Scribed and Translated by their grandson, Auguste, in his grandparents’ loving memory.

He kissed her softly and took her hand. She wore a simple dress, a white one, and ballet shoes. Her dark hair fell down her back in a single plait. A red travelling cloak lay on one of the empty pews. No guests filled the private chambers. No well-wishers got to their feet after the kiss. A priest, a man who had pulled away from his writings, closed his book and smiled at them. René glanced at the burning candles, thanked the priest, and offered his other hand to his little brother.

David’s feet dangled a few feet above the floor. He brushed his curly locks out of his eyes and snatched up the cloak. A seven-year-old ought not to hold secrets; they asked for trouble. He’d followed his brother down the narrow street and stood as their witness. The word would be out by morning. A chatterbox, he refused to hold his tongue. Of course, he’d covered his eyes through the kiss and squealed like a little girl, but René roped him into it.

“You won’t wander off anymore,� said René, keeping a tight grip on the child. “Lucky I found you.�

He ducked, missing the archway, and led them over to an old lady sitting behind the counter. She congratulated them and passed over the paperwork; René signed in a flourish. He passed the license over to his bride. Nervous, she tucked a loose strand behind her ear and licked her lips. At sixteen, this proved a mounting decision and she couldn’t possibly grasp the weighty consequences. She dipped the quill in the ink and held it over the license.

“I care not, Jacqueline.�

René sighed. The girl actually turned towards him asking for permission. They’d discussed whether she’d take his name countless times. She settled on a hyphenated one, a compromise. He pocketed the license and opened the door. The lamplights were lit now, and the townspeople swept through the small shops. He snapped a band off of his wrist and tied his hair back to get it out of his face. He rolled up his sleeves, too, shaking off the formality.

“You let them continue with the wedding plans,� Jacqueline said, “and it’s for nothing. They’ll kill you.�
René had courted her since her fourteenth birthday; he visited her in the summertime. Officially, this marriage had been in the works with detailed plans for as long as both of them could remember. Their families, close friends, watched over these ‘private meetings’ like hawks and they’d grown together. René received whispered death threats from her father at least once a year. He’d laughed them off, too, which made René feel uneasy for taking the man’s only daughter.

“We saved them gold, and you said you hated making decisions,� he said, shrugging, “so, technically, we’re doing them a favour. It’s over.�

David rolled his eyes when Jacqueline pecked René on the cheek. She gave him one, too, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. “Girls.�

“She’s your sister now,� said René. He pulled out a drawstring bag and handed over a couple silver coins. “You keep quiet. We’ll break the news.�

“You pay him off?� Jacqueline shook her head as David pocketed his money. “He’s got you trained well. David? David!�

They froze. The boy ran off the moment something caught his eye. René quickened his step and darted through crowds. When he spotted David’s curly locks, he parted through crowds and jumped over a café table. The patrons stared at him, shocked, and the woman wiped the front of her soaked blouse. An ancient beggar sat with her and dived to save a scroll. He had a full beard and thick eyebrows. He held David fast by the wrist and yanked him around with such force that it surprised René. An old man couldn’t pull off that move. Jacqueline, who slipped on spilled wine and broken glass, hit the old beggar when he pushed his chair away and got to his feet.

“You foolish girl.� The man lost all patience, snatched his bread from David, and glared at his intruders. He handed over David. “Play your childish games in the street, and we’d be rid of you.�

“Nicolas,� said his wife. She smiled at them and eyed her husband.

“You stole from their table?� René rapped David on the back of his hand. “My apologies.�

Jacqueline hadn’t moved and merely gaped at the beggar.

“She’s a mute idiot? This girl?� Nicolas rounded on René. “That explains it. All the boy had to do was ask. You get poor service dressed like this, but young boys knew their place in my day.�

The candles on the table lit themselves. David stared at the pavement, embarrassed.

“You’re - you’re Nicolas Flamel.� Jacqueline found her voice and pointed at his knotted hands.

“Am I?� The man stared back at her, his face blank. He reached in his pocket, slammed gold on the table and turned to leave with his wife. He pulled off a flawless act with a light conversational tone. “Apparently, he still writes books.�

Jacqueline matched his step. René, thinking they’d take her as a madwoman, shook his head vigorously. She’d no proof, and even if she did, she’d accosted an elderly couple and ruined their dinner. Nobody refused Jacqueline. When a carriage pulled up on the curb, she jumped into the street and opened the door for them.

“Let me speak with you, monsieur.� She handed Nicolas his walking stick as he took his seat.

“No. Good night.� Nicolas made to close the door and signalled to his driver. “I tire of you.�

The wife, not wanting to hold up traffic or cause a scene, invited them along for the ride. A tall man with long auburn hair and a matching beard sat on the opposite side and scooted over to make room for them. He wore a handsome set of midnight blue robes and stared out of the window. René rolled his eyes and scooped David onto his lap. It was a tight squeeze, six people in one compartment, yet Nicolas alone complained about it.

“What do you want?� Annoyed, Nicolas lit a pipe and crossed his arms. The driver started down the narrow streets.

“I received an invitation for the International Alchemical Conference,� she said, rubbing her cold hands together.

“On your father’s invitation most likely,� Nicolas corrected her coldly. Jacqueline, unabashed, didn’t deny this. “You show up uninvited because it suits you. You’ve no business wasting our time.�

“You remember me?� Jacqueline blushed. She took it as a compliment.

“I’d like to forget you.� Nicolas rubbed his temples with his fingertips and David giggled. �Yes, you’re the one who waits for me at the foot of the staircase every single day. Fifteen days, in fact, and it never fails. I walk right past you, girl, and you heed nothing.�

René held his tongue, for she needed to hear the harsh truth. Last night, he, too, had taken a seat at the conference. He’d merely pulled out parchment and quill and took notes. Nicolas Flamel sat with other alchemists, and he let others take the floor. Flamel usually kept out of the public eye because he preferred the comfort of his laboratory. Jacqueline wasn’t the only one guilty of ushering a queue. Writers and guests who gained entrance into the secret meetings adamantly wanted their say, and hardly any of them got a word in edgewise. The alchemists craved privacy, and the discussions stayed behind closed doors out of tradition.

“I’d thought you’d given up,� said Nicolas. “Why did you leave?�

Jacqueline raised her left hand.

“Oh, you poor fool,� sighed Nicolas sadly, addressing René. The driver made a hard left turn. David spoke with the wife and pointed out the estate. “My condolences.�

Jacqueline held her tongue and got out of the carriage before it came to a full stop. She ran off, for she’d gotten her answer, and her reception failed to please. Light poured through the windows. Their parents and relatives and clearly decided to stay up and hear the news. René helped his little brother down the steps and thanked them for a ride home. He tipped his hat to the driver, who mirrored him, and closed the door.

“Wait.�

René had gone no more than ten paces when the tall man, stepped out of the carriage with Nicolas’s wife . Jacqueline had reached the front door and was ready to turn in for the night. Tears streamed down her face. The man walked up to her and won her over with a kind introduction. They walked back down the garden path, and she’d regained her composure a little and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“You hold your ground during an argument,� he said, smiling at her encouragingly.

“Yes, Dumbledore, but he takes few students,� said Jacqueline. She addressed him as an equal, and Dumbledore did not correct her, “and he holds to the belief that women have no place in his art. He’s a selfish, arrogant -�

“- and he hopes you’ll walk away and never turn back.� Dumbledore nodded at the carriage and smiled at her indignation. He lowered his voice and looked into Jacqueline’s eyes. “Nicolas turned you away every night; she watched you from the balcony.�

“She - you did?� Jacqueline followed his gaze. Suspicious, she took a step back. Perenelle, the wealthy widow, supported her husband unconditionally in his experiments. “Why?�

“I asked Dumbledore to come after you,� said Perenelle. Her voice was deep, hardened by age. She took off a necklace and laced its glistening chain through her bruised and wrinkled fingers. “You believe in this, and it’s not for the riches or the elixir. It’s refreshing.�

A legendary tale, Nicolas and Perenelle had faded into stories long ago. The magical community saw alchemy as a dying art, too, one not worth saving. The discovery of the Philosopher’s Stone erased one of the goals. Wizards needn’t seek a Midas touch, either, because gold switched hands easily in business transactions and everyday shopping. Most people didn’t keep an eye out for a withered, shrouded beggar who walked amongst them in Paris. Alchemists kept to themselves for the usual reasons: persecution and stealth.

“You see advancement,� said Dumbledore simply. He smiled at René, inviting him along for a walk. The carriage took off into the night. Dumbledore took a silver lighter out of his pocket. “I joined Nicolas because he spotted my name in academic papers. He invited me along to conferences, and I understood the art through manuscripts and drawings, the invitation came as a surprise.�

“It’s because you’re English,� said René.

“Yes. Do you know what finally caught his attention?� Dumbledore opened the lighter and clicked it. A nearby lamppost went out. “In this craft, you sift through metals slowly, so silver comes before gold.�

René mouthed wordlessly, looking from the lamppost to the lighter and back again.

Jacqueline took the lighter when he offered it to her and examined it closely. She clicked it and the light flickered again. “Nobody would ever know. Ingenious. It must’ve taken years.�

“Eight,� said Dumbledore, taking his invention back. “I stood in as his assistant whenever Perenelle fell ill or he needed a helping hand. Nicolas ignores you because he’s looking for you to prove your worth. He favours nobody, as Perenelle will tell you. I left my trinket in his laboratory one night, next to his scrolls, and the next morning, he handed me a broomstick and told me to sweep his quarters and lock the door before I left.�

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Eight years?� She looked at him in disbelief. Nicolas Flamel saw her fit for nothing more than a shrew, and he’d shared his sympathies with René, the doomed, hen-pecked husband. “I work as house-elf, basically, and he still may not take me on. Why bother?�

“Nicolas will die with his secrets,� said Dumbledore. “His writings, his books, shall be forgotten.�

“If the amateur scholars luckily pick the right ones,� added René.

“He possesses an elixir,� said Jacqueline. “He cannot die.�

“Time means little to him, it’s true, so ten years pass with a blink of an eye,� said Dumbledore. “You’re a young bride and you’ve your whole life in front of you. What does your mother expect of you? She’s old-fashioned. Finish school, Madame, take your accolades, and come home as the good wife.�

René opened his mouth, but no words came out. Dumbledore had struck him dumb.

“You don’t know me,� said Jacqueline. The man hadn’t raised his voice or showed any sign of anger. “You heard him, monsieur, I’m a waste of his time and possess no talent.�

“He’ll tell you that,� Dumbledore agreed, nodding to her. “He marks it as a weakness, for you won’t be at his beck and call. I assure you, Jacqueline, you may be but sixteen, but you are no child. One day, fifty years from now, a hundred years from now, Nicolas shall tire of his life. He accomplished his goal, but he keeps an eye out for talent to spark his interest. He listens to his wife.�

He took the necklace from Perenelle and offered it to the young woman. A blue sapphire hung from it.

“It’s a blue scrivener’s crystal,� she said, pulling it over her neck. “Thank you.�

“A gift.� said Perenelle. “Alchemists used these as tools for centuries.�

“But they didn’t work,� Jacqueline cut in.

“You need a teacher.� Dumbledore glanced up at the sky and

“Nicolas denied me,� she said.

“Jacqueline, let the man say his piece,� said René exasperatedly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“He denies everyone,� added Perenelle, not helping matters. René admired her honesty. She shrugged. “When you’ve been married to the same man for over five hundred centuries, you pick up on these behaviours.�

“And I find myself in need of a student, a partner,� continued Dumbledore, ignoring the interruption. “Why say you, Madame?�

Jacqueline shook his outstretched hand and said no more. Dumbledore bid them both good night and turned on his heel. René led her back up the brick pathway and greeted his mischievous little brother at the door. A small crowd waited for them in the sitting room. Jacqueline’s father passed him a bottle of wine; open ones littered the table. René chuckled softly when a woman yanked his bride away from him and squealed over her ring. He stood by the window and peeked through the curtains. Albus Dumbledore and the carriage had disappeared.