When Dumbledore arrived in haste, the first thing he saw was Wes Elwin standing all alone amidst the ruins of the battlefield, surrounded by devastation.
Moonlight poured down like water, outlining Wes's figure in a lonely and somber silhouette.
"You're late, Headmaster."
Wes's eyes, cold and steady, met Dumbledore's. His tone carried a faint trace of reproach.
"Aren't you going to explain? That was no ordinary poacher tonight."
Wes stared intently at Dumbledore, clearly pressing for answers.
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately. Instead, he carefully surveyed the chaos left in the wake of the battle. After a long pause, he turned and said, full of admiration, "Your strength truly impresses me, Mr. Elwin."
"I want an explanation, Headmaster Dumbledore. This situation is nothing like what you described to me before."
Wes clearly wasn't buying the compliment. His eyes were sharp as blades, cutting directly through any pretense.
"Yes…" Dumbledore noticed Wes's agitation and spoke in a soothing tone, "I will give you the answer you seek. But let's leave this place first. The centaur tribe has surely been alerted by the noise, and I'd rather not have unnecessary conflict with them in the dead of night."
Wes gave a slight nod, agreeing.
The two returned together to the headmaster's office.
"Can we talk now, Headmaster?"
Wes sat heavily in the chair opposite Dumbledore, his face dark.
"Hmm… where should I begin?" Dumbledore stroked his long beard thoughtfully.
"How about starting with that senior of mine who supposedly died eleven years ago?"
Wes's eyes were locked on Dumbledore, watching closely for any flicker of expression.
At those words, Dumbledore's fingers paused mid-stroke through his beard.
His face immediately grew serious. "How much do you know?"
At that moment, Dumbledore resembled a lion defending its territory—aged, yes, but no less dangerous. His power hadn't faded with time; instead, it had only grown more seasoned, more formidable.
"You're terrifying, Headmaster."
Wes, by contrast, appeared perfectly calm—utterly unfazed by Dumbledore's presence.
"Are you threatening me?" he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.
Dumbledore quickly resumed his usual kindly demeanor, smiling lightly. "Of course not. Just… a little tense, that's all."
Wes wasn't fooled. He knew full well those words were nothing more than polite deflection.
But he also understood that Dumbledore wasn't his enemy. In fact, Wes hoped to benefit from him—perhaps gain access to deeper magical knowledge.
With that thought, Wes revealed a portion of what he knew.
"All I know is that the 'senior' seems to be desperately searching for the Philosopher's Stone."
"The Philosopher's Stone… ha ha ha… of course, what else could it be?" Dumbledore chuckled, then suddenly shifted tone. "Still, I must say, Wes—your strength astonished me. No one has ever walked away from an encounter with him in one piece."
"It wasn't a big deal. He's on his last legs."
Wes's tone was flat, as if it were nothing worth mentioning.
"Even so, many can't even muster the courage to face him…"
Dumbledore didn't hold back his praise, clearly trying to ease the tension.
But Wes raised a hand impatiently. "Headmaster, no matter how much you praise me, even if you say I'm Merlin reborn, it won't cover up the fact that you've mishandled this situation."
"Yes… yes… let me think of how to make it up to you…"
Dumbledore frowned deeply, as if pondering something with great difficulty.
Seeing that Dumbledore was still pretending to be confused, Wes decided to be blunt:
"I want the Philosopher's Stone."
"Absolutely not." Dumbledore refused without a moment's hesitation, leaving no room for negotiation.
"As miraculous as it is, the Philosopher's Stone also brings terrible side effects... Wes, you're still young. There are many things you haven't experienced yet—things you don't understand. The danger it carries is far greater than you realize…"
Dumbledore launched into a lengthy explanation, attempting to convince Wes to abandon what he saw as a reckless and unrealistic demand.
"Then what about Nicolas Flamel's alchemical journal? You must have it. As his only true friend, he would've entrusted you with the insights of a lifetime."
Wes knew perfectly well that Dumbledore would never hand over the Philosopher's Stone so easily. Asking for it outright had only been a test.
"You're far too greedy, Wes. That's the most coveted alchemical manuscript in existence."
Dumbledore widened his eyes in astonishment as he looked at Wes.
"I just saved two students and a unicorn from the hands of the most feared dark wizard alive!"
Wes's voice rose with emotion.
"Still no." Dumbledore shook his head again and again.
"One of those students happens to be the Savior of the Wizarding World!"
Wes's voice climbed even higher, his tone now almost confrontational.
"Do you have any idea what would happen if the public found out that Voldemort is still alive? The panic it would cause, Headmaster!" His words now carried a clear and unmistakable threat.
Dumbledore's face twisted with frustration, his beard practically bristling with indignation.
But Wes knew this was all just an act. The old man was playing his usual games.
"Headmaster, I just solved a massive problem for you."
Wes crossed his arms, his expression resolute as he locked eyes with Dumbledore.
"Don't tell me you weren't aware Voldemort was hiding in Professor Quirrell's body, planning to use the Philosopher's Stone to return."
"So you knew." Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, piercing.
Of course, Wes couldn't say it was because he'd read the Harry Potter books. So he casually replied, "Quirrell's disguise was too sloppy—he might've fooled naïve students, but not me."
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "You've convinced me, Wes."
He turned and walked to a large chest behind his desk. Carefully, he retrieved a massive book, its cover bound in old leather and reinforced with intricate magical locks.
Dumbledore whispered a spell. The mechanisms released with a soft click.
He gently ran his fingers across the surface of the book, sighing wistfully.
"When Nicolas gave me the Philosopher's Stone, he entrusted this book to me as well. After that, he and his wife went away to get their affairs in order… I imagine that was our final meeting."
Wes wasn't interested in sentimental stories. His entire attention was locked on that journal.
(This is the life's work of a six-hundred-year-old alchemist!)
But to his disappointment, Dumbledore slowly placed the book back into the chest and re-sealed the lock.
Then, he turned to a nearby shelf, pulled down a stack of thick books, and placed them on his desk.
Wes stared in confusion.
"These are the alchemical notes Nicolas and I compiled together," Dumbledore said calmly, noticing Wes's bewildered look.
Wes quickly picked one up and flipped through it. Inside were detailed records of Flamel's experiments, theories, and insights.
"All of these?" Wes asked, stunned.
"Indeed. It took us a great deal of time and effort to put them together. Thankfully, Nicolas's memory was still as sharp as ever."
Dumbledore smiled as he explained.
"So you were prepared all along." Realization dawned on Wes.
"Not quite," Dumbledore said with a sly grin. "Nicolas had always intended to pass on his knowledge. A few gifted alchemists in France have already received his manuscripts—but that was never made public."
"He asked me to identify promising candidates within the British wizarding world."
Wes blinked, not sure whether to laugh or sigh.
"Well, what are you waiting for? They're yours now." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, relaxed and smiling.
"You're incredibly sneaky, Headmaster." Wes said, exasperated.
"And you're no different, Mr. Elwin." Dumbledore replied with a chuckle.
°°°
A/N: Leave some comments and reviews if possible.