The Alchemy Master's Home

That evening, the Granger family and the Weasley family left. Harry, however, stayed at the Hall home 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 finally understood what a real home was.

After living in this world for eleven years, he had finally experienced the feeling of having a home and family.

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

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

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

Eli watched his mother continuously stuff clothes into a trunk enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm, feeling rather helpless.

The trunk looked small on the outside but was enormous within, and it seemed perfectly suited to Mrs. Hall's tastes. Unlike ordinary trunks, which filled up after only a few things were packed inside, this one left her still wanting more.

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

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

Ah, motherly love crashing down like a landslide.

Eli took out the item enclosed with Nicolas Flamel's letter: a small ball that looked like it was made of copper, without any unusual markings.

According to the letter, as long as he recited the address Nicolas Flamel had enclosed to the little ball three times, then flicked it, 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 restraint, even though he desperately wanted to hug Eli and say, "Laozi can't bear to let you go."

"Okay, I will."

Eli picked up his trunk and looked at his mother and father, who were watching him. He smiled at them, then softly murmured the address from the letter to the little ball.

When he said it for the third time, he lightly flicked the ball, making it tremble.

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 the familiar pulling sensation struck again. An ordinary person might have thrown up.

Eli felt as though he were a small object passing back and forth through tofu, the resistance of space distinctly pressing against him.

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

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

Devon, Britain.

It was an ordinary-looking little courtyard, filled with the flavor of rural England.

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

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

Nicolas Flamel greeted Eli as though he were an ordinary old grandfather.

Except this grandfather was more than six hundred and sixty years old.

Eli felt a little reserved as he carried his trunk inside.

There was no smoking alchemy furnace, no strange tools. Eli even thought he had accidentally entered some ordinary person's home.

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

Without magical protection, they would surely 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 though speaking to himself.

"I've studied alchemy for centuries. I need time and space that have nothing to do with alchemy, don't I? Without that, it would drive me mad. Come on, let's eat. Perenelle specially cooked today, but I think you'd better be careful. She hasn't cooked in over a hundred years."

"You old man, talking badly about me again!"

A somewhat aged voice rang out, though it was still full of vigor.

"Not at all!"

Like a child caught doing something bad, Nicolas Flamel pulled Eli toward the dining room and quietly 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 would be directed at him.

"Oh, then you must have misheard!"

Then he 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 Eli had imagined a meal made by someone who had not cooked in over a hundred years would look.

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

She was a very kindly-looking old woman, nothing like the owner of that fierce voice from before.

She was waving her wand and arranging the dishes on the table.

She invited them both to sit down. Unable to refuse her hospitality, Eli tried a piece of beef.

Hm? It seemed to have no flavor.

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

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

Perenelle looked at him expectantly. "How is it?"

"Delicious... very delicious. The flavor is excellent..."

Eli felt that was the most unconscionable lie he had ever told.

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

Perenelle seemed very pleased with her cooking.

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

"Nick, hurry up and eat too. It's been so long since you last tasted my cooking!"

Suddenly called out, Nicolas Flamel looked at the dishes on the table with the air of someone calmly facing death.

After taking a bite, Eli saw him roll his eyes.

Sir, sir, should I call an ambulance?

Eli was truly afraid he would witness the death of an alchemy master right before his eyes.

Even the Philosopher's Stone might have struggled to save him from this.

Fortunately, the old man was still sturdy. Or perhaps he had grown accustomed to his wife's cooking and developed some resistance.

The old gentleman finally pulled through.

Perenelle looked at Nicolas Flamel's near-death expression, deeply dissatisfied. "Is it really that awful? You looked like that every time you ate my food before!"

She speared a piece of duck breast herself and took a bite. Then, "Blegh..."

Perenelle finally experienced her own cooking. Unable to endure it herself, she had no choice but to remove the dishes.

At Perenelle's command, a House-elf suddenly appeared and began cooking with practiced ease.

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

"I'm so sorry. It's been over a hundred years, so my cooking was bound to have declined a little!"

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

Nicolas Flamel muttered quietly, but under his wife's murderous gaze, he obediently lowered his head and fell silent.

Watching the House-elf work so capably, Eli wondered whether he could get one too.

Perhaps it could help him manage his businesses someday?

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

Now all he needed to buy were herb seeds.

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