That Old Black Magic

It had been less than two days that Albus had sent the missive to Nicholas, and already the man had responded. The transfiguration Professor had not expected such a hasty reply but having so meant only one of two things. Either Harry's ailment was elementary for the aged Alchemist, or, as Albus suspected, it was a particularly difficult matter that his old mentor wished to investigate further before acting.

The thought of the boy brought a pensive frown to the man.

Harry was quite the enigma. Not only because of his rather impressive journey through time, but all the other strange occurrences that surrounded him; a basilisk, dementors, an encounter with a dragon…

The list went on.

If Albus had not spoken to the boy for himself, hadn't heard the pain with which he spoke or seen the truth in his eyes, he would be hard-pressed to believe one person could have endured so much, especially one so young.

Had there been any happiness for him?

If there was, there couldn't have been much.

It saddened him to think of a child living such a life.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a trill from Fawkes.

"I know," he soothed, stroking the phoenix's plumage. "I am worried about him too."

Fawkes was quite taken with Harry. Perhaps the bond he shared with the boy had transcended time with him. Harry had one of the feathers as his wand core the bird had donated, and his tears flowing through his veins.

That must be quite the connection he shared with his wand. He was still rather keen to have it inspected by Ollivander, though he would not push for it.

That was not what Harry needed.

The boy needed some freedom, an escape from all the terrible things that had befallen him, and Albus wanted to allow that.

But first, he needed to be cured of whatever it was ailing him.

"It's time. Could you fetch him?"

Fawkes nodded and disappeared in plume of fire.

He returned a few moments later with Nicholas, the man shot Albus an amused smirk.

"You always were one for theatrics, Albie," he chuckled. "Not that I don't appreciate the assistance."

Albus smiled warmly at his mentor and took his hand in his own before shaking it.

"Thank you for your help, Nicholas," he said sincerely. "This is far beyond my own capabilities."

"Hogwash," Flamel said dismissively. "If you did not have me at your disposal, you would have figured it out eventually. You're a clever man, and you learned from me."

"Ever humble I see," Albus chuckled. "Thank you for your help on the matter. I have never heard of anything like this."

"Nor I," Nicholas sighed. "Even my rather extensive delving into the obscure over the centuries was little help, though I have narrowed it down to only a few possibilities, none of which fill me with joy. I will need to speak to the boy, but first, any other information you have could be of invaluable assistance."

Albus deflated slightly.

"I do not wish to break his trust, Nicholas."

'Not even to potentially save his life?" Flamel returned. "Come, Albie, anything I learn will go no further. Our agreement on confidence still stands, even now that you are no longer my apprentice."

Albus nodded his understanding.

"Where to begin," he muttered.

It took several minutes to explain what he knew about Harry, that when he thought about it, equated to very little, but what he did know was of little comfort.

"He did mention an odd fascination that dementors seem to have with him," Albus said with a frown. "So much so that he mastered the patronus charm at thirteen-years-old to protect himself from them."

"Forgetting the rather exceptional feat of the young man, did he say anything else about the dementors?" Nicholas asked.

Flamel nodded appreciatively.

"Only that he hears his mother's final moments, her pleading for his life."

Nicholas shook his head as he mumbled under his breath. After a moment, his eyes widened.

"No, surely not," he muttered.

"Nicholas?"

The older man held a hand up to silence Albus as he rushed towards the desk and picked up a quill.

Dumbledore watched as his mentor scratched away, writing in a language he did not recognise and drawing what appeared to be runic circles.

When he was done, he shook his head once more.

"As improbable as it is, it is the only explanation," he murmured. "Is there anything else, Albus? Anything at all?"

It must be serious. Nicholas never used his full name unless it was.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked cautiously.

"Think, Albus," Nicholas urged. "You are a very accomplished occlumens. What is your earliest memory?"

"Watching my father cutting wood in his workshop," Dumbledore answered fondly. "I was three."

"And how old was the boy when his mother was murdered?"

"He said he was a little over a year old."

"And there is the problem," Nicholas sighed. "Even such a significant traumatic event would not leave a memory so vivid, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded.

"But what does it mean?"

"I am almost certain, but I will need to speak with him. If it is what I believe, it is paramount that he is helped as quickly as possible."

"Then perhaps we should speak with Armando first. He will be able to send for Harry."

(Break)

Even though there were so many uncertainties that he had to contend with, there was one thing that Harry was absolutely sure of: He would need to be prepared for anything that he may face in the coming years.

Firstly, he would need to pick up with where he left off with whilst working with the DA, though this time he had the added benefit of only having to think of himself, to practice his own spell work.

There would be no more checking on the others, correcting their mistakes in lieu of spending time on his ow practice. No, for once in his life, this venture would be all about him.

He had decided to begin with the Area Spell, a tricky little charm to get right, but the results were something to behold. He had seen the effect it had in Dumbledore's office, and though it would only be useful in scenarios such as that, he was keen to perfect it.

Had he done so before entering the Ministry the night Sirius had died, it could have made a difference.

He shook his head of those thoughts. It would not do to keep dwelling on them, not when he needed to focus on the task at hand.

The difficulty he found in such was that there was no incantation, something that Dippet said they would be working on but had not done so yet. Non-verbal magic was a necessity for Harry to learn, but where to start?

He had seen both Dumbledore and Voldemort use it so casually during their duel, and Harry needed to be as proficient as them, but how?

As though the room of requirement had read his thoughts, a book fell off the shelf in the training, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Frowning, Harry retrieved it.

Connect With your Magic: A Comprehensive Guide to Intent-Based Practice

It was not a particularly lengthy book but was an old one and would take up several hours of reading at the very least. Having spent much of the past five years avoiding it when he could, Harry knew that would no longer be possible.

He did not have Hermione to do that for him any longer, after all.

With a sigh, he settled into a chair and began the menial task.

He didn't know how long he had been at work, but by the time he had finished around a third of the book, he'd accumulated quite the pile of notes he had taken.

It was an interesting book if a little dry at times, but he felt a sense of satisfaction at having taken in what he had and felt that he was beginning to understand the process of casting his magic non-verbally.

For the most part, it would merely take practice, but there were many facets to it.

"Concentrate, Cast, Control," he muttered, writing down the mantra given in the text.

It was when he read the follow-on paragraph, however, that the undertaking truly began to make sense to him.

The difficulty in casting non-verbally does not lie in the casting itself. One will find that even more complicated spells to master are easier to achieve if the spell does not require prolonged concentration.

A poignant example of this would be the use of the levitation charm compared to a blasting curse of any descript.

The latter requires only a moment of concentration, with no effort needed to maintain the desired effect of the spell. When it leaves the wand of the caster, concentration is no longer necessary. The spell will work as intended from when it is cast.

The levitation charm, however, is one that requires focus to maintain throughout its use. From when it is cast, concentration is required to maintain the effect of the spell. Any lapse in this will see the charm fail.

Building towards these types of spells is paramount. You will be better served mastering non-verbal magic that does not require prolonged focus even if such spells are more difficult to master initially.

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

It was a logical approach to the practice, and as such, he marked the page where he had finished reading before taking his place opposite the training dummy.

Perhaps a stunning spell would be a good place to start? He was quite familiar with it after all.

Readying himself, he took aim with his wand.

Nothing.

Try as he might, he could not get anything to happen.

He didn't expect for it to be so simple, but he thought that he would perhaps at least feel reaction of sorts from within him or his wand.

Undeterred, however, he tried again, and several more times after, to no avail.

Steadily, it became more and more frustrating. With nothing to show for his efforts he released an irritable sigh as he took his seat once more, wondering what he was doing wrong.

He had read and understood the theory, was certain that he was approaching it in the right way, it just wasn't working for him.

It was testing his patience to say the least.

With a sigh, his thoughts turned to the conversation he had shared with the headmaster the previous morning.

"…you made the necessary adjustments. That is what the difference is between a good wizard and a great one, knowing when to change your tact."

Perhaps there was something he was doing wrong, or something he was missing?

Regardless, it was something he would need to pick up again later. Professor Dippet was expecting him in his office soon and Harry needed to make his way there.

Still, his morning thus far had been productive. The book had been very useful, and he was determined to master non-verbal casting. It was something he would need in the future, and if truth be told, he could not progress much further with what it was he wished to learn without it.

Even the set of books Sirius had gifted him reiterated both the benefit and necessity of casting without vocalising intent. Many of the spells in there also had no incantation to which he could rely on.

"Intent-based magic," Harry murmured.

The first time he had truly understand what that meant was when he had spent his days during fourth year mastering the summoning charm. It was very much the same thing, only without the benefit of having an incantation to rely on.

Taking his leave from the room of requirement, his resolve had not wavered, but he would not deny that he had his work cut out for him.

Maybe Dippet would have some insight on the matter?

He knew that he shouldn't be so disheartened by failing to begin with, but the non-verbal aspect of his magic was only the beginning of his journey.

He would ask the headmaster; he was due to arrive at the office shortly anyway.

Frustrated, but hopeful, Harry took his leave from the room of requirement and headed there as he had the previous morning, wondering just what the man would ask of him today.

Yesterday, he had completed some charms work, so today he was anticipating either potions or defence, the latter being preferred.

Much to his surprise, when he did reach the office, it was to be met with three matching gazes, all grim and one unfamiliar.

"Is this him?"

Dippet nodded.

"I was just going to send for you, Harry," he said gravely. "You of course know Professor Dumbledore. This gentleman is Nicholas Flamel," he introduced the other.

Harry was taken aback by the appearance of the man, and more than a little confused.

"The same Flamel who created the Philosopher's stone?"

"And helped this one with his work on the twelve uses of dragon's blood," the man himself replied. "You must be a rather well-read young man to have come across me."

"I've heard of you," Harry returned cryptically.

He was not about to divulge his knowledge of the man nor what had transpired the last time he had seen the stone.

"A boy who keeps his cards close to his chest," Flamel said approvingly.

Harry merely nodded as he eyed the man questioningly.

"Harry, Mr Flamel has come today regarding your curse scar," Dippet interjected.

The man was worried, that was easy to see.

"What about it?" Harry asked defensively, his hand reaching for his mark as he spoke.

"I wish to discuss some things with you in the hopes that I can rid you of the effects," Nicholas answered. "Anything you disclose to me will go no further."

Harry frowned.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, to begin with, I would like to see the memory of what happened the night your parents died. I would not ask if it was not important."

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.

"Perhaps a little sensitivity would not go amiss, Nicholas."

Flamel snorted.

"He is a boy that respects honesty and bluntness," Flamel said dismissively. "Why waste time sugar-coating shit? You can cover it in as much as you like, Albie, but it is still shit."

Both Dippet and Dumbledore gave Flamel a look of disapproval.

"If the boy wants rid of it, then I need clarity and honesty, just as much as he does," the older man continued.

Harry was not sure.

He had never shared the memory with anyone and was reluctant to do so, however, the thought of being rid of the headaches and visions he had endured over the years was difficult to ignore.

"I want to help you, young man. That is all."

"Okay," Harry finally agreed, placing his wand to his temple and withdrawing it.

"Armando, I will need to borrow your pensieve," Flamel requested, accepting the memory strand from Harry.

The headmaster complied, retrieving the stone basin and placing it on the desk.

"There will be no need for either of you to join me," Nicholas said firmly to the two other men before adding the memory and submerging himself.

He returned a few moments later, his head shaking and his expression one of sympathy as he gazed at Harry.

"I'm sorry that you remember that," he offered sincerely, "but the truth is, you shouldn't. You were but a babe when that happened, it shouldn't be possible for you to see it all so vividly."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I cannot be certain, but I believe I am close," Nicholas replied. "I have a few other questions that I need answering and then I will be closer."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"The man that attacked you, what happened to him?"

Harry shrugged.

"Everyone thought he had died, but he didn't. He came back a little over a year ago."

"He came back?"

"He completed a ritual and got a body back."

"Goodness me, is that even possible?" Dippet asked.

Flamel frowned as he nodded.

"It is," he answered simply, "though to do so narrows down how he survived considerably. That curse should have killed him and you," he added to Harry. "This ritual, do you happen to know it?"

Harry swallowed deeply.

"I was there," he confirmed. "He used the bone of his father, the hand of one of his servants, and my blood."

"Your blood? Why yours specifically?"

"He said that it made him stronger, that the protection of my mother wouldn't work if he had it."

Nicholas's eyes widened for a moment and both Dumbledore and Dippet looked horrified.

"Your mother's protection," Flamel mused aloud.

"Old magic," Harry sighed. "He said that it was old magic."

Flamel nodded severely.

"Old and very dangerous magic," he muttered. "If he wished to harm you, he would have needed to nullify it. I suppose that was why he needed your blood so desperately. But the question I do have is why you? He told your mother to step aside, that he would spare her life. He came for you, didn't he?"

"Yes."

Flamel released a deep breath.

"Why? Why would a man go to so much effort to kill a child? What is so special about you, young man?"

Harry did not want to answer that question. As such. He shook his head.

"Fine," Flamel huffed. "Did you encounter him anymore before he got his body back?"

"Twice more," Harry answered.

"How?"

"The first time he had possessed another man. His face was on the back of his head."

Flamel frowned but held up his hand to prevent Dumbledore and Dippet speaking.

"And the second?"

Harry released a deep breath and shrugged.

"It was him, but not him. It was a younger version of him that came out of a diary after he'd been possessing a little girl and having her do his bidding."

"Merlin," Dippet gasped.

"What happened to this diary?" Flamel pressed urgently.

"I destroyed it," Harry answered.

"Are you certain, boy? What did you use?"

The man was becoming frantic, and it made Harry nervous.

Just what was the alchemist thinking?

"With a basilisk fang. I stabbed it, and the him that came from the diary vanished."

"A basilisk fang," Flamel replied interestedly, somewhat calming.

"Why does that matter?" Harry enquired.

"Because basilisk venom is one of very few ways that one can be destroyed."

"One of what, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked.

"For now, that is unimportant. I need answers, Albie, not questions," Flamel chastised lightly. "Have you ever had any…dreams where you were seeing things through another person's eyes?" he pressed the teen.

Harry nodded.

Whatever Flamel thought he was onto was likely correct. So many deductions could not merely be coincidence.

"I had visions of him, what he was up to when he was particularly angry."

"When he loses control of his composure," Nicholas murmured thoughtfully, a frown creasing his brow. "Just two more questions, young man."

Harry gestured for the alchemist to continue, ignoring the discomfort he felt under his gaze.

"Are there any things that you can do that you have no explanation for, things that don't make sense beyond what someone your age can do?"

"Harry is quite the talented wizard, Nicholas, but none more so than either I or you were at his age," Dumbledore defended.

"I was not referring to his talent, Albus. I was referring to knowledge or capabilities he has that he does not know the origins of."

Dumbledore remained quiet, he too looking as curiously at the nervous teen as Flamel and Dippet were.

"There is one thing," Harry sighed. "The man who attacked me was a parselmouth and, from what I have been told, he passed that ability on to me."

Dumbledore and Dippet were certainly surprised by the revelation, but Flamel shook his head.

"Preposterous," he denied firmly. "Willingly or not so, you cannot pass abilities like that from one wizard or witch to another. No, there is a much simpler explanation than that, an unsettling one, but one that is the only fathomable truth as to what is ailing you."

"Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked worriedly.

Flamel released a deep breath.

"Just one moment, Albie," he muttered, eying Harry questioningly. "I can help you, young man, but you must put considerable trust in me to do so. I need complete honesty from yourself, do you understand?"

The man's thoughtfulness had all but faded and his expression was now one of grave severity. Harry did not know what he was inflicted with, but Flamel seemingly did, and he certainly was not going to turn away the only person that has ever declared they could help him.

"Of course," he acquiesced, nervous but also anticipating the revelation of his condition.

"Why did the man come for you that night?"

That was the one question Harry dreaded. He had avoided answering it the first time, but Flamel was evidently of the belief that it was important.

With a deflating sigh and a sad smile, he met the man's stare before speaking.

"Because a prophecy was made."

"A prophecy?" Nicholas asked.

Harry had expected him to scoff, but if anything, he looked more unsettled than he had.

"A prophecy?" Dippet parroted.

Flamel shushed the man, his eyes not leaving Harry.

"What is the nature of this prophecy?"

The words had haunted him since he had heard them in Dumbledore's office, the very same night he arrived here. In the quietest hours, the would repeat themselves in his mind, that foreboding voice of Sybil Trelawney goading him.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

Both Dumbledore and Dippet were aghast at the contents, both of their eyes flickering towards where Harry's hair hid his scar.

"That is rather ominous," Flamel mused aloud. "He heard this and decided that you were the one the prophecy referred to?"

Harry nodded.

"Hogwash," Dippet denied. "Prophecies? Dark Lords?"

"I would urge you to not be so dismissive of magic you do not understand, Dippet," Flamel warned. "Even prophecies have their place. This young man finds himself a victim of one, yet something much more sinister has happened in the process. I suppose that it does explain the memory he showed me also and how he stands before us now."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

Flamel offered him a smile of sympathy.

"My boy, I have no doubt that you survived the ordeal because of what your mother did, as unintentional as it was."

"Unintentional?"

Flamel nodded.

"It is indeed old magic, and unlikely anything she knew regardless of how wonderful she may have been," he replied. "No, what she did was unwittingly take advantage of the residual magic of the man who attacked you. Her plea and that magic was enough to result in a ritual of sorts, a dark one at that."

"My mother was not a dark witch!" Harry snapped.

"Of course, she wasn't," Flamel comforted. "Even from the little I saw of her, she was a doting and caring mother, one that gave her life so that you may live, but I do not think for one second she knew what she had done with her final plea to spare your life."

"What do you mean, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked.

"She unintentionally instigated quite the feat of magic through no fault of her own. It was the man that attacked you that is to blame for what happened, but their combined efforts saved your life," Flamel said to Harry.

"Combined efforts?" Dippet asked curiously.

"Again, not intentional," Flamel reiterated, "but I believe that the man that attacked you completed a ritual shortly before he came to your home that night with your death contributing to the desired result," he said to Harry.

"What on earth was he trying to achieve?" Dippet questioned.

"Immortality," Nicholas answered simply.

Neither Harry nor Dippet understood the implications, but Dumbledore recoiled in horror.

"Surely not?" he gasped.

Flamel nodded affirmatively.

"I'm afraid so, though the result certainly was not what he was hoping to achieve, but one that leaves us in quite the quandary. The question isn't how to remove it, such a thing is quite impossible without negligent experimentation. No, the task we have is to mitigate it, and perhaps find a way that it can be of use to the boy."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully as Harry continued to look questioningly towards Flamel. He was becoming rather concerned now.

"What are you thinking, Nicholas?" Dumbledore pressed.

"I believe that whatever protection the boy's mother implemented, albeit unintentional, is partially shielding him from it. It served the purpose of preserving his life but led to quite the phenomenon of drawing from the same magic the attacker had used to prepare his own body for the extraction. As such, this is the result," he explained, gesturing to Harry who had finally lost his patience.

"Could one of you just please explain what the hell has happened to me?" he snapped.

"Ah, of course," Flamel said apologetically, no longer continuing his tangent as he gave Harry his full attention. "My boy, there is no easy way to say this, but you have been turned into a horcrux of sorts."

Harry frowned and shrugged.

"What does that mean?"

Nicholas sighed.

"It means that, somehow, you are carrying a part of the soul of the man that attacked you," he answered bluntly.

Harry's frown deepened.

He did not know what that meant, but he suddenly felt rather sick at the thought of having any part of Voldemort near him.

"His soul?" he asked. "What even is a horcrux?"

Flamel nodded severely.

"Very unpleasant magic indeed," Dumbledore answered unhappily.

"A practice seldom used because of the process it takes to create one. If someone is willing to go to such lengths to achieve what they believe to be a status of immortality, then they are as foolish as they are unhinged. The soul is what makes us who we are, and if you begin taking pieces of that away from yourself, then you are something much less, a being of your own desire. To create one, you must already lack conscience, empathy, and care of others. To tear a soul away that is already inflicted by such inhumanity only accentuates that negativity further."

"That still doesn't explain what a horcrux is," Harry pointed out.

"It doesn't," Dippet agreed.

Flamel hummed, evidently pondering how best to explain it.

"A horcrux is nothing more than a container that houses a piece of a person's soul. In theory, if that person were to be killed, they can be resurrected into another body, should they know how to create one, of course," he informed them.

"Even something already living with its' own soul?" Dippet questioned.

"Although it is all but unheard of, yes," Flamel replied. "This young man here is proof that such a thing is possible."

"Good grief," Dippet whispered, looking worriedly at Harry. "How do you get rid of it?"

"Of a soul? Out of the question unless you use soul magic. The killing curse would do the trick, though I would be very reluctant to attempt it. No, removing the soul is out of the question. The only way to be rid of it would be to destroy the vessel, as this young man has already achieved. Again, you coincidentally had a basilisk fang to hand. Were you try anything else but very few other measures, you would have been unsuccessful with your efforts."

"Well, what else can destroy them?" Dippet pressed.

"The only other known method is the use of Fiendfyre, no more desirable than the killing curse I'm afraid."

"But you said you can help him!" the headmaster pointed out.

"I can and will," Flamel answered calmly, "but it will not be the soul piece I will remove. It will be the protection of his mother. That will be much simpler."

"But what will happen to the soul piece, Nicholas?"

Flamel nodded appreciatively at the question from his former mentee.

"I cannot be certain. Perhaps Harry will experience nothing from his own soul absorbing the foreign piece, but, if he has already inherited such ability from it from only partial exposure, there could be more changes to his magic. I expect his own soul will only take in traits that will benefit him and render the rest useless. This is unprecedented," he reminded the other three within the office.

"Is there not a danger that this soul piece could take possession of him?"

Nicholas shook his head firmly.

"No, a partial soul could never hope to seize control of a whole one, no matter how malignant and unpleasant it is."

"That's all well and good," Harry huffed irritably, having grown tired of being talked about as though he was not there, "but how do you know all of this?"

The grin that Flamel gave him was almost chiding.

"I learned of horcruxes many centuries ago. I did create the Philosopher's Stone, didn't I? Do you not think I spent many years beforehand seeking out all other possibilities of immortality?"

"I suppose that makes sense," Harry conceded.

"Of course, it does," Nicholas sighed. "Far be it from me to judge any that seeks the same goal I did, but I could not fathom attempting to create such a despicable vessel. Now, would you like my help or not?"

"Are you sure about this, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked urgently. "You said to me during my studies that the soul is not something to ever be messed with."

"And yet, here we are," Flamel returned evenly. "I do not do this lightly, Albus, but the boy cannot spend his life having visions of the person that murdered his parents. Have you not considered the possibilities? If young Harry here can see through his eyes, what is to stop this man doing the same?"

Dumbledore paled at the implications and Harry felt sickened by the thought.

He certainly did not want either Voldemort or even a young Tom Riddle seeing into his mind.

"I think it would be best to go through with it," he said, though not feeling confident.

"It is for the best," Flamel replied.

"What must you do, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"I will need a day or so to concoct a suitable ritual," Flamel answered.

"You mean, invent a ritual?" Dippet questioned. "Isn't that a dangerous thing to do?"

"Yes," Flamel spoke candidly, "it is the only way. This is very old, very powerful and very imprecise magic we are dealing with here."

"Then we should allow you the time to do so," Dumbledore interjected, appearing much more confident than either Harry or Dippet.

Flamel nodded.

"I will be in touch when it is ready," he explained, "I do not expect it will take long. Albie, if you don't mind?"

Dumbledore chuckled.

"Fawkes?" he called.

The phoenix appeared, and only a moment later, the alchemist was gone.

"Worry not, Harry," Dumbledore comforted. "If anyone can do this, it is Nicholas. He is a most diligent and excellent wizard."

Harry could only nod, hoping the transfiguration professor was right.

(Break)

Nicholas arrived home via the assistance of the phoenix and immediately headed towards the library, picking up his favourite club on the way. The boy he had met was quite the marvel, his survival of what he had endured, unbelievable.

Had the aged alchemist not met Harry for himself, he would not have thought such a boy could exist.

To be what he was, to have fallen victim to such an improbable series of events, was indeed unheard of. As such, the cure would have to be equally so.

Nicholas was not afraid to admit that he had his work cut out for him, but he was confident that he would be successful.

First, he needed to ponder the conundrum, and to do so, he needed to allow his mind time to wander freely so that an answer may present itself to him. Searching through his library would do no good.

He would not find what he sought there.

No, this problem needed a unique solution, not the musings of a dozen or so others.

"Oh, no, Nicholas, we discussed this," Perenelle sighed as she spotted him passing her by in the library.

"We did," he acknowledged, "but under the circumstances, Mr Ames windows are the least of my concerns."

"The boy?"

Nicholas nodded.

"He has presented me with quite the task. I need time to think."

"And you can't do that with upsetting the neighbours?"

Nicholas grinned.

"Maybe, but why deny myself the joy of upsetting Ames whilst I go about my work?"

Perenelle said nothing more on the matter but gave her husband a look of long-suffering.

She was a good woman who tolerated his whims and odd moods. Anyone lesser would have given up on their marriage in less than one lifetime, thus far, she had managed several, and though she often chastised him for his behaviour, she was as amused as she was irritated.

A brilliant man he was, how could he not be with all he had achieved, but Nicholas was still just that: A man.

He was prone to his good and bad days as any other, and it turned out, problems with his neighbours.

Whistling his latest favourite tune, he made it to his balcony where he placed his first ball on the permanent tee and took a swing.

The expected sound of breaking glass didn't come, and Nicholas frowned as he pondered the rather monumental task before him.

Perhaps, it would merely be enough to cleanse his blood of the protection…

A dull thud from where his next ball collided with the side of Ames' house.

No, it would not work. It would need something much more extensive…

He hit the ball harder this time, missing the house completely. It landed in the lake on the property further back, its arrival announced with a splosh in the distance.

Hmm, a purity ritual could be a good place to start…

Such a ritual was one used by the some of the higher-class Egyptians so many centuries ago. It was used to remove the binds of slavery from a former master of a slave they had purchased.

Binding someone by magic, who would have thought?

Nicholas shook his head of such outdated and abhorrent practices.

It will not work as it is, but could be a good place to start… Perhaps I can create a variation of it?

CRASH!

The greenhouse of Mr Ames had been the recipient of that one.

Throw shit over my wall, will you?

Nicholas chuckled victoriously to himself as he lined up his next shot.

A ritual of purity would be a good place to start, but would it be enough to eradicate the magic of the boys' mother?

It would not.

In a sense, the magic would be too similar. If anything, it would strengthen the protection, and the boy would be left with the soul piece hanging over him. No, that simply won't do.

The next of his shots bounced harmlessly across the lawn of his neighbour.

Hopefully the bastard breaks his neck on it on the way to his little love nest…

He lined up the next, pausing thoughtfully and leaning on his club as he lined up his shot.

It will need to be a ritual of purity, but one that will be strong enough to replace the protection of the boys' mother. The new magic will not recognise the soul piece as a threat and allow it to merge with his own. But how?

Nicholas continued with his musings; his ball neglected as his mind became awash with idea after idea. Eventually, it became overwhelming, and with a growl, he swung.

The ball did not ascend very much but the resulting crash filled him with a sense of satisfaction.

I hope you were eating your lunch when that came in there…

His aim, though born of frustration, was true and his ball had gone through the window of Ames dining room. Still, he lined up another, the answer he sought continuing to elude him.

That could work. It would require some rather obscure ingredients, but all is not lost. If the boy survived a bite from a basilisk as Albie said, then there was no reason he would not survive this… was there?

Another ball was sent towards the neighbouring property, and another crash sounded.

Maybe I'm getting too good at this?

Nicholas paused suddenly as the words of the prophecy played over in his mind.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

He snorted.

He had heard a few prophecies throughout his life, most leading to nothing and none certainly as ominous as this. If it was true, however, it only made him more confident that his plan would work.

If the boy could only be killed by this Dark Lord the prophecy referred to, then nothing Nicholas would do could kill him, though he would need to discuss it with his wife first.

She was always much more level-headed when it came to matters such as this.

Not that they came up often, of course, but Nicholas could be a rash man, as demonstrated by his placement of a final ball.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FLAMEL! WILL YOU GIVE IT A BLOODY REST? I WILL BE SENDING YOU THE BILL FOR THIS!" Ames roared from his front door where he was dressed in only a gown.

What kind of man remained in his sleepwear at lunchtime?

Nicholas didn't know, but it was one of the reasons he didn't like his neighbour.

"Sorry, Ames," he called back, giving the man a sarcastic wave, before turning his hand and showing only two fingers when the man entered the house and slammed the door behind him.

With his neighbour suitably annoyed and an idea forming, Nicholas kissed the head of his club before following suit and entering his own home.

There was a conversation to be had with his wife, and work to be done, after all.

(Break)

Armando and Albus had remained in contemplative silence after Flamel had left, both lost in their thoughts. Harry had taken his leave quickly, excited but nervous about the prospect of being cured of his ailment.

"A horcrux," Dumbledore finally sighed. "I would not have even considered such a thing was possible."

"Should it not be?" Armando asked.

Albus shook his head.

"No, though it is theoretically possible when pondered, though the thought of such is highly unnerving. It is not something that would be done intentionally. Imagine trusting your enemy with the most valuable thing you possess. Would you?"

"You mean a part of my soul?"

Albus nodded.

"There is a reason that the soul is so revered in many cultures, magical and muggle alike," he replied. "It is said that the soul is what is sent to the afterlife, would you risk your place on your next great adventure on such a flimsy and vulnerable thing?"

"No," Armando answered immediately. "I would not maim my own and certainly not through any despicable act."

"There are those that have, and others that yet will," Dumbledore sighed. "Not all people are of such high morals of yourself, headmaster."

"I call it common decency."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Perhaps it is not that we are better men, but that we simply would never resort to such measures."

"Perhaps," Armando agreed. "You seem to know a lot about this," he added pointedly.

Albus conceded the observation with a nod.

"In my youth, I sought something of the same that Nicholas achieved, though with much less success to show for my efforts. I of course spent many hours questioning him on his work, and try as I may, he would not yield his secrets. A foolish effort on my part."

Armando chuckled.

"Did you truly think he would tell you?"

"No," Dumbledore sighed, "but I thought that I could gain enough information to work it out for myself. Alas, I could not, and for that, I am grateful. I have no desire to live beyond what years have been gifted to me. Moving on is a part of life and not one that should be avoided when the moment is right."

Armando nodded approvingly.

"You're a wise man, Albus."

Dumbledore shook his head.

"The wisdom I have comes from the mistakes I have made. There will be more to come, but I can only hope they are not so detrimental as others have been."

Armando looked at the younger man questioningly, but he said nothing else.

"What do you think Harry's chances are?" the headmaster pressed.

He was concerned for the boy and did not wish anything ill to happen to him from the efforts of Flamel.

"I think you will find he will be well," Albus said confidently, offering a reassuring smile. "Nicholas would not act if he was not certain of this."

"Then I hope that six centuries of life has taught him enough," Armando muttered. "I do not wish to see the boy harmed."