Super Old Man

Paris, 10th arrondissement, an unremarkable street, an unremarkable house.

The stone walls have turned grayish-brown with age, the windows are narrow, and rust has crept onto the wrought iron railings.

Pushing open the wooden door, you'll find yourself in a long, narrow Corridor, at the end of which is a staircase leading upwards.

Dumbledore went up the stairs, which creaked and turned two corners, before stopping in front of a dark wooden door.

Knock three times, pause, then knock twice more, and the door opens from the inside.

The person who opened the door was short, with snow-white hair, and wore a dark blue robe over a dark vest embroidered with gold symbols.

His eyes were light gray, and he looked at people with a gentle smile.

Nicolas Flamel.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. "Albus."

Dumbledore looked at him and smiled. "Nicolas."

Nicolas stepped aside, making way for the doorway. "Come in."

The room was warm, and firewood burned in the fireplace, the flames flickering.

The walls were covered with all sorts of strange gadgets: brass dials, glass vases with curved necks, silver gear mechanisms, and several Metal Ball whose purpose was unclear.

They were all moving; some were spinning, some were ticking, and some were just hanging there, trembling slightly.

There was a large desk by the window, piled high with parchment and open books.

A silver mechanical bird stood on the windowsill, tilting its head and occasionally pecking at its wing, making a soft metallic clanging sound.

Nicolas walked with small, quick steps to the sofa by the fireplace and sat down, while Dumbledore sat down opposite him.

Nicolas waved his hand, and the teapot on the small table next to him poured two cups of tea by itself. The tea was steaming, clear in color, and had a very faint aroma.

"Try it," he said. "It's fresh."

Dumbledore picked up his teacup, took a sip, and said, "Not bad, but it's a pity there's no honey."

Nicolas picked up her own cup and leaned back on the sofa.

After a moment of silence, Nicolas said, "Long time no Albus."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, it's been a long time."

He sighed. "Nicolas, you know, Tom."

Nicolas's expression remained unchanged. "I know, I've heard they've been quite restless lately."

Dumbledore took another sip of tea. "Getting more and more restless."

Nicolas looked at him without answering. After a while, he asked, "So why did you come today? Is there something you need?"

Dumbledore put down his teacup. "It's something."

He looked at Nicolas: "But not for Tom."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "Who is that?"

Dumbledore's lips curved into a smile, "A child."

Nicolas looked at him. "A child, is he worth making a special trip for?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Worth it."

Nicolas became interested. "Talented?"

Dumbledore: "Talented, but more than just talented."

Nicolas leaned back on the sofa, adopting a listening posture. "Tell me."

Dumbledore said, "His name is Regulus Black, the heir of the Black family in this generation."

Nicolas nodded. "The Black family, I know them, old Arcturus back then..."

He stopped and didn't continue.

Dumbledore continued, "This child has an exceptionally high level of Magical Talent; he developed his own spells, spatial ones, in his first year."

Regarding Transfiguration, Minerva said he is already thinking about the fundamental questions.

And his Patronus is very special; it can carry people through space.

Nicolas listened, nodding occasionally.

"He's still practicing with Fiendfyre, and he's almost tamed it."

Nicolas asked, "Second year?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Second year."

Nicolas paused for a moment, then asked, "Compared to Riddle?"

Dumbledore didn't hesitate. "They are equally gifted in Magical Talent."

Nicolas looked at him. "But?"

Dumbledore smiled. "But they chose different paths."

He looked at Nicolas: "Tom seeks power to escape death, to prove himself above all else, and to make everyone kneel at his feet."

This child is also pursuing power, but what he's pursuing is... the Sorting Hat told me it saw the Starry sky in his mind.

Nicolas's eyes widened slightly.

"At the time, I thought it might be a metaphor, perhaps representing ambition, or perhaps a broader vision and pursuit."

Dumbledore paused, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, as if deep in thought.

After a while, he continued, "But now, I think it might not be a metaphor. What this child wants might just be to leave this world."

Nicolas was stunned. He stared at Dumbledore time without saying a word.

After a long while, he murmured and repeated, "To leave this world... this child certainly has quite an appetite."

Dumbledore didn't reply, but simply nodded in agreement.

Nicolas looked up at him and asked, "So you came today because of this child?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Nicolas's eyes held a different meaning. "Albus, the thing you regret most lately is Riddle."

Dumbledore didn't say anything.

Nicolas continued, "For decades, you've remembered."

Dumbledore laughed. "Nicolas, decades with you, that's only recently."

Nicolas smiled, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and put it down.

Then he asked directly, "The Philosopher's Stone?"

Dumbledore looked at him but said nothing.

Nicolas waved his hand. "Albus, how long have we known each other? Do you think I don't know what you're thinking?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "Nicolas, you're overthinking it. I just brought him here to broaden his horizons."

Nicolas glared at him. "Albus, your beard moves when you lie."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Nothing moved."

Nicolas ignored him. "Where is that child now?"

Dumbledore glanced out the window. "We should be there soon."

Regulus stood at the entrance of the Wisteria Manor, waiting to say goodbye to Andromeda.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye: a leather glove was beckoning to him from directly in front of the door.

The fingers curled up and then straightened, curled up and then straightened, as if calling him over.

Regulus looked at the glove and a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth.

It felt familiar, and sure enough, there was a show.

He walked over and picked up the glove.

The glove twisted in his hand, then fell silent.

Regulus put it in his suit pocket and said goodbye to Andromeda.

The next second, a force burst out from the pocket, hooked onto his navel, and pulled him forward sharply.

The next second, he was standing in a Corridor.

The wooden staircase creaked and groaned, leading to a dark wooden door that was open.

Dumbledore's voice came from inside. "Come in, Regulus."

Regulus waved his hand, and his suit transformed back into a wizard's robe.

He straightened his collar, pushed open the door, and went inside.

The room was bigger than he had imagined, with a fireplace, sofa, desk, and walls covered with strange objects.

Those things were moving and making sounds, as if they had their own lives.

Dumbledore sat on the sofa by the fireplace, opposite another white-haired old man.

He looked at Regulus with a gentle, curious gaze.

The name popped into Regulus's mind: Nicolas Flamel.

An Alchemy who lived for hundreds of years, the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, and an old friend of Dumbledore.

He walked to the sofa and gave a polite bow. "Mr. Flamel."

Nicolas smiled. "Sit down, child."

Regulus sat down next to Dumbledore, his Magic Perception instinctively spreading out, but he sensed nothing.

Nicolas looked at him, her smile deepening, "The little guy's testing me."

Dumbledore to look at Regulus, his tone gentle. "Regulus, there's no need for that."

Regulus nodded apologetically. "Sorry, it's a habit."

Nicolas waved his hand. "Good perception, that's a good thing."

Regulus withdrew his Magic Perception.

This is the first time I've been called out to my face; it's never happened before.

But it's normal that the person in front of me is Nicolas Flamel; he's a six-hundred-year-old wizard who has lived for hundreds of years and has seen all sorts of tricks.

He had long known that Magic Perception was not a unique skill, but rather a basic one.

His perception is simply more powerful and more concealed, making him undetectable to most people. However, even he is no match for someone of his level.

Moreover, Dumbledore also discovered it.

However, Magic Perception is ultimately just a means. After further refining his Star Orbit Meditation, his perception tends to merge with his vision.

Perhaps if we don't spread it out and just look at it, it won't be discovered, but there's no need to try again.

It would be impolite to be caught again.

But it's all for the best; it served as a reminder. These two people are both mild-mannered, so once they noticed, they just laughed it off with a few words.

But what if it were someone else?

Those who are equally powerful but not gentle, those who take his senses as offensive, and those who, in turn, will reach out to touch him in accordance with his senses—

Regulus didn't think any further.

In short, one must be extremely careful when dealing with a wizard of this caliber.

He collected his thoughts and calmly surveyed his surroundings.

There were at least seven or eight items in the room, and they were clearly not ordinary goods.

On the mantelpiece sat a brass sphere, its surface engraved with countless symbols, which slowly rotated on its own.

On the desk sat a silver hourglass, its sand flowing upwards.

A glass cabinet stood in the corner, displaying crystals of various colors, some glowing, others emitting a cold aura.

Next to the cabinet was a complex metal device, composed of countless gears and levers, which was operating on its own, emitting a soft ticking sound.

There was also a book on a small table. The cover of the book was made of some unfamiliar material with a faint golden sheen. The pages turned by themselves, stopping at a certain page and then turning back.

Regulus withdrew his gaze and looked back at the two people on the sofa.

An old man.

A very old man.

He didn't ask Dumbledore why he had brought him here; he simply sat there and waited quietly.

But he thought to himself that there must be a reason why Dumbledore brought him to see Nicolas Flamel.

Perhaps it was to broaden his horizons; the path of Alchemy is different from Transfiguration and spells, it's a different way of thinking.

Perhaps they wanted to test him, to see what his attitude was towards the Philosopher's Stone, and how he would react to the temptation of immortality.

It might just be a convenient idea; since we're in France anyway, I figured I might as well show him around.

But it's more likely a test, given past examples.