Capítulo 107: Chapter 107: The Strange Nicolas Flamel
Professor Sherlock Forester's eyes briefly locked onto Nicolas Flamel, who was the centre of attention among this gathering of wizards, before glancing at the chronically shuttered building of the courtyard. He found himself once again replaying in his mind the moment Flamel had emerged earlier. Oddly, it appeared as though he had come from the backyard, not from within the walls of the building itself. It was a minuscule detail, easy to overlook, but Sherlock chose to file it away in the vault of his observations.
"Let's move in for a closer look," suggested Fleur, her delicate hand gesturing Sherlock and Harry towards the outer ring of the crowd. Their focus was on Flamel, who was animatedly engaged in conversation with his visitors.
"My apologies for the wait, everyone," Flamel's voice resonated gently, reminiscent of an old man looking to make amends after an oversight. "Perenelle and I were delayed on our return from Lyon due to unforeseen circumstances in Paris, which has resulted in this rather crowded reception. Our home, unfortunately, does not have the capacity to host all of you comfortably. Therefore, might I suggest we move this conversation to the back of the house where there's more room."
They followed Flamel obediently to the back of the yard. Sherlock couldn't help but marvel at the expansive and beautifully manicured garden surrounding Flamel's residence. The place was more than capable of hosting every single wizard in attendance and yet, for some unbeknownst reason, he chose to conduct the meeting outside of the house rather than in the relative privacy of his garden.
The backyard, as Flamel had promised, featured a substantial clearing. It was a secluded haven, immune to muggle prying, with the densely populated forest forming a natural barrier just beyond. The scene was set almost like a quintessential garden tea party - chairs and round tables were neatly arranged with an assortment of sweets and teacups invitingly laid out under the open sky, Flamel had obviously been prepared for the situation.
Once the visitors had found their seats across the lawn, Flamel begun his round of introductions. Positioned in the very center of the gathering, he calmly addressed the crowd. "I've slowly grown weary of the unending cycle of life and have started looking forward to the solace of death. A year ago, after a prolonged contemplation and subsequent discussion with Perwnelle, we decided to destroy the Philosopher's Stone. Our decision aimed not only to prepare ourselves for the inevitable end, but also to prevent the stone from falling into wrong hands," he confessed.
Flamel continued, "However, as you can all imagine, the Philosopher's Stone is a testament to my life's work. The potency of the fragments that survived the stone's destruction is immense. Therefore, I've decided to bestow these fragments to the younger generation of wizards as my final gift to the world of magic before embracing what lies beyond."
Applause reverberated across the lawn as the visitors uniformly expressed their admiration for Flamel's selflessness. Sherlock found himself riveted by the old wizard's unique perspective. The act of relinquishing immortality and wealth was a stark antithesis to Voldemort's soul shattering pursuit of eternity and to the Malfoys, who had soiled their reputation for the sake of power and fortune.
Flamel then gingerly retrieved a small, blood-red crystal from his pocket. It sparked and danced brilliantly under the sunlight. "This is one such fragment of the Philosopher's Stone. The raw, magical potency that it still retains has the potential to become a formidable tool for alchemy. The exact capabilities of this new alchemical medium will only be revealed once you possess it." With that, he placed the fragment back into his pocket. It was at this point that Sherlock registered a familiar mark on Flamel's arm as the sleeve was momentarily lifted.
Riding on the wave of the visitor's applause, Flamel continued in a jovial tone, "But simply gifting you these fragments would hardly be fun, would it? Let's make a game of it. I have hidden the twenty-three fragments within the forest that you've been looking at." He stretched a hand, pointing towards the line of trees not far off. "Everyone is free to find and claim as many fragments as they possibly can."
An intrigued visitor inquired rather nervously, "What will happen if we don't find any?"
"Oh, that would indeed be unfortunate." Flamel's voice held a note of finality. "Remember, you are not permitted to use magic during your search in order to maintain fairness. You can leave your wands here with me prior to proceeding into the forest."
The restrictions laid out sparked a flurry of whispers among the new participants. "There are seventeen of us and twenty-three fragments. The odds are decidedly in our favor that everyone will at least find something," Fleur observed, brimming with excitement.
Sherlock, however, was more cautious. "Why this sudden game? What if conflicts arise during the search?"
"Conflicts?" Harry's brows rose in confusion.
"Suppose you stumble across two fragments before encountering someone who hasn't been as fortunate. Isn't it probable that they might be tempted to forcibly take one, or even both the fragments, from you?"
Fleur and Harry mutually exchanged thoughtful glances at Sherlock's point. Surrounded by youthful wizards who were eagerly discussing strategies to claim the stone's fragments, Fleur asked, "Everyone here seems so cordial. Do you really think they would resort to such measures?"
Sherlock chose not to respond, keeping his gaze firmly trained on Flamel. Even amidst his consternation, he had undeniable trouble correlating the projected reasoning for this game with Flamel's previous compelling philosophy. His suspicions heightened further by the near-identical symbol that had now surfaced three times within a short span of two days amongst completely distinctive individuals.
Before he could sort through this newly interwoven web of doubts, the game had already kicked into action. The eager wizards scampered off one after the other, depositing their wands with Flamel as an assurance, and disappeared into the dense forest. Soon enough, only Sherlock, Harry and Fleur remained seated on the lawn. Feeling the mounting pressure from the heated setting, Fleur broke the silence once again.
"Are you two not participating? Didn't your trip to France have the primary goal of obtaining these fragments from Mr. Flamel?"
Harry sought Sherlock for an insightful response, who merely shook his head. "Meeting Mr. Flamel was simply a 'part of the plan', so to speak. The principal aim of our visit was to unwind and rejuvenate. As for the fragments of the Philosopher's Stone…" Sherlock chuckled lightly, "I must admit, I don't find myself overly drawn towards them. The allure of the complete stone, however, might excite my curiosity. However, if you fancy trying your luck in this game, feel free to proceed without any worry for us," he encouraged Fleur.
Fleur rose from her seat. "Fair enough. I will take my chance then. If I should be lucky enough to stumble upon two fragments, I'll one of them to you."
Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow. "Then I would like to thank you in advance for your generosity."
Fleur then moved alongside Flamel, entrusted her wand to him for safekeeping, and disappeared into the dense forest. The once bustling lawn was now devoid of everyone except Sherlock, Harry and Flamel. The benevolent wizard approached them with a benign smile and asked, "Aren't you going to try your luck?"
Sherlock lightly waved him away. "We're just here on holiday. We are fortunate enough just being able to meet you in person. As for the fragments - may someone talented in Alchemy find them and make good use of them, I have little interest in them."
Nicolas looked at the faces of Sherlock and Harry, recalling the letter of recommendation they had handed him before sitting down. "You are both from England, correct? Recommended by Albus himself?"
It was the casual manner in which Flamel referred to Dumbledore that drew Sherlock's attention. He narrowed his eyes slightly before responding, "Yes, sir. I am the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor from Hogwarts—Sherlock Forester. And this is my pupil, Harry Potter."
The simple utterance of Harry's name seemed to take Flamel by surprise. His face visibly lit up, "Harry Potter! I hadn't expected to meet you here."
Upon realizing Harry's identity, Flamel's interest noticeably shifted to his wand. "May I take a look at your wand, if you don't mind?"
Harry consented and handed over the wand. "Certainly, I bought it from Ollivander's in London."
Flamel carefully inspected the wand, running his fingers along the expertly carved wood. "Holly, about eleven inches, a wood that would naturally gravitate towards those who find familiarity in danger and embark on noble quests. Quite fitting for you, Harry," he said before flourishing his wand and casting a spell. "Orchideous."
An exquisite orchid bloomed instantaneously at the end of Harry's wand. "Ah, the core of your wand is a phoenix feather. It makes for an unlikely pairing with holly, but once united, it produces an exceptionally potent wand."
Flamel handed back the wand to Harry, who accepted it gratuitously. Sherlock, who had remained silent during the exchange, observed a fleeting glimmer of longing in Flamel's eyes. The hand that returned the wand seemed somewhat reluctant to part with it.
Flamel, proceeding with the formality he had set for his guests, announced, "I must excuse myself momentarily. You can rest here. I'm sure it won't take long for someone to discover the first fragment." He nodded cordially at Sherlock and Harry whilst clutching the box harboring the visitor's wands and gracefully made his way back to his home.
As the silhouette of Flamel receded around the courtyard's bend, Sherlock, whose gaze had now hardened, rose to his feet. "Harry, return to the car and wait for me there. When I arrive, ask me where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is. If I fail to answer correctly, do not hesitate to attack me!"
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