Nicolas Flamel's Ant Nest

[Ding ding ding! A mere remnant of a soul dares to call itself the Savior! A foul, neither-human-nor-ghost piece of filth, defying heaven's reason, disrupting order—a heretic and demon that cannot be allowed to exist in this world, defiling the word 'Savior.' Please, set aside your merciful heart, my lord, and cast it into a place of filth for ten thousand years, to punish its presumption!]

[Reward has no upper limit, determined by the degree of its suffering, settled once per year]

-- Huh? You want to be the Savior?

-- Hargi-Voldy! What's wrong with you now!

-- To make the Dogskin Book this angry?

Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement. This was the first time he'd seen an unlimited-reward quest.

Ten thousand years... Didn't that mean he'd have to keep one [Horcrux] for Hargi-Voldy?

To prevent him from kicking the bucket.

Was it the [Resurrection Stone] at the bottom of the sea, the [Hufflepuff's Cup] on the moon, or the [Slytherin's Locket] in Black's old house, which he could grab anytime?

If he counted the [living Horcrux Nagini] that hadn't been made yet and the [Diary] destined to have its Horcrux status severed, Voldemort only had these three Horcruxes left.

But... he still had to do the double-yolk quest to stop Nicolas Flamel from retiring.

Eighth floor of Hogwarts Castle.

The Harry standing before the stone gargoyle had a hint more composure in his eyes than a few hours ago.

"Cockroach Cluster." x2

He and the radiant Gemma said it in unison.

Hermione and Tonks, standing among the crowd, cast envious glances their way.

"Fred, George, put down the toilet seat and don't put it over Percy's head!" Professor McGonagall was organizing order from the side.

The guardian stone beast leaped aside with a clatter, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral stone staircase that rose upward.

At the top was an open oak door.

Inside the door, smoke swirled like pure white clouds, but as they drew closer, they realized it all came from an exquisite silver instrument.

It was only palm-sized, U-shaped, with a long rectangular base beneath it.

In the circular room, the portraits of former headmasters on the dome and walls, the golden-red bird on its golden branch, and even Dumbledore himself were all staring intently at it.

"You've arrived."

Dumbledore noticed their entrance and tapped the silver instrument lightly with his wand.

Golden runes appeared on the silver device, and the smoke and clouds gathered into a pure white door. A staircase extended to their feet.

Paired with the churning mist, it gave Harry a strong sense of déjà vu—like Tom the cat ascending to heaven.

"Is this... our destination on the other side of the door?" Gemma's ice-blue eyes flickered, her hand brushing against Harry's knuckles intentionally or not.

"Yes. Just walk up and push it open." Dumbledore smiled mysteriously. "As for the rest, let Harry explain it to you. I can only say this is an unprecedented opportunity, one most people in this world would crave."

"Nicolas Flamel. We're going to see him." Harry shot a glance at Dumbledore. "Also, speaking plainly is the best virtue. Riddlers get beaten up even outside Gotham."

"Let's go." Harry took Gemma's hand directly. "It's not good to keep an old man waiting too long."

As he pushed the door open, a sudden pulling force came from it.

Harry felt a familiar power acting on his body, and he chose not to resist.

It was the [Shrinking Charm]. He could see his body visibly shrinking, space compressing into a funnel shape.

And now they were heading toward the other end of that funnel.

"Where is this?" After steadying herself and regaining her sight, Gemma looked down at her feet.

She felt as if she were stepping on cobblestones, but when she actually looked down, all she saw were irregular brown clods of earth. Then a shadow flashed overhead.

It was a massive creature. She only caught a glimpse of enormous compound eyes, like a church's stained-glass window, and the wind stirred by the beat of transparent wings.

"That's a dragonfly. We've been shrunk—smaller than Thumbelina." Harry said, lowering his head to freely breathe in the strong scent of earth and the fragrance of grass. "Interesting. So this is what dirt looks like magnified? But I've never felt this texture before."

"It's real!" Gemma noticed a forest. The "trunks" were green, branching upward along the stems of grass.

Ants the size of calves and beetles large enough to carry a person scurried through it.

And they were standing beside a massive, jagged piece of obsidian.

"Of course it's real."

A voice came from beneath the obsidian.

"Ah, I really don't like this door slab much," the voice complained as the obsidian was lifted, revealing an old man with white hair, looking as if a gust of wind might scatter him. "It's a pity the last one was too pretty—a neighbor's kid picked it up and put it in a fish tank."

"I still remember it. It was round, pale purple, with a maple-leaf-shaped red spot on it."

"You... live underground?" Gemma was astonished. She gripped Harry's hand even tighter.

"No one would ever think the greatest alchemist lives in an anthill," Nicolas Flamel shrugged, a hint of self-mockery in his tone. "Even smaller than an ant. Please, come in—Perenelle doesn't like entertaining those little calves with pincers."

Nicolas Flamel stepped aside, motioning for them to enter.

The entrance was a wide corridor sloping downward.

The corridor's walls and ceiling were bare, revealing thick, coarse grass roots and a faintly glowing, unknown species of moss.

The air carried no scent of earth, but rather a refreshing, cool fragrance that seeped into the soul.

"These mosses and roots—I cultivated them all," Nicolas Flamel said, quickening his pace to lead the way. "In fact, I'm quite skilled in Herbology. I've bred many new varieties, but unfortunately Perenelle isn't fond of them, so only these remain."

Harry noticed that the deeper they went, the more energized Nicolas Flamel became. The wrinkles and age spots on his skin were fading, and his stooped frame gradually straightened.

By the time they reached the end of the corridor, before a door made from half a giant acorn shell, Nicolas Flamel had transformed into a middle-aged man.

The edges of the acorn shell door were polished smooth and round. Several tiny colored quartz stones were cleverly embedded into the shell, serving as both handles and decoration, glimmering with a warm luster under the faint glow of the moss.

"In my Alchemy Workshop, death cannot find us," Nicolas Flamel said, placing his hand on the door handle and turning back with a grin. "Of course, this doesn't escape death—it merely blocks its line of sight."

"Death?" Harry asked curiously. "What do you refer to?"

Nicolas didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gave a gentle push.

The acorn shell door swung open silently, and a warm, bright light spilled out from within, carrying the rich scent of herbs, baked goods, and ancient parchment.

"A mechanism." Nicolas's silhouette stood out sharply against the warm glow.

Harry saw a wisp of iridescent steam rising from a cauldron in the center of the room. Inside crystal conduits on the walls, liquid gold and silver flowed slowly like streams of life.

"Just as human emotions brew 'non-existence,' what of the souls that have died throughout the ages?"

"They created death itself." His gaze swept over the intricate alchemical instruments before settling on the fluffy Thistle Down Cushion in the corner, his tone carrying the calm detachment of a researcher.

"It isn't some specific, scythe-wielding entity. More like... a rule born from collective consensus. Similar to the consensus that birds can fly and fish can swim."

He shrugged slightly. "Of course, this is merely my personal speculation."

"Albus and Grindelwald's child hold a different view from mine."