Calm, Silence, and Old Ideas
Arriving home, Harry went to take a long, relaxing bath to wash away the smell of the festival from the previous day.
After leaving the bathroom connected to his room, he noticed the copy of the Prophet that seemed to have arrived early. Since he had not been there to receive it, Hedwig had simply left it there, while she rested peacefully in her cage, which was always left open.
"Graceful, precious," Harry said to her, always making sure to thank her, because otherwise she would get quite upset. It was amusing to think that, between Hedwig, who behaved like a queen even in front of her owner, and Red, the chaotic dragon, both of them were Harry's pets. Maybe, in truth, it was Harry's fault that they were both like that. Even so, to be honest, it did not bother him that much. Well, Hedwig did not. Red, on the other hand, was a constant nuisance. And the fact that, right now, he did not even know where that crazy dragon had gone only made it worse. Still, he was surely causing trouble somewhere. But since he was not nearby, those problems were not Harry's.
Harry picked up the newspaper. Normally, he only used it to find out about a few things, but it was not as if he trusted it completely, since he knew that many times these newspapers were bought and paid for. The only one that was not like that would be Xenophilius Lovegood's paper, but… well, the information Uncle Xeno provided was special, and very specific to certain enthusiasts.
Harry read the front page calmly, slightly amused.
"An anti magic tool?" he said as he read that, supposedly, the Ministry had used an anti magic device to stop a terrorist attack by dark wizards during the Quidditch tournament. It also stated that, even though they did not have enough personnel, they had done a perfect job. "Really taking the chance to promote themselves," he said mockingly, knowing full well that the Ministry had surely paid a few Galleons so all the credit would go to them.
"Still… an anti magic tool does not sound bad," Harry said thoughtfully. "Maybe I could talk to Professor Flamel," he added, setting the newspaper aside before leaving his room in a hurry.
…
Meanwhile, in France, within a large white mansion, a beautiful garden stretched outward, filled with shrubs shaped like magical creatures.
Inside one of the sitting rooms, Juliette Marceau paced back and forth, looking somewhat nervous, while the portraits of what seemed to be her ancestors simply watched her with calming gazes.
After a few minutes, men and women dressed in truly elegant attire began to leave what appeared to be an office, their expressions completely serious. Before departing, they glanced at her and offered a brief nod in greeting, although it seemed they were hiding a faint disdain in their eyes. Or rather, many of them did not even try to hide it.
Pierre came out last. His expression looked tired; even so, he appeared somewhat calmer.
"Father, what happened?" she asked immediately.
Pierre looked at his daughter for a moment, his expression complicated, yet he could not place all the blame for what had happened on her. He sighed before responding. "Do not worry, everything is more or less settled," he said calmly.
"But your position…"
Pierre raised his hand to stop her, shaking his head slightly. "Do not worry. It will only be for a while. If I managed to reach that position on my own, I can do it again once everything settles down," he told her in a reassuring tone. "Still, it would be better if we remain a bit quieter for some time," he added, though his words carried a different meaning beneath them.
Juliette nodded stiffly, a faint anger beginning to grow in her heart.
"It is fine. I understand what you are thinking. And I feel the same. But as I said before, do not worry. Everything is settled," Pierre said, as a subtle dark smile slowly formed on his face.
Juliette looked at her father and returned the smile. After all, she was his daughter. If her father truly did nothing to take revenge on those who treated her that way and practically ruined her future, that would be strange, considering she had grown up with his full support in every step she had taken.
…
The days passed quietly as everyone waited for the return to Hogwarts. As always, the children spent their time at Harry's house, while it seemed that their parents were somewhat busy. With the exception of Wanda, who had become something like the aunt mother on duty, taking care of them.
To be precise, Wanda truly enjoyed spending time with the children. After all, she had watched them grow up and genuinely felt they were part of her family.
"Did the professor reply, Harry?" Hermione asked while holding a book of fourth year spell regulations, which would be studied that year at Hogwarts. She, of course, was already getting ahead on her work.
"Not yet," Harry said, setting aside the intricate object he had been holding, which seemed to be giving him quite a bit of trouble to create. Around him were several tools that appeared to be used for carving internal details, along with a pair of special glasses meant to see very small things.
That made his eyes look a bit strange, causing Daphne to laugh lightly when she saw him.
Daphne was writing something in a notepad that seemed to have her full concentration. And even when they asked her what she was doing, she refused to answer and quickly hid her notepad.
Then there was Draco. He was sitting calmly with his legs crossed while reading a book on the History of Magic.
The four of them were in the living room, while the younger ones, such as Luna, Astoria, Billy, and Tommy, had followed Wanda, who was taking care of the plants in the back garden.
"He must still be busy too, enjoying his trip around the world," Daphne said, seeming to think about something before writing it down in her notepad.
"Does anyone know anything about Neville?" Draco asked suddenly.
"Not really. He does reply to letters, but the messages are vague and short," Harry said, shaking his head.
"What could he have gotten himself into?" Hermione said with slight concern. They truly had not heard much from him throughout the entire vacation. Even his mother seemed to have traveled somewhere, since she had not been seen even at the Wizengamot. Now, her seat had once again been taken by Augusta Longbottom.
Suddenly, from the nearby fireplace, green flames began to rise, drawing the attention of the four.
A head emerged from the fire and quickly spotted them.
"Oh, you are all here, as always," he said with a gentle and truly mature smile. He was a handsome blond young man.
"Professor," the four of them said immediately, standing up. Indeed, this young man was none other than Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist more than six hundred years old.
"Sorry for not replying to your letter in time. I am somewhat busy here in France," Nicolas said with a smile, looking at the four as he answered Harry. The four present were his students; the students of the greatest alchemist of all time.
"Professor, did you finish your trip?" Hermione asked at once.
"Yes. We had to cut it short to lend a hand with your little scheme," Nicolas said with amusement as he looked at them. "You truly turned an entire ministry from another country upside down," he added, seeming to hold back his laughter.
"I am sorry if we were a nuisance," Draco said quickly, with seriousness.
But Nicolas raised his hand as if it were nothing and stopped him with a simple gesture. "You would never be a nuisance. You are my dear students. Besides, you did a great favor. Whether it shows or not, I am still French, and removing a man like Marceau from power is something that helps my compatriots," Nicolas said calmly. "Now then, let us get straight to the point that concerns us," he added quickly, as he immediately began pulling out books and throwing them toward them. The books looked truly old, as well as enormous.
"The ideas you brought to me have been thought of by many people throughout time. Here, all of their research is compiled," Flamel said seriously. "I put everything together. At one point, I was also interested in it, but I did not get very far, because there was something else that captured all of my attention. The Philosopher's Stone," he said.
The four of them looked at the seven or eight books, which were almost as large as three encyclopedias put together.
"Mmm… I am not sure I am really interested in your research, Harry," Daphne said quickly, beginning to notice the bad side of that investigation.