Don't Look for Ancient People in Modern History

"Glory."

As evening fell, the password echoed and the door to the Slytherin common room swung open.

Blaise trudged in, his steps heavy—he had returned to Hogwarts early.

Just as he had anticipated, it was another dreadfully dull gathering.

Fake smiles, veiled sneers behind his back.

To his face, they pretended such respect, but the moment they turned away, who knew how many nasty remarks they made.

Something about the sixth party starting soon, another hefty inheritance deposited, who would be the next fool to fall for her charms...

Sometimes, he couldn't help but resent his mother.

If he weren't so calm, so rational, Blaise might have thrown a tantrum.

But he was precisely calm and rational enough to know that, standing on the side of a beneficiary, he had no right to blame her.

On one hand, it was her freedom.

On the other, the family never lacked any resource he needed—just a word, and even the most expensive item on the market would appear by his bedside the next day.

The scenes from the party flashed through his mind, the jeers echoing in his ears. Blaise snorted coldly and muttered to himself, "You don't have to look down on me—I look down on you too."

Though he hadn't eaten, the thought of those unpleasant matters killed his appetite. He just wanted to wash up properly and fall into a deep sleep.

But there was always an exception.

The moment he stepped into the common room, Blaise frowned, a single thought occupying his mind: Had Professor Quirrell infiltrated the Slytherin common room?

Following the scent, he saw Glenn eating at the Slytherin table.

Seeing this, Blaise didn't rush to take his luggage to the dormitory. He set it aside for now—they hadn't returned yet anyway.

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

"Not great. If I could, I'd rather stay in the Hogwarts dormitory and sleep all day." Blaise shook his head.

"Honestly, compared to what I saw at those banquets, even Malfoy seems cute."

He didn't continue, and Glenn didn't press.

Sometimes, there was no need to dig too deep.

With wealth gained that way, one could imagine how many fingers were pointed behind one's back.

Maybe she didn't care, but making an eleven-year-old boy bear all that was still too much.

After a moment of silence, Blaise looked at what Glenn was eating and asked, "What's that?"

"A specialty snack, Oil-Splashed Noodles," Glenn said simply. "Made it myself, with some garlic on the side... Want some?"

Hearing this, Blaise shook his head with a bitter smile.

It smelled good, but he had never been interested in food.

After all, growing up, he had eaten dishes prepared by top chefs from all over Europe.

Could anything be better than their carefully crafted meals?

Not to mention, at this Christmas banquet, his mother had specially hired a renowned French chef—still utterly tasteless.

That was what he thought, but his stomach didn't bother consulting him.

Just as Blaise was about to refuse, his stomach let out an embarrassing growl—he hadn't eaten all day.

"Maybe a little?"

"Mm... thanks."

"Those two... they're driving me crazy." In the library, Hermione fumed.

It was still the holidays, just the last day of Christmas break, but she had come back a day early.

After hearing that Harry and Ron had gotten up in the middle of the night to wander around the school, she was horrified—what if Filch had caught them?

"If you ask me, Glenn, they should learn from you. You never break the rules, and you keep earning points for the house..."

Glenn said nothing.

For some reason, he suddenly recalled a line Sebastian had once said: The essence of earning points is to make it easier to deduct them.

"Ugh, and because of that, they forgot the important stuff?" Hermione said, deeply disappointed.

Before the break started, she had told Harry and Ron to spend more time in the library, reading and researching.

Thinking about it now, Hermione felt a surge of frustration.

"Who even is Nicolas Flamel? He's not in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, not in Notable Modern Magicians, not even in Important Discoveries in Modern Magic or Studies in Recent Witchcraft Development. Is he just not written about in any book?"

"Should I ask him why he hasn't published anything new lately?"

Hermione froze.

"Glenn, that joke isn't funny."

"If I hadn't chosen to stay at Hogwarts this Christmas, I would have spent it at Nicolas Flamel's home." Glenn shrugged.

"After all, theoretically speaking, this great alchemist is my guardian—didn't the Daily Prophet report his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday a few months ago?"

"Great alchemist? Then how could I not find him in any book? I've looked through—wait... six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday?"

At that, she snapped back to reality.

She shot up and walked toward the book section, and this time, she didn't limit herself to modern works. Instead, she grabbed a copy of Notable Alchemists.

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

"Merlin's beard! He's such a famous alchemist, and I didn't even notice... I spent over a month searching!" Hermione said in disbelief.

"I suppose it would be a bit difficult to find a six-hundred-year-old alchemist if you're only looking in modern books," Glenn said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah... that's true." Hermione laughed at herself in frustration.

She couldn't believe she'd spent so much time hunting for this "Nicolas Flamel," only to find the answer right under her nose.

Hearing this, Glenn smiled. "Speaking of which, why were you looking for Nicolas Flamel?"

At that, Hermione hesitated, but after a moment's thought, she figured that since Glenn already knew about their late-night trip to the restricted section, there wasn't much left to hide.

"Well, you remember that last Quidditch match, right..." Hermione held nothing back, recounting how she, Harry, and Ron had visited the gamekeeper Hagrid after the match.

And just like at the Christmas feast—Hagrid could never keep a secret.

From him, they learned that the three-headed dog guarding something on the fourth-floor corridor was connected to Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.

With that, Hermione slid the book she'd just been reading over to Glenn:

Ancient alchemy involved the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, a magical substance with astonishing properties. The Stone can turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, which grants immortality to those who drink it.

There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only one still in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the famous alchemist and opera enthusiast, who now lives in seclusion in Devon with his wife, Perenelle.

Armed with the book's evidence, Hermione's mind raced as she spoke quickly:

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

Hermione's expression turned shocked. "Merlin's beard, and Harry said earlier that Snape's leg was bitten by a big dog... could it be..."

The truth suddenly became so clear.

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

"Maybe I could write a letter to ask on your behalf?" Glenn said thoughtfully.

At that, Hermione nodded gratefully. "If you could, I'd be so grateful. Please, be sure to tell him that his Philosopher's Stone is in danger."

With that settled, she let out a sigh of relief, set the book aside, and flopped her arms onto the table.

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

"They did ask for my help, but..." Before Glenn could finish, Harry and Ron appeared right in front of them.

"Glenn, help us out—make that lion head dish you did yesterday again. I've got bread ready this time..."