In the dead of night, when the silence in the workshop became almost tangible, Victor applied the final touch to the golden surface of the crescent. He slowly stepped back, admiring how the magical lines shimmered in the gloom before finally soaking into the metal.
— Done! — he said, barely containing his triumph.
Only now did he notice that silence had fallen over the cellar. Flamel, whose age was finally taking its toll, hadn't withstood the frantic pace of work and had fallen asleep right at the table, tucking his arm under his head instead of a pillow.
— And so he sleeps, — Victor sighed softly, carefully setting the artifact aside to let the metal settle after the enchantment. — Misi.
The elf appeared out of thin air with a faint pop, as if she had been waiting for the call.
— Mr. Moss? — she squeaked, looking at him with huge eyes. — How can I be of service?
— I think it's time for Mr. Flamel to trade the table for a pillow. He'll be much better off in his bed.
Misi nodded and gave a short snap of her thin fingers. In an instant, Nicolas's chair was empty.
— And that's it? — Victor asked in surprise, blinking. — Just like that?
— Yes, Master Nicolas is already in his bed under a warm blanket, — the elf replied with pride.
Victor arched an eyebrow doubtfully:
— Have you done that before?
Misi nodded.
— Misi used to have to move him almost every night. Master often forgot about sleep when he was carried away.
— Hmm, experience then, — Victor smirked. — Alright, thank you, Misi. Go rest.
— And is Mr. Victor not going to bed? — she inquired.
— I'll work a bit more, — he replied, no longer looking at her.
Misi bowed respectfully and vanished. Victor stretched, listening to his stiff back crack, and pulled out his wand. With a short, sharp flick, he fanned the flames in the furnace. The magical fire responded with a hungry roar. Using levitation charms, he sent several heavy ingots of choice ore into the glowing heart of the kiln.
Pulling out a notebook, he began feverishly sketching. The pencil scratched loudly across the paper. When he finished, he tore out the sheet and pressed it to the table. On the paper was a drawing of an elegant katana with some modifications.
— Now I need tools, — Victor scanned the workshop and spotted a far shelf where old, long-forgotten swords and rare alloy blanks lay in a dusty heap.
Approaching, he ran his hand over the cold metal of the anvil and nodded with satisfaction.
In the morning, as soon as she opened her eyes, Perenelle did not find her husband beside her. A warm smile touched her lips — she knew this habit all too well. Cracking open the door to the next room, she saw Nicolas exactly as she expected: he was sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a blanket. Misi always moved him to these quarters when work drained all the old alchemist's strength.
Carefully closing the door, Perenelle called out softly:
— Misi.
— Good morning, Mistress Perenelle, — the elf appeared beside her, silent as a shadow.
— At what time did my husband finally give up?
— Around three in the morning, Mistress.
— Alright, let him sleep. Wake them both by noon.
— Mr. Moss is not sleeping, — Misi suddenly added, tugging at the edge of her dress.
Perenelle raised an eyebrow in surprise:
— He's already awake? At such an early hour...
— No, Mistress, he didn't go to bed at all. He spent the entire night in the workshop.
Perenelle frowned for a moment, looking toward the stairs to the cellar.
— Is that so... Well then, inform him that breakfast will be ready in an hour.
Misi nodded and vanished in a gray haze. Perenelle went about her usual morning chores, and having finished, headed to the kitchen. In the corridor, she ran into Victor face-to-face.
— Good morning, Mrs. Flamel, — he tossed out with a perfunctory, completely lifeless smile. He walked past her with a heavy step, not even slowing down.
— Good morning... — she replied to his retreating back. She shifted her gaze to Misi, who stood nearby. — What happened to him?
— It seems Mr. Victor is very upset, — the elf squeaked. — Something didn't work out for him.
Perenelle nodded understandingly. When she entered the kitchen and began taking out ingredients for breakfast, the creak of the door broke the silence. Victor entered the room. He looked pensive, his gaze fixed on nothing. Without a word, he went to the sink and began washing his hands.
— Did something happen? — she asked gently, noticing him frozen with wet hands.
Victor slowly turned his head to her.
— Yesterday, beyond the threshold, there was a wasteland... — his voice sounded hollow and detached. — Today I wanted to go outside and vent my frustration — to blow something up far from the house. But when I opened the door and took a step, I found myself in Paris.
Perenelle laughed brightly, covering her mouth with her hand:
— Ha-ha-ha! Oh, Victor, I'm sorry! I forgot to warn you. Nicolas wouldn't be the greatest alchemist if he made only one exit in this house. With the help of that door, you can go out to five different points across France.
Victor processed the information and nodded.
— Well, then everything is fine, otherwise I was already thinking of visiting Bedlam again.
He approached the table, picked up a knife, and began methodically slicing bread into perfect pieces.
— Faced difficulties in alchemy? — she asked, watching his focused bread slicing.
— No, — he replied perfectly calmly. — Alchemy is fine. It just turns out today that I'm a worthless blacksmith.
Perenelle looked at him with a potholder in her hand.
— So you're a blacksmith too? At your age?
Victor shook his head:
— No. Today was the first time I tried to forge something.
Perenelle froze, trying to grasp what she had heard, and then slowly asked:
— You mean... you're telling me that tonight you picked up a blacksmith's hammer for the first time in your life, you failed, and that's exactly why you came out of the workshop gloomier than a thundercloud?
Victor nodded. Perenelle couldn't help it and laughed loudly, from the heart. Her laughter filled the kitchen, making the copper on the shelves tremble.
— What's so funny! — he grumbled, stabbing the knife into another bread crust. — I'm a genius. And I should be able to do absolutely everything I set my mind to. But after spending half the night, I couldn't even give a proper shape to a sword.
— You aren't modest at all, are you, — she noted, wiping a tear from laughter.
— Yes, apparently, in my basic configuration, there simply wasn't enough room for modesty — everything is packed with my angelic beauty, charisma, and, of course, outstanding intelligence.
Perenelle laughed again. Victor smiled, looking at the laughing Perenelle. He handed the breadbasket to Misi.
— I'm sorry about your husband... and for my behavior yesterday too, — he suddenly said softly, and for the first time, a note of sincere remorse sounded in his voice. — I came to you seeking help. And instead, I just dragged Nicolas into my alchemical disputes, distracting him.
Perenelle stopped laughing and looked at him gently.
— Don't apologize, Victor. On the contrary, I am grateful to you. I haven't seen that spark in his eyes for a long time. You returned the light to him that I thought he had already buried.
She went silent for a moment, and her gaze became serious, almost sad.
— Besides, on the main issue, he won't be able to help you anyway. No matter how hard Nicolas tries, he doesn't have the answers you're looking for.
Victor snapped his head up, struck by her bluntness.
— But Dumbledore said...
— Albus is a great man, but even he is sometimes prone to wishful thinking, — Perenelle interrupted him quietly. — In your case, he was wrong. Nicolas knows how to transmute lead into gold, but he doesn't know how to quiet the storm inside a human soul.
Victor froze, frowning.
— Listen to me carefully, — she set the plate aside and turned to him. — You are only here because Nicolas knows more about Obscurials than anyone living. But in your specific case, Victor, all his knowledge is useless.
— Why? I suffered from it too, didn't I?
Perenelle shook her head, looking him straight in the eyes.
— I have seen those unfortunate children whose lives were devoured by that parasite. I have seen them go mad, turning into pure, uncontrollable pain. And you know what? You are nothing like them.
She paused.
— Your bloodlust, your passion for killing — that is not a disease and not the influence of the Obscurus. That is your personal addiction. Your own choice. I already told Albus this, but that fool is always looking for light where there is none. You must deal with this demon yourself; alchemy is powerless here.
Then she smiled.
— Well, and if I'm still wrong, just be patient. You don't have much longer to wait. None of those children lived to their eighteenth birthday. So the problem will solve itself.
Victor was stunned. He looked at this sweet, kind woman and didn't recognize her.
— Whoa, that sounded kind of harsh.
— Don't worry so much, — Perenelle unperturbedly returned to slicing vegetables. — I did say "if I'm wrong." And I am very rarely wrong. So, most likely, you're just a little maniac who needs to get a grip on himself. Misi, take the salad.
Victor looked at Perenelle with admiration, and gradually a broad smile began to bloom on his face.
— You know, I always thought I saw right through people, — he said. — But looking at you, I realize how deeply I was mistaken. Behind your facade of a kind old lady hides something quite fascinating.
Perenelle laughed merrily, and the kind sparks danced in her eyes again.
— Thank you for the compliment, — she replied, narrowing her eyes playfully. — I spent several centuries perfecting this camouflage.
Victor nodded understandingly.
— I think you're right about everything. But you were wrong about one thing. Dumbledore is far from a fool. Before leaving, he said that the Flamels would help me — plural. And now that I think I understand who I'm here for... He didn't bring me here for Mr. Flamel. He brought me to you.
Perenelle froze with a cup in her hands.
— If that's the case, then your situation is even worse, because I don't know how to help you, — she said softly. — Though I can advise you to practice meditation.
— Meditation? — Victor looked at her skeptically. — Do I need to shave my head bald, wrap myself in an orange sheet, hum "Ommm" around the clock, and call everyone I meet brother or sister?
— Ha-ha-ha! — Perenelle almost spilled her tea. — If you want to, you can try, but I don't think it's necessary.
Victor seriously thought about it for a second. He slowly touched his hair, imagined himself without it, and shook his head resolutely:
— No thanks, autumn is coming soon and I don't really like wearing hats.
Perenelle laughed again. Having prepared the tea, they sat down to breakfast together, chatting about trifles.
Thus began Victor's steady routine in the Flamel household. His days were very full: he spent hours in their immense library, which housed huge collections of books, sometimes helped Perenelle in the kitchen, or just spent time with her. But most of the day he spent in the workshop. There, among a heap of ingredients and various tools, he could bring to life what had only been ideas in his notebook. But after he spent two more sleepless nights in a row, Perenelle's patience snapped. After a two-hour scolding and Nicolas hiding somewhere to stay out of the line of fire, he realized who the true master of the house was.
From then on, at exactly ten o'clock in the evening, he left the workshop and went to his room. And when Misi told Perenelle that instead of sleeping he was reading books, Perenelle literally began escorting Victor to his bedroom. No arguments about his resilient body worked. She would sit in a chair nearby, hypnotizing him with her gaze until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell into sleep.
At first, this irritated Victor. Especially Nicolas's snide expression when Perenelle came for him. But time passed, and he caught himself thinking that he liked it. This feeling of sincere care reminded him of his mother from his past life. Because he was born with a weak heart, she had always been overprotective, and if back then it annoyed him, now he realized how much he missed it. Thus, in a quiet family atmosphere, July unnoticed came to an end.