Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

While Professor Morgan was another source he could turn to for alchemical insight, that path would only be open after a specific period. Having the greatest alchemist of the age available for consultation at any time was an unexpected and welcome advantage.

"I've got more than just the Philosopher's Stone, you know. I've stashed away a number of treasures over the centuries. If your progress impresses me, I just might leave them all to you when I finally kick the cauldron!" Nicolas Flamel beamed, casting a glance at the already shattered Philosopher's Stone, clearly trying to spur Ian's ambition.

This was a far cry from the kind of vague promises Ian had offered to the Dementors in moments of desperation.

"That machine is not to be given to him." Albus Dumbledore's tone was suddenly more serious, directed at Nicolas Flamel.

"What machine?" Ian tilted his head, clearly intrigued by the Headmaster's words.

"Some… relic of Nicolas's more questionable adventures." Albus clearly had no desire to elaborate.

However, Nicolas Flamel frowned at the vague accusation, first shooting Dumbledore an irritated look before turning to Ian.

"It's just a metalworking contraption. Harmless, really. Makes little trinkets that occasionally raise eyebrows at the Ministry," He said, trying to brush the matter aside.

But even he seemed unable to come up with a better description.

"Is it a counterfeit Galleon press?" Ian blinked innocently, showing a touch of cunning.

"An illegal currency-forging device," Albus sighed heavily, correcting him with no small amount of exasperation.

"The goblins and the Ministry can't tell the difference! And besides, I haven't used it in years…" Nicolas's tone grew defensive, but unconvincing.

Ian could practically sense the guilt wafting off him.

His mind wandered back to the earlier mention of a five-million-Galleon bet Nicolas had made.

Some things suddenly began to make more sense.

"Professor, you must be starving after being cooped up in that wall compartment for so long. Why don't we visit the kitchens? The house-elves always whip up the most marvellous dishes," Ian suggested with a smile.

"And perhaps, while we're at it… I could ask you a few more questions about alchemy?"

"There's still a bit of a mess to deal with here," Nicolas replied, not tempted by the offer of food. He gestured to Voldemort's lifeless body. "If we don't properly dispose of this, the residual dark magic could endanger many. He may not have been a magical creature per se, but that body, well, it's the product of biological alchemy."

Nicolas Flamel's mastery was unmistakable. Without so much as approaching the corpse, he'd discerned the nature of Voldemort's rebirth.

"He used alchemy to fashion himself a new body?"

Ian was clearly intrigued.

However, just as he was about to step closer for a better look, Albus Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him.

"What's even more frightening is how and why Voldemort was able to return. I'll explain everything to you in my office shortly," Dumbledore said gently but firmly, clearly intent on removing Ian from the scene for now.

"I'm honestly more concerned about these glowing magical markings on me," Ian said, glancing down at his bare upper chest. The golden runes still shimmered faintly, like a heartbeat of light.

"To my knowledge, they'll settle in time. You needn't worry about glowing perpetually," Dumbledore said, his voice reassuring and warm.

Ian visibly relaxed.

"Alright, Professor… then, may I take the Mirror of Erised with me? After all, I have once again protected the school, and I did break a fair sweat ensuring the safety of my fellow students…"

He had half a mind to claim he'd bled for Hogwarts, but try as he might, he couldn't find a single drop of blood on his person, and he wasn't sure a sore throat or a mouth ulcer qualified as a noble sacrifice.

"Ian," Dumbledore said with a soft sigh, "Fixating too much on the illusions offered by the Mirror of Erised won't do you any good."

"I only want to study it. You know I'm an aspiring alchemist, it's natural that I'd want to examine such a legendary alchemical artefact," Ian said sincerely.

Dumbledore hesitated, clearly torn.

At that moment, Nicolas Flamel interjected smoothly, "An alchemist should be curious by nature. I don't see Ian becoming obsessed with the mirror's images."

His words carried a deeper implication that didn't sit entirely well with Dumbledore.

"Alright, I shall permit it, for now. But if I so much as suspect it's beginning to influence you... I will take it back."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, yet in the end, relented to Ian's request.

This clearly surprised Nicolas Flamel, who glanced between Ian and his old friend with a suddenly thoughtful expression.

He had realised something, from Dumbledore's unexpected willingness to hand over the Mirror of Erised, and his previous behaviour concerning the time-turner, Nicolas had begun to piece together a few secrets.

"Thank you, Professor!" Ian beamed with delight as he promptly stuffed the Mirror of Erised into his enchanted money bag, which still had ample room left inside.

"I'll wait for you in the Headmaster's office!"

Ian gave a quick bow before swiftly pulling on his robes and heading towards the entrance of the underground chamber, where the black flames had now faded into nothing. The thought of seeing Professor Morgan's pleased expression filled the young wizard with anticipation.

Behind him, Nicolas Flamel's gaze remained fixed upon the Phoenix resting on his shoulder.

Once Ian's silhouette had completely vanished from sight, 

"I have a strong suspicion that Phoenix is the reason he's able to embark on the path of legend. If the proof of legend could be acquired so easily, we wouldn't have seen generations of wizards wasting away in pursuit of it."

Nicolas Flamel's words were certain; defeating a Dark Lord who had yet to earn a place among the legends of history would not, by traditional understanding, qualify someone to ascend to legendary status.

It defied common sense. It contradicted the collective knowledge of what it meant to become a legend in the magical world.

Nicolas believed that Dumbledore, who, despite all his achievements, had not obtained such status himself, was undoubtedly aware of this paradox.

"On that point... I admit I'm surprised," Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes glinting with an unusual light. "But regardless, it has unfolded before our very eyes."

"I half expected you to say he was born with it, that he possessed the proof of legend since the cradle." Nicolas gave his old friend a pointed, meaningful glance.

"And yet, even I can't get you to explain what you're thinking. Tsk, tsk… There's clearly a tremendous secret between you and that boy, and I daresay it must be tied to how he came by the proof of legend in the first place."

Nicolas Flamel let the matter rest.

For now, he was far more intrigued by the Black Phoenix that had accompanied Ian, an enigmatic creature that had unsettled even him.

"I must have seen it before… at the very least, I've come across an illustration!"

The aged alchemist tapped his forehead in frustration.

But no memory surfaced.

He had lived through centuries, endless memories piled atop each other like dust-laden tomes in a forgotten archive.

Dumbledore watched his friend's furrowed brow with a faint flicker of doubt of his own.

Truthfully, he too felt that the creature Ian had summoned lacked the grace and purity of a traditional Phoenix. There was something darker, something ancient, in its form.

…

While the two old wizards remained in the underground chamber, lost in their contemplations and quiet conjecture, Ian had already packed away all the shattered chess pieces from the previous battle into his ever-accommodating money bag.

"Hey! Take me to the Headmaster's office! Right above, this exact spot!"

Ian reached up and seized the Black Phoenix by the neck, dragging it down from his shoulder, still brooding over the fact that it had intercepted Voldemort's soul before he could deal with it personally.

"Squawk, Squawk, Squawk~!"

The Phoenix let out two eerie, echoing cries and, with its innate magic, enveloped Ian in a swirl of vanishing light.

A moment later, Ian found himself standing in a bright, warmly lit room.

"?"

Ian blinked.

Confusion washed over him. Because sitting comfortably behind the large desk, was another Albus Dumbledore.

Wearing that same serene smile, as though he'd been waiting quite some time.

(End of this chapter)

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