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Flamel Château, Paris - May, 1991
The sweltering sun cast a gloomy shadow through the clouds over the estate. The gates cast elongated shadows across the pebbled drive, and Dumbledore’s footsteps echoed thickly, as though he were running through thick fog. Dumbledore touched the cast iron gates lightly with a long, slender finger.
‘You have taken my advice well, it seems, old friend,’ he said quietly to himself. The cast iron he had suggested was sure to protect his friend against most evils of the world.
Up on the hill above him, a candlelight went out in the arched stain-glass window. The warm glow having suddenly diminished, Dumbledore stepped backwards from the gate solemnly.
A rustle of robe hems and light-weighted feet brought a well groomed man with a delicate profile to the gates. Soft curls of hair surrounded a thin, lined, and ragged face. He drew his wand and opened the gates for Dumbledore, and the newcomers face split into an unmistakably thankful grin.
‘Albus,’ he said gratefully. ‘Thank you for coming, vieil ami.’
The pair embraced, silver hair and beard melding with snow white locks. Nicholas sniffed and closed the gates once more with a wave of his wand and a clang.
‘You did well to heed my advice about your gate, Nicholas,’ said Dumbledore again to his friend.
Nicholas bowed his head, leading them up the hill on a darkened, stone cobbled path.
‘So, Nicholas, are you going to tell me why you’ve request I come all the way to Paris for you today?’
Nicholas looked around uneasily. ‘Not here, Albus. It isn’t safe. Wait until we get inside.’
Dumbledore nodded wisely. ‘Ah, yes. The trees have ears.’
Nicholas snorted, and then said a little sadly, ‘Yes. The ears Perenelle gave them.’
Dumbledore looked inquisitively at Nicholas, but he kept his head bowed until they reached the mossy stairway and stepped beneath the veranda, hung with masses upon masses of ivy. Dumbledore smiled in spite of his friend’s melancholy attitude. The place hadn’t changed in the hundred years since he had last visited it.
The sound of a heavy wooden door knocking signaled Dumbledore to tumble out of his reverie, and he followed Nicholas into the darkened halls.
The portraits spoke shiftily in their frames, and Dumbledore noticed that Nicholas no longer walked as though this were his mansion; in fact, it looked as thought Nicholas was a small child, hiding from his mother.
Perenelle, he thought sadly. She had ruled over him, of late. The letters had been coming to Hogwarts increasingly desperate, one after the other in an urgent plea to meet. Dumbledore had only just been able to secure safety of his school before whisking himself off to Paris for his friend.
Nicholas near tip-toed to the nearest dark cedar door. His feet pressed slowly onto the floor, a deliberate lifting and setting down of each foot as he crossed the hall like a cat slinking through the corridors. The door handles, a brilliant yellow gold, glinted even in the shadows of the long hall. Dumbledore swore he saw a skirt vanish up into a room ahead, but as he drew his eyebrows together, he realised it would be smarter to keep this detail to himself.
They entered the drawing room, and Dumbledore immediately felt at ease. The blackboard where they had spent their time formulating many moons ago the twelve uses of dragon’s blood was dusting and forgotten, pushed into the corner of a room. The glass phials were clumped together lazily, his instruments forgotten. Dumbledore was surprised to see the look of longing on Nicholas’ face.
‘Now, Nicholas, we are safely inside. Please, disclose your problems to your trusted friend.’
‘It’s Perenelle,’ he whispered frightfully. His eyes darted from side to side. Dumbledore was sad to see his normally boisterous friend so withdrawn and nervous. ‘She’s taken me over, Dumbledore. And it’s entirely my fault, you see. I drove her to it.’
Dumbledore’s eyebrows knitted in surprise. ‘I thought you two were happy with both the Elixir and your lifestyle?’
‘We were for a time, Albus. You see, both Perenelle and I grew greedy of life. We forgot what it was to have a limited time. Both Perenelle and myself have wasted this life we live in, taking things for granted.’
‘I see.’ said Dumbledore, ‘But are you not happy for what you have achieved?’
Nicholas lowered his head into his hands. ‘I am, Albus. It is Perenelle who is most unfortunately dissatisfied. She’s turned against me, Albus. My own wife!’
Dumbledore observed his old friend over his glasses. ‘She’s tormenting you, Nicholas?
‘Oh yes, Albus. She’s making me pay for what I have done.’
‘For what you have done, Nicholas?’
‘Yes, Albus. She curses this immortality as much as I have come to curse her. It is no longer a blessing, Albus. We should have expired long ago, but instead we remain here with the others, the mortals. It is horrible.’ A shudder passed over his face, and Albus reached out to comfort his friend.
‘Perhaps you would like to tell me the story, Nicholas. Perhaps we can sort things out. After all, you have an eternity left with Perenelle. I think it is best you don’t spend the next century living in fear. Nor disgruntlement, for that matter.’
Nicholas regarded him seriously with his wise eyes. ‘I suppose you are right, Albus,’ he said queerly. ‘But first I ask of you something I’m sure you had never anticipated.’
Dumbledore frowned. ‘Anything, Nicholas. Anything for a friend like you.’
Nicholas swallowed. ‘I want you to take the Philosophers Stone. Keep it. Destroy it. But all I ask is that you do not use it, and suffer the same fate as me.’
‘The stone, Nicholas? But you and Perenelle will no longer be able to make your Elixir! You will expire as easily as you would if you had never taken it!’
Nicholas sighed, and rubbed his hands through his white hair. ‘I may be nearing eight hundred years of age, Dumbledore, but my mind and spirits are in far better condition than that of a normal wizard. You must agree with that.’
‘Yes, Nicholas. But why, if I may ask but an obvious question, would you want to suddenly cut your supply of immortality short?’
Nicholas remained with his face buried in his hands. Dumbledore registered a thought, and his moustache drooped considerably.
‘Unless, dear friend you mean to depart this very earth?’
‘That is exactly what I plan, Albus. Perhaps it is time for me to explain.’
‘Are you sure you want to do this, Nicholas?’ asked Dumbledore seriously over his glasses. His eyes no longer possessed any of their twinkle, and Nicholas gulped uncharacteristically, as thought he was fighting for the air to tell his story.
‘Yes, Albus. You will not think it so wrong after I have explained.’
‘Then, by all means, Nicholas, be my guest.’
Nicholas reached across to the armchair adjacent to the lounges they were both occupying. He grabbed a small beaded pillow and played with it in his hands. ‘It started here, in this very room, Dumbledore. My very gift was the start of my undoing.’
‘I refer, of course, to the text I was given by Abraham. I spent hours in here, studying isolated, away, from Perenelle. She came to resent the book as much as I loved it. It had become a fantastic quest for me, and I drank it in selfishly. I wanted the immortality. I want the fabled touch of Midas. I wanted to be recognised as more than a Priory Master, Albus. I wanted to be set apart.’
Nodding seriously, Dumbledore said lightly, ‘I can see what you strove for, Nicholas. Ambitious, but in the end, you reached your goal.’
Nicholas picked at a ruby bead. ‘I did indeed. Much to my misfortune, it seems. The closer I got to deciphering the secret, the further away I pushed Perenelle. Though we had been together for nearly eight decades, she was as beautiful and young as ever. I still made love to my wife, Albus. I still loved her.
‘After that, as you know, I met Master Canches, and it all slid immediately. I will of course fast forward through the details, but through his teachings I learnt the secrets of Abraham’s mysterious book. I learnt the Hebrew words, the secret meanings and formulas. I learnt how to turn metal into gold.’
Dumbledore interrupted. ‘Forgive me, Nicholas, but is this memory still fresh in your mind?’
Confused at being brought back to the present world, Nicholas said, ‘Yes, yes of course, Albus. How could I forget?’
‘Well then, friend, it seems I can be of some help after all. I’ve brought with me the Pensieve. I only wonder whether you’ll spare yourself the air and let us delve deeper into your thoughts. It would be most unfortunate, is we did not get the chance.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘Yes, of course, Albus. I cannot lie; I was not planning on showing myself in a worse light than I am sure you already see me in. But if you insist, we will use your contraption.’
Dumbledore reached under his lounge and pulled the Pensive smoothly out from underneath it. At the sight of his friend’s raised eyebrows at the sudden appearance of the object, he merely whispered quietly, ‘Magic.’
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ mumbled Nicholas. He drew his wand and swirled the stone basin on the floor. The contents shimmered and sank into the depths of the bowl, knotting and formulating.
‘I am ready, Albus,’ he breathed, raising his silken wand to his temple. Dumbledore nodded, and knelt on the ground, his tapered fingers on the edge of the bowl.
Nicholas leant forward and his breathe fogged on the surface of the seamless liquid. For a second, he saw himself reflected there, and then, he was tumbling blissfully through the shimmering silver without a care for who else was currently abiding in his house.
Nicholas drummed his fingers irritably. ‘Why is it you’ve called me here, Perenelle?’
Her face twisted into a wrinkled scowl. She held none of the funereal beauty she had all those centuries ago. She folded her corded hands over each other and stared in distaste at her surroundings. ‘This,’ she said sharply. ‘And you.
‘I am tired of your moaning, Nicholas. You, he who strived for this life – you are bored of it. You neglected me, all the while promising that things would get better, that afterwards, you would have more time with me-’
‘I know I promised those things, Perenelle. There were so many other things I still had to do-’
‘Like what?’ Perenelle interjected sharply. ‘I was important, Nicholas. I was. I am obviously too far gone for you now, Nicholas. You no longer love me. You no longer find me attractive. You no longer consider yourself my husband, merely a male who occupies the same house as me.’
‘Perenelle-’ Nicholas started indignantly, rising from the table.
‘No, Nicholas,' she sad, he voice wavering. 'It is time I think we went our separate ways. Ever since that blasted book came into your possession, Nicholas, your mind has been poisoned.’
‘You have already ventured down that road, Perenelle,’ he said, his eyes flaming. ‘You, who claim I neglected you!
‘You were too busy bedding other aristocrats, Perenelle, and I turned a blind eye. I ignored the fact you sinned, because my love blinded me! I couldn’t bare to see you with those pompous, ghastly men, Perenelle, with their eyes devouring you at our dinners. I shut myself off and so became blissfully ignorant of your ways.’
‘You drove me to those men, Nicholas!’ she said, rising from her end of the table and striding over to Nicholas with surprising speed. ‘You never cared for me! You simply holed yourself up in that laboratory that eccentric Albus Dumbledore and-’
‘I once loved you, Perenelle. And don’t you dare blame Albus Dumbledore for your adulting ways!’
‘You can find another bed chamber to sleep in, husband,’ she said, her tongue razor sharp as she rose from the table.
‘I’m sorry, Albus,’ said Nicholas regretfully. He hadn’t meant for Dumbledore to see that particular memory. ‘I am bitter, you see. Perenelle accused me of neglecting her for the one thing I truly strove to do for her. Not that I didn’t strive to please her,’ he said quickly, ‘But it was she who most wanted the immortality.’
‘Life is never too short, Perenelle. We are miserable, living proof of that.’
‘But don’t you see, Nicholas? We could live for so much longer! Achieve so many more things!’
‘But we have already achieved so many things, Perenelle! The only thing we would be increasing is our lifespan! I have lived my life!’
‘What have you to show for your life, Nicholas? All your trinkets?’
‘I would hardly describe Excalibur as a trinket, dear,’ he said lightly.
‘I haven’t, Nicholas! I haven’t had a chance to experience things, Nicholas! I never had children!’
‘You can hardly blame me for that,’ he said blustering and stepping back from his wife.
‘Perhaps it is not my own fault I never bore a child, Nicholas! Perhaps the reason the apple never blossomed from my tree was your own unwillingness and infertility, not mine.’
‘How dare you suggest it is my fault!’ Nicholas cried. ‘You, who has bedded tens of men, Perenelle! How dare you suggest our childlessness is my fault when you failed to be got with child by the seed of another!’
‘It’s always those other men, Nicholas! Again and again!’
‘It is not something easily be forgotten, Perenelle,’ he said bitterly, turning and exiting the room.
Dumbledore observed his friend seriously. Nicholas was so forlorn, so ashamed of himself.
‘Did you not pay your wife attention, Nicholas?’
‘I did, for some time, Albus. I did. I loved her. For some time.’
‘For some time?’
‘She became greedy, Albus. She wanted more. More life, more love! More of everything! We were wealthy; we still are clearly you can see that around you! But Perenelle, she always wanted more!’
‘And you were unable to give it to her?’
‘No,’ he said regretfully. ‘I was perfectly able. That was the problem.’
Dumbledore waited. Nicholas had more to say. He could see it in his face, the way he fidgeted with his hands and the pillow as he stared into the swirling contents of the basin.
‘The problem, Albus,’ he said heavily, ‘is the stone. I need you to take it.’
Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose into his bushy silvery hair. ‘Take the stone, Nicholas! But how will you survive?
‘That is the point, Albus. I am done with living. I wish to die normally.’
‘To die, Nicholas! What state of mind are you in? To give it all up! What you have worked at for so long!’
Nicholas smiled at his friend. There was still so much for Dumbledore to learn. While Albus was highly regarded, he still had not experienced as much as Nicholas. An old man’s wisdom had much to be learnt from.
‘To some, Albus, death is but the next great adventure,’ he said gently. ‘I wish for you to take the stone for me. Protect it.’
‘As you wish, dear friend. I gather this is your final say?’
‘As human beings, Albus, we may be able to prolong our live infinitely as I have proven, but alas, we are unable to reverse time without consequences and must therefore reflect upon our mistakes and learn from them, lest we live in the past.’
‘It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live,’ murmured Dumbledore. ‘I understand, Nicholas.’
‘Albus,’ Nicholas said, grasping his old friend’s hand, ‘I have lived this life. I have been here, with different people long enough. Perenelle, though she resists it must feel the same deep down. It is a decision we knew that one day we would have to make, regardless of the immortality.’
Dumbledore nodded, silent. He paused, and then linked his slender fingers together over the grain of the desk. ‘Perhaps a little more consideration is in order, Nicholas? Surely, with what you have just told me you cannot secure the fact Perenelle will wish to deteriorate naturally as you hope to do?’
‘I have a feeling Perenelle will forgive me, Albus. I have forgiven her for her sins against me, and we have the whole afterlife to straighten things out.’
‘Still,’ started Dumbledore before Nicholas cut him off with a silencing hand on his arm.
‘Still, my mind will not be changed, friend. Take the Stone. Guard it well from those who plot to steal it. Guard my legacy, and with it, the secret of immortality.’
Dumbledore bowed his head. He would honour his friend’s wishes.