Chapter 74: The Old Antique Riddler
The guests left the tavern, house-elves came in to clean up the wine glasses, Wright sat on the chair, trying hard to express the respect of three generations of the Monkstanley family to Nicolas Flamel by bypassing Melvin, but he was pressed on the chair and couldn’t get up.
Melvin pressed Wright’s shoulder with one hand while stepping aside to let the house-elf pass; this repair shop owner was stubbornly headache-inducing.
“Let go of me!” Wright struggled hard, pinned down with one hand in front of the legendary alchemist, the Monkstanley family losing all face.
“I shouldn’t have invited you.” Melvin sighed.
“Why? I’m also a Magic Mirror Club member. I put blood and sweat into the Memory Projection Mirror!” Wright’s expression was indignant, “When you commissioned me to develop the projection mirror, you said I was a descendant of the Light Witch, but now that you don’t need me, you say I’m superfluous…”
“I didn’t say you’re superfluous. I specially called you here today to introduce Flamel to you. Look, I didn’t even invite Borgin.” Melvin was extremely helpless.
Wright gradually calmed down but still muttered stubbornly: “That’s because a retired Auror is here today, so Borgin couldn’t attend…”
“Then you, a repair shop owner doing prohibited goods business, are even less convenient to attend.” Melvin released his right hand.
This time Wright’s words and actions weren’t extreme; he represented the Monkstanley family in expressing respect to the legendary alchemist. Nicolas Flamel politely shook his hand, saying he had once met his ancestor Levina and had friendly exchanges with her. When manufacturing the Hogwarts Express, the Ministry of Magic had written to consult him, and he had seen Wright’s grandfather’s design drawings.
“Back then, your grandfather was your current age, with an even more explosive temper than you…”
“…”
Wright was awestruck by some power of the years, stunned in place and unable to speak.
“I know your Monkstanley family is proficient in Muggle skills. Over the past few centuries, you’ve been trying to fuse Muggle technology with alchemy. That’s a remarkable attempt.” Nicolas Flamel looked at his dazed eyes, his tone distant, his demeanor mysterious. “I’d be happy to exchange ideas with you, but it’s inconvenient today. Albus and I have matters to discuss. How about next Friday evening?”
“Y… yes.” Wright replied, somewhat panicked.
“Then I sincerely invite you to visit my home. The address is near Buckfast Abbey in Devon. Pernelle has learned a new British dish…”
“…”
Wright was so bewildered by the old wizard that he lost his thinking ability, leaving the room with dazed eyes and a dazed expression, his mind filled with only one thought—
The legendary alchemist invited him to visit his home!
Melvin was really worried this guy would tumble down the staircase. Breaking hands, feet, or ribs didn’t matter; it would mainly affect the tavern business. He escorted him downstairs all the way and watched him leave the street district.
Inviting Wright to the meeting, Melvin truly intended to introduce him to Nicolas Flamel. Seeing Wright’s embarrassing performance earlier, he thought there was no chance, but unexpectedly, things progressed smoothly.
Returning to the room, the house-elves had already cleaned up the wine glasses and brought new alcoholic beverages, with freshly fried French fries steaming hot. Sunlight slanted in through the glass window. Melvin sat by the window without interrupting them.
Dumbledore held a glass of sweet-scented honey mead in his hand, detailing the events from three days ago.
“The state of the ghost was extremely peculiar.”
The silver-haired old headmaster said: “The connection between Voldemort and Harry is even closer and deeper than I expected. He himself isn’t aware of it. That night, he successively murdered James and Lily. This cruel killing made his soul unstable and turbulent. The rebounding Killing Curse destroyed his body and likewise tore his soul, with one fragment attaching to Harry’s scar.”
Nicolas Flamel frowned, somewhat shocked: “Like—”
“Like Quirinus Quirrell.” Dumbledore glanced at Melvin nearby. “This situation is extremely peculiar. The effects from the soul connection are still under my observation…”
Melvin ignored the old headmaster’s gaze, leaning back in the chair to relax his breathing. Looking out the window, there was a damp street; in February’s Hogsmeade, the accumulated snow was melting.
That day, Harry had spoken Parseltongue to the ropes. This extremely rare ability is usually hereditary. Records from nearly a thousand years show almost all Parselmouths were descendants of Salazar Slytherin. The Potter family has no related blood relatives for dozens of generations upward, while the Gaunt family’s Parseltongue is renowned.
The old headmaster had previously speculated about Harry’s condition and now realized Harry was an accidentally formed Horcrux, a living Horcrux.
Unless all Horcruxes are thoroughly destroyed, Voldemort is immortal. If the Horcruxes are to be destroyed, Harry must be killed.
What a thorny moral dilemma.
The old headmaster was still beating around the bush, not mentioning Horcruxes in front of him, probably anxious and sleepless every night lately.
Melvin silently appreciated the view, finding it amusing.
“The ancient magic left by Lily is also more powerful than I expected.” Dumbledore said sentimentally. “Quirinus Quirrell had no connection to Harry himself, but as the vessel hosting the ghost, when Harry touched him, the magic power in his body was still ignited, burning his soul and body to ashes together.”
“A mother sacrificing her life to leave a protective talisman for her child—the love and sacrifice within contain immensely powerful magic power, something Dark Wizards cannot comprehend. Unfortunately, the witch who left this magic has died, and the magic power flowing in his blood dissipates every moment.”
Dumbledore nodded, picking up the honey mead on the table and taking a sip: “So I placed Harry with his aunt, both to avoid the wizarding world’s chaos involving him and to extend the protection left by Lily.”
“Wizards are the source of magic power. Once the source dries up, even maintaining it with bloodline kinship can at most last until adulthood. You don’t want to see him killed at seventeen, do you?”
“Exactly.”
Nicolas Flamel asked softly: “So do you have any ideas?”
“Voldemort personally saw Quirinus Quirrell’s body and soul dissipate. He already realizes he cannot touch Harry or harm Harry. This is something the Dark Lord cannot tolerate.
“An ordinary Dark Wizard might use other forces to destroy an enemy, but Voldemort is different. He’s too proud. He won’t allow an enemy who made him lose his body to be killed by others, so he will definitely find a way to eliminate this protection.”
The headmaster said softly, “But the protection left by Lily is greater than Dark Magic—the power of love, which Voldemort will never understand.”
“Magic power flowing in the bloodline can only be dispelled by homologous bloodline.” A glint flickered in Nicolas Flamel’s eyes as he said lowly, “Are you certain?”
“Just speculation, but my speculations are rarely far off.”
“…”
The two riddlemen spoke in a foggy, obscure, scattered manner, but Melvin still understood.
The old headmaster had discovered the soul fragment of Voldemort attached in Harry’s scar; in a sense, Harry had become Voldemort’s living Horcrux. To eliminate Voldemort, Harry must be eliminated.
Facing this moral dilemma, the old headmaster found a way for Harry to survive in just three days.
Previously, Dumbledore had used familial bonds to maintain the bloodline protection left by Lily, but this could only last until 17. That aunt was merely a Muggle after all, unable to provide continuous powerful magic power, so the headmaster turned his idea to Voldemort.
If this bloodline could be made to flow in Voldemort’s body, letting the most powerful Dark Wizard in history become the source of magic power, Lily’s protection could be revitalized and never end.
Remember, this was ancient magic that could even immunize against the Killing Curse!
If the plan succeeds smoothly, Harry and Voldemort would enter a symbiotic state never seen in magical history: Harry as Voldemort’s Horcrux—as long as Harry lives, Voldemort won’t die; and Voldemort as the source of Harry’s protection—as long as Voldemort lives, Harry won’t die.
What conjugated eternal life!
Although Melvin had known the story’s ending for a long time, he hadn’t known the detailed process of eliminating Voldemort until now, finally sorting out his thoughts.
After destroying the other Horcruxes, Voldemort would first kill Harry once; the soul fragment parasitic in the scar would be destroyed, while Harry would revive under the bloodline talisman’s protection. At that point, Voldemort would still be Harry’s protection source but would have lost all his Horcruxes.
Voldemort hitting Harry is damage immunity; Harry hitting Voldemort is… damage scraping.
The strength gap could be addressed later; in any case, Harry would be invincible then, and Voldemort’s elimination inevitable.
What a despicable old headmaster…
Without accidents, this scheming insidious wizard could live at least two hundred years.
Melvin sipped his honey mead silently, gazing out the window at the melting snow period, tender green weeds already emerging from cracks in the street floor.
He stayed silent, sitting nearby listening.
The riddlemen’s exchange style was tiring to follow; the two old wizards’ thoughts jumped— one moment ancient magic, the next ancient magic. They’d mentioned soul fragments and immortality but still wouldn’t explicitly say Horcrux.
Who knows if they were fooling him or themselves.
The two drank honey mead; Dumbledore occasionally tasted the French fries. Nicolas Flamel never touched such crunchy food before but today exceptionally picked up one and nibbled slowly, chatting back and forth.
From them, he heard some secrets: seven hundred years ago, before Nicolas Flamel was born, the vile Herpo created the method of splitting the soul to prolong life and successfully experimented on himself.
Herpo himself was one of the origins of Dark Magic, powerful, and invented the Horcrux to ensure his immortality, acting without scruples, becoming the world’s enemy among wizards in a short time.
That era had no legendary wizards like Dumbledore; no one could defeat him head-on.
Many wizards thought the world would fall under Herpo’s rule, but no one expected Herpo to end his own life voluntarily. The method and reason of his suicide are untraceable; later History of Magic scholars could only leave speculative fragments without basis in books.
Death is such a wondrous and mysterious thing.
“Let’s end here, Albus.”
“Mm…”
Dumbledore finished his honey mead in one gulp, his bright blue eyes tinged with faint sorrow.
Nicolas Flamel smiled, his facial wrinkles relaxing, looking especially kindly. He set down his wine glass and said to Dumbledore: “Go back, Albus. Next, I want to discuss drama with Professor Levent. Goodbye here.”
“Have a pleasant adventure.”
Dumbledore said softly and quietly left the room.
Melvin vaguely felt their farewell was a bit odd.
Perhaps because both old wizards had such long lifespans—one year-round at school, the other secluded in retirement, away from crowds and out of touch with the times—their interaction differed from ordinary wizards, their dialogue style special. After all, one was a 111-year-old wizard, the other 665.
An antique riddleman’s farewell—odd is normal.
Nicolas Flamel nibbled French fries while saying to Melvin: “Elderly wizards often suffer insomnia, leading to random thoughts. He experienced bad things in his youth, trusted the wrong people, made wrong choices, so it’s hard for him to fully trust others.
“When dealing with him in the future, don’t be reserved or overly respectful. Speak directly… I’m over five hundred years older than him. We chat like ordinary friends usually. He’s only 111, just born a few decades before you. Why fear him?”
Melvin could refute a dozen wizards at the tribunal simultaneously but now didn’t know how to respond.
“…”
“Last week Albus wrote telling me about the school incident and sent the Philosopher’s Stone with the letter. Pernelle and I went to see 《The Merchant of Venice》, and after returning home, we decided to destroy the Philosopher’s Stone. Actually, I had this idea last year in New York. These days we prepared the elixir of life for the next two years; the Philosopher’s Stone was destroyed last night.”
Nicolas Flamel met his gaze, eyes calm: “So this time meeting you, I’m really prepared to discuss drama and projection mirrors.”
This old wizard had only two years of life left.
Melvin suddenly caught on, following his words: “Compared to bringing drama to the projection mirror, I prefer making wizard movies.”
“Movies…” Nicolas Flamel showed a reminiscent expression. “My first moving Muggle film was 120 years ago. A British photographer used six automatic electric light photographs of a horse to depict its motion. Pernelle found it interesting then.
“Another decade later, a Muggle inventor in Yorkshire used a camera with paper film to shoot a garden. Coincidentally, that inventor was French, and coincidentally I knew his son, so I saw that less-than-three-second film.”
Melvin was accustomed to these waves from the river of time, very calm: “Muggle technology develops quickly. Now, as long as the film is long enough, the film is long enough.”
“Drama or film, both touch the heart with story and picture.” Nicolas Flamel finally finished the French fries, sighing in relief. “In nearly seven hundred years of long life, the most touching picture for me happened in the 14th century, 1349.”
