The Alchemy Master's Home

That evening, the Grangers and the Weasleys left. Harry, however, stayed with the Halls for the time being.

He remained there until Eli received a letter from Nicolas Flamel.

Though he had only stayed for a few short days, Harry had finally experienced what a real home was.

After living in this world for eleven years, he had finally felt what it was like to have a home and a family.

When he returned to the Dursleys' house, he was incredibly reluctant to leave, as though he were leaving his true home.

Eli was also about to begin his holiday studies. It was sure to be an exceptionally fulfilling break.

"Mom, enough. Stop stuffing clothes into my trunk."

Eli looked helplessly at his mother, who was still relentlessly cramming clothes into a trunk enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm.

The trunk looked small on the outside but was enormous within, which seemed to suit Mrs. Hall perfectly. Unlike an ordinary trunk that filled up after only a few things were packed inside, this one left her feeling as though she had not yet had her fill.

Only this trunk could barely ease her reluctance to part with him by letting her stuff clothes and other belongings into it.

By the time Mrs. Hall shoved in the last item, more than half of Eli's room had been emptied.

Ah, maternal love as overwhelming as a landslide.

Eli took out the item enclosed with Nicolas Flamel's letter: a small ball that looked like it was made of copper, with no unusual patterns on it.

According to the letter, as long as he recited the address Nicolas Flamel had included to the little ball three times, then flicked it once, he would be able to travel to Nicolas Flamel's place.

It sounded a little like Apparition, or a Portkey.

Of course, Apparition could never compare to a Portkey. It was only slightly better in terms of convenience.

Only then did Mr. Hall put down his newspaper. "Eli, take good care of yourself. Don't cause trouble for your teacher."

Mr. Hall always maintained a father's reserved dignity, even though he desperately wanted to hug Eli and say, "Laozi doesn't want you to go."

"Okay, I will."

Eli lifted his trunk. Looking at his mother and father as they watched him, he smiled at them, then softly murmured the address from the letter to the little ball.

When he had recited it for the third time, he gently flicked the ball, making it tremble incessantly.

The trembling did not stop. As if it had suddenly been activated, it grew increasingly violent.

The space around him suddenly began to twist, and that familiar pulling sensation struck again. An ordinary person might have vomited.

Eli felt as though he were a small object tunneling back and forth through tofu, with the resistance of space vividly clear around him.

The process lasted a little longer than it had during his trip to Knockturn Alley.

The sensation of traveling vanished, and he had arrived at his destination.

Devon, Britain.

It was a very ordinary-looking little courtyard, full of the rustic charm of the English countryside.

At the very least, it did not look much like the home of an alchemy master.

"Oh, Eli, come in quickly. Dinner's already ready."

Nicolas Flamel greeted Eli like an ordinary old grandfather, inviting him inside.

Except this grandfather was over six hundred and sixty years old.

Eli was somewhat restrained as he carried his trunk inside.

There were no smoking alchemical furnaces, no strange tools. Eli even thought he had wandered into an ordinary person's home by mistake.

The walls were merely covered in opera posters. Some looked very old, while some had even been drawn by hand.

Without magical protection, they surely would have turned to ash long ago.

"Doesn't look much like an alchemist's home, does it?"

Nicolas Flamel stood beside Eli, looking at the opera posters as he spoke almost to himself.

"I've studied alchemy for hundreds of years. I need time and space that doesn't belong to alchemy, don't I? Without it, I'd go mad. All right, come eat. Perenelle cooked especially today, but I think you'd better be careful. She hasn't cooked in over a hundred years."

"You old man, are you badmouthing me again?!"

A somewhat aged but still vigorous voice came from inside.

"Nothing of the sort!"

Like a child caught doing something bad, Nicolas Flamel pulled Eli toward the dining room and whispered to him.

"After all these years, her temper hasn't changed one bit."

"You're still talking!"

Eli did not even dare nod, afraid her fury might reach him.

"Oh, then you must have heard wrong!"

Then Nicolas Flamel muttered in an extremely low voice, "Damn it, aren't her ears deaf yet?"

The table was quite lavish. At least, it looked nothing like what Eli had imagined food cooked by someone who had not cooked in over a century would be.

"Oh, Eli, I'm so happy to meet you. Sit down and try my cooking."

She was a very kind-looking old woman, nothing like the owner of that fiery voice from moments ago.

She was waving her wand as she arranged the dishes on the table.

She invited the two of them to sit. Unable to refuse her warm hospitality, Eli tried a piece of beef.

Hm? It seemed to have no flavor.

He took another bite of duck breast. "Ah—ha—"

One mouthful of salt nearly choked him to death, and saliva flooded his mouth.

Perenelle looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"D-Delicious. It tastes very good..."

Eli felt that this was the most dishonest thing he had ever said.

"Oh, I think it's pretty good too. Looks like my cooking hasn't declined after all these years!"

Perenelle looked quite pleased with her cooking.

Nicolas Flamel had clearly seen Eli's expression. Perhaps because he knew his wife's cooking well, a bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.

"Nicolas, hurry up and eat too. You haven't tasted my cooking in so long!"

Suddenly called out, Nicolas Flamel looked at the dishes on the table with the air of a man calmly walking toward death.

After one bite, Eli watched him roll his eyes.

Sir, sir, should I call an ambulance?

Eli was truly afraid he was about to witness the death of an alchemy master firsthand.

Even the Philosopher's Stone might not be able to save him from this.

Fortunately, the old man was still hardy. Or perhaps he had grown used to his wife's cooking and had built up some resistance.

The old gentleman finally pulled through.

Perenelle looked very displeased at Nicolas Flamel's near-death expression. "Is it really that bad? You made that face every time you ate my cooking before!"

She stabbed a piece of duck breast herself, took a bite, and then went, "Bleurgh..."

Perenelle finally experienced her own cooking. Even she could not bear it, so she had the food taken away.

Perenelle gave an order, and a house-elf suddenly appeared, then began cooking with practiced ease.

It seemed the house-elf usually handled the cooking as well.

"I'm terribly sorry. After more than a hundred years, my cooking skills were bound to decline a little!"

"No, you've always been remarkably consistent."

Nicolas Flamel muttered quietly, but under his wife's murderous gaze, he silently lowered his head.

Seeing how capable the house-elf was, Eli wondered whether he could get one too.

Perhaps it could help him manage his business when the time came?

He had already bought a plot of land in Britain for growing herbs.

Now all he needed were seeds.

Fortunately, the Ministry of Magic did not require him to be an adult. Otherwise, Eli, barely in his teens, truly would not have been able to buy that land.