That morning, Diagon Alley saw crowds unlike any it had ever known.
The newsstands were packed solid, wizards clutching freshly printed copies of the Daily Prophet. Some even snatched a copy and flipped to the front page before bothering to pay.
"Merlin... Rita really has gone mad this time." A witch in a purple bowler hat covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
"What she wrote... I thought it over carefully, and it actually seems to make sense," a wizard beside her said in a low voice.
"Just take that turban of Quirrell's. Did Dumbledore really never suspect anything?"
"Exactly! And Potter really did live on Privet Drive for eleven years. Dumbledore never visited him once, and he only sent Hagrid to fetch him the day before term started!"
"If he wasn't using him to deal with You-Know-Who, why wait until he was eleven to take him away?"
Inside the Leaky Cauldron, the fire blazed in the hearth, and the din of voices bubbled like a boiling cauldron.
Tom had to open every window, or the steam and heat would have suffocated everyone.
"I always thought there was something off about Dumbledore," an old wizard with a pipe between his lips said, slapping the table. "He's too perfect. So perfect he doesn't seem real. Who goes through life without ever making a mistake?"
"Then tell me this. If he really wanted to use Potter to destroy You-Know-Who, why didn't he act sooner?" a young wizard across from him retorted. "Why wait until now?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he needed Potter to grow a little older so his body could withstand the impact of the magic?"
"That's utterly ridiculous."
"Ridiculous, am I? Then explain why Dumbledore kept Quirrell at the school when he knew perfectly well that he was possessed!"
The young wizard opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In the end, he could only grunt and tip his head back for a swallow of his drink.
At the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, Madam Rosmerta polished glasses as she listened to her customers' discussions.
"If you ask me, Dumbledore really didn't do enough," a witch in dark green robes said, shaking her head.
"That Potter boy... I heard he never had a full meal before he went to Hogwarts."
"That's awful. He's the hero who saved the entire Wizarding World!"
"A hero? In Dumbledore's eyes, perhaps he was just a useful tool."
"Exactly. I think Dumbledore looks respectable on the surface, but he's actually a complete hypocrite!"
Inside Honeydukes, several young witches sat in a corner with newspapers in their hands and differing expressions on their faces.
"I think this article goes too far," a blonde witch said. "Dumbledore isn't that sort of person."
"But there really is no explaining the things it mentions." A dark-haired witch bit her lip. "Why did he leave Potter with such an awful family?"
"Didn't the book say they were Potter's only living relatives? Perhaps Dumbledore thought they would treat him a little better?"
"Nonsense! Chapter 1 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone made it perfectly clear that Professor McGonagall tried to stop Dumbledore from leaving Potter with his relatives."
"Perhaps he had difficulties of his own..."
"What difficulties could possibly justify not caring whether a child lived or died?"
Discussion rose on every side. The almost worshipful trust people had once placed in Dumbledore was now beginning to crack.
Some still firmly supported Dumbledore, believing Rita's article was pure fabrication.
But more people began to waver, beginning to wonder whether another face really did lurk behind that ever-smiling, white-bearded old man.
In his office at the Ministry of Magic, Fudge read the latest Daily Prophet, and his first smile in days finally appeared.
"Well done, Rita," he murmured, lifting his teacup for a large gulp. "Let's see how that old fellow keeps up his saintly act now."
He leaned back in his chair, feeling the great weight on his chest finally ease a little.
As long as public criticism was directed at Dumbledore, no one would have the energy to pursue the Ministry of Magic's failures in the Quirrell incident.
How perfect!
He could not help patting his own head smugly. "That's you all over, Cornelius!"
Meanwhile, far away in a stone house removed from the bustle in Devon, Great Britain, flames burned quietly in the hearth.
Nicolas Flamel sat in an oak armchair, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet that had just arrived by owl.
He looked exceedingly old, his face covered in fine wrinkles, but his eyes remained clear, shining with a calm light detached from worldly affairs.
He had lived for over six hundred years and witnessed far too many shifts in power and rises and falls in fame.
To him, Rita's highly inflammatory article was no more than a fleeting ripple.
"Albus," he said, resting the newspaper on his knees and looking up at his old friend on the sofa opposite, "they must be making quite an uproar out there by now."
Dumbledore sat on the sofa and blew on the hot tea in his hands, seemingly unconcerned by the turmoil in the Wizarding World.
"As expected." He sipped his tea. "Rita always knows how to catch people's attention."
"Aren't you worried at all?" Nicolas asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Dumbledore set down his teacup and rested his interlaced fingers on his knees.
"This is not the first time I have been misunderstood in my life, nor will it be the last."
"Reputation is rather like the moon. Sometimes it is full, and sometimes it wanes."
"But as long as we remain true to ourselves, the moon will always shine in the night sky again, will it not?"
Nicolas shook his head with a chuckle. After all these years, Albus was still just as composed.
Even his casual remarks were so philosophical.
"Then I assume you didn't come here today merely for tea and conversation?" Nicolas asked.
Dumbledore nodded. He took a small velvet pouch from an inside pocket of his robes and placed it on the coffee table between them.
The pouch had not been tied shut, revealing a dark red stone inside.
It was the very same Philosopher's Stone from before.
Nicolas's gaze fell on the stone, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Albus, what are you...?"
"I have no use for it for the time being," Dumbledore said calmly, shaking his head.
"Voldemort has discovered its existence. Although he has escaped for now, sooner or later he will set his sights on it again."
"Hogwarts's defenses are formidable, but they are not impenetrable, and I certainly cannot carry it with me at all times."
"After much thought, I decided it would be safest with you. After all, the alchemical creations around your house are hardly there for decoration."
"I haven't thought about extending my life for a long time, Albus." Nicolas gazed at the Philosopher's Stone, shaking his head with a sigh. "More than six hundred years is long enough."
"I know." Dumbledore nodded. "But extending life is not the Philosopher's Stone's only use, is it?"
"Many of your alchemical items need the Philosopher's Stone to work more effectively, do they not?"
A helpless smile appeared on Nicolas's lips at having been seen through.
"You really do know everything I have."
"We are old friends, after all." Dumbledore smiled faintly.
Nicolas reached out, picked up the Philosopher's Stone, and studied it in his palm for a moment.
"Indeed, certain special transmutations cannot be performed without it. It would be more useful here with me."
He tucked the Philosopher's Stone into his robes. "Then I'll keep it here for now. If you ever need it, come and collect it whenever you like."
"Thank you," Dumbledore said, standing and straightening his robes.
As he reached the door, Nicolas called after him.
"Albus."
Dumbledore turned around.
Nicolas wore a rarely seen look of seriousness. He put down the newspaper in his hands and looked his old friend in the eyes.
"You really should clarify matters regarding that article." Nicolas pointed at the newspaper on his knees. "I know you have no taste for empty fame, but you must understand what your reputation means to the entire Wizarding World."
"If you let them carry on like this, your reputation will be utterly ruined. People will see you as a second Grindelwald, only more hypocritical."
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, a trace of complicated emotion flashing in his eyes.
"I do not care what others think of me, Nicolas."
"Very well, you don't care." Nicolas's voice grew stern. "But have you considered who will organize the resistance if Voldemort truly returns?"
"If the people of the Wizarding World no longer trust you, how many will answer when you call upon them?"
"Do you really believe that relying on the Chosen One from some nebulous prophecy will stop him?"
"An eleven-year-old boy? He cannot even cast a complete Patronus Charm yet."
Dumbledore stood in the doorway, listening quietly. He seemed to have aged a great deal all at once.
"I understand."
The wooden door slowly closed behind him with a faint click.
Nicolas looked at the closed door and sighed softly.
He glanced down at the Daily Prophet in his hands. Rita Skeeter's name was printed prominently beneath the headline.
He scoffed and placed the newspaper facedown on the table, as though he had seen something filthy.
Austria, deep in the Alps.
Nurmengard Castle stood alone among the snowy peaks, its gray stone walls scoured rough and hard by the mountain winds.
In a room on the castle's top floor, a thin old man sat in a chair by the window.
Deep wrinkles covered his face, but his eyes remained bright and piercing.
The latest issue of the Daily Prophet lay open before him. He had clearly finished reading the entire page of reporting.
A mocking smile curled the old man's lips, and he shook his head as though in derision.
"After all these years, you have never truly changed..."
"You always think that as long as you stand on the side of justice, any means can be forgiven."
He slowly turned his head, looking through the narrow window toward the distant sweep of snowy peaks.
Golden sunlight poured through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the words above the castle's main gate:
"For the Greater Good."