable, so it was hard for Harry to give the new guest any real attention. Harry watched passively as the man stopped and glanced up at the words on the arch and smiled. Then the man stepped through the archway and Harry's breath caught. He suddenly found he couldn't look away.

A wind swept across the man's dark robes leaving something different in their place, but he was moving too fast for Harry to take it all in. Before Harry knew it, Albus was standing right beside him.

"Comede Noctem," Albus whispered, and Harry felt the spell again, moving the charged night air through his lungs. "Oh, this will be fun," said Albus, his breath deep with mystery. With his hand tingling pleasantly on the small of Harry's back, Albus led Harry after Minerva and Nicolas into the rising music.

2017 update: In my extensive social justice editing, I think one of the more important changes I've made to this story was removing Harry's fedora from this chapter. If you go to my profile, you can edit out the spaces in the URL I posted there to see a (safe for work) picture of what he's wearing instead.