(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Even with the smell of Fiendfyre still lingering faintly in the night air, I felt… steadier than I expected. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was relief. Or maybe it was the sudden realization that fate, actual, honest-to-Merlin fate, was something we could fight.
Whatever it was, I knew I had to speak with Dumbledore before the night ended.
"Professor," I said softly, approaching him as he banished the last few runes with a flick of his wand. "If you have a moment… I'd like to speak privately."
He gave me a curious, gentle smile. "Of course, Gilderoy."
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. "You two have fun with your sentimental talk. I'm going to make tea." And without another word, he walked off into the trees as if the middle of a forest was an appropriate place to brew anything.
Albus and I stepped a little farther away from where the ritual circle had been.
"What troubles you?" he asked.
I took a breath. No point dancing around it. "I still want to teach," I said.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "But the curse…"
"I know," I cut in. "Believe me, I know. I don't want to die horribly, risk losing my memory or something equally important if I can help it. But I heard Professor Kettleburn is finally retiring?"
"Indeed." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, nodding. "Though I was considering offering the position to Rubeus. He has the passion and the experience with magical creatures."
I gave him a sympathetic wince. "But he doesn't exactly have the teaching skills."
The sigh Dumbledore let out could have wilted a Mandrake seedling.
"You are right, of course, Gilderoy." His shoulders slumped. "He knows creatures better than anyone, but maintaining a structured class… organising lessons… ensuring no one is mauled… These are challenges he has never managed particularly well."
"I've noticed," I said delicately.
Albus gave me a soft, almost rueful look.
"So," I continued, "how about this? Give me the position, officially. And allow Hagrid to serve as my assistant until the curse on the Defence post is gone."
He blinked.
I pressed on. "I can teach him how to teach. Lesson planning. Classroom management. Safety. How not to accidentally bring a lethally venomous creature to a class of thirteen-year-olds. You know. The basics. And in a couple of years, once he's ready, he can take over properly."
Dumbledore touched his beard, thoughtful, and then his eyes lit up with that familiar twinkle that meant I had him.
"…That is a good idea," he admitted. "A very good idea."
I straightened a little, pride blooming in my chest.
He nodded decisively. "All right, Gilderoy. Let us proceed as you suggested. You will take the Care of Magical Creatures position for the coming few years. Rubeus will serve as your assistant, and you will prepare him for the role he is destined to take."
A genuine smile crept across my face. "Thank you, Professor. Truly."
Dumbledore's hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "And thank you, Gilderoy. Hogwarts needs people who care. And despite everything you pretend to be… you have always cared."
For once in my life, I had no witty remark.
…
July 31, 1993, Saturday
Flamel Cottage, Morning
Nicolas Flamel began the morning's lecture the way he always did: calmly, patiently, and with a tone that made you feel foolish for not having already known what he was about to say.
"As you know, Gilderoy," he said, lifting a small metal container etched in impossibly tiny runes, "energy is not lost. It merely transforms. The same is true for life force."
He tapped the little bottle with a finger. It gave off a faint chime, like distant silver bells.
"When a person dies, roughly half of their remaining life force escapes at the moment of death. The rest leaks over time as the body decomposes. This-" he held the bottle between two fingers "-captures a portion of that initial release."
I raised a hand. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply place one of those in a cemetery? Let the corpses do the work for you?"
Nick's lips curved into the sort of smile a teacher gives when a student asks precisely the question he expected.
"I was waiting for that," he said.
"In theory, yes, that would be ideal. But the life force that escapes over time, the slow release, is transmuted by the world itself into nourishment. Soil, plants, animals, the surrounding environment… it becomes fuel for life."
He lifted the bottle again, letting the early sunlight catch the etched runes.
"The energy that escapes immediately upon death, however, transforms directly… into magic."
I blinked. "So you're saying magic is another form of life force?"
"Indeed, Gilderoy." He nodded as though this should be obvious. "A wizard could, if they possessed the knowledge and the skill, use their own life force to perform magical feats otherwise impossible. This particular branch of magic is known as sacrificial magic."
A shadow passed over his features, subtle but unmistakable.
"Of course, there is also its darker counterpart. Using another's life to power one's spells. Inefficient, crude, and needlessly destructive. A great deal of power is lost in the forcing of it." His expression tightened with clear distaste.
My thoughts drifted unbidden to Lily Potter.
Her final act. Her final stand.
This is exactly what she must have done…
She had used her entire life to shield her son. A true sacrifice. Pure, powerful, and absolute. Her death hadn't just stopped Voldemort. It had rewritten the rules around her child.
I swallowed.
"So this bottle," I said softly, dragging my thoughts back to the present, "catches magic at the moment it's born."
"Very good," Nick said with a proud little smile. "And this…" he tapped the small rune-etched bottle with a fingertip, "...is the main ingredient in the creation of the one thing known as my greatest achievement. Though personally, I like to think marrying Perenelle is far more impressive."
I blinked. Then the realization struck me like a Bludger.
"The Philosopher's Stone," I breathed.
"Exactly," Flamel said, expression warming at my reaction. "If you ever wish to craft a Stone of your own, Gilderoy, you will first need to gather vast quantities of this transitional life-energy. There is no shortcut for it, no artificial means, no imitation."
I stared at the bottle again with fresh reverence. Life becoming magic. Magic becoming something… greater.
"But… wouldn't it be easier to just absorb magic directly from the world?" I asked. "There's ambient magic everywhere. Couldn't you collect it instead?"
Nick chuckled softly, as though he had been waiting for that very question.
"A very sensible thought," he said. "But no. Only this type of magic works for a Philosopher's Stone. Ordinary ambient magic is already fully formed, already stabilised. Useless for my purposes."
He lifted the bottle, the runes glinting faintly. "This energy, however, is in the middle of a transformation. Still raw enough to shape, still carrying the echo of the life it came from. It can extend life because it is life. And it can fuel impossible transmutations because it is also on the cusp of becoming pure magic. It's the only substance that naturally contains both states at once."
I felt my breath catch. A bridge between life and magic. A substance that shouldn't exist, yet did.
"And that," Nick finished gently, "is why the Stone is unique. Why even those who knew of it could never replicate it. They lacked the correct magic, and the correct understanding of what it truly was."
For a moment, the room felt impossibly still.
The Philosopher's Stone had always been whispered about with awe, dismissed by many as myth, coveted by others as treasure…
But I was now learning the truth of it, directly from its creator.
The realization sent a quiet thrill through me.
"I… see," I murmured, unable to hide the note of awe in my voice.
Nick smiled knowingly, as though he had seen this exact reaction a thousand times over six centuries.
"Good," he said. "Then we may begin the real lessons."
I nodded slowly as the scope of what he was saying settled into place.
He continued, his tone shifting into something more formal, more solemn.
"Your foundation is already solid enough. Over the next month, I will teach you the entire process of creating the Stone. Every step, every danger, every necessary refinement. There can be no margin for error."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the small window, where morning sunlight filtered through old glass.
"It is… unfortunate," he said quietly, "that I do not have enough time left in this world to teach you everything I know in person." He looked back at me and smiled, not sadly, but knowingly. "But do not worry. I am leaving you my Pensieve, filled with every memory, every lesson, every piece of knowledge that you will require."
My breath stilled. That was no small gift. That was the legacy of centuries.
"Thank you," I said, and for once, the words came out without flourish. Just sincerity.
Nick waved a hand as though brushing off a compliment he didn't deserve. "It's nothing, Gilderoy. You're my last apprentice, it's only right that I leave you prepared."
He hesitated then, the weight of something softer, older settling over him.
"And… you've given me something far greater in return." His voice warmed, softened. "Your presence has made Penny happy in her final days. To her, it is like having another grandchild after so many, many years."
He looked down at the little bottle, then back at me.
"You do not know how much that means to me."
For a moment, the air in Flamel Cottage felt different, not magical, not ancient… just human.
…