Part One

Nicholas Flamel was exhausted.

He was tired from a long day of work, from a long week of work, from a long month of work. He was tired from a lifetime of work, and he was tired of feeling tired. With a resigned sigh, he reluctantly took a sip of the precious Elixir that extended his unusually long life. He kissed his sleeping wife, Perenelle, and then settled onto a feather pillow under a blanket of spun cotton and began to count backwards from ten. His breathing slowed by number six, and by number three he was asleep and dreaming . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He stood beside a maze of large hedges that stretched as far as the eye could see under a clear sky dotted with twinkling stars. The entrance to the maze was guarded by a breath-taking sphinx. The golden lion’s body gleamed faintly in the starlight, while a pale human face glowed with an unearthly beauty.

He was alone, and behind him stretched darkness. Seeing no other choice but to go forward, Nicholas approached the maze and its mysterious guardian. The sphinx did not move aside, but gazed down at him with look of infinite wisdom in its clear emerald eyes.

“Only the wisest shall pass,� intoned the creature, its voice ringing in the emptiness around them. “Art thou worthy, human?�

Nicholas was taken aback, and hesitated. Sphinxes were the guardians of great treasure and wisdom, and delighted in the creation of complex riddles to challenge those who might pass. Nicholas considered himself a sharp, even clever man, but the thought of facing a riddle from a Sphinx was not one he had ever entertained, and he was both nervous and excited.

Finally he nodded; there was no where else to go but forward, so he must try to answer the question put forth to him as best as he could. “I will hear your riddle,� he answered.

The Sphinx chanted with a rhythmic lilt:

“What may be taken by the darkest of defeat?
What may be freed by the absence of hate?
What may be lost in despair and deceit?
What may be found in truth and in fate?
What may be broken, ripped incomplete?
What may joined with love to its mate?�

Nicholas frowned to himself as he considered the first reply that came to mind: love. And yet love itself was used in the final line; it couldn’t be the answer. Other similar emotions came to mind: mercy, pity, passion, justice; but though they might answer several questions, none answered them all. Nicholas felt the smallest sliver of doubt slip into his mind, mixed with fear and disappointment. He knew he could find the answer; scholarly research had been his way of life for hundreds of years. Deep thinking was a part of his very being; he would not be half the man he was without his ability to puzzle out the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. He should be able to solve such a complex riddle, even one given by a Sphinx.

More thoughts swirled through his mind - life, death, time - until suddenly one clicked, and with a gasp Nicholas realized the startling answer. Taking a deep breath, he gazed up into the Sphinx’s green eyes and gave his answer: “The soul.� He waited with baited breath, the moment seeming to stretch into eternity. Finally, the Sphinx bowed its great head, and stepped aside.

“You are worthy, Nicholas Flamel,� it spoke, surprising him with the use of his name. “You may enter the maze, though its paths may prove dark and treacherous.�

“I will follow nonetheless,� Nicholas answered, somewhat bemused at his formal response. He stepped past the Sphinx and entered the maze. Almost immediately the tall hedges closed behind him, and he was surrounded by a sea of green, unable to see ten feet in front of him. He set out down the trail, determined to meet the challenge of the maze.

At the first fork in the path, Nicholas was startled to find a very large plant blocking his way. It had tall, spiky leafs that were a dark red color, and grotesque feelers which slithered on the ground like snakes, seeking prey. As Nicholas watched, both fascinated and repulsed, a particularly strong tentacle encountered a rat running through the maze and wrapped itself around the rodent’s grey from. The animal squealed in terror as the tentacle wormed its way toward a set of vicious looking teeth. With a deep squelching sound, the rat was eaten whole, and the plant sent out its feelers once more.

Nicholas was familiar with the Venomous Tentacula, but the sight of the gruesome plant feeding was never a pleasant one. He also knew that a plant the size of the one in front of him could snare a man as easily as it had captured the rat. Reaching into his robes, Nicholas drew his wand and aimed a well-placed Stunning Spell at the root system, his little experience with the plant having taught him that the only way to subdue it was from the bottom up. As the Tentacula began to droop, he methodically Stunned each of its great spiky leafs, until the plant lay dormant on the ground. As he carefully edged around it, he could have sworn he heard a soft sound like a moan coming from deep inside the creature.

Choosing the pathway to the right, Nicholas continued through the maze, periodically changing direction but always trying to maintain a steady course toward the center. He did not know what he would find there; truly, he did not know what he was even doing in the maze, but they always ended in the center, and he instinctively knew he would not get out before he made it to the end.

The path he was following abruptly opened into a large clearing, boxed in on all sides by the tall hedges of the maze. Directly opposite of him the path continued, but he would have to cross the long open space to get there, and it was completely covered in a roiling mass of color. At first he thought it was an unusually low cloud of some sort, but upon listening closely, he realized it was a massive swarm of butterflies, their wings fluttering softly in the cool night.

The butterflies filled the entire clearing, and Nicholas stopped to admire their airy beauty even as he wondered how to navigate through the great cloud of insects. He did not wish to Stun the butterflies out of his way. He contemplated raising a Shield Charm but decided he would still have trouble seeing where he was going. Finally he decided to attempt a distraction. Raising his wand, he conjured a small garden in the corner of the clearing, filled to overflowing with hundreds of flowers. The mass of insects moved as one to begin joyously flitting from stem to stem, leaving the clearing free of their fluttering wings. Nicholas quickly darted across to the other side, an occasional silver and gold butterfly landing on his robes, then cheerfully flying away to join its comrades. He smiled to himself as he continued down the path back into the maze, pleased to have experienced something so beautiful after the repugnant Venomous Tentacula.

Nicholas let his mind wander as he walked deeper into the mysterious maze. He wondered what other obstacles he might encounter, and hoped they would be less like the ghastly plant and more like the delightful swarm of butterflies. He maintained his direction and turned left at the next junction to continue his path, only to trip over a number of wooden toy soldiers.

They were marching up and down the wide row, blocking the path in front of him. As Nicholas stood and brushed the dirt from his robes, he frowned. Each soldier reached to his knees, as were dressed in colorful uniforms from centuries past. They paced silently with bayonets held to their shoulders. He was impressed with the magic that had gone into Transfiguring the tiny troops, but was unsure how to pass.

He decided to first try walking right through them, but was stopped short when a number of the wooden men turned and pointed their guns at him. He tried to go around the marching cohort, but was halted once more by a show of force; one tiny soldier even fired a warning shot over his head.

Nicholas retreated and pondered his next course of action. He knew he couldn’t turn back, but had to find a way through the soldiers blocking his path. Glancing around, he gathered a number of sticks; drawing his wand once more, he concentrated on Transfiguring them into a miniature army of his own. The soldiers turned and looked to him for orders, and with a shout of encouragement, he sent them into battle against the troops blocking his way.

The wooden figures fought furiously. Nicholas stepped out of the line of fire and directed his miniature troops from behind a large bush. He concentrated on opening up a passageway large enough for him to sneak through. As the battle surged back and forth down the wide path, the wooden soldiers he had first encountered were slowly forced to retreat. Rather pleased with his own troops, Nicholas continued to call out advances.

After a last final push, the enemy soldiers turned and fled down the path, with Nicholas’s soldiers in fast pursuit. He grinned to himself; it had been decades since his last battle, and even commanding the fight from behind the lines had been exciting. He thought about ending his Transfiguration spell, but with a mischievous grin he let his soldiers carry on their pursuit, and continued down the path, unmolested.

Until he came to the runespoor.

With a startled exclamation, Nicholas jumped backward, as far away from the large three-headed snake as possible. It was a vivid orange color with black stripes running down its long, muscled body. One head pulled toward the right, while the middle head swayed with its eyes closed. The third head hissed and spit irritably at the other two; it was the most dangerous, for it was extremely venomous. Nicholas tried to remember the best way to subdue a runespoor without being bitten.

Drawing his wand, he sent a small Stinging Hex toward the right head, the planner. It immediately began hissing at the middle head, the dreamer. The dreamer stopped swaying to stare at the planner. Nicholas sent another hex toward the third head, the critic. Already irritated, it lashed out at the first two. Two more well placed hexes sent the first two heads after the third. Soon the runespoor was engaged in its own internal battle with itself. Nicholas knew that often two of the heads would bite off the third. Satisfied that the runespoor was no longer interested in him or in guarding the path, Nicholas edged carefully around the furious beast and continued on his way.

The next obstacle he encountered was a simple oak table, standing in an enclosed clearing, and set with a teapot, a bottle, and a decanter. The first obviously contained tea; sniffing the bottle, Nicholas decided it was filled with butterbeer. The distinctive color of the liquid in the decanter, as well as the faint waft of smoke coming from the bottle, meant it was Firewhisky. Nicholas sat down at the table and stared at the choices in front of him. He knew that he had to choose one to drink in order to pass; each trial so far had required such an action, and he sensed that this one worked in much the same way.

Tea would be calming, perfect for a quiet night spent by the fireside reading a book. The butterbeer would be more appropriate to a casual party, alive with conversation. The Firewhisky was the strongest of them all, reserved for special occasions because it was the most stimulating – or mind numbing. Nicholas tried to decide which one would most likely get him through the rest of the maze. He immediately pushed the bottle of butterbeer to the side; it was too benign, too simple. He would need something calming or something invigorating.

After gazing back and forth between the teapot and the smoking decanter, Nicholas decided that the warm rush of the Firewhisky would likely be distracting. He poured himself a cup of tea, sipped it quickly, and stood, making sure to push his chair back toward the table. The hedges in front of him parted, and he knew that he had made the right choice. Sighing with relief, Nicholas continued through the maze.

He walked down many more paths, encountering several twists and turns. He did not, however, encounter any more obstacles, and began to hope that perhaps he was close to the center, and to ending his strange journey.

A strange light appeared around the next turn, flickering eerily in the darkness of the maze. Nicholas slowed down as he approached it, warily drawing his wand. He moved silently toward a slit in the hedges, and found himself unexpectedly in the center of the maze: he had passed through the obstacles and completed the journey.

The mysterious glow came from a marble pool set in the middle of the clearing. The moon had risen and rippled luminously off the gently lapping water to cast its gentle rays around the clearing in a play of light and shadow. Mesmerized by the otherworldly radiance of the pool, Nicholas made his way to the edge of the marble fountain and gazed deep into its depths. He expected to see many things, but did not expect the vision he encountered. . .

A young man with brilliant green eyes struggled desperately with a dark, hooded figure. They fought a terrible duel on a field covered in smoke and debris. The boy was bruised and bloody and obviously exhausted. He cast his spells toward the grim figure in front of him with increasing fatigue, and struggled to block the spells thrown back toward him. Finally, he was unable to react quickly enough, and a jet of blue light hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards. The hooded figure strode over to his fallen enemy and held his wand at the boy’s throat. Blood spilled from a ghastly wound in his chest, and he coughed weakly even as he struggled to roll over and stand.

“And so I shall finally complete the task I left undone so long ago,� whispered a sibilant voice, dripping with malice. Nicholas shuddered at the sound as he watched the horrific vision continue.

“You’ll never win, Voldemort,� gasped the boy on the ground. “You can kill me, you can kill us all – but you will never win.�

The figure threw back its hood and laughed, revealing cold red eyes that glared hatefully at the young man in front of him. “It was never about winning, Harry. And if it was – I still count myself the victor.�

The boy had risen to his knees, his head bowed. As Nicholas watched in stunned silence, the young man whipped his wand up and shouted a terrible spell; but Voldemort – for Nicholas knew him now – was quicker, and cried, “Avada Kedavra!� With a flash of green light, the boy fell to the ground, dead. Nicholas gasped as the scene dissolved into fog amid the evil laugh of a heartless murderer.

The depths of the pool swirled to reveal a sad funeral, then shifted to another great battle. Nicholas saw Voldemort claim victory once more, and witnessed the final downfall of the Wizarding world. He saw Diagon Alley, but it had become a grim place. Gone were the shops he had known and loved, with wizards and witches bustling to and fro in friendly conversation. Instead the street was lined with Dark establishments selling the sort of items and ingredients normally found only in Knockturn Alley. Instead of cheery bustle, isolated groups of masked and hooded Death Eaters patrolled the streets, cruelly torturing anyone they came across not wearing the mark of the Dark Lord.

The scene dissipated into a chamber deep within the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries. Lord Voldemort sat in judgment as bedraggled witches and wizards were brought before him, tortured, and executed. Their bodies were tossed through a tattered black curtain hanging across a stone archway. Two young adults were brought forward, a girl with bushy brown hair and a young man with red hair and freckles. Nicholas was sickened; he knew full well the veil was not intended for such brutal use. He turned away, unable to watch their death.

The scenes continued to shift more rapidly, and Nicholas watched as the world he knew and loved was quickly taken over and destroyed by Lord Voldemort and his hated Death Eaters. Hogwarts fell, and England became a grim place, a wasteland of death and destruction. He saw friends and loved ones killed in the fight against the cruel oppression of Dark Magic. He felt tears begin to run down his face, as the vision spiraled out of control into the ultimate end of life on earth. With a shout of grief and horror, Nicholas stepped away from the pool, his pulse racing, his heart broken from the frightening vision of the future he had just witnessed. . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nicholas awoke with a start, breathing quickly as the unsettling vision faded away. He sat up slowly and passed a hand over his eyes before glancing around the dark room, now touched by the faintest hint of the new day. He sighed, and looked down at Perenelle, sleeping soundly. He knew what he had to do; she would understand. Quietly he slipped from the bed and began to dress himself. He gathered his things, then returned to kiss his wife before leaving.

“Where are you going so early?� she murmured sleepily, one open eye squinting blearily at his traveling clothes.

“I’m going to Hogwarts,� he said softly. “I need to speak to Albus.�

“Is everything all right?� she asked, her voice more awake and sounding concerned.

Nicholas was silent for a moment as he thought about his answer. “Yes, it will be. I’ll be back soon.� He kissed her once more, and made his way toward the fireplace. He tossed a handful of Floo powder into the grate, stepped in, and cried, “Albus Dumbledore’s office!� As the green flames rose to surround him, he only hoped he wasn’t too late.


Part Two

Nicholas paced the empty office, unable to quell his anxious impatience. His heart thumped in his chest as he thought about his portentous dream and the bleak future it had revealed. Was he indeed too late? Had Voldemort already gotten to the Stone?

“You do know, Flamel,� sniffed Phineas Nigellus, “that you are wearing a track in the carpet with your nervous pacing.�

Nicholas paused and gave the portrait a withering look.

“Whatever is the matter?� asked Armando Dippett from a nearby painting. “You haven’t been by in ages, and here you seem as worried as a kelpie in a drought.�

“It’s about the Stone,� Nicholas answered shortly, not in the mood to discuss his fears with the portraits that day. He needed to speak with Dumbledore as soon as possible. “Where is he?� he burst out. “It’s been nearly twenty minutes already!�

Phineas Nigellus arched a delicate eyebrow. “I hardly think Dumbledore was waiting around for you to appear. He does have other responsibilities, after all. It’s been a busy night here.�

“He’s in the Hospital Wing,� said another one of the headmasters from across the room.

Nicholas whirled around, his heart dropping into his stomach. He was too late after all: Voldemort had taken the Stone, and Dumbledore was lying injured in the Hospital Wing as the Dark Lord began to plan his return. Nicholas hurried toward the door.

“It’s over,� he murmured, fear washing over him. “I should have destroyed it a long time ago, it’s my fault - � When he opened the door, he found himself looking into a pair of twinkling blue eyes atop a crooked nose. “Albus!� he exclaimed, taking a step backward as relief flooded over him. “You’re uninjured.�

Albus Dumbledore stepped into the room, smiling with a puzzled look on his face. “Naturally. Was there some concern for my safety?�

Nicholas just shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. He took his friend’s hand and shook it vigorously before grabbing him in a solid embrace. Albus laughed at the sentimental greeting.

“Greetings to you as well, old friend,� he said, and then turned to walk toward a small table by the fire. “Can I pour you some tea as you tell me what brings you to my office so unexpectedly – and so early?�

“Thank you,� replied Nicholas gratefully, falling into a large fluffy chintz chair that appeared in front of the hearth. “I didn’t have a chance to eat before I came.�

“In that case, breakfast is in order,� said Albus genially. “I myself have had a very busy night and could do with some refreshments.� He waved his wand and conjured a tray of steaming hot food, which he offered first to Nicholas before taking some for himself.

“It’s good to see you, Nicholas,� he offered after a few minutes of silence. “Though you still haven’t told me to what I owe the honor of your unexpected visit.� He set down his knife and fork and took a long sip of tea, watching Nicholas thoughtfully.

Nicholas wiped his mouth before answering. “I had a dream last night,� he began. “About the Stone.� He paused, waiting for a reaction. Albus raised his eyebrow and nodded.

“What a coincidence - we had quite an adventure with the Stone last night.� He stopped for another sip of tea before continuing with his breakfast. “Tell me about your dream.�

Nicholas began to tell the headmaster about his mysterious dream, from his initial meeting with the sphinx to his discovery of the pool at the end of the maze. Almost immediately, Albus abandoned his breakfast and sat back in his chair to listen intently, his brow furrowed. Around him Nicholas could sense the portraits leaning in with curiosity as well. He concluded with the terrible vision he had seen in the water, and sat back with a shudder.

Albus was silent for a long moment, gazing first at Nicholas and then deep into the fire. Nicholas sipped his tea and waited, until he felt the need to speak again.

“Tell me what happened last night,� he said. “You mentioned that you had quite the adventure with the Stone last night. What was it?�

Albus brought his gaze back to Nicholas and placed his fingers under his chin. “It was not actually my adventure,� he answered enigmatically. “It was Harry Potter’s. I played very little part in it.�

“You mean the Boy Who Lived?� asked Nicholas frowning. With a startling realization he sat up straighter, setting his cup down rather forcefully. “He was the boy in my dream, in the vision I saw in the center of the maze!�

“I know,� said Albus. “Again, it is quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?� Albus proceeded to tell him the events of the previous night. He told him how Harry and his two closest friends had decided to retrieve the Stone. They had subdued Fluffy, the giant dog which Hagrid had set to guarding the entrance the where the Stone was hidden, and then gone through the trap door into the chamber itself.

“Why ever would three first year students wish to gain a Philosopher’s Stone?� asked Nicholas, somewhat surprised.

“They believed that one of the professors was after it,� replied Albus. “And they feared he would give the Stone to Lord Voldemort, thereby allowing him to return to power, so they attempted to retrieve it first.�

Nicholas gasped. “Were they right?�

“In a way,� said Albus, pouring them both more tea. “But they believed it was someone else.� He continued the story and told Nicholas how the students had escaped the Devil’s Snare placed near the entrance by Madame Sprout, and found the key which Professor Flitwick had Charmed.

“They then played a fantastic game of chess,� said Albus, and he shook his head in amazement.

“That would be Minerva’s doing, I assume?� Nicholas, sipping his cup, fascinated at the tale.

“Of course. She Transfigured a chess set into life-size figures. It just so happens that Ronald Weasley plays a well-crafted game of chess: he sacrificed himself to win the game so that the others could go on.�

“Is he all right?� asked Nicholas with concern.

Albus nodded and continued. He told him how the troll set by Professor Quirrell had already been knocked out by the unknown thief, and how the two remaining students – Harry and Hermione – had then figured out the potions puzzle which Severus Snape had created.

“Ms. Granger returned to Mr. Weasley, and they were just about to send me an owl when I arrived back at the castle. Harry, meanwhile, continued on alone, where he encountered the Mirror of Erised - as well as Lord Voldemort himself.�

Nicholas gasped again and listened in amazement as Albus told him of Quirrell’s grim fate at the hands of the Dark Lord.

“I arrived just in time to save Harry, but unfortunately we were not able to save Professor Quirrell. Voldemort fled Quirrell’s body, unable to regain his strength.�

“And the Stone?� asked Nicholas, leaning forward intently.

Albus reached into his robes and produced the milky red stone that granted Nicholas his immortality. Nicholas stared at it for a long time, his thoughts filled with both relief at finding the Stone safe, and reluctance at what must be done. In his mind’s eye he saw the final horrible vision of the pool once more, the grim future that the world would face should Lord Voldemort return to power. He knew what must be done, but seeing the Stone in front of him made it far more difficult than he had expected. Finally, he took a deep breath, and said what he had traveled to Hogwarts to say.

“We must destroy it.�

Albus did not look surprised; he nodded sadly before answering. “Regrettably, I must agree. Voldemort will only continue to try and gain it if we do not.� He paused and looked closely at his friend. “However, it will mean - �

“I know what it means, Albus,� Nicholas interrupted softly. “I know what it means to destroy it, and I know what will happen if we don’t. My life – and Perenelle’s – are not worth the death and destruction Voldemort will bring upon the world should he return. Destroy it. Today.�

“I understand,� said Albus, looking his friend in the eye with a small smile. He stood and offered his hand to Nicholas, who took it and rose as well. “You are a remarkable man, to do this so quickly. Let us go see our Potions Master. He has some Elixir saved up for you, and will be able to assist us.�

Nicholas nodded, his throat tight. Around him the portraits murmured softly, no doubt spreading word throughout the castle of the night’s events, as well as his own impending doom.

“I’m so sorry, Nicholas,� said Albus as they walked toward the door.

“It is quite all right, my old friend.� Nicholas gave him a small smile of his own as they made their way to the dungeons, where the last link to his long life would be unmade. He knew it was the right thing to do, but that did not mean he would do it gladly. “Death is but the next great adventure - and I am ready.�