“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and Nicolas Flamel, alchemist,” Einjard said, introducing the two elderly men. For a brief moment, both of them looked at him with faint amusement, not because of the presentation itself, but because of how easily he had spoken their titles, as if the weight they carried meant very little to him.

  “Vincent Cavendish and Alaric Wyndam. Muggles. Members of the Knights of Pendragon,” Einjard added.

  “I will serve as mediator. When a meeting is convened over a dangerous object between two parties of equivalent power, Gringotts acts as the neutral side, in accordance with ancient magical contracts,” he concluded.

  Then he crossed his arms and closed his mouth, making it clear he would say nothing further. From that point on, his role was simply to observe.

  The four elders present nodded in agreement. After all, this was supposed to be a simple meeting to recover an object.

  A dangerous object that belonged to someone else.

  Vincent cast a brief glance toward Nicolas. At first sight, the old man looked exactly as he seemed: unremarkable. And yet, his face was utterly calm, imperturbable, showing no trace of concern whatsoever, despite the fact that his most precious possession had ended up in foreign hands.

  “As Mr. Einjard has already introduced, I am Albus Dumbledore. Well, my full name is considerably longer than that, but I doubt it is necessary to recite it all,” the old headmaster said, inclining his head slightly.

  “First of all, I would like to thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

  Even so, his bright eyes behind his glasses could not help drifting, if only for an instant, toward the sword Alaric carried at his side.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet the headmaster of the school that, every year, makes children from the non-magical world disappear without apparent reason or any confirmation that they are safe, only to take them to a world that is not truly theirs,” Vincent said with a calm smile. His words, however, were razor-sharp.

  A brief silence settled over the room.

  “Well,” Dumbledore replied calmly, “that has been the way Hogwarts has functioned for a very long time, even before I assumed the position. We do it not only to teach the children, but also to protect them. From the world, and from their own power.”

  “That they come to accept the magical world as their true home is never forced. They simply come to understand that their roots lie there. Nothing more,” he added.

  Vincent returned a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Beside him, Alaric gave him a subtle nudge, silent but firm, urging restraint.

  “Let’s make this quick. I actually have other matters to attend to,” Alaric said, cutting the exchange short.

  “Very well. Then let us get straight to the point,” Dumbledore said evenly.

  “I would like you to return the object that belongs to Mr. Flamel. That object was sent into your possession without his authorization.”

  “You mean the object that was used as bait to draw danger into your school?” Vincent replied, his tone noticeably colder.

  “The same one because of which two children close to us nearly died, facing something that never should have been there.”

  Nicolas moved for the first time, as though he were only now hearing this. He slowly turned toward Dumbledore, his brow furrowing.

  “The students were in danger, Dumbledore?” he asked seriously.

  “Ahem. Though it may appear that way,” the headmaster answered quickly, “there was, in fact, constant oversight regarding the safety of the children involved. The professors are masters of their respective fields and would never allow a student to be harmed.”

  “I myself was present in the castle at all times, except for the final stretch, when I had to step away briefly. Even then, I left multiple protective measures in place to ensure no one would be injured.”

  “Yes,” Vincent interjected, his voice firm.

  “Harry explained the traps to me. And how the professors ignored their requests for help, even when they suspected an infiltrator among the staff.”

  “They may have been mistaken, but they were not wrong to be suspicious. They even put their own lives at risk to confront him.”

  Vincent stepped forward. He wore no armor, carried no sword. Even so, his presence became oppressive.

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  “Those two are the children of our most respected member. That makes them one of us,” he continued.

  “So I require a full explanation as to why they were placed in danger within your school.”

  Vincent’s combat instinct bled from every pore of his body. He needed no weapons; his posture alone made it clear he was ready to strike.

  Dumbledore held his gaze in silence for several seconds. Then he lowered his head slightly.

  “I apologize. I will not attempt to make excuses,” he said gravely.

  “It was my failure to account for the unpredictable actions of children. I accept that they were placed in danger at my school.”

  He lifted his head again.

  “However, they were not in mortal danger. Since the day I became headmaster, I have always kept my phoenix prepared to save any student in peril. That much I can assure you.”

  “I did not expect them to encounter the spy, nor did I expect them to dare to pass through every defense. It was assumed the spy would be unable to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone, as it was contained within a special object. I placed my trust in that assumption.”

  The apology left his mouth clearly and without hesitation.

  Vincent and Alaric could not help feeling a faint sense of surprise at the headmaster’s frankness.

  Vincent clicked his tongue before sitting down, folding his arms.

  Nicolas, meanwhile, slowly shook his head, visibly affected by the thought that his creation had placed children in danger.

  “Very well. Let us speak plainly,” Alaric said at last, his voice firm.

  “The Philosopher’s Stone represents a grave danger, not only to its holder, but to the world at large.”

  “It is not only dark wizards who desire it. Many powers are aware of the existence of the magical world, and I am certain several of them have already learned that the Stone has left France.”

  Alaric fixed both elders with a steady stare.

  “So tell me, Dumbledore,” he continued, “how can we be certain it will not fall into the wrong hands again?”

  “The first time was pure luck. The school was not attacked by all those powers, perhaps out of fear of what your presence represents.”

  “But when greed outweighs fear, that restraint will no longer exist.”

  Nicolas adopted a slightly contemplative expression and turned his gaze toward the two knights.

  “And what is it that you want the Stone for?” he asked calmly.

  “The fact that you agreed to this meeting shows you are not trying to obtain it for your own use. Neither for immortality nor for wealth,” he added.

  “Otherwise, you would have simply ignored us.”

  “The moment we accepted our positions and were named knights,” Alaric replied with pride, “we swore an oath upon our honor.”

  “To protect civilians. To protect our world. To protect those who need our protection.”

  “We live as knights… and we will die as knights.”

  Nicolas looked straight into his eyes, as if weighing the truth behind his words. After a few seconds, he nodded.

  “Besides,” Vincent added in a lower voice, his gaze fixed on Nicolas’s body, “the immortality some see as a reward or a miracle, others see as a curse.”

  At first glance, Nicolas looked like nothing more than an old man. But a closer look revealed how each muscle held together with effort, how his bones seemed barely intact. As if eternal life had given him time… but not youth.

  Nicolas smiled at those words. He did not deny them. He accepted them.

  “The Philosopher’s Stone can only preserve your life,” he said, raising his hand slightly. A faint crack echoed through his fingers.

  “No matter what you do, the body keeps aging.”

  “I am seven hundred years old. And my body demands its price.”

  He stared at his hand, heavy with thought.

  “It has been centuries since I could lift my wife in my arms the way I did when we were young.”

  “I cannot hold a cup of tea without my fingers breaking.”

  “Bone-regeneration potions every single day… never being able to have children.”

  He fell silent for a moment.

  “Yes. Sometimes, immortality is a curse.”

  Einjard watched him quietly. A trace of amusement crept into the corner of his lips, though none of the others noticed it.

  “You are not the only Knights of Pendragon I have encountered over the years,” Nicolas continued calmly.

  “I met some of your predecessors. I even had their help on more than one occasion. That is why I hold your order in high regard.”

  “If you were unaware, I took part in several defenses. Both at the Veil and along the border,” he added with a faint smile.

  Vincent and Alaric stared at him. The Veil was meant to be a secret.

  Dumbledore studied their expressions, then looked back at Nicolas with careful attention.

  Nicolas let out a brief laugh upon seeing their reactions.

  “It seems you didn’t know,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

  He pulled out a medal.

  Vincent and Alaric recognized it instantly.

  It was the same one every knight carried.

  But not just that. Those medals were special. In a way only they fully understood.

  “Who do you think forged them?” Nicolas asked with amusement.

  “I know how secure the Veil is, so we can reach an agreement that benefits both sides.”

  He put the medal away and continued.

  “You will keep and protect the Stone.”

  “I will come from time to time to brew life potions, should they be needed.”

  “In exchange, you may call upon my aid whenever it involves alchemy or potions, as long as I am present.”

  Vincent and Alaric exchanged a glance. They had not expected such an offer.

  “Nicolas, are you certain?” Dumbledore asked quickly.

  “Of course,” he replied calmly.

  “After all, I feel responsible for the fact that your future young knights were placed in danger because of my creation.”

  Vincent fixed his gaze on him, as if the old man had read something he had never spoken aloud.

  Dumbledore remained silent. The decision belonged to the rightful owner of the Stone.

  Vincent and Alaric, meanwhile, weighed the pros and cons in their minds.

  “We will need time to consider it,” Alaric said seriously.

  “Tempting as it is, we are not comfortable allowing an outsider access to such a private place.”

  “Oh, that is perfectly fine,” Nicolas replied calmly, nodding.

  “Take your time.”

  “If you require more information, you may consult the documents of the Heirs of Merlin.”

  Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly upon hearing that title.

  Heir of Merlin.

  But he said nothing.

  Vincent and Alaric nodded, bringing the meeting to a close, at least for that day. They took their leave and departed.

  The moment they were outside, Vincent spoke in a clearly irritated tone.

  “I don’t like that old man,” he said, his brow furrowed.

  “He apologized far too easily. It still feels like, to him, the fault lies more with the brats than with his own mistakes.”

  “For now, we will accept the apology,” Alaric replied calmly.

  “But we should keep an eye on him, if necessary.”

  They continued walking.

  “And try not to run into him the next time you cross paths,” Alaric added, giving him a serious look.