Freedom
"I've never seen anything like it, Nicholas," Albus sighed, taking a rare sip of whiskey to calm his nerves. "The body looked as though it had been decomposing for months by the time Harry let go. At first, it burned, and then it withered."
Nicholas offered the man a comforting smile.
"It's alright, Albus," he murmured.
Albus shook his head.
"The last thing I expected was for Harry to be there. I feel so guilty."
"That's because you care," the alchemist pointed out. "A Withering Curse?"
"What else could it have been?"
Nicholas shook his head.
"I don't know," he replied thoughtfully. "Maybe it was the grief he felt that triggered it."
"Perhaps," Albus sighed, "but I'm not entirely sure. He was so full of hate."
"Would you not be if you were him?"
Nicholas watched as Albus pondered the question.
"He's not like him," he decided. "Not in the way it matters."
"No, he isn't," Nicholas said firmly, "but you cannot make the same mistakes. Harry may not be like him, but he needs to be nurtured, Albus. If what you believe is correct, they will one day meet, and Harry must be ready."
"After what I saw…"
"It means nothing," Nicholas interjected. "He is bound to be angry and hurt by what happened. That anger will never fade, but it can be turned towards something positive. He is a good boy, Albus. You need to only spend a few moments with him to see that."
Albus nodded gratefully.
"How was he when he left?"
"As can be expected," Albus replied tiredly. "It will take some time to come to terms with, but Harry is resilient. He has to be to have not crumbled already."
"I think it is best if I check in with him over the summer," Nicholas mused aloud. "I can use testing him on his Occlumency as a reason to see him."
Albus did not seem comforted by the idea.
"Harry's relatives will not be welcoming," he warned. "They are very much opposed to anything magical."
Nicholas frowned.
"Leave them to me, Albus. I will ensure they behave themselves."
Nicholas grinned at the memory of the smirk of horror Albus had worn, and the alchemist whistled a jaunty tune as he made his may down Privet Drive, bemused by the symmetry of each house he passed.
Why the people that lived here wanted to be like one another was beyond him.
Where was the individuality?
Muggles really were rather odd with the societal veneers they wore in a bid to blend in.
If Nicholas lived here, he would paint his house a garish colour just to stand out and annoy his neighbours.
"Number four," he murmured as he found himself stood in front of a house that had nothing defining about it.
The lawn was as equally well-kept as the others, and even the car on the driveway was the same colour and model as many others.
Nicholas shook his head.
Cars were a very new thing and so far flung from the world he had grown up in.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he approached the door and rang the bell, quirking an eyebrow at the thin, horsey woman that answered with an expression of disdain marring her features.
(Break)
Once more I find myself cursing my lot in life, and cursing Death for hearing our foolish pleas.
My son too has not escaped our hubris.
Is there no end to this damned punishment?
He has always been a happy boy, taking to a more outdoor life than I ever did. He can oft be found climbing trees or skipping stones across the pond, and seldom taking to books as I was wont at his age.
No, he is not like me at all, and for that I suppose I am grateful.
I had hoped that his proclivity towards simpler endeavours would see him escape a similar fate. Only a learned fool would attempt what my brothers and I did all those years ago and live in fear of being pursued by what stalks the shadows.
I miss them still, both Cadmus and Antioch are forever in my thoughts, and now it seems that my Gawain, my only boy has been caught in the web of my errors, ensnared by the hungry beast that calls it home.
It came to him on his thirteenth day of being named is what Gawain told me when he came back to me, following him in his dreams, judging him as he did my brothers and me.
All had been well until the thirteenth hour when Gawain simply collapsed to the ground, cold and trembling, and unresponsive to our pleas.
Unlike Death I would note.
In those darkest hours, we cared for him.
My wife kept his brow clear of perspiration, and I cursed every deity I could name for my son's affliction throughout those hours of fever.
It all ended as quickly as it had begun, but the changes were unmissable.
The very magic that runs through my veins, bestowed by the thrice damned figure, now flows through Gawain's as cold and as daunting as my own.
My son spoke of the dream, spoke of the debt the Peverells owed to the figure, that Gawain was merely a reminder to me of what I had done.
I told them all, Gawain and my wife, all that had occurred.
Perhaps they think me mad, but I care not.
I am only grateful for the mercy of my son being spared, and yet, he is to be forever punished for the sins of his father.
Harry again peered into the looking glass, his reflection of an old man now, but still younger than that of Professor Dumbledore.
"My time is not yet, my friend," he spoke, though he had not intended to do so. "When Gawain is grown and no longer needs me, I will greet Death willingly. There is not a man that can evade him forever. Never forget that. Come Death, come."
Harry nodded, and Ignotus followed suit, offering a tired smile at his own reflection.
It was only a moment later that Harry found himself back on his small single bed in his bedroom at Privet Drive, and he immediately began working on his breathing exercises to steady his thoughts.
He still understood little of what he was witnessing, but perhaps they would become clearer the more experienced in life and magic he became.
What he did know, however, was that Ignotus Peverell's life had been unendingly plagued by what he and his brothers had done. Why Harry was witnessing these events and inner monologues of his ancestor, he didn't know, but he was undoubtedly learning from them.
What that was, he couldn't be sure, but he could feel the changes within him with each one he saw.
There hadn't been many over the intervening weeks since he'd left Hogwarts.
He'd experienced the utmost joy of the man's marriage and subsequent birth of his son and had even gotten a very brief glance at Ignotus's findings when it came to the magic the Peverells wielded, courtesy of Death.
Nothing substantial as yet, but Harry held out hope it would be coming.
He had been back at Privet Drive for around a month now, and for the most part, the Dursleys had left him alone.
Petunia had gotten into the habit of attaching a list of chores for him to complete on the fridge, and Vernon would simply grunt a greeting, the vein in his temple throbbing whenever Harry was in his presence.
Dudley would whimper and flee from the room, much to Harry's amusement.
In truth, he was grateful for the distraction his daily work offered.
He had tried not to ponder what had happened on the third floor at Hogwarts, though it was inevitable that it crept up on him several times throughout the day.
The evenings were the worst.
Left alone with only his thoughts, it was impossible to escape the agonised screams and the image of the desiccated corpse of what had been Quirinus Quirrell.
It was not an easy thing to come to terms with, and no matter how Harry had tried to justify it, he had willingly taken a life.
He didn't feel guilty, as such.
Harry would never forget the anger that had pulsed through him in the heat of the moment, and even if he could, he knew he wouldn't change what he'd done.
No.
Quirrell and Voldemort had deserved it.
Still, it was a disconcerting event for him to relive, and in the lonely hours he spent shut in his room, he had delved much more deeply into his Occlumency studies coupled with reading ahead as much as he could in his studies.
It was the ringing of the doorbell that pulled him from his breathing exercises, the very same ones the Occlumency book recommended to use to relax the mind.
Whatever that meant.
"What can I do for you?" Petunia asked the visitor cautiously.
"Good evening, Madam, I am here to visit with young Harry."
"What do you want with the boy?" his Aunt asked waspishly. "You're one of them, aren't you?"
"My business with your nephew is none of your concern," the voice of Nicholas Flamel returned. "Now, I would appreciate it if you would fetch him."
"Petunia, who is it?" Vernon demanded to know.
"This man says he is here to see the boy."
Harry could almost hear Vernon purpling in anger along with the sound of the creaking of the armchair as his uncle's massive girth was pushed from it.
This wasn't good.
To prevent a potentially dangerous situation occurring, Harry left his room, pausing at the top of the stairs as Vernon waddled towards the front door.
"I will not have your kind in my home!" he hissed, his neck turning from side to side to ensure the neighbours were not watching.
"Good grief you are a very fat man," Nicholas commented and Harry's eyes widened. "Never in all my years have I seen such gluttony. Sir, you need to learn the words 'I'm full'. Ah, there you are, Harry," Nicholas greeted him with a smile, squeezing past the dumbstruck Vernon.
"Hello, Mr Flamel," Harry replied in a mixture of amusement and horror.
Vernon would recover soon and he would be apoplectic.
"You look thin, boy," Nicholas said with a frown. "You don't seem to be sleeping well either. Perhaps we should discuss things in private."
"We can use my room," Harry suggested.
Nicholas nodded appreciatively and was halfway up the stairs when Vernon finally erupted.
"HOW DARE YOU?" he roared, breathing as though he had run a great distance.
"Vernon, please," Petunia pleaded, eyeing the wand Nicholas had drawn.
"Yes, Vernon, please," the alchemist mocked. "Do not think I am beyond cursing you because you are a muggle. Even I have my limits, you vat of blubber. Now, I suggest you move along. I currently have no quarrel with you, but that will change shortly if you continue to annoy me."
Vernon opened his mouth to speak once more but the combination of Petunia's hand coming to rest on his forearm and Nicholas's wand being pointed at him silenced the man.
With only a glare towards Harry that promised misery in the near future, he stomped back into the living room with Petunia in tow.
Harry simply sighed and beckoned for Nicholas to follow him.
"This is where you live?" the man asked, eying the small space he'd been given with distaste.
"It's better than my old room," Harry snorted.
"Your old room?"
"Never mind," Harry said dismissively. "What can I do for you?"
Nicholas stared at him for a moment before deflating.
"Well, first of all, I apologise for my conduct with your relatives," he offered. "I pride myself on politeness, but when faced with such a manner, I fear I am unable to hold my tongue. It only gets worse the older I get."
"It's okay," Harry assured the man. "Vernon will only rant and rave for a few days."
Nicholas hummed irritably as he shook his head.
"Secondly, I wished to see how you were after the incident at Hogwarts."
Harry swallowed deeply and shrugged.
"I'm fine."
"No, you are not," Nicholas sighed. "Come, Harry, keeping your emotions in check is the sign of a good Occlumens. You are not that, not yet. Talk to me. It will help."
Harry felt the weight of everything burdening him more, and he began to speak, not truly knowing what he was saying.
He simply unloaded everything he felt.
Of course, he didn't mention the cloak nor the visions he was having of Ignotus Peverell. Everything pertaining to that he would keep to himself.
Nonetheless, discussing what had happened in front of the mirror was something he wished to be rid of.
"He is going to come for me, Mr Flamel, and I'm not ready face him," Harry finally finished helplessly.
He didn't like feeling such a way, but what else was he supposed to feel?
Already, the odds were stacked so heavily against him that he couldn't help but believe that his future was bleak and his life would very well be a short one.
"You are not," Nicholas agreed, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "What you have endured is more than any man let alone boy should have to have faced. You are not ready now, but the choice is yours if you ever will be or not."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you can either feel sorry for yourself and live in fear until he comes for you, or you can prepare yourself for that inevitability. Every day that passes, you can become a better, stronger wizard. You do not strike me as a quitter, Harry, or have you already given up?"
"I don't know," Harry answered. "I saw what he could do…"
"And you can learn how to fight it," Nicholas interjected. "If you want the truth, Harry, I will give it to you plainly."
Harry nodded.
There was no point hiding behind lies and false assurances.
"He is an exceedingly dangerous wizard, more so than most others I have heard of in my many years of living. He might very well kill you, but the question you have to ask yourself is if you will cower before him and allow him to rob you of your life, or will stand and fight, and be carried off the battlefield on your shield?"
Harry's nostrils flared as he pondered the question.
James and Lily Potter did not cower before Voldemort.
They died bravely so that he could live.
Their sacrifice would be for nothing if he did not do all he could to be as brave as them.
No, he wouldn't cower and he would not allow Voldemort to be the one to turn him over to Death, not without giving everything he could to honour what his parents had done for him.
"I won't cower," he whispered, meeting the gaze of the much older man.
Nicholas smiled.
"I believe you, Harry," he replied. "There is a spark of determination in your eyes. It is up to you to stoke it into a roaring inferno."
"How?"
"That is down to you," Nicholas replied thoughtfully. "I am no warrior, Harry. I have dedicated my life to the study of alchemy, not combat."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Where did you begin with it?"
"Alchemy is very much a theoretical practice for the most part," Nicholas explained. "For me, it was vital that I understood the works and findings of others before delving into my own practices. I expect it will be quite different for you. If you ever want to become great at something, which I fear is a necessity for you, then you must live and breathe it."
"And what if I fail?"
Nicholas shook his head.
"You only ever fail if you give up," he said passionately. "Do you think I learned all I could and simply created my stone? No, I made mistake after mistake until I got it right. It took decades of dedication until I realised success."
"I don't have decades."
"No, but you have unlimited resources to guide you, and no offense intended, but combat is not so deeply ingrained in theory work. From what I have seen in the world, you are either a warrior or you are not. You can learn all the spells in the world, but you cannot teach instinct, tenacity, and natural affinity. Those are what make a good warrior."
"How will I know if I am?" Harry asked confusedly.
Without warning, Nicholas's wand snapped upwards, and Harry barely avoided the jet of red light aimed towards his head.
"Well, I would say you have good instincts," the alchemist chuckled, "and judging by what Dumbledore told me of your encounter with a certain Dark Lord, you do not lack tenacity. I would say that you are more than halfway there."
Harry merely gaped at the man for a moment in a state of disbelief of what had just occurred before shaking his head.
"So, it would be good to start off with some books?" he asked.
"I would say so," Nicholas answered as he tapped his chin with his finger. "You must remember, you are still only young. Much of the magic required for combat will be beyond your ability but mastering the theory will go a long way to seeing you on the right path. By all means, you should practice, but it will take time, as does anything else worth learning."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Is there anything you would recommend?"
"I'm afraid I will be of little help in that regard," Nicholas sighed. "If you want my honest advice, it would be to begin at the very beginning. Master the basics, and also accumulate some more obscure books. With a man like Voldemort, there is no telling what he himself has delved into."
"Obscure books?"
"Ones that are not so readily available. For those, you would need to visit antique shops, and even those of lesser repute. Combat magic is not illegal, but many types of the spells are rather frowned upon. With that being said, if anyone needs them, I expect it will be you, Harry," Nicholas added sadly. "Now, I did come here to check on your progress in the Mind Arts. It has been a few months now that you began your journey. How are you finding it?"
"Hard," Harry answered honestly. "I've been working on breathing techniques and controlling my thoughts from focused to wandering."
"You have completed the section that discusses learning about yourself?"
Harry nodded.
"A while ago now," he answered. "I'm practicing every day."
"That is rather impressive, Harry," Nicholas praised. "It is not unusual for practitioners to truly struggle with the first part of the study. Are you able to control the type of thoughts you have?"
"Mostly," Harry replied. "Sometimes I still accidently focus on something too much, even if it isn't something I wouldn't want anyone to see."
Nicholas hummed.
"Would you allow me to test you?" he asked. "I will not attempt to breach your mind. I only wish to look upon your surface thoughts and see how well you can shift from one to the next intentionally."
Harry nodded cautiously and Nicholas offered him an appreciative smile.
"You just need to meet my gaze and you will feel a slight disturbance."
Harry did so, and immediately, he became acutely aware of something that didn't belong in his mind.
"Focus, Harry," Nicholas urged.
Harry took a deep breath, allowing his thoughts to shift from one to another seamlessly as he had practiced for hours every day since he'd returned to Privet Drive.
"Excellent," Nicholas praised a moment later. "I could only catch a glimpse of each one as it passed by. Now, I would like you to focus on one particular thing for me. Anything will do."
Harry nodded and turned his thoughts to the final Quidditch match of the year before meeting the man's gaze once more.
Nicholas chuckled approvingly sometime later.
"You are making fantastic progress, Harry," he assured him. "It can sometimes take others a year, maybe longer, to achieve the same. Keep it up and you will be quite the practitioner in your own right."
"Thank you," Harry murmured quietly.
Praise was not something he was used to and he felt rather awkward receiving it.
Harry didn't know where to look, something Nicholas did not miss.
"Are your relatives always so unpleasant?"
Harry shrugged.
"They don't like magic."
"I can see that," Nicholas grumbled as he looked around the room and shook his head. "Would you miss this place so much?"
"No," Harry snorted. "Professor Dumbledore thinks this is the safest place for me."
"Magically speaking, it is," Nicholas reiterated the very same thing the headmaster had explained, "but it is doing you no good being here. You look unwell, Harry. I know you have had a difficult time, but I do not believe being here with them is helping. If you are to one day be the greatest wizarding fighter in the world, this is not the place it will happen. Come, let us gather your things."
"Where are we going?" Harry asked worriedly.
"You will spend the rest of the summer with myself and my wife," Nicholas insisted. "We have a wonderful house in Paris. It will do you good to get away from here and have your own kind around you. You will even eat regular meals. Perenelle will be certain of that."
Harry shook his head.
"Professor Dumbledore…"
"Will do as I damn well tell him," Nichols interjected. "Albie might be a high and mighty Headmaster now, but I've known him since he was an imbecilic teen. Don't worry about him, Harry. He will understand when I have a word with him. Maybe I will send Perenelle to do it," he added thoughtfully.
With only a few waves of his wand, Harry's trunk was packed and shrunk, and Hedwig was set free from her cage.
"Wait, I need to send a message to my friends," Harry said hurriedly, fetching a quill and parchment from his bedside table. "She's been cooped up in their since we got back."
Nicholas cursed under his breath and Harry quickly scrawled a note to Ron and Hermione before attaching them to Hedwig's leg.
"I'm sure you remember where I live," Nicholas murmured amusedly to the owl who hooted in response before flying out of the window. "Now, let us bid farewell to your relatives."
Harry could only follow the man mutely as he wondered what had happened in the last half an hour or so.
Not only had he been visited by Nicholas Flamel, but the man had invited him to stay with him for the rest of the summer.
It was certainly an odd experience to say the least, but if Vernon's expression was anything to go by, it was certainly for the best that Harry did not remain here.
His Uncle was beyond furious, his moustache twitching and face still purple as he opened and closed his fist menacingly from his chair.
"I will be taking Harry with me," Nicholas declared.
Vernon merely grunted in response and Petunia looked towards the alchemist questioningly.
"I would not leave a mutt in your care, let alone a child," Nicholas added in disgust. "I expect you will be happy to know it is unlikely that you will see him again, not unless he chooses to visit you. I doubt you need to concern yourself with that eventuality. Come, Harry."
Once more, Harry followed the man, this time through the front door of the home he had grown up in.
"You said I'd be coming with you for the rest of the summer."
Nicholas nodded.
"There are ways around these things, Harry," he answered cryptically. "Leave it with me and I will ensure you have your freedom. I would bet that Albus didn't know what your life would truly be like there. If he did, even the protections in place would not have been enough for him to allow you to remain with them. Have you ever travelled by Portkey before?"
Harry shook his head.
"Then this will likely be rather uncomfortable for you," Nicholas chuckled as he took hold of Harry's wrist.
(Break)
It was getting harder to see into the distance, but Ron continued to look towards the horizon for any sign of Hedwig. With the sun setting, he knew it would soon be a lost cause, but he would wait for as long as he could.
"He's doing it again," George pointed out. "Is he in love?"
"That must be it," Fred snorted. "Little Ronnikins looking towards the sky with a dreamy expression, but who is the unlucky girl of his affections?"
"Bugger off," Ron muttered irritably.
"Oh, being in love has made him brave," George chuckled. "We can't have such Gryffindor behaviour, can we Fred?"
"No, it sets a bad example around here. There's too many lions in one house. Maybe Ginny will change that?"
George shook his head as he took a seat next to Ron.
"Unlikely. She's just as fiery as mum."
"And as quick when provoked."
"What are you looking at Ronald?"
Ron scowled at the twins.
"Harry hasn't written back once," he explained. "I've sent him three letters now."
"That's not like our little hero," George remarked.
"It isn't," Fred agreed. "For some reason, Harry likes Ron. He wouldn't ignore him, even if he is a stupid prat."
"Then something has to be wrong," George mused aloud. "Do you think his relatives are being gits?"
"His relatives?" Ron asked. "Harry doesn't really speak about them."
"And that, our smooth-brained brother is the problem. Why would Harry not speak about them?"
"Because they are quite unpleasant methinks," George answered. "Little Harry clams up tighter than a crabs buttocks whenever they're mentioned."
"He does," Ron sighed.
"Then maybe we should do something about it," Fred mused aloud. "Some mischief may be in order."
"We could be grounded for the rest of the summer," George added with a grin, "but for Harry…"
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I think I might be."
Ron's gaze switched between each brother as they spoke, so quickly that it started to give him a headache.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"That we pay our wayward friend a visit."
"An unannounced one."
"How?" Ron pressed with a frown.
The twins grinned and Ron knew that could only mean trouble for all of them.
"I'm in," he agreed.
If something was wrong with Harry, he couldn't sit and wait until the end of summer.
"I knew there was some Weasley in you," George said proudly. "Come on then, before mum and dad get wind of what we are up to."
"What are we up to?"
"Never you mind, you nosy little twonk," Fred chastised. "Just write another letter to Harry and we will follow Errol to him."
"On our brooms?"
"No, we have a much better form of transport. Tonight Ronald, we will be flying in classic style," George said with a smirk and Ron knew that before the night was out, they would undoubtedly be in trouble.
(Break)
"You said that Albus would be the last," Perenelle said amusedly.
"I did," Nicholas acknowledged. "Harry is different. He has no agenda towards the stone or even Alchemy for that matter. No, he faces a very daunting destiny, one that is far flung from anything I have achieved."
"Yet you took him in?"
Nicholas nodded.
"You know that I am no longer one of sentiment, but the boy has no one, my love. Albus is a good man, but he is not the right one to guide Harry."
"And you are?"
"No. I truly have nothing to offer him for what he will face, but as things are, he needs someone he can turn to, someone who can just be there for him in his moments of need. You saw him. He cannot be left with those people. He will either perish or become something worse than the man he will face. He is a good boy, and I would see him become a good man."
Perenelle's lips quirked.
"He has not had an easy life."
"A terrible beginning," Nicholas agreed. "He needs to be free from the shackles that bind him if he is to truly flourish. I already have plans within plans to help him, though I fear it will not be much. Harry will still need to carve his own path if he is to survive what is coming for him."
"Do you believe in him?"
"I do," Nicholas answered confidently. "He has it within him to be great, I can see that, but he will need to be resilient and as dedicated as any. This Voldemort is a dangerous man, and Harry has a long and treacherous road ahead of him if he is to emerge victorious."
Perenelle deflated.
"The poor boy," she murmured. "You are putting a lot of faith in him."
Nicholas shook his head.
"I am only giving him a fair chance. The rest is up to him."
Perenelle took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"He returned the stone. That tells me enough about him that he is not like many others who have sought you out over the centuries. What are your plans for him?"
"Well, I first need to pay a visit to Albus and explain the situation, and then I will call in a few favours."
"And whilst Harry is here?"
"He is free to do as he pleases," Nicholas returned. "It will do him good to see more than those four walls. He needs to find his feet. Another prison will serve him no purpose."
"Albus won't like it."
"Albus doesn't always know what is best," Nicholas sighed. "Speaking of which, I will pay him a visit now. I don't expect I will be long."
With that, Nicholas took his leave of the room and checked on the sleeping Harry before activating his portkey.
Perenelle was dubious, as was her nature, but Nicholas knew that when she spent only a few moments speaking to the boy, she would see exactly what he did.
Harry had immediately been ushered to bed upon their arrival with how late the hour was, but the two would meet in the morning and Nicholas had no doubt his wife would quickly become attached to the boy.
Chuckling to himself, he prepared himself for the impending conversation with Albus.
The man would not be happy, but as Nicholas had said to Harry, he would do as he was damn told.
(Break)
"Are you sure Errol took us to the right place? He is an idiot."
Ron shrugged in response.
"It must be," he murmured.
There had been no sign of Harry at the house, though there was some parchment and a quill on one of the bedside tables.
How many wizards lived in Little Whinging?
Ron didn't know, but it couldn't be many.
It had been a long journey there. Errol had stopped three times to rest, and though they had raced home to The Burrow, the sun had begun to rise by the time they'd made it back.
"Let's get the car back in the shed before mum wakes up," George suggested once they'd landed. "She'll do her nut if she…"
"Too late," Fred groaned as the back door opened and an irate Molly Weasley glared at the trio with her hands on her hips.
"What do you think you have been doing?" she demanded.
The boys said nothing knowing they were already in enough trouble.
"Well?"
"We went to get Harry," Ron answered.
Instead of being mollified, their mother's nostrils flared.
"You flew that death-trap all that way?"
"He hasn't written to Ron," George defended. "We are worried about him."
"That is no excuse for doing something so reckless. Now get inside and eat your breakfast. You will be spending the day de-gnoming the garden, and I will be telling your father exactly what you have done."
With her warning given, she re-entered the house.
"That could have gone worse," Fred muttered.
George and Ron nodded their agreement and headed inside, the three of them exhausted from their adventure.
Their mother shot them a look of disapproval as she loaded their plates with bacon before placing an envelope in front of Ron.
"It's from Harry!" he declared, recognising the handwriting immediately.
He tore the envelope open and frowned as he read the short note.
Ron,
I'm sorry I have not written, but I will as soon as I can.
I am fine and hope you are too.
Harry
"At least he's okay," Ron sighed, relieved he'd finally heard from his friend.
Having received the letter, the prospect of de-gnoming the garden was not so daunting, and at least he would get a good night sleep at the end of the day.
"It was worth it," he murmured, eliciting a nod of agreement from his older brothers.
(Break)
"Do you think it is wise to take him away from there?" Albus questioned. "The protections in place…"
"Will keep him from harm from those that wish it upon him from our world, but not those he lives with. They are repugnant people and Harry will not be returning."
"So, you have taken him in?"
"For now," Nicholas answered carefully. "Other arrangements will be made. Keeping him a prisoner will do him no good, Albus. I know your heart is in the right place but you must tread carefully with him. He needs to be prepared for what is to come, not hidden from it. I implore you to listen to me or you risk alienating the boy against you. It will not do to keep him in the dark, not when he already has no one to turn to."
Albus nodded his understanding.
"I just wish to keep him safe."
"I know, but you cannot protect him, not even now. He knows Voldemort is out there and it is better that he prepares for all eventualities than being coddled with false hope. You know what is coming for him, Albus. Harry should be given a real fighting chance."
Albus took a seat behind his desk before nodding reluctantly.
"Perhaps you are right," he sighed. "I wanted Harry to have something of a normal childhood before he needed to know what he would face."
"The chance of that was taken the day he witnessed his mother being murdered, Albus," Nicholas pointed out gently. "He remembers it too well to just brush it aside and live. The older he grows, the more he will want to know, and the stronger the desire for justice will become. It is best that he is nurtured now to avoid him losing his way."
Albus released a deep breath.
"As ever, I have been blinded by the best of intentions," he chided himself. "I will stand by your decision, Nicholas. Harry should be free of his relatives if they will only add to his misery."
Nicholas smiled encouragingly.
"I knew you would see sense," he replied. "That doesn't mean that he shouldn't be kept safe, but allow him to grow, Albus. Let him carve his own path towards destiny. I am sure he will surprise us both along the way."
Albus nodded.
"I expect he might," he agreed. "Did you find the time to check his progress in the Mind Arts?"
"I did," Nicholas confirmed. "And if he shows equal proficiency in combat, then Lord Voldemort will have no easy task. He is doing well, Albus. Already much better than I'd anticipated at this point.
(Break)
It was a well-rested Harry that found his way to the Flamel kitchen when he eventually woke. He'd never slept past nine-thirty before, and though he felt that it had done him well to do so, he didn't care for waking so late in the day when he was used to being up by seven.
Still, last night had been rather an exceptional set of circumstances that had led to his restful slumber.
"Er, hello," he greeted the woman sitting at the table as he entered the room, his eyes searching for the famous alchemist that had taken him in.
"You must be Harry," the woman replied in a thick accent as she stood, frowning as she took in his appearance. "Non, this will not do at all. Sit. You are deathly thin."
Before Harry could formulate a response, he had already been guided by the shoulders into a chair at the table and the woman was already puttering around the kitchen making food, muttering to herself in her native tongue.
He watched in silence as he made breakfast, not knowing what to say.
"Eat," she insisted as she placed a plate of food in front of him.
Harry's eyes widened at the sheer size of the meal.
All of it looked wonderful from the pastries to the selection of meat and cheeses.
"Erm, thank you," he said dumbly.
"You are very welcome," the woman replied.
She was old, there was no denying that, but there was a youthfulness to her gaze. Harry suspected she had once been a rather beautiful woman. He couldn't quite understand why he thought that, but there was something about the way she carried herself.
She was graceful in her manners, but assertive too.
Cautiously, he tucked into the food, and continued to eat until it felt as though his stomach would explode.
Harry hadn't been eating well recently.
Being at the Dursleys was enough to rid him of his appetite, but with everything else on his mind, he'd not felt hungry, not until today, and he'd certainly eaten his fill.
"Better?" the woman asked amusedly as she cleared the plate away.
Harry nodded appreciatively and she offered him a smile, her gaze roaming over him as though she was trying to read him like a book.
"You are too small for a boy of your age," she commented bluntly, "and too pale."
"Are all French people this honest?" Harry asked.
The woman's eyes crinkled in mirth.
"Are all English boys as tiny as you?"
"No."
"Then that is your answer," the woman said airily as she busied herself setting the dishes to wash themselves in the sink.
Harry chuckled, something that felt foreign to him recently.
"You have a nice smile, Harry Potter. You should do it more often," she urged.
"I do try," Harry murmured. "Where is Nicholas?"
"My husband is running a few errands. I am expecting him back shortly," the woman answered. "Ah, that will be him now."
Only a moment later, a tired Nicholas Flamel entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table, accepting the cup of coffee the woman offered him with a grateful smile.
"I see you have met my wife, Perenelle. Isn't she a treasure?"
"She is," Harry agreed.
The woman rolled her eyes and began preparing Nicholas some food.
"So, what are your plans for today?" the man questioned.
"My plans?"
"What will you do?"
"I don't know," Harry answered, at a loss at what to do with his time.
"Might I suggest that you explore the local area? There are some fantastic wizarding stores nearby. You may even find some things of use for your journey ahead."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I can just go out?"
"Of course," Nicholas chuckled. "You didn't think you would be cooped up here, did you?"
That was exactly what Harry had thought and Perenelle tutted.
"You are free to come and go as you please, but you will be home before dark. Do you need any gold?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, I have lots left over from last year."
"Then you should clean yourself up and enjoy yourself," Nicholas urged, taking a sip of his coffee. "There is much for you to do, is there not?"
Harry nodded as he stood.
"I don't speak French," he pointed out.
"Most of the vendors either speak English or will be able to translate for you. I would recommend trying to learn the language. As a citizen of France, you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn't."
"A citizen of France?"
Nicholas grinned as he removed a role of parchment and handed it to Harry.
Unfurling it, he couldn't read anything that had been written other than his name.
"It seemed to be the best approach, given the circumstances. Think of it as a place you can come if you need to. School holidays, for example."
Harry's eyes widened.
"I don't have to go back to the Dursleys'?"
"You do not," Nicholas confirmed with a smile. "Think of it as your first taste of freedom, Harry."
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, again in disbelief at his sudden turn of fortune.
"You're very welcome. Now, off you go."
Harry could only nod dumbly as he left the room, and Nicholas's smile only widened.
"He is a sweet boy," Perenelle commented.
"With a dark future," Nicholas murmured.
"But you have given him a chance."
"It is the least he deserves," the alchemist murmured. "The rest truly is up to him."