On a sweltering summer afternoon, the sky was as clear as a sheet of blue parchment, with wispy clouds drifting lazily across it. Even the cicadas' chirps seemed to wilt in the heavy, humid air.
It had rained just that morning, but by afternoon, the heat was still stifling. Sipping on an iced watermelon juice, Shirley lounged by the doorstep, letting out a big yawn like a cat stretching after a nap, her laziness melting into the cool sea breeze.
"Adam, haven't you fixed it yet?" she called out to Adam, who was tinkering under the shade of a nearby tree.
At the foot of a waist-high alchemical contraption, Adam looked up with a grimace, clutching a repair tool he'd dug out of the storage shed.
"I'm pretty sure if you hadn't dragged me into that wizard's chess match this morning, I'd have this heap of junk fixed by now," he grumbled.
"Eh, don't sweat the small stuff," Shirley teased, sauntering over and handing him a glass of watermelon juice.
"But seriously, why are you so obsessed with Gringotts lately? Lilith has been whining to me nonstop—she really doesn't want to go back to those underground vaults."
"And you keep making her take different routes every time and draw maps by hand when she gets back. I've seen her absentmindedly sketching those twisty paths while flipping pancakes!"
Shirley paused, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in Adam's ear, "You're not planning to rob Gringotts, are you?"
Pfft!
Adam sputtered, spraying watermelon juice everywhere as he whipped around to stare at her, horrified.
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not!"
The little witch sighed, pursing her lips and tugging lightly at his sleeve.
"Just… don't go, okay? If you need Galleons, just tell me…"
Adam, with some effort, waved off the tempting offer and gave the machine in front of him a frustrated kick.
Tina's old garden-trimming device was an ancient relic, decades out of date. The instruction manual had long vanished, so Adam was left to figure out the functions of its parts through trial and error, piecing it together bit by bit.
The runic circuits in the alchemical device were fiendishly complex, but he was starting to get the hang of it.
Not long ago, Adam had confidently reassembled the machine, only for it to sputter to life, wobble, and then slowly turn its sharp blades—meant for trimming garden plants—toward him. Like a hound off its leash, it chased him around the yard, spitting sparks and flames, while Shirley collapsed in laughter, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm pretty sure the part that identifies targets is busted. It must've mistaken my hair for garden weeds," Adam muttered.
He chugged the rest of his watermelon juice, handed the glass back to Shirley, and didn't notice the faint flush on her cheeks.
Picking up his tools, he dove back into his work, following a hunch. Just as he was about to attach the final metal plate, a deafening BOOM echoed from the distance.
Startled, Shirley nearly dropped her glass, and both she and Adam turned toward the source of the noise. A massive airship had crashed into a nearby hillside, billowing thick black smoke. From a distance, it looked like a giant blue whale stranded on a beach.
The airship's hull bore deep claw marks, as if it had been attacked mid-flight by some ferocious creature. But the worst damage seemed to come from the crash itself.
Soon, the cockpit hatch popped open, and a small figure—a house-elf—helped an elderly man with white hair clamber out.
"Should we go check it out?" Shirley asked, glancing at Adam.
"No need. They're already coming this way," Adam replied, squinting suspiciously. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but how had these strangers bypassed the Confundus Charm and Fidelius Charm protecting the house?
"Hello, young ones! Might you be Newt's grandchildren?" the old man called out, his voice warm as he waved. The house-elf beside him bowed politely.
The old man was dressed impeccably: a sharp black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt with a luxurious dark gold tie, and a rose pinned to his breast pocket. Without the house-elf, Adam might've mistaken him for a conductor at an international wizarding concert rather than a wizard.
The house-elf was equally striking, sporting a deep brown aviator jacket and an old-fashioned leather pilot's helmet with flip-down goggles. It must've been the one piloting the airship.
"Hello, sir. I'm Adam, Newt's newest apprentice. This is my neighbor, Shirley," Adam said politely. Shirley gave a casual wave, clearly forgetting the etiquette lessons she'd had over the past two years.
"Oh, how time flies. Even young Newt's taking on apprentices now," the old man said, chuckling as he looked at Adam's youthful face.
Adam couldn't help but wonder about the man's age. If Newt, who was nearly ninety, was "young" to him, this wizard had to be at least a hundred and fifty.
"Sorry, I tend to get lost in old memories," the man said, snapping out of his reverie. "Could you fetch Newt for me? He and Tina might be in that magical suitcase of his, studying those fantastic beasts, and didn't hear my… dramatic landing."
"If you're hoping to join them at the Royal Albert Hall, I'm afraid you're too late. They left last night," Adam said, checking his watch. "And if you want to make the performance, you've got less than six hours to get that airship fixed."
The old man's face froze, and he turned to the house-elf with a tense look.
"My apologies, Master. Mistress Perenelle insisted I do this. She said you needed rest after leaving the laboratory," the house-elf squeaked. "And… well, it's also punishment for breaking her crimson mandrake plant last time…"
The old man's expression stiffened again. After a long sigh, he muttered, "You could've told me sooner. I've been looking forward to this concert for nearly two months."
"Need help fixing the airship, sir?" Adam asked, his eyes gleaming as they flicked to the crashed vessel, his repair tools practically twitching in his hand.
"Thank you, lad, but the airship's auto-repair charm is already at work. It shouldn't take long," the man said, then nodded toward the tools in Adam's hand and the nearly assembled alchemical device. "Is that your work?"
Adam's face flushed, and he mumbled, too embarrassed to respond. Shirley, seizing the moment, reached over and slapped the machine's start button.
The device's two red indicator lights flared to life, and it began to shudder. With a grinding clank of metal, two mechanical arms shot out, their sawblades whirring furiously. In a flash, it sliced a decorative rock garden into rubble, spewed flames to incinerate the debris, and swept the ashes into its collection bin with a tiny brush.
"Hmm, a very creative combat alchemical device. It identifies and completes its task perfectly, though its functions could use some refining," the old man said encouragingly.
"But, sir, it's just a garden-trimming device…" Adam groaned, covering his face as Shirley burst into giggles.
The old man's smile froze, and he stared silently at the machine. Even with his vast experience, he couldn't quite see how this contraption resembled a garden trimmer.
"Tell me, lad, who taught you alchemy?" he asked, recovering quickly. He'd seen plenty in his years; this was just a curious surprise.
Adam blinked, picking up a book from the ground and holding it out. "I've been figuring it out myself with this."
The old man took the book with trembling hands, his eyes widening at the title: Introduction to Alchemy. His mouth twitched when he saw the publication date—1792.
"You're saying you rebuilt this… combat device just by studying this book?" he asked, incredulous.
"Sir, it's a garden-trimming device," Adam insisted stubbornly.
"And how did you decipher the runes in it?" the old man pressed, his grip tightening slightly on the book.
"I just took it apart and compared the symbols to others on the parts. I could roughly guess what they did," Adam explained. "Though sometimes, when I combine them, the results are… unexpected. Like when I paired the cutting and targeting runes, it somehow produced a freezing effect. That's how I made the watermelon juice."
He didn't mention that his knack for languages had helped him immensely. Gesturing to the runes, he tossed some cut watermelon into the machine, and moments later, a chilled glass of juice appeared.
Shirley's eyes widened. That's where the juice came from? Then she froze, realizing the juicing spout was the same one used to clear leaves. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
The old man opened his mouth, then closed it, silently accepting the juice Adam handed him. He couldn't wrap his head around how this boy, without understanding the runes, had managed to assemble a functioning machine—albeit one that worked in the most bizarre way possible. It was like putting an engine in the driver's seat, sitting on the roof, and steering with reins, yet somehow making it work and race down the road.
"Master, the airship's nearly fixed," the house-elf announced, jogging over. Adam handed it a glass of juice, which it accepted with a delighted bow. "Thank you, Mr. Adam. You're very kind."
The old man, who'd been quiet, reached into a small pouch and pulled out a few thick books, handing them to Adam.
"You'll find these useful, I think. Consider them a thank-you for your hospitality. I look forward to seeing what surprises you come up with next time we meet," he said warmly.
Adam took the books, about to thank him, but the old man was already heading toward the airship.
"Thank you, sir! I didn't catch your name!" Adam called after him.
"Nicolas Flamel. But I prefer Nicolas—it makes me feel younger. Until next time, young Adam," he replied with a wink, before climbing aboard.
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