Don't Look for Ancient People in Modern History

"Glory."

At dusk, the password was spoken, and the doors to the Slytherin Common Room swung open.

Blaise trudged in, exhausted—he'd come back to Hogwarts early.

Just as he'd expected, it had been another utterly boring party.

Fake smiles and sneers behind people's backs.

They acted so respectful to your face, but the moment you turned around, who knew what nasty things they'd say.

The sixth gathering was about to start, another huge inheritance had come in, and who would be the next fool to die at his mother's feet...

Sometimes, it was hard not to resent his mother.

If he weren't so calm and sensible, Blaise might have thrown a fit.

But he was calm and sensible enough to know that, as a beneficiary of the arrangement, he had no right to criticize his mother.

For one thing, it was her freedom.

For another, their family never lacked anything he needed. All he had to do was ask, and even the most expensive item on the market could be at his bedside the very next day.

Remembering the party, with its mocking laughter seeming to ring in his ears, Blaise scoffed and muttered, "You don't have to look down on me. I look down on you, too."

He hadn't eaten, but the thought of all that unpleasantness had killed his appetite. He just wanted to wash up and sink into a deep sleep.

But things never went quite as expected.

The moment he stepped into the Common Room, Blaise frowned. One thought filled his mind: Had Professor Quirrell infiltrated the Slytherin Common Room?

Following the smell, he spotted Glenn eating at the Slytherin table.

Seeing him, Blaise didn't hurry to take his luggage to the dormitory. He set it aside for the time being—after all, the others weren't back yet.

"How was it? Did you have a good Christmas?" Glenn asked as Blaise sat across from him.

"Not really. If I could've chosen, I'd have stayed in my dorm at Hogwarts and slept the whole time." Blaise shook his head.

"Honestly, compared to the people I saw at the party, even Malfoy seems likable."

He didn't continue, and Glenn didn't intend to ask.

Sometimes, there was no need to pry.

With a fortune acquired that way, it was easy to imagine how often people had talked behind his back.

He might not care, but it was still too much to expect an eleven-year-old child to learn to bear it.

After a brief silence, Blaise looked at Glenn's food and changed the subject. "What's that?"

"A local specialty, oil-splashed noodles," Glenn said simply. "I made them myself. They go well with garlic... Want a bowl?"

At that, Blaise smiled wryly and shook his head.

It smelled delicious, but he'd never been much interested in food.

After all, he'd grown up eating dishes prepared by all kinds of chefs brought in from across Europe.

No matter how good this was, could it really beat their carefully prepared meals?

Besides, his mother had specially invited a chef from France to cook for their Christmas feast—and even that had been bland.

Of course, that was what he thought, but his stomach didn't care.

Just as Blaise was about to refuse, his stomach betrayed him with a growl—he hadn't eaten all day, after all.

"How about a little, then?"

"Well... thanks."

"Those two... They're infuriating," Hermione fumed in the library.

It was still the holiday, though it was the final day of Christmas break. She'd come back early, the day before term began.

When she heard that Harry and Ron had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night and wandered all over the school, she was horrified—what if Filch caught them?

"Honestly, Glenn, they ought to learn from you. You never break the rules, and you're always earning points for your house..."

Glenn said nothing.

For some reason, he suddenly recalled something Sebastian had once said: the whole point of earning points was to make it easier to lose them.

"And now they've even forgotten about the important thing because of this?" Hermione said, deeply disappointed.

Before the holidays began, she'd told Harry and Ron to spend more time in the library, reading and looking for information.

The thought left Hermione feeling frustrated.

"Who exactly is Nicolas Flamel? He's not in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century or Notable Modern Magicians. I couldn't find his name in Important Discoveries in Modern Magic or Studies in Recent Witchcraft Development, either. Is he not mentioned in any books at all...?"

"Want me to ask him why he hasn't published anything new lately?"

Hermione froze.

"Glenn, that's not a very funny joke."

"If I hadn't chosen to stay at Hogwarts this Christmas, I would've spent it at Nicolas Flamel's house," Glenn said, spreading his hands.

"After all, in theory, the great alchemist is my guardian. Didn't the Daily Prophet report on his six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth birthday a few months ago?"

"The great alchemist? Then how could I not find him in any books? I've been searching—wait... his six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth birthday?"

At that, she finally understood.

She sprang to her feet and headed for the stacks. This time, she didn't limit herself to recent history. She went straight for a copy of Notable Alchemists.

The very first page read: Nicolas Flamel, the greatest alchemist, aged six hundred and sixty-five, successfully created the only Philosopher's Stone in the world...

"Good heavens! He's such a famous alchemist, and I never realized... I spent a whole month looking for him!" Hermione said, disbelievingly.

"I imagine it would be rather difficult to find a six-hundred-year-old alchemist in books about recent history," Glenn said matter-of-factly.

"Yes... I suppose it would." Hermione laughed at herself.

She'd spent so long looking for Nicolas Flamel, only to find the answer right beside her.

Glenn smiled. "By the way, why were you looking for Nicolas Flamel?"

Hermione hesitated, but then she thought it over. Since Glenn already knew they'd sneaked into the restricted section in the middle of the night, there didn't seem to be anything left to hide.

"Well, do you remember that Quidditch Match..." Hermione told him everything, including how she, Harry, and Ron had gone to visit Hagrid, the gamekeeper, after the match.

And just as at the Christmas feast, Hagrid had never been any good at keeping secrets.

From him, they'd learned that the three-headed dog guarding something in the Third Floor Corridor was connected to Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.

At that, Hermione pushed the passage she'd just read in the book over for Glenn to see:

Ancient alchemy involved the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, a substance with astonishing properties. The Philosopher's Stone can turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, which makes anyone who drinks it immortal.

The Philosopher's Stone has been the subject of many reports over the centuries, but the only one that still exists belongs to the famous alchemist and opera lover, Mr. Nicolas Flamel, who lives in seclusion in Devon with his wife, Perenelle.

With the book to back her up, Hermione's thoughts raced, and she spoke quickly:

"Then that dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet Flamel asked Dumbledore to keep it for him because they're friends, and because he knew someone was after it. That's why he moved the Philosopher's Stone out of Gringotts—"

Hermione's expression turned to shock. "Good heavens, Harry said before that Snape's leg was bitten by a big dog. Could it be..."

The truth suddenly seemed so clear.

"I should've thought of it sooner... Nicolas Flamel..." Hermione murmured to herself.

"Maybe I could write him a letter and ask?" Glenn said thoughtfully.

Hermione nodded gratefully. "If you could, I'd really appreciate it. Please be sure to tell the old gentleman that his Philosopher's Stone is in danger."

Now that they'd gotten this far, she let out a sigh of relief, set the book aside, and slumped over the table.

"If only I'd asked you directly... But didn't Harry and Ron mention it to you? I remember they promised they'd investigate Nicolas Flamel over the Christmas holidays. I thought they'd definitely ask you for help..."

"They did ask me for help, but..." Glenn hadn't finished speaking when Harry and Ron appeared in front of them.

"Glenn, help us out. Make that Lion Head you made yesterday again. I've got the bread ready this time..."