Alchemy by Writ Encore
Summary: Nicolas Flamel shares his gift with a few talented students and forges an unbreakable friendship.



For Ruth, with love.
Categories: General Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Character Death, Mild Profanity, Violence
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 3799 Read: 1060 Published: 06/21/12 Updated: 07/08/12

1. Chapter 1 Alchemy by Writ Encore

Chapter 1 Alchemy by Writ Encore
Time flew by the window when it came to Nicolas Flamel. It mattered little to him. Why would it when there was no end in sight and ample hours at hand?
Time. The old man, or ancient beggar, wore no pocket watch, for he went by and by through his days with nothing. He blended in the crowd, a man dressed in casual clothing, and he loved with his wife in a large estate by the sea. A peaceful place, a home others only dream to spend their days, and the aged couple saw it as walls enclosing meaningless possessions.

Nicolas sat in wicker chair and turned a trinket in his knotted fingers. Immortality had left its marks, too, despite the fact that he’d live forever. He coveted his creation, the Sorcerer’s Stone, for fools fantasized about stealing it and taking it for their own. His face looked weathered, a wrinkled canvas where a pair of dark eyes shown. His skin was almost translucent, a barrier pulled over his skeletal frame. Bored, his mind wandering, he stared into the depths of the fire and
escaped into his thoughts.

–Here.” Albus Dumbledore draped a crocheted blanket over the man’s shoulders. –Solving the world’s problems with a solo audience again?”

–They don’t talk back.” Nicolas nodded at a stack of discarded newspapers on the floor. –This war will be spent soon, and we’ll strike another because it’s all the same, though it must be an interesting way to die.”

Dumbledore nodded. The alchemist had been speaking strangely, but neither his wife nor his company took offense. Could a man truly be happy with all the money and life at his fingertips? They proved frail ones, no doubt, yet Nicolas Flamel would never be forgotten. Nicolas fished his pipe out of his
pocket and lit a smoke.

–A gift from Asia, Singapore,” said Nicolas, shrugging because he couldn’t quite remember. He tossed two tiny balls into the air and Dumbledore caught them and rolled them in his palm. –Is she well?”

Dumbledore searched his expression. For years, no woman entered their secret society; alchemists, as a general rule, kept their doors locked and strayed cautiously from tradition. Perenelle, Nicolas’s wife, enjoyed dabbling in research, yet this was different for she had kept quiet and was no mere woman. Nicolas had put his foot down and laughed at the very suggestion, especially when Albus Dumbledore insisted on seeking out talent. Jacqueline, a fellow Nicolas often regarded as a lapse in judgment, had grown close to him.

–You care for her?” Dumbledore smiled at Nicolas’s scowl. –I’ll never say a word. Go on hating each other in peace.”

–Yes, well, I’m not the short stupid one waiting until I’m forty to finally have a family,” said Nicolas lightly, –and her husband’s acting like it’s nothing.”

–She’s thirty-seven,” Dumbledore offered, taking a few years back.

–They’re fucking stupid,” Nicolas said flatly, glaring at him. He stood up, gripping his walking stick and stooped towards him like a sidetracked snail. He held his free hand out to his waist, holding it over air. –Jacqueline’s this small. What’s that? Three and half feet, perhaps.”

–Three feet and seven inches, she claims.”

–Madame’s pulling your leg,” Nicolas scoffed and shuffled over to a glass container and poured two healthy drinks, and Dumbledore accepted one with thanks. He set the pipe on the table and shook the glass. Ice rattled in it. –Frightened me to death, the girl did, when she collapsed next to you in convention. Hit the floor.”

–She’s tired,” said Dumbledore, nursing his drink. Earlier that day, no, it was already yesterday, he’d forgotten his learned speech; a drill he’d worked painstakingly alongside Jacqueline for ages, when she lost it. He gazed at his friend through his half-moon spectacles. –She stayed for you.”

–Me, too,” sighed Nicolas. Dumbledore shook his head, chuckling softly, for he knew the old man had chosen not to hear the last part. Nicolas demanded everything from his students, those gifted few who he held as partners in his art. –When shall we start the second phase of the experiment?”

–Nicolas.” Dumbledore poured the man a second drink. He, Dumbledore, had planned on returning to the school at the next opportunity. –She gave birth an hour ago.”

–What’s your point?” Nicolas’s expression changed as comprehension dawned on him. –Oh, right, well, there’s always tomorrow.”

There was a soft knock on the door. Jacqueline waited for no invitation and had pulled on a plain cotton dress. She snapped a band off her wrist and pulled her hair back and left her jewelry on the granite countertop before she lathered her hands with soap. She offered them nothing, no words of welcome, and kindled a fire. Dumbledore rushed over to help her and insisted she head back to bed. He fired the copper kettle, looking to Nicolas to say something, anything, but he only stepped aside as Jacqueline struck a burner.

–You almost died last night.” Dumbledore reminded her softly as they shared the station. Jacqueline nodded and held a scratched ladle over a candle’s flame and he felt her warm hand. –This is madness, Madame.”

A soft sound filled the house and escalated to a wail. Frustrated, Jacqueline finally slammed her tools down, splattering liquid metal onto her clothes and fled from the laboratory. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, offering Nicolas a second time, but the ancient alchemist caught nothing. He delighted in his mute servant. Dumbledore strode out of the underground laboratory and took the steep staircase.

He spotted her in a tiny bedroom and ducked low so he missed the threshold. Surprised, Jacqueline held the baby closer and draped a cloth over shoulder. She turned her back to him. Dumbledore left the door open and stared at the opposite wall. For a while, neither of them said anything and listened to the baby. He watched her as he paced around the small room, seeing her cradle the tiny thing in her hands.

–I never imagined this.” He finally spoke when she turned her big eyes to face him after she fastened her clothing. –René! Your husband’s so ecstatic about this, I’d imagine those Beauxbatons students are scared out of their skins, thinking he’s gone mad with happiness.”

–The fool,” said Jacqueline softly, –and he hasn’t even seen her. Come here.”

Dumbledore reached his hand inside his pocket and insisted had to leave. She shook her head, not taking no for an answer. She never did. He took the bundle, a small loaf of bread wrapped in a quilt, and ran his long fingers through the baby’s soft hairs. He’d held her a short time before; Perenelle had placed the baby in his arms as she worked frantically to revive the mother. He stared at the small unmade bed, the covers had been changed thrice, and he imagined the drained woman, lying limp on the bed.

–Don’t tell René.” She followed his gaze and sat on the bed. She suddenly sounded serious and fingered an empty phial on the bedside table. A collection of the remains of herbal stood there. –Or Nicolas. It never happened.”

He considered this, turning his words over in his mind, and stepped back when he noticed a thin old woman standing in the doorway. Perenelle, like Nicolas, looked good for knocking on the door of her sixth century. She’d pass in the streets as an ancient mariner’s of fisherman’s wife. Dumbledore held the baby until she drifted off to sleep and he handed her back. He pressed his lips to Jacqueline’s forehead and squeezed Perenelle’s hand before he left. Albus Dumbledore walked along the narrow French street for a short distance before he turned on his heel and vanished.

***


Twenty years passed with a blink of an eye. Dumbledore had changed his career path from alchemy to Transfiguration, an easy trade, although he kept his ties with the society. Nicolas and his wife lived another day, many of them, and they migrated closer to Dover, yet another retirement estate.
The Professor decided on a holiday weekend before Easter. The headmaster, an easy-going man who waved away any arguments, agreed on the spot. After all, as Professor Armando Dippet had said, they needed to give their assistant teacher a shot in the dark. Minerva had been for a few years and had watched over Albus Dumbledore’s shoulder like a hawk, caught the slightest details, he felt sure, yet she needed this. Sitting in the back of a classroom helped a student boost his memory; jumping into the fire showed learning.

He had visited France on other occasions. Not often in recent days, but these holidays felt like visiting an old friend. As soon as he had set foot on the bustling ports of Calais, the man had steadied himself, nodded at a couple fishermen, and went on his way. They surely hadn’t seen him appear out of thin air. Early in the evening, indeed any time of day, an old man dressed in midnight blue robes raised eyebrows. People rubbed their itchy palms, eager to celebrate an end of an exhausting Lent. Food and drink poured into the streets. Professor Dumbledore smiled at a vendor, an ancient toothless fisherman’s wife, and purchased a bouquet of yellow roses.

Cars zoomed past on the street. Dumbledore quickened his step and hurried across to a nearby forgotten building. Looking around, he spotted her quickly. She looked like a small child, not quite, a little girl of eight, maybe nine, dressed in an evening gown, sitting there puffing a cigarette. Her long dark hair fell down her back, framing her face. He shook his head, chuckling softly as he thought of the strangers who kept staring at her. He kissed the woman on the cheek and handed over the gift.

–It’s not September, so I’m early with this one,” he said, smiling at her. –Grandparents Day.”

–Oh, you’re a funny one, hilarious, monsieur.” She took the flowers and slammed them on the table. She flicked her silver lighter and lit another cigarette. –I’m old.”

–No.” He took a seat and phrased this delicately. –Think of it as leveling the scales.”
–So, I waited till I was old as dirt to have my daughter, and she jumped into the chase right after placing a wedding band on her finger? Lovely.” Professor Dumbledore merely smiled at her and ordered a drink from a waiter. –I hate you.”

–Ah, mademoiselle,” he said, reverting back to the way he addressed her when he’d met her on her sixteenth birthday, ages ago. –You lack conviction. Say it with feeling. It fails with René, too?”

Jacqueline burst out laughing. Professor Dumbledore nodded, taking his answer. Her daughter, Marianne, had walked through her schooldays as the untouchable pretty girl, for her father, protective and possessive, had popped in through any awkward moments and left no question. René, a talented teacher, wielded his weight at the Beauxbatons Academy, yet he always put his family above all else, especially his little girl. Professor Dumbledore struck his wand lightly on the metal surface and conjured an old satchel. He tapped it again, caught his publication, a translation of an edition of the latest Transfiguration Today, and handed it over.

–My competition,” he said, watching her grin spread across her face. –René’s the quiet soul we all forget to keep an eye on. You never warned me.”

–Are you forcing me to choose? I share his bed.” She spoke with mock disappointment and finished the piece. –Marceau takes this match. I’m picturing your face when you read this first thing in the morning.”
–Minerva got a laugh,” he said, glancing at the lengthy paper. –Tore my hypothesis to shreds. He’s good.”

–You read it to her taking notes at the same time?” Jacqueline clapped her hands when the Professor fished out a roll of sealed parchment. –Priceless.”

–Where did you find this man?” Professor Dumbledore took the disappointment like a dose of potion. –It says, in an academic publication, reading from the first line: ‘You’re damn wrong.’ Hogwarts lost this fight? Yes, indeed, hands down. I tried drafting a response, but I figured he’d be content with this. Where’s your daughter?”

Jacqueline asked if he needed an ally because he held no dog in this fight. Professor Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied this and crossed his arms. He checked his pocket watch, keeping an eye on the time and saw that she had left her food untouched. Three spent cigarettes lay in an ashtray before she got to her feet. He got to his feet, too, and got two sealed rolls out of the satchel, emptying the bag. He tapped the bag with his wand and it vanished into thin air.

–Play your game, Madame Marceau. Tonight’s your night.”

–I’m not.” She glared at him, and just as suddenly, her face softened into a smile. –Nicolas. Damn fool.”

Professor Dumbledore looked at her, seeing she took this as some cruel joke. He’d expected this. and glanced at the distracting gathering crowd. He took out his wand and tapped the table a second time. A large sealed envelope appeared there and fell into her lap. Jacqueline opened the flap gingerly, sliced it open with her own wand, and fingered the delicate sheaves of paper-thin parchment. Nervous, she took out a pair of black opera gloves and covered her weathered arms.

–Remember this.” Professor Dumbledore handed her the flowers and kneeled down on the ground to meet her eyes. –No, Jacqueline, look at me. He chose you, not me, because you devoted your life to him. You are his mademoiselle. Nicolas Flamel hand-picked you, so take this chance. This is simply a conversation among our alchemical friends. Nothing more.”

–Nothing less.” She sighed at the pavement. –I can’t believe Marianne didn’t show. You’ll be right there?”

–Just there.” He pointed across the street to a small building and took his ticket out from the inside of his long robes. –Box Five, third row, seventh seat, that’s me. Perenelle sits next to me. Nicolas doesn’t attend these things anymore because they put him to sleep, these conferences. As I say, it’s just a conversation between friends, my Jacqueline. Who chose you?”

–You did,” she said, confident now.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. He nudged her towards the building, silently telling her to go inside. Jacqueline joined the crowd and dodged the photographers staged with flashing cameras. As a dwarf, or rather, –a little person”, Jacqueline had worked hard earning her acceptance within the alchemists. Nicolas Flamel, a forerunner, crafted the Sorcerer’s Stone, yet he wasn’t the sole important figure. Alchemy, especially the international conference, presented a hidden art within a secret society. An invitation only extended to a few, definitely not to a mere woman, until Albus Dumbledore had put his foot down.

He snapped his fingers as he remembered something. He’d forgotten her standing stool. Jacqueline would be standing at the podium and nobody would see her. The audience couldn’t catch her voice without amplification because the acoustics didn’t catch it. She wore these heels, but they helped her stature little.

As he turned towards the amphitheater, a rented opera house, he caught a scene out of the corner of his eye. A black car swerved sharply around the corner and caught the pavement at an angle. Drunks and celebrators alike darted out of the way. The car hit black ice, an invisible trap, and velocity propelled it down the road. Inevitably, other cars parked haphazardly along the narrow street brought it to a dead stop. At the same time, another car accelerated at a higher speed and the two vehicles met; the black one flipped with a force of impact. Drawn to the bystanders’ panic, Dumbledore wandered back there and watched the black car fly further away. The passenger flew through the window and landed on the hard pavement.

–Marianne.” Without thinking, he started running. Deaf to the screams, he weaved through the people and got to the scene first. The passenger, a man, lay dead yards away. It had been a wild guess he’d voiced out of fear. The dark clotted hair and large eyes offered subtle hints, nothing, but his eyes darted to the golden peacock pendant laying on her chest. He kneeled on the soaked road, abd crawled on his hands and knees towards her. –Marianne.”

Marianne stared at him, panicked. She opened her mouth and blood poured out of it. She spoke, finally forming words as her brain lacked behind, in rushed French phrases, nonsense.

Dumbledore caught one word. He took her crushed face in his hands and listened to the wailing in the background. –You’re all right. No, Marianne, look at me! Listen to me. Where’s Alexis? Where is he? Where’s the baby? Marianne, keep your eyes open! Breathe. I know, it hurts, I know. Marianne.”

He called her name over and over because she her eyes refocused when her heard it. The wailing in the car stopped. Dumbledore glanced off to the side and pieced it together. Her husband, a quiet man, had insisted they attend a dinner party before the conference. They had needed a night out together after having the baby. The Professor closed his eyes, slowly ticking off the pained seconds. His hand slipped unconsciously inside his robes, but he stopped short. He couldn’t perform magic and reveal himself in front of all these Muggles. Emergency services wouldn’t arrive for these in this party madness. It was Mardi Gras in Marseilles.

He asked for a pair of scissors and the old fisherman’s wife handed over a seamstress’s kit. Dumbledore took them and started cutting her hair, desperate to free her from the trap. He kept a straight face and spoke calmly as he answered her gasped questions.

”Yes, Alexis, he’s waiting for you. No, Marianne, don’t move your head, look at me. Good girl. She looks just like Jacqueline, a mirror of your mother, this little one. Your mother thinks I came to see her. No.” He shook his head and plastered a warm smile on his face. –I came to see you. Let’s just keep that between the two of us, yes? You look lovely.”

The light faded from Marianne’s eyes and her stained locks fell at Dumbledore’s feet. He kissed her warm hand and whispered good night. Sirens echoed in the far distance. Dumbledore moved swiftly and crawled through the back window. He moved swiftly and carefully around the glass shards and debris. He lifted a lifeless wrapped bundle from behind the passenger seat and got out of the car. The newborn girl, a baby only a week old, had fallen asleep quickly.

Dumbledore stayed by Marianne’s side and bowed his head as applause floated out the windows. Another black car raced down the street.

***


As time passed, he found sadness each time he left France. It stabbed him like a peaceful reminder, a glimpse or a hint of the future. He left the Order behind after a rushed meeting and detoured right before he hit the border. Nobody had told him, but Professor Dumbledore felt a hunch that she’d want to be close to her family as these days dragged on. He landed outside a small cottage, got his footing, and turned the corner before he walked up the path.
Professor Dumbledore pocketed his silver lighter and knocked on the door. It was past midnight, but lights still flickered in the house. Perenelle, dressed in her bed things, answered the door. She said little and held a candle aloft. The house looked the same as it had in Marseilles; four other walls surrounded it. He took off his hat and followed her. A wooden old-fashioned wheelchair stood in a corner. He pushed the chair ahead of him.

–She’s sleeping,” said Perenelle. She stopped outside the bedroom door and listened to the hacking cough inside. Perenelle closed her eyes and crossed herself, a habit her husband abandoned. She gripped Professor Dumbledore’s shoulder as he put his hand on the doorknob. –Let her go.”

Professor Dumbledore conjured another candle and walked into the bedroom.

–René?” This leaked through as the only shred of sense in her nonsense.

Jacqueline had left ages ago. The professor bowed his head and took a handkerchief from the inside of his robes. He sat in the wheelchair, rolled over to the bed and smeared the white cloth with black when he touched the cloth to her mouth.

–No, my love.” He pressed his lips to her sunken forehead and lifted the glass off the bedside cabinet. –It’s me. Drink this.”

Jacqueline lifted her head off the pillows and opened her mouth; the cool water barely touched her lips. She smiled and reached her small hand up to touch his spectacles. –I love you.”

–I love you, too, mademoiselle,” he said, bringing her bruised hand to his lips and fingered the wedding band. He’d drained his eyes of tears back in his office, but he blinked furiously nonetheless. –It’s been a long day. René’s across the corridor. Shall I get him for you?”

–No. Nicolas, no. He’s sleeping. Sleeping.” She looked at him and coughed up phlegm. Professor Dumbledore jumped to his feet to help her, but Jacqueline merely waved him away and gasped desperately for air. –Marianne. I saw her today.”

Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth, confused, but he stopped short. Perenelle had been mentioning private conversations with Marianne for days. Jacqueline shivered underneath the covers, so he pulled a crocheted blanket off the foot of the bed and into bed with her when tears ran down her face. He lay on the other side, the neat side of the bed, and pulled her closer. Her nonsense, some French, some English, cast itself to the winds, but he let her sob onto his shoulder and kept her wrapped in the cocoon. Food hadn’t touched chapped lips in hours and she took little water.

He felt her temperature drop and her fingers went limp in his hand. He brushed the dark locks out of her blank eyes. –Jacqueline?”

He kissed her forehead and stared at the tall ceiling as the door opened. She’d finally fallen asleep.
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