When Victor returned to the hall, Nicolas Flamel was already waiting for him, hands folded over his stomach. Beside him, barely reaching the alchemist's hip, stood a tiny creature.
— Victor, meet Misi, our house-elf, — Nicolas introduced her with a smile.
Victor examined the elf with undisguised interest. She was strikingly different from Dobby. There was a strange, almost human softness in her appearance, and instead of the usual dirty rag, she wore a clean, dark-blue dress with a tiny white collar.
— Hello, Misi. Nice to meet you, — Victor said politely.
— Hello, Mr. Moss, — she squeaked, dropping into an elegant, deep curtsy. — Your luggage has already been delivered to your room.
— And the cat?
— He is there as well, sir. I thought the poor kitty looked hungry, so I took the liberty of feeding him a little.
Victor shook his head.
— I'll give you a strict schedule for his diet, Misi. Crookshanks is a great actor. He always pretends he hasn't eaten in years, but extra weight will turn him into a fluffy ball, and that's unhealthy.
The elf nodded respectfully.
— Alright, Misi, you may go. I'll show Victor to his new quarters myself, — Flamel directed.
— Very well, Master. I shall clear the table immediately then.
— Don't trouble yourself, Misi. I believe Perenelle has already cleared everything herself, — Nicolas noted gently.
Hearing this, Misi's posture instantly slumped. She lowered her head sadly and vanished with a quiet crack.
— Come, I'll walk you up, — Flamel said, leading the guest toward a wide staircase.
Victor followed behind.
— Do French house-elves have different traditions? I am seeing a dressed elf for the first time. I'm no expert, but I thought if you give them clothes, they're considered free.
Flamel laughed good-naturedly.
— Oh no, the rules are the same everywhere. My wife simply didn't want Misi walking around in rags. If you only knew the tantrum she threw when Perenelle first gave her that dress! She sobbed, thinking we were casting her out. We had to spend a long time explaining that it was just her work uniform. Now she prizes that dress more than a dragon prizes its gold.
Victor smirked, imagining the scene.
— And how many years has she been with you?
— Hmm... — Nicolas paused for a moment. — I couldn't say for sure, but she has served us faithfully for over a century.
Flamel opened a wooden door.
— Here is your room. How do you like it? If it feels too cramped, we have larger suites available.
Victor looked inside and let out a low whistle. The room was truly massive, decorated in warm tones. A luxurious king-sized bed stood in the center, and by the window was a heavy oak desk that could accommodate a whole staff of scribes. A pleasant bonus was a separate door leading to a private bathroom.
— Thank you. Everything is perfect, — Victor replied sincerely.
— Well then, settle in and rest. You must be tired after the move.
Victor turned to him with a spark of excitement in his eyes.
— Not at all. My move took only a second; I didn't even have time to blink. If you don't mind, could you show me your workshop right now?
Flamel had been expecting this and nodded.
They descended further and entered a colossal room that felt more like a temple of science than an ordinary lab. Dozens of tables were cluttered with incredible instruments whose purposes remained a mystery to the uninitiated. Along the walls stretched endless rows of drawers and shelves packed with rare raw materials: from shimmering crystals to vials of substances that seemed to have a life of their own.
Victor froze at the threshold. He slowly scanned the treasury and demonstratively wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek.
— This is simply magical... — he whispered.
Flamel smiled with satisfaction at the boy's genuine awe.
— Thank you. Everything I have gathered bit by bit over my long life is here. — He walked to a central workbench and almost reverently touched a fine runic quill. — You could say this workshop is my life. My passion and my legacy.
— May I... use this place? — Victor's voice was uncharacteristically quiet.
Flamel paused for a moment, emerging from the depths of nostalgia. He looked at his hands, then at Victor's burning eyes.
— Yes, of course. I would be genuinely happy to see work humming here again. To be honest, I haven't come down here in twenty years. Not since Perenelle and I decided... to retire.
Victor beamed happily, a wide smile lighting up his face.
— Thank you! Don't worry, I'll make the absolute most of this place.
— By the way, I want to show you something. I created this myself, from the first to the last stroke.
Victor took a chain from around his neck and handed an amulet to Nicolas. Flamel glanced at it briefly.
— Yes, quite high-quality and fine craftsmanship, — he said politely, but without much interest.
— Oh, no... — Victor narrowed his eyes. — Perhaps you should actually pick it up and take a closer look?
Flamel only shook his head dismissively.
— No need. In six centuries, I have seen thousands of such trinkets. I can see as it is that it's a decent protective medallion.
Victor frowned. He felt the wall Nicolas had built between himself and alchemy. After living so many centuries, Flamel had simply burned out; he had given up the elixir of life, and it seemed he had decided to bury his passion for discovery along with his immortality.
— Oh, come on! — Victor exclaimed challengingly. — Look closer. Give some guidance to the younger generation.
Flamel looked at Victor, whose eyes burned with a defiant fire, and gave in with a heavy sigh. He reached out and took the amulet. Instantly, his eyebrows shot up. He felt the complex, multi-layered structure pulsing beneath the metal.
Nicolas hurried to the nearest table, sat down, and pulled over a powerful magnifying glass. His boredom vanished, replaced by professional greed.
— Incredible... — he muttered, prying at the edge of the frame with tweezers. — The runic weave... is it looped? And how many times can it be activated before total exhaustion?
Victor approached with a triumphant grin.
— If you don't drain it all at once, the resource is rated for more than seventeen uses. But if the wearer is hit by a barrage of Killing Curses and all shields trigger at once, even my cooling rune won't save it from overheating. The amulet will simply melt.
— This is simply genius... — Flamel exhaled, not looking up from the glass. — Why didn't I think of this myself?
— I wondered that too, — Victor admitted. — But then I realized: there's no commercial sense in it. It's more profitable for alchemists to sell one-shot rattles. The more often they break, the higher the profit.
Flamel nodded in agreement, his fingers already habitually sorting through tools on the table.
— Business is the enemy of true art. But with your idea for a cooling system... do you know how many items could be created?
— Oh, I know, — Victor's eyes flashed. — I have a whole notebook of ideas, but until now, I've been catastrophically short on raw materials.
They both looked around the colossal workshop, packed with priceless ingredients, and then at each other. On the faces of the old man and the youth, separated by centuries, identical and eager smiles bloomed.
In the evening, Perenelle finished cooking dinner while Misi bustled around the table, setting out porcelain plates.
— Misi, invite Victor to the table. And I'll go call Nick.
— I can call them both at once, Mistress, — the elf squeaked. — They are together in the workshop now.
— Oh, — Perenelle raised an eyebrow in surprise. — Then call them, please.
Misi nodded and vanished with a quiet crack. But a minute later, the elf returned looking extremely bewildered.
— Mistress... I couldn't get through to them.
— Why? Are they that busy?
— They simply don't hear me, — Misi complained. — They... they are shouting at the top of their lungs.
Intrigued and slightly worried, Perenelle headed downstairs. As soon as she cracked the heavy door open, a storm of shouting and the clatter of tools hit her. The scene inside was quite comical: the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel was running around the tables chasing Victor. The boy was nimbly dodging him, clutching something golden tightly in his hand.
— No way! It's perfect as it is! — Victor shouted.
Nicolas stopped, breathing heavily, and pointed a finger at him.
— No! We need to remove those stupid effects! We must focus on range and lethality!
— Do you even hear yourself?! The effect is the most important part! How else will enemies know they were knocked out by this specific artifact? Without special effects, they'll just think they were overworked and fell asleep. But this way, when it soars into the air, flashes brilliant gold, spins, and starts throwing sparks, every fallen foe will say: "Wow, what an item! I can't believe how epically I was taken down!"
— What nonsense are you talking?! — Nicolas fumed. — Who is going to admire an artifact while they're unconscious?! I created it for efficiency, not to be admired!
— "You" created it? — Victor scowled. — Let me remind you, we worked on it together! Though, to be honest, the idea is mine, the blueprints are mine, and for your raw materials I... well... I'll definitely pay you back someday.
— Speaking of its shape! — Flamel persisted. — I think we need to remake it; it's not practical enough!
— How dare you! That's it, absolutely not. This is my project, and I'll finish it myself! — Victor crossed his arms huffily and looked at Perenelle. — Mrs. Flamel, please calm your husband down; he's bullying me!
— Perenelle, tell this child to hand over "The Whisper of Oblivion" immediately! — Nicolas barked.
— What?! What "Whisper"? — Victor looked at Flamel with annoyance. — You already assigned it a name on the sly, without even asking me, the author of the very idea?!
Perenelle, barely holding back her laughter, walked authoritatively toward Victor.
— May I see? — she asked softly.
Victor reluctantly nodded and placed a golden object shaped like an elegant crescent in her palm.
— Only, please, don't give him... um... "The Silent Sleep."
— Pffft, "Silent Sleep"? — Flamel smirked venomously. — Did you spend a long time agonizing over that name? Ha ha ha!
— Enough! — Perenelle cut them off. — We are all going to dinner now. And if I hear a single mention of alchemy at the table, neither of you is setting foot back in here.
At the table, the atmosphere was electric. Victor and Nicolas bored into each other with heavy stares. They chewed very fast, as if competing.
— Mrs. Perenelle, that was divine; I'm stuffed to the brim, — Victor broke the silence, being the first to empty his plate and shooting Flamel a triumphant look. — May I please have my Crescent of Dreams back?
Nicolas let out a loud scoff. Victor just clicked his tongue in frustration: he admitted that coming up with resonant names was clearly not his strongest suit.
Perenelle calmly blotted her lips with a napkin.
— I will return it only when you stop acting like two spoiled children and stop bickering.
— I'm not bickering, — Flamel countered coldly. — But what can you expect from a child? He flatly refuses to take science seriously, preferring simple tricks to real alchemy.
— Oh, sure! — Victor leaned forward. — I'm just full of energy and fresh ideas. What chance do I have against an old Luddite like you who turns magic into a boring blueprint devoid of any spark!
— Not boring—reliable and practical! A tool should work in the mud and under fire, not shine like a disco ball!
— Enough! — Perenelle slammed her palm on the table. — If you cannot agree, let each of you make your own artifact. Divide the materials and go to your separate corners.
Flamel and Victor shook their heads in perfect synchronization.
— Out of the question, — the youth snapped. — A second copy and any thereafter would only be a duplicate. It's like painting a second Mona Lisa—even if it's better than the original, it's still a fake.
Nicolas nodded, confirming Victor's words.
— Then find a compromise, — Perenelle folded her arms. — Make concessions.
Victor exhaled deeply, swallowing his pride.
— Good. I'm ready to surrender. Let it be your name, Mr. Flamel. "The Whisper of Oblivion" sounds quite boring, but so be it, I'm willing to make such a sacrifice.
— What sacrifice? It's just a name, — Nicolas narrowed his eyes. — Boy, I want to make it perfect! To do that, we need to burn off your decorative runes and apply power stabilizers in their place.
— This is out of the question! If you're so desperate, we can add something else.
— If we pile on even more runes, it won't withstand the load during use and will break!
— But if we add a tiny spatial pocket inside, it won't be damaged.
— What, do you want to turn it into a bag too? Let's just make a multi-tool out of it: add a folding grill and a tent!
Victor shook his head thoughtfully.
— No, I just thought: if we add a spatial rune, and then apply additional runes to that internal subspace—they would also be considered part of the item, right? And they could be linked in a chain with the main ones?
— Well, yes, that would be... — Flamel trailed off, deep in thought. — You mean to say...
— Yes.
— And then we could actually...
— Exactly! — Victor nodded victoriously.
Flamel quickly wiped his mouth.
— Thank you, dear, as always—it was exquisitely delicious.
Perenelle smiled, shook her head, and pulled out the golden crescent. Nicolas jumped up and snatched it instantly.
— Let's go!
Victor stood up at once, and they headed back to the workshop at a brisk, almost running pace.
Perenelle watched them go with a smile; it had been a long time since she had seen her husband in such a state. She knew perfectly well how much he loved alchemy and understood that he had given up his calling only for her sake. Thirty years ago, she had made the decision to renounce eternity. Having lived over six centuries, Perenelle felt her soul grow heavy with the endless cycle of days; she was truly tired and simply wanted peace.
Nicolas, as a devoted and loving husband, had supported her choice without hesitation. He couldn't bear to watch her leave alone, so they began to age together, hand in hand. But Perenelle understood and often blamed herself for the fact that because of her exhaustion, Nicolas was forced to wither alongside her. She knew he dreamed of seeing what great discoveries the alchemical world would reach, but for her sake, he had abandoned that dream and left alchemy behind so as not to yield to the temptation of living just a little longer.