Old Friends

The few days leading to the end of the school year passed amazingly quickly. The Slytherin house secured the Quidditch Cup for the seventh year in a row, and they were on their way to win the House Cup as well.

As the summer approached, one would expect that students would be discussing the coming holidays, vacation plans or future career paths. However, that wasn't the case at all.

"Did you hear? Professor Quirrell was found dead in the Great Lake. It is said that the Giant Squid was hungry, and the garlic smell from the turban stimulated its appetite!" a third-year Gryffindor whispered to his friend at breakfast.

"Do you seriously believe these rumors or are you just joking? Please, tell me that Snape wasn't right when he called you a 'complete dunderhead who, in the Wizarding World's best interests, shouldn't procreate. Because Merlin knows, he doesn't want to deal with the result if he was unfortunate enough to still be a teacher at that time'," cited the other boy with a slightly exaggerated long-suffering expression, which eerily reminded the surrounding students of the resident Potions Master.

"Ah! How come you still remember the whole thing?! It was so embarrassing!" quickly complained Snape's unfortunate victim, whose entire face was flushed with deep red hue – stylishly matching his house's colors.

"Believe me, no one, who heard it, will ever be able to forget!" intervened another Gryffindor, and cheerfully clapped on his housemate's shoulder. "But what you said is utter nonsense – Professor Quirrell went into the Forbidden Forest on the full moon and was eaten by a werewolf which smelled his turban. Everyone knows it!"

"Ah, can't be! I heard that he was finally found by the vampire he was trying to hide from all this time, and was offed as a result."

"No! Peeves locked him inside the Vanishing Cabinet, and he disappeared who-knows-where!"

"No, it was..."

"These people sure are imaginative," muttered Theo after idly listening to the loudly gossiping students at the Ravenclaw table. "But Quirrell really left very suddenly this time. I heard that the second-years still had an exam scheduled to take on the day of his disappearance… Something must have happened."

"I don't know – the werewolf theory sounds very convincing," Daphne thoughtfully commented. "As for what actually happened – who cares? Everyone knows that the DADA position is cursed. Maybe Quirrell realized that it was better to run off sooner rather than later. I heard that some teachers really died in previous years."

"Quirrell wasn't intelligent enough to run," snorted Draco. "I met Hannah earlier, and she said that Granger got involved with the third floor's secret. Apparently, Quirrell was after whatever was hidden there, but he didn't succeed in stealing it and fled the castle after getting exposed."

That was the official version, which would be announced by Dumbledore later that evening, during the feast.

In an effort to act as though nothing had happened, Draco made sure to behave normally. However, his usual behavior wasn't that of a typical schoolboy – believing whatever rumors were flying around, waiting to be informed by the teachers and religiously abiding by the rules.

No, such behavior would, instead, guarantee him a few suspicious and curious glances. After all, while Draco didn't gossip with others, he always made sure to find relevant information if it interested him enough. Sometimes he didn't even have to seek it out – his many friends and acquaintances in other houses willingly shared the news when they accidentally met in the hallways and stopped to talk for a few minutes.

As such, Draco sitting there silently with no knowledge of what happened would have been more unusual than him knowing something that others did not.

"Granger?" snorted Pansy, who sat not too far from Draco and heard their conversation. "What would a mudblood know?"

The girls sitting beside her sneered in agreement but otherwise stayed silent, their sparkling eyes directed at the blond boy.

"Granger, Potter and the youngest Weasley somehow found out about Quirrell's plans to get into the third-floor corridor and went to stop him," patiently explained Draco when it became apparent that they wanted more gossip. Although he didn't have to oblige, he felt that their continuous non-blinking stares were too creepy to ignore. "Anyway, Potter is still in the Hospital Wing, so you can check it if you don't believe me."

"Oh, Drakey, dear – of course, we believe you," Pansy assured him with a sweet smile. Her girlfriends burst into loud giggles.

Draco felt goosebumps breaking out over his whole body and unconsciously leaned back from the girl. The table, which separated them, didn't seem like sturdy enough protection.

"I suddenly remembered that I still have some things left to pack for the trip back home. Excuse me, ladies," he flashed his best fake smile, and quickly got up from the table with the full intention of gentlemanly escape, despite not finishing his breakfast.

"Oh, but I remember you telling me yesterday that you were all ready," Daphne's sweet voice stopped him in his tracks. "Weren't you loudly lamenting over the fact that I left the packing for the last day? Don't tell me that you lied to me?"

The dark-haired girl was leaning over the table, with her elbow on its surface and the palm supporting her head. Her face looked completely innocent, however, her laughing eyes betrayed her. It was very clear that she stopped him on purpose, and she was fully intent on taking her revenge for mocking her the day before.

Draco shot a dark glare her way. He was about to deny her accusation, but seeing Pansy and her giggly friends suddenly perk up, he was forced to choke back his words.

"Ah, yes. I lied. I'm very sorry - have to go," he muttered distractedly and quickly disappeared.

He certainly didn't hear Theo's muffled laughter or see his house-mates' amused stares.

No, that was all his imagination.

---

"I believe that it's one of Voldemort's loyal followers, maybe a relative of one of the students. I assure you that all of the teachers who were let in on the secret are trustworthy, Nicolas. We will find the culprit."

"Albus, you are my friend, but you are too blind to your own shortcomings," sighed Nicolas Flamel out of the communication mirror. "I believe that amongst those you trusted was a former Death Eater, an actual Dark Lord, and a half-giant, who blurted out the secret of how to get past the traps to a stranger at first opportunity… Forgive me for not considering those people as anything close to the word 'trustworthy'."

There was a moment of silence between the two powerful wizards.

"I did what I thought was the best," finally said Dumbledore.

"I don't know what you wanted to achieve, Albus. But to me or Perenelle it doesn't matter. The only important thing is that you put both our lives at stake by taking our lifeline and not even properly looking after it. You didn't even know that it disappeared months ago! And when you found out, it took you three days to finally notify us. Tell me, what would you think in my place?"

A melancholic look flashed in Hogwarts' Headmaster's eyes. He knew that if he was in his friend's place at the moment, it would have been hard to forgive.

This time, he was completely at fault.

"I apologize, Nicolas. It was never my intention to risk with your or Perenelle's lives. I will do my utmost to return the stone as soon as possible," he promised sincerely, his blue eyes willing the person on the other side of the mirror to believe.

"No," the French wizard denied mercilessly. "Perenelle and I were ready for this kind of eventuality. We have enough elixir to last us until we settle all our things, and then - we will depart. I believe that one hundred years should be enough to finish my research on the transmutation of the magical cores…"

Nicolas paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: "Anyway, what I want to know is the goal of this whole play you staged. What was the purpose?"

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. His gaze slowly traveled to Fawkes, who was sitting on the perch and looking with concern in his direction. The phoenix chirped encouragingly, which drew the old wizard away from his scattered thoughts.

"It was a test," he finally admitted, his words sounding unusually cruel coming out of his lips. "There is a prophecy… I wanted to see whether it could be fulfilled. I was impatient, I admit. I won't try to get myself involved in Fate's designs any longer…"

"You tried to pit your Dark Lord against an eleven-year-old and see whether the child will, somehow, come out victorious?" Nicolas incredulously asked. At his friend's astonished look, he quickly explained: "Of course I know about the prophecy concerning them! I am not that far removed from the worldly matters, and Perenelle once worked in the Department of Mysteries. She still sometimes goes there to experiment with her abilities."

"There were many safety measures in place, and I was notified the moment the intruders passed the wards guarding the stone," Dumbledore finally assured, though his expression spoke of deep remorse.

"And yet, a thief still got through without so much as a by-your-leave," the French wizard pointed out ironically. "Albus, I gave you the stone not because I believed that it needed some additional guarding. Merlin knows, I kept it safely for over 600 years, and I don't believe that you, who are like a child in my eyes, would have guarded it better."

"Then why did you?" asked Dumbledore quietly, looking old and tired. It was quite ironic that the older of the two wizards looked so much younger and livelier.

"Because I believed that you would use it for a better purpose. I thought that you learned something from the fiasco with Gellert, but now I see that you got too full of yourself – what with whole Magical Britain worshiping the ground you walk on. It's normal, human even, to succumb to the attraction of power sometimes. Even I am guilty of that…" Nicolas smiled sardonically for a moment, but the smile was soon replaced with a frown. "However, if there is one thing that I can't condone – it's the involvement of a child in your schemes. You should let him have his childhood, Albus. The fate that awaits him… not everyone can shoulder it."

Another moment of silence stretched between the two wizards.

Nicolas closed his eyes for a second, seemingly thinking about something important. When he finally opened them once again, they were full of determination.

"I can see that you are truly regretful… However, we won't see each other again. Au Revoir, Albus... I wish you well."

With those words the French wizard vanished, leaving his old friend behind with a shocked expression.

The room turned eerily silent, looking more like a painting, in the way that all life seemed to have disappeared from it. And even the cheerful sun rays, coming through the ornate windows, didn't manage to liven up the atmosphere.

After what felt like hours, the old wizard finally moved to place the communication mirror, which was still being unconsciously clutched in his hands, back on the table. His wrinkled fingers were slightly trembling, and the mirror almost fell on the floor from the clumsy handling.

The many paintings hanging in the office seemed to be judging the wizard with their gazes, though all of them were religiously pretending to be asleep.

Dumbledore tried to stand up from his chair, but the task seemed to be unusually hard to complete at that moment. The room also seemed to be slightly blurry, as though he was looking at it through glasses with a wrong prescription.

It was only minutes later that he realized that his vision was obscured by a filter of tears.