Professor Burns held the shimmering piece of Iser Mithril in his hand, allowing the candlelight to refract off its impossibly smooth, silver-white surface.
"Because the precise recipe for Iser Mithril remains a closely guarded secret, held tightly by the Fae's alchemical guilds, its market value is almost immeasurable, valued not in Galleons, but in political currency. It is, technically, available but never formally sold through licensed trade channels. To acquire it, one must navigate the dark networks of the black market, paying exorbitant, often dangerous prices."
He set the candlestick down gently. "Many high-level alchemists, who need only a pure, untainted source of superior magical conductivity, resort to buying extant Fairy Silver artifacts, like this candlestick, and melting them down. I acquired this single piece years ago, primarily for its didactic value. It's rumored, though, that this specific piece is an instance of 'Refined Mithril'—a grade even purer and more potent than the standard alloy, hence its brilliance. Such material is so rare that only a single, known object in history is said to have been made from it: Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."
Anduin carefully took the slender object from the Professor's hand. The metal felt impossibly cool and light, and when he turned it slowly, the surface didn't merely shine—it emitted a soft, internal starlight, confirming its legendary status. It was a metal that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of magic.
Burns then pointed to a dark, intricately detailed brooch resting on the table. "Now, shift your focus to the alloy that sits at the opposite end of the spectrum from Mithril's delicate conductivity: Ulimsteel."
Ulimsteel, he explained, was a unique, dark composite alloy also crafted by the Fae. "It is sometimes known as Faerie Iron or Sentinel's Steel because of its phenomenal hardness, density, and sheer physical durability. Nothing in the known wizarding world, neither natural ore nor synthesized compound, approaches its structural integrity. While its magical properties—its innate conductivity—are merely moderate, it excels in one area: spatial manipulation and containment."
He picked up the brooch, a beautifully worked, angular piece of dark metal. As he touched it with his wand, muttering no incantation, the tiny pin visibly stretched and shimmered, instantly unfolding into a finely woven, full-length travel cloak. With another touch, the garment folded back into the minuscule confines of the brooch, leaving no trace of strain or compression.
"When a Continuous Spatial Compression Charm is cast upon Ulimsteel, its theoretical usage time is, for all practical purposes, unlimited," Burns detailed.
"As long as the charm is periodically renewed and recharged, the volume of space it can contain is vast. This quality makes it the top-tier material for crafting all manner of spatial alchemical artifacts, from compact traveling homes to the very vaults that secure our wealth."
Anduin's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "The doors of the Gringotts Vaults—I assume they are reinforced with Ulimsteel, given their rumored impenetrability?"
"Undoubtedly," Burns confirmed with a dry smile. "And to reinforce the notion of its importance, another legendary treasure of Hogwarts, the Sword of Gryffindor, is said to be an unprecedented amalgam—forged from an Ulimsteel core, granting it peerless physical strength, and clad in Iser Mithril, allowing it to absorb and channel magical strength, making it both unbreakable and magically reactive."
Anduin leaned back, processing the information. "The Fae's achievements in crafting and controlling magical metals are not merely a matter of skill, then. They represent a significant, possibly dominant, technological advantage in the wizarding economy."
"That is the precise conclusion to draw," Burns agreed, his expression turning serious. "This immense technical achievement gave them a profoundly powerful sense of racial superiority and self-confidence. This hubris, coupled with the desire of outsiders to possess their formulas, inevitably led to the notorious conflicts in history—specifically, the infamous Goblin and Fae Rebellions."
Professor Burns paused, gathering his thoughts. "It is widely speculated, and historically probable, that the famous wars against the Fae and the Goblins were not merely territorial disputes. They were, at their heart, alchemical wars—wars of industrial espionage. Many wizards, driven by pure greed and the insatiable demand for these superior alloys, secretly fomented the uprisings. They saw the Fae's exclusive control over Ulimsteel and Iser Mithril as an intolerable bottleneck on wizarding progress and power."
"The goal was not merely victory, but the seizure of the alloy formulas themselves," Anduin surmised, connecting the pieces.
"Exactly. But the Fae fought with astonishing, almost suicidal fierceness. They knew their unique metalworking knowledge was the basis of their power. The official wizarding histories always record a decisive victory, but the reality was far messier. A truly crushing victory would have cost the wizarding world crippling losses. Furthermore, the precious secrets—the actual, core recipes—were never fully acquired. It was a verbal victory, not a technical one."
Burns shifted in his chair, leaning closer. "But there is another critical anecdote, a piece of lore often glossed over. It is said that the primary reason the war did not escalate into a conflict that might have utterly dismantled wizarding civilization was the intervention of a single figure—an Alchemical Master who shifted the strategic landscape."
"Who was it? An ancient combat mage?" Anduin asked, his curiosity piqued by the shift from materials science to martial history.
"No. It was Nicolas Flamel," Burns stated, his voice hushed with reverence.
Anduin inhaled sharply. "Nicolas Flamel? The creator of the Philosopher's Stone? The famed immortal?"
"The very same," Burns confirmed, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "And this brings us directly to the magical metal that fundamentally changed the dynamic of power during and after those rebellions."
Professor Burns did not reach for a physical sample this time. Instead, he produced a heavy, aged piece of parchment secured with an elaborate seal.
"I do not possess a physical specimen of this material," he explained, carefully unrolling the scroll and handing it to Anduin. "Physical copies are exceptionally difficult to locate. This document contains a magical photograph—the only record I was able to secure of its existence."
Anduin gazed at the magically preserved image on the parchment. It showed a block of metal held in a wizard's hand. The alloy was silvery-white, possessing the clean, minimalist look of titanium in his memory, but it seemed to hold an even more diffuse, inner glow than the Mithril. It was a piece of metal that somehow looked intelligent.
"This," Burns announced with dramatic weight, "is the invention that is said to have indirectly forced the end of the hostilities: the Lemaître Alloy."
"Lemaître Alloy," Anduin repeated, tasting the name. The implication of Flamel naming his creation after himself, given his immense power, was clear.
"That's right. Flamel's most ambitious creation next to the Stone itself," Burns said, his eyes gleaming.
"It is an entirely new magical metal formula invented by Nicolas Flamel himself. This alloy provided the wizarding world with a truly independent, domestically produced answer to the Fae's monopoly. It possesses the physical strength and durability rivaling Ulimsteel, yet maintains a magical conductivity and stability that approaches, and in some areas is said to surpass, that of Iser Mithril. It is, quite simply, the most balanced and perfect alchemical medium ever created."
"Then it was the equalizer," Anduin concluded. "With this formula, the need for the Fae's secrets evaporated, removing the primary incentive for war. Did Flamel share this recipe immediately and freely with the wizarding world?"
Professor Burns's smile faded into a cryptic look. "And here lies the great mystery, and the source of immense controversy. As soon as the goblin rebellion was fully quelled and the immediate existential threat to the wizarding government passed, many influential alchemists and Ministry officials sought out Nicolas Flamel, demanding the formula and the promise of mass production."
"But he vanished," Anduin finished, recalling the vague historical references to Flamel's retirement.
"He disappeared," Burns confirmed. "Flamel retreated almost entirely from the public eye after this event. Only tiny, sporadic fragments of Lemaître Alloy have ever surfaced since, confirming that he is alive and still producing small batches, but making it abundantly clear that he had no intention of allowing it to flood the magical economy."
Anduin realized the immense power Flamel held—not just the power of immortality, but the economic and military leverage provided by this unparalleled alloy.
"Why the scarcity? What is the official reason for the restriction?" Anduin pressed.
"There are three dominant theories, each highly contested," Burns explained, ticking them off on his fingers.
"First, the Technical Argument: That the production process is unimaginably difficult, requiring specialized astrological alignments, impossibly high temperatures, or unique ritual components that prevent mass synthesis. It is simply too hard to make regularly."
"Second, the Economic Argument: That the core raw materials for the alloy are so incredibly rare, possibly requiring substances like phoenix tears or crystallized dragon's blood, making it prohibitively expensive and scarce by default."
"Third, the Alchemical Ethics Argument: That the production of the alloy directly interferes with the ongoing process of creating the Elixir of Life and the Philosopher's Stone. Flamel chooses to prioritize his immortality and that of his wife, sacrificing the potential widespread benefit of his powerful alloy."
Burns swept his hand across the table, encompassing the brass, the mithril, and the parchment. "Regardless of the reason, this material, the Lemaître Alloy, is currently the single rarest and most sought-after substance on the market today. It represents the perfect nexus of magical and physical properties."
He then smiled—a genuine, almost conspiratorial smile. "Which brings me to my personal affairs. I may soon acquire a piece. Headmaster Dumbledore, as part of my ongoing contract and collaboration with his research, has promised to gift me a significant piece of Flamel Alloy."
Anduin stared, momentarily speechless. "Headmaster Dumbledore is offering to distribute such an impossibly valuable and rare material? That level of generosity is truly… unprecedented."
Burns nodded, savoring the moment of revelation. "Indeed. Which speaks to the fact that Dumbledore is one of the few people who knows the truth behind the Lemaître Alloy's scarcity, and the only person known to have consistent contact with its creator."
"Professor… you mean to say that Albus Dumbledore is personal friends with Nicolas Flamel?" Anduin stammered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
"Correct. Flamel is not only alive but is a trusted, old acquaintance of the Headmaster's," Burns confirmed.
Anduin felt a thrill race down his spine. He knew Flamel was alive, the Philosopher's Stone guaranteed that.
But knowing that the alloy's scarcity was maintained by a friend of Dumbledore—the ultimate supplier of the world's most perfect alchemical medium—meant that Dumbledore held the keys to an endless supply of this revolutionary material.
If Dumbledore could provide Burns with a piece, the Headmaster had access to resources that superseded all known political and economic constraints in the wizarding world.
This changes everything, Anduin thought, his mind racing. Dumbledore is not just a powerful wizard; he is the custodian of the rarest alchemical resource known to man.