(Albus Dumbledore)
Inside my personal quarters, tucked away within the depths of the modified suitcase, I continued aiding Gellert with the final charms anchored to his flesh. One by one, the last restraints were being peeled away, threads of old magic unraveling as the Elder Wand, the very same he had once wielded so freely, traced slow, deliberate arcs through the air.
When I was certain we had reached past the most delicate phase, I glanced at him over my spectacles. "Are you truly certain you will be able to do what you promised?" I asked quietly.
Gellert did not even hesitate.
"Of course I can," he replied with that infuriating, familiar confidence. "Who do you think you're talking to? This is nothing more than modifying a simple ritual and handling a few fragmented soul pieces. As if that would stump me."
A faint chuckle left my lips. "Even after all these years," I mused, "you are still very much the same."
My wand paused mid-motion, and for a brief moment, the past brushed against my thoughts.
"Do you ever think of what could have been?" I asked gently. "How things might have turned out if we had never fought… if we had continued our plans together?"
Contrary to what I had expected, he answered at once, and firmly.
"No."
He scoffed. "Living in the past and drowning in 'what ifs' is pointless. Even living in the future should be done sparingly, or you risk losing sight of the present."
I considered his words, stroking my beard thoughtfully. "You are quite right, of course. Perhaps I am becoming a sentimental old man…"
"You call yourself old?" he grumbled. He tilted his head slightly, as if catching a glimpse of his reflection in some unseen mirror. "Look at me. I doubt even my most devoted followers would recognise me in my current state."
There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. I could not help but let out a quiet laugh.
"Indeed."
He scowled, and, quite petulantly, sulked.
Shifting the subject, he asked, "What about that flashy little brat of yours? Are you truly going to grant him that much power? That hardly sounds like you at all, Albus."
I fell silent for a moment, mulling over his question. My gaze drifted to the dancing lights of the runes etched around us.
"Well," I said at last, "Gilderoy may have his defects, as all of us do, but he also has his virtues. He is ambitious, yes, but his ambition does not lie in conquest or dominion; he merely enjoys the spotlight a bit more than he should."
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"He is far too flamboyant, to the point of appearing unreliable… yet when it matters most, he has proven to be quite the opposite. He is a coward in many ways, and yet, when the moment demands it, he can also be remarkably brave. After all… he was able to draw Gryffindor's sword."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
"And because of that, I know this: no matter how much power he is given, he will not abuse it. His heart, for all its foolishness, is in the right place."
Gellert considered my words in silence for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching thoughtfully.
"If you say so," he finally said. "Then what about the Potter brat? What are your plans regarding him?"
The question caught me more deeply than I cared to admit. I allowed myself a brief pause as realization… no, acceptance, settled in my mind.
"Well…" I began quietly, more to myself than to him. "At first, I had planned to groom him for his role as the hero. Not because I desired to, of course, but because the boy was already being forced toward it by fate itself. The prophecy was put in motion long ago, and even if we chose not to believe in such things, Voldemort does believe in them. That belief alone would be enough to shape events beyond our control."
I hesitated, then murmured the most dangerous line of all:
"Neither can live while the other survives…"
As the words left my mouth, a peculiar light sparked in my eyes. A twinkle, equal parts hope and rebellion.
"What we are doing here," I said slowly, meeting Gellert's gaze once more, "may be the turning point. The single thread that unravels the tapestry of that prophecy."
Gellert leaned back slightly, resting a hand beneath his chin as he contemplated the implications.
"Mmm… you believe the true force binding them together is the Horcrux within the boy," he mused. "That does make a certain amount of sense. If we destroy the shard of soul living inside him, then the prophecy itself could be broken. He would be freed from it… and so would you."
His eyes gleamed with something almost playful as he straightened.
"I rather like that," he said. "To shatter fate's designs instead of dancing to its tune. Shall we begin destroying destiny, then?"
…
Devon, England - Flamel Cottage
(Gilderoy Lockhart)
I studied the man who now stood before me: my new master, Nicolas Flamel. Having lived for more than six centuries, he barely looked the part. His face was lined and his body looked like it might get blown away by the slightest breeze, yes, but his eyes were bright, sharp… alive in a way only true knowledge could make them.
"Mr. Flamel," I asked, doing my best to sound both respectful and eager, "what will you be teaching me first?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "Just call me Nick, Gilderoy."
He glanced toward the clock mounted on the far wall, its quiet ticking filling the brief silence between us.
"For now," he continued calmly, "I am going to teach you the first, and perhaps most important, lesson. How to properly enjoy my wife's cooking. It is time for lunch, and we mustn't keep the lady waiting."
"That sounds wonderful," I replied, falling easily into step beside him as he led the way.
As I followed, a thought drifted through my mind, accompanied by a growing sense of anticipation.
Food prepared by someone with over six hundred years of practice… I could scarcely imagine how extraordinary it would be.
And yet, somehow, I already knew it would be unforgettable.
Nick led me toward the dining area, his steps light and easy for someone who had seen over six centuries pass him by. The scent of food grew stronger with every step, warm bread, fresh herbs, something rich simmering away.
A moment later, she appeared.
Perenelle Flamel.
I had expected dignity. Perhaps quiet elegance. Maybe a stern and refined matron.
But this?
She was… radiant.
Time may have brushed her features with silver and wrinkles, but it had also wrapped her in a quiet, formidable power. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and wisdom in equal measure, and the gentle smile on her lips made the entire room seem brighter.
"So this is your new student?" she said warmly.
"And future legend," Nick added with a small grin. Ah, he understood me already.
I stepped forward, took her hand delicately, and bowed just enough to be respectful without appearing stiff. "Madame Flamel, it is truly the greatest honor of my life to meet you. I must say… Your beauty is nothing short of legendary. I can only imagine the spell you must have cast upon young Nick centuries ago to keep him so utterly devoted ever since."
Nick scoffed. "A spell? Please. I was helpless long before any magic was involved."
Perenelle laughed, a light, musical sound that made my heart soar. "Careful, Gilderoy, or I may decide I quite like you."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," I replied smoothly. "I don't think anyone could help but adore you."
She guided us to the table, which was already set beautifully, and I took a seat, watching her move about the kitchen with an effortless grace.
Six hundred years of experience, I thought. If nothing else, I'm about to taste the most practiced cooking in human history.
As plates were placed before us and the first bite touched my tongue, I nearly wept.
"Incredible," I breathed. "Absolutely divine. I've defended villages from spectral horrors that were less overwhelming than this stew."
Nick raised his glass. "Perenelle, meet living proof that flattery can, in fact, be a legitimate form of magic."
She smiled knowingly at me. "Be careful, young man. In this house, compliments come at a steep price. You'll be doing the dishes."
I laughed. "For cooking of this caliber? I would gladly wash the entire English coastline."
And for the first time since stepping into that enchanted little world, a warmth bloomed in my chest that had nothing to do with ambition or glory.
It was the warmth of belonging.
…