Chapter 247
Several days had passed since Voldemort's followers gathered at Malfoy Manor.
Meanwhile, inside the Black residence, Mrs. Weasley had kept Harry, Ron, and Hermione constantly occupied over the following days.
It took them three full days to clean the drawing room. In the end, the only unpleasant thing left inside was the Black family tapestry, which stubbornly resisted every attempt to remove it from the wall, as well as the desk, whose contents remained unknown because Moody had not yet inspected it.
They then moved on to the dining room on the ground floor, where they discovered giant spiders the size of teacup saucers crawling inside one of the cabinets. Ron immediately fled the room under the excuse of making tea and did not return for an hour and a half.
The fine china decorated with the Black family crest was carelessly thrown into rubbish sacks, and the old silver-framed photographs suffered the same fate. Their occupants screamed in outrage as the glass shattered around them.
Perhaps Snape would have called it cleaning, but in Harry's opinion, they were waging an all-out war against the house itself—and the house fought back fiercely, aided by Kreacher.
The house-elf constantly appeared wherever they gathered, muttering insults that grew increasingly offensive while trying to rescue anything he deemed valuable from the growing piles of rubbish.
Sirius had threatened him countless times—even threatening to free him—but Kreacher would simply stare at him with unblinking eyes and say:
"Master may do as he wishes."
Then he would turn away and mutter loudly:
"But Master won't get rid of Kreacher, no... because Kreacher knows what Master truly wants... yes... he plans to harm the Dark Lord... yes, together with all these half-breeds, traitors, and filth..."
Ignoring Hermione's protests, Sirius would seize Kreacher by the rag around his waist and throw him out of the room.
Meanwhile, Albert had left the house early that morning without telling anyone where he was going.
The doorbell rang several times every day, which always prompted Sirius's mother's portrait to begin screaming once more. Harry and the others had developed the habit of sneaking around to eavesdrop on visitors, though they rarely learned much before Mrs. Weasley caught them and sent them back to their chores.
Snape had visited several times over the past few days. Fortunately, Harry had not encountered him face to face.
Professor McGonagall had also come by. She looked rather strange dressed in Muggle clothing and seemed far too busy to remain in the house for long.
Sometimes, however, visitors stayed to help.
Tonks joined them one memorable afternoon when they discovered an old ghoul living in the upstairs bathroom.
Lupin also assisted whenever he was home with Sirius, though he frequently disappeared on mysterious missions for the Order. Together, they repaired an enormous antique clock whose bad habit was firing tiny arrows at anyone who passed nearby.
Mundungus Fletcher improved Mrs. Weasley's opinion of him slightly after rescuing Ron from a collection of purple robes that had tried to strangle him while he was clearing out a wardrobe.
Although Harry still suffered from restless sleep and dreams filled with endless corridors and locked doors that made his scar ache, he found himself enjoying life for the first time since the beginning of summer.
As long as he remained busy, he was happy.
But whenever the work ended and he lay exhausted in bed, watching shadows drift across the ceiling, thoughts of the Ministry hearing returned.
Fear would slowly creep into his heart as he wondered what would happen if he were expelled.
The thought terrified him so much that he dared not speak it aloud—not even to Ron or Hermione.
Though he often caught them whispering and exchanging worried glances about him, neither of them mentioned the subject.
Sometimes, Harry could not stop his imagination from creating the image of a faceless Ministry official snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to live with the Dursleys.
But he wouldn't go.
He had already made up his mind.
He would return to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.
A heavy feeling settled in his stomach during Wednesday's dinner when Mrs. Weasley suddenly said calmly:
"I've prepared your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair as well. First impressions can work wonders."
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked toward him.
Harry nodded and tried to continue eating, but his mouth had gone dry and he found himself unable to swallow.
Trying to sound indifferent, he asked:
"How am I getting there?"
Mrs. Weasley answered gently:
"Arthur will take you with him to work."
Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly across the table.
"You can wait in my office until the hearing begins."
Harry glanced at Sirius, but before he could speak, Mrs. Weasley answered for him.
"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it would be wise for Sirius to accompany you, and I must say—"
Sirius interrupted through clenched teeth.
"—that you happen to agree with him completely."
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in annoyance.
Harry stared at Sirius.
"When did Dumbledore tell you this?"
Mr. Weasley replied:
"He came by last night while all of you were asleep."
Sirius absently poked at the potatoes on his plate with his fork.
Harry lowered his eyes to his own plate.
The thought that Dumbledore had come to the house without even asking to see him stung deeply.
---
On the other side of Europe, in France—specifically in the historic Notre-Dame district of Paris—the streets were calm.
Old buildings with ornate facades lined both sides of the road, reflecting centuries of stories and memories.
Hanging signs decorated the stone pavements, giving the area a timeless charm.
People walked peacefully.
Some were lost in thought.
Others conversed quietly.
Couples strolled hand in hand, while elderly men and women sat on wooden benches, observing the world with eyes that seemed to contain countless tales.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a young man appeared in the middle of the street.
There was no flash of light.
No gust of wind.
Only a flawless Apparition.
He appeared so naturally that no one noticed anything unusual.
His name was Albert.
Elegantly dressed, he walked calmly down the street as though searching for something hidden among the ancient buildings and cobblestone roads.
His eyes carefully examined every detail, as if deciphering a secret visible only to him.
Eventually, his gaze stopped on a worn-down house that looked older than any other building on the street.
Its walls were cracked, and the wooden decorations around the door showed decades of neglect.
The windows were dark and concealed behind heavy curtains.
Yet Albert showed no hesitation.
Instead, a brilliant smile appeared on his face—a mixture of nostalgia and triumph.
He had finally found what he had been searching for.
With steady steps, he approached the door.
Everything about his appearance radiated elegance and wealth.
He wore his finest clothes: perfectly tailored classical French attire, a carefully buttoned white shirt, an elegant black necktie, and a long brown coat that matched his traditional black hat.
He looked like a gentleman from another era—as though he had stepped out of a nineteenth-century painting.
---
Inside the house, the walls were covered with ancient manuscripts, while shelves overflowed with glass jars containing rare magical ingredients.
In the center of the room sat Nicolas Flamel, an elderly man whose eyes seemed to contain the weight of history itself.
Across from him sat Albus Dumbledore, calmly sipping tea.
---
The Beginning: Remembering the Past
Nicolas Flamel looked thoughtfully at Dumbledore.
"Do you remember, Albus, when I first entrusted you with that stone?"
Dumbledore set down his teacup and smiled faintly.
"It feels like yesterday, despite the decades that have passed. I still remember the day you brought me the stone and told me that I was the only one who could protect it."
Nicolas chuckled softly.
"Sometimes I wonder whether I placed too heavy a burden upon you."
Dumbledore replied quietly:
"Did you truly have any other choice?"
Flamel sighed.
"Hardly. For centuries I protected the stone and kept it hidden from the world. I once believed I possessed an invincible power, but time teaches us that everything—even the greatest discoveries—can become a curse if they remain too long."
"But why me?" Dumbledore asked. "Why not bury it somewhere no one would ever find it?"
Nicolas gazed at him with wisdom-filled eyes.
"Because I knew you understood. The stone is not merely a path to immortality—it is a temptation, a trial. I needed someone who could see beyond its power. Someone who would seek not to use it, but to protect it."
"You feared it would fall into the wrong hands," Dumbledore said softly.
"Exactly," Nicolas replied with a sad smile.
"I have witnessed centuries of greed. Wizards seeking eternal life, wars born from alchemical knowledge, people losing themselves in their thirst for power. I never wished the stone to become another instrument of destruction."
"And now, after all these years," Dumbledore said, "you have finally decided to move on."
Nicolas smiled sadly.
"Yes, Albus. Perenelle and I have seen enough. We have lived beyond imagination, but time eventually takes more than it gives. We no longer belong in this changing world."
"But you always said that knowledge never ends," Dumbledore replied. "That there is always more to discover."
Nicolas nodded.
"That is true. But there is a difference between seeking knowledge and fearing death. When life lasts too long, it begins to lose its value. The passion fades. Adventures disappear. Even memories become dull, loved ones leave, and eventually only emptiness remains."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.
"So immortality is no longer a blessing, but a burden?"
"Yes," Nicolas answered. "And more than that. Once, eternal life seemed like the greatest achievement in magical history. Now it feels like chains... a story that should have ended long ago."
"Are you afraid?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
Nicolas smiled gently.
"Afraid? No. Not anymore. I've had enough time to face that truth. I know there is something beyond life—something even immortality cannot explain."
"And what about the stone?" Dumbledore asked. "Are you still determined to destroy it? Or should I continue protecting it as you first instructed me?"
Nicolas's expression became serious.
"Yes. It must be destroyed. As long as the stone exists, there will always be those who seek it. I do not wish to leave behind a legacy that could ignite wars or grant power to those unworthy of it."
"But what if someone could use it for good?" Dumbledore asked.
Nicolas shook his head.
"Even the purest hearts can be tempted. I know this because I have experienced those temptations myself. I have seen how the desire to do good can gradually become greed without us realizing it. No, Albus. The stone must disappear from this world."
"So," Dumbledore asked softly, "you are finally ready to move on?"
"Yes. Perenelle and I made our decision long ago. We shall leave this world as we should have done years ago."
Dumbledore smiled sadly.
"It will not be easy to say goodbye to you, Nicolas."
Flamel placed his hand over Dumbledore's.
"This is not farewell, my friend. I will remain a part of this world as long as my memories endure within it. More importantly, I leave it in trustworthy hands."
Dumbledore took a deep breath.
"Then let us drink to a noble departure—and to the life we have lived."
Nicolas raised his cup with a peaceful smile.
"And to the future... and to those who will carry the torch after us."
After enjoying those precious moments together, both men suddenly heard a knock at the door.
The peaceful atmosphere between them vanished instantly.
Dumbledore spoke first.
"Could that be Perenelle?"
Nicolas looked surprised.
"No. Perenelle is upstairs, and I know of no one who would come knocking at my door."
Dumbledore rose from his seat.
"Very well. I'll go and see who it is."
To be continued...