Chapter 69: The Shock of Nicolas Flamel
The Flamels were laughing and joking, assuming the letter was just a friendly correspondence.
"I think Albus will recommend his student again," Nicolas said with a smile.
"I'm not so sure," Perenelle replied, shaking her head. "When we first met Albus, he was just a boy. But even then, he was never one to rush things. I suspect he has something more important to discuss."
As they were talking, Fawkes was happily chasing a group of skittering, animated alchemical instruments around the room. The phoenix let out a burst of flame, and the instruments scattered. One of them collided with its neighbor and fell apart into a pile of gears and springs. After Fawkes had flown off in pursuit of the others, the pile of parts cautiously peeked up. Seeing Fawkes circle back, it immediately collapsed back into a heap, pretending to be inanimate. Fawkes landed beside it, tapping it with a long, elegant claw. The parts began to tremble, but it was too late. Fawkes scooped up the quivering pile, which then reassembled itself in mid-air and scurried away.
The phoenix and the instruments were playing, but the expressions on the faces of Nicolas and Perenelle were now grave.
"It seems we were both right," Nicolas said, forcing a smile. "He recommended the student, and he has other matters to discuss."
"Could it be a misinterpretation?" Perenelle asked.
"Unlikely. I'm not familiar with this Sybill Trelawney, but if she could prophesize the downfall of Voldemort, then she has true ability. As for Gellert Grindelwald, I watched him grow. And as for Ryan Welles…" He let out a derisive snort. "From the intelligence I have gathered, this boy is hardly the 'most talented Seer of the century.'"
"In my six hundred years," Nicolas said, "I have never seen anyone produce prophecies with such frequency. The most prolific Seer I have ever known only managed a new prophecy every year or two."
Perenelle fell silent. She, too, had never seen anything like it. "So the prophecies are real," she whispered, a look of horror on her face. "But how is that possible? We have watched the Muggles' development for the last two hundred years. In terms of their collective power, they have already surpassed us. What kind of darkness could possibly bring ruin to both wizards and Muggles alike?"
The Flamels had always been fascinated by Muggle technology, a testament to their open and tolerant nature. Nicolas had even tried to integrate it with alchemy, but he had found that the two disciplines were built on fundamentally different foundations and were ultimately incompatible. Even so, they were the wizards who knew the most about Muggle technology, and who best understood its incredible power. They had often dreamed of a world where Muggle science and wizarding magic could work in harmony, but they were too old to lead such a revolution.
But Dumbledore's words… wizards and Muggles alike, struggling to survive in the darkness. It was an enemy they could not even begin to comprehend.
"I don't know what it is," Nicolas said, and lit the letter on fire with a snap of his fingers. "But in my six hundred years of experience, I have learned that prophecies always come to pass. I can understand Dumbledore's anxiety. He thought the only threat left was a weakened Voldemort, a manageable problem. And now, this. His composure is truly admirable. It seems we do need the younger generation to rise to the occasion, and quickly."
"So you have made your decision?" Perenelle asked.
"Yes," Nicolas said, and with a wave of his hand, a quill and parchment began to write a letter of their own accord. "I will tell Olympe Maxime to cease her inquiries. I have decided to take Ryan Welles as my apprentice."
Dumbledore, the quill wrote, I have received your letter, and I have made my decision. Please inform Ryan Welles that I will take him as an apprentice in alchemy for a time. Bring him to me; I wish to meet with him first. Also, please send me a list of all the noteworthy wizards in the world today. We do not know when the prophecy will come to pass, but we must be prepared. I hope this letter finds you well. Nicolas Flamel.
"Fawkes," Nicolas called out after the letter was finished, "stop terrorizing my instruments. It's time to go." Fawkes reluctantly released its prey, took the letter, and vanished in a burst of flame.
"It seems our own 'next great adventure' will have to wait a little longer," Nicolas said to his wife. "The wizarding world still needs us."
"We have time," Perenelle said, taking his hand. "The safety of the wizarding world is more important."
In the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, a lonely Dumbledore received the reply from Fawkes. "Thank you, Fawkes," he said, offering the phoenix a wiggling Cockroach Cluster. "Care for one?" Fawkes turned his head in disgust. "A pity," Dumbledore said, and put the Cockroach Cluster down. It immediately scurried off his desk and into a dark corner. "Was that a real cockroach?" he wondered, and then opened the letter.
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