And it was a magical home, there was no doubt about it. Because despite the primitive appearance it was spotless, and where there should have been drafts or evidence of poor craftsmanship, there were none. The furniture was handcrafted, same as the tools and literally everything else in the house, but they showed signs of having been repaired and preserved with magic.
"Coffee? Or perhaps some tea?" Perenelle offered, a tiny smile on her face as she looked at our dropped jaws as we took in her home.
Nicholas, however, didn't bother holding back and chortled out loud as he took in our shocked expressions.
"I honestly expected… more," I admitted, Harry nodding his head.
"We could live in a mansion, or a penthouse, or a literal castle. I actually own several of each, you know?" Nicholas said, sinking into a rocking chair that looked as old as he was. "But the simpler things in life are so much better, in my opinion."
He gestured for us to sit at the table in the center of the room, and we did so, gingerly sinking into chairs that had probably seen more history than any of us combined.
"This is our original home, you know? The one Pear and I built after we married, and before I invented the Philosopher's Stone," Nicholas revealed once we'd all sat down. Perenelle brought out an old tea kettle, its bottom lined with runes, and set down some cups that were just as plain as the rest of the house. She then poured tea into them, and took two of the cups.
"Even after all these years, and all the wealth and fame we've acquired… this is where we belong," Perenelle said, walking over to her husband, and passing him one of the cups of tea. Afterwards, she took one of his hands and squeezed it lovingly. He squeezed back, and they shared a look of true affection with each other, before turning their attention back to the four of us.
"Now, why don't we chat? What would you like to talk about?" Nicholas asked. "I'm sure you're dying to ask some question."
"Is it true you're immortal?" Sam asked.
"I am not. Nothing, not even the mighty phoenixes, are eternal. We are simply a long-lived couple," Nicholas replied.
"Then, are you a Squib?" Delilah asked.
"We both are," Perenelle confirmed.
"But then, how did you not get, you know, forgotten? How come Muggles remember your name and even the fact you made the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry wondered. It had been a question that had bothered him – and Hermione – for a while, now. Ever since they'd learned about the legendary man and his fame in both worlds, in fact.
"The ritual used to enact the Statute of Secrecy only affected magical folk and their creations, history, and mentions in books. As Squibs, my wife and I were overlooked. Something that the ICW didn't realize for close to a century afterwards. By then it was too late," Nicholas revealed, snorting in amused disgust at the incompetence of the magical version of the UN.
"Ha! I knew it," I uttered, feeling vindicated one of my hypotheses about that had been proven right.
"I can't believe I'm sitting and talking with the man who made the Philosopher's Stone!" Delilah squealed excitedly, her happiness bursting out and I grinned at her childish delight. Despite how she tried to act, I'd come to learn she was an avid lover of fantasy, just as I and Sam were, and she'd even joined us for a few games of Dungeons and Dragons. She so rarely showed off this side of her that it was refreshing to see.
"Ah, yes. The stone. I created it centuries ago, and it remains to this day my crowning achievement," Nicholas said softly, thinking back on long gone days.
Harry began to fidget nervously, and I began to suspect why that was. Given the topic, it was kinda obvious.
"I'm really sorry about your stone, sir," he said softly. He'd told Sam, Delilah, and myself what'd happened at Hogwarts earlier in the day while shopping, and my friends had been appropriately disturbed by what they'd heard.
Though I was proud of Harry for both sticking it to Dumbledore by not investigating the 3rd Floor Corridor, but also going to a teacher. That he'd run into Voldemort even after all that was just plain bad luck.
I hoped. I really wasn't looking forward to this being some sort of self-correction timeline bullshit.
"It is fine. My wife and I have long ago made our peace with what it means to give up its power," Nicholas said, giving Harry a reassuring smile. "You are not to blame for its loss, young Harry. That fault lies with the one who foolishly thought he could try and steal it. The Philosopher's Stone is far beyond anyone's reach, now."
"Err, about that," the Boy-Who-Lived muttered. He then took out a small, glossy red stone that fit neatly into the palm of his hand from a pocket on his dress robes, and held it out to the ancient couple.
"I think this is yours, sir, ma'am," Harry said without an ounce of hesitation.
Both Flamels, as well as Sam, Delilah, and I, stared at Harry for a few seconds, utterly flabbergasted.
"You… how… what?" I managed to sputter out after a moment. Even with my meta-knowledge, this still blindsided me. I'd have thought the stone had remained in the mirror, given the way the encounter with Voldemort and Quirrel had gone.
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