?

Log in

No account? Create an account
entries friends calendar profile Previous Previous Next Next
Fic: Albus Dumbledore and the Philosopher's Stone - The Phantom Librarian
Spewing out too many words since November 2003
fernwithy
fernwithy
Fic: Albus Dumbledore and the Philosopher's Stone
I've thought for awhile about looking in more on child!Dumbledore, though I haven't paid much attention to him since his chapter in Of A Sort. (For those who haven't breathlessly followed my deathless prose for years: my set-up is that Albus was orphaned young, not long before Hogwarts--he begins in 1856-- and lived in the Forbidden Forest for a few months, because it never occurred to him to go to his layabout older brother, Aberforth. Nicolas Flamel, then a Potions and Alchemy teacher, helps him acquire the things he needs. Fawkes chooses to stay with him instead of with Flamel.)




Albus leaned further toward his third year Alchemy book, trying to make the small, ornate letters come into focus, and only succeeding in blurring them further and giving himself a splitting headache. Leaning back actually made it slightly better, but he was in the middle of the Great Hall, and he could only contort himself so far to pull away from the page. He leaned back as far as he could and looked over his lower eyelid. A few letters came into view, but they were so crazily tilted that he couldn't make sense of them anyway. On the floor beside him, Fawkes bobbed his scarlet head curiously.

Blast all the decoration on the books! Couldn't they just write things plainly, with lots of white space, like the Muggle books did?

He shoved the book away, frustrated, and turned to his breakfast, figuring that he'd best eat before the headache he'd just given himself migrated to his stomach. He didn't get far before the stabbing pain in his eyes took up all his attention again. He covered them with his fingers and rubbed at them.

"Albus," someone said beside him, "do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

He opened his eyes very slightly to avoid light glare, and saw his friend Edgar Prewett. He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Professor Potter's coming over."

Albus winced. Professor Potter was their Head of House, and their teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He liked her--she was funny and pretty, and a good teacher--but she never left well enough alone once she got started on something, and if she decided that--

"Albus, are you having trouble seeing?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Er..."

"And don't bother to lie about it."

"A bit... I suppose..."

Professor Potter frowned, a pretty little line forming between her eyebrows. Albus watched this with some interest, then blushed.

"You need eyeglasses, Albus," she said. "I can Conjure a pair for you to finish your homework tonight, but they'll only last for a few hours."

Albus bit his lip. "Isn't there just some spell? To fix my eyes?"

Professor Potter laughed, kindly enough. "Oh, if you find one, let my husband know. He's been trying for years." She Conjured a pair of eyeglasses, gold-rimmed ones shaped like half-circles, and handed them to Albus. "Until they discover that, you'll need to find other alternatives."

"All right." Albus put the glasses on, and the text in front of him resolved itself. He looked over the top of them at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, but get a permanent pair, before you hurt your eyes."

"Yes, Miss."

She gave him another smile and went back to the head table, where she sat beside the Headmaster (her uncle, Phineas Nigellus, who proceeded to look quite irritated at her chatter). Professor Flamel, who taught Alchemy and Potions listened to her for a moment, then glanced at Albus.

Albus looked away and focused on his book before the Conjured glasses disappeared. Flamel had helped him when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts--given him clothes and books and so on--and Albus hadn't been able to pay him back quite yet. Flamel insisted this wasn't necessary, but Albus wanted to, because he felt terrible getting an advantage that none of the others in his year had. His brother, Aberforth, was his guardian, and his tavern in London had been doing worse business every year since their father died. He'd finally decided in September to sell love charms to bring in more money, but even that had backfired: he'd tested one on a goat, and someone had walked in to find the goat attempting to pay some highly inappropriate attention to Aberforth Dumbledore. Aberforth treated it like a grand joke, but customers had all but stopped coming, and Albus had spent the entire autumn term hearing filthy jokes about barnyard animals.

There was no money to try and pay Flamel back, let alone buy eyeglasses.

Albus wondered idly if he should use the ones Professor Potter had Conjured to look in the upper level Transfiguration textbooks, to learn how to Conjure them himself, but he knew better. He hadn't even mastered this year's work quite yet, though he was a few chapters ahead of the rest of the class. Instead, he bent over his Alchemy text and began the series of questions he'd been assigned. Fawkes--who had once been Flamel's friend as well, but who Albus had quickly learned belonged to no one to be given or taken--leaned against his leg and sang as he worked.

The next day, the day before the Christmas holidays started, he turned it in. Flamel gave him an unreadable look before teaching a class on the use of blood in potions and assigning the class a four foot essay on the ethics of it, to be turned in after the holiday. As other students filed out, Flamel raised his hand.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said. "A word, if I may?"

Resigned, Albus went to the front of the dungeon. "Yes, Professor Flamel?"

Flamel came around his desk and sat on one of the low worktables. "Your insight in last week's class on the properties of salamander blood was quite advanced," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"As it happens, I am working with blood potions in my laboratory at home. I hope to spend the holidays examining a quantity of dragon's blood that has come into my possession."

"I didn't think dragon's blood had many uses," Albus said carefully. "I thought it was poison."

"That's what I intend to find out. It will take years of work, but there are several things I need to simply organize before I begin." Flamel pointed his wand at the desk. "Accio briefcase." The briefcase flew to him and he opened it, rummaged around, and finally drew out something that flashed dimly in the torchlight. A pair of eyeglasses. He held them out to Albus. "Professor Potter mentioned that you were in need of these."

Albus shook his head. "Really... I'll ask Aberforth. I'm sure we can find a way."

"This isn't charity," Flamel said. "I spoke with Aberforth last night, and asked if he would allow you to spend the holiday with me--if you so choose--as my assistant."

Albus frowned. "I'm only third year, sir--not even O.W.L. level..."

"You're the cleverest student I've had in many years, and I'd like you to get a feel for real work in the field... most of which, at this point, could be accomplished by a first year in October. This is not going to be exciting. This is going to be the filling of phials and measuring of materials while I prepare to begin experimentation."

Albus bit his lip. "Aberforth said it was all right?"

"Yes. I'll pay you a sickle a day. Ten days will pay for the eyeglasses--which you will certainly need to accomplish the work--and the rest, you may have to spend at your discretion."

"And no one... minds?"

"There's no rule against hiring students. Headmaster Nigellus rather encourages us to expose students to what he refers to as 'the plain reality of living.' I have had other students in my laboratory over the years." Flamel frowned. "You know, Albus, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I thought you would find the research I'm beginning of interest--the wages are merely an added incentive. If you don't care to--"

"I care to," Albus said quickly, though he wished wages had not been mentioned. He couldn't imagine that such a rich sum would generally be offered to a third-year.

"Very well, then. Tomorrow morning, join me outside the Great Hall, and we shall have a holiday together." Flamel smiled, and his slight accent became more pronounced, as it tended to when he relaxed. "We will have a grand time, will we not?"

"Yes, sir."

"You say this like I've commanded you."

"I'm sorry."

Albus turned to go. He'd reached the door when Flamel called softly. "Albus?"

He turned. "What is it?"

"The stories of your brother... they are ephemeral. I know you feel they will go on forever, and I know that some of the other boys have been unkind."

"It doesn't matter to me, really, I--"

"You have been unhappy since this business occurred, and I think it isn't because of money. This will pass, Albus... but you must allow it to."

Albus nodded uncomfortably--Flamel had a nasty habit of addressing things that he hadn't even realized he'd been thinking about--and left the dungeon.

The next morning, a bundle packed with extra robes hanging from one hand, he met Flamel outside the Great Hall. Flamel looked jolly, and had slung a large sack over his shoulder. "I've informed Headmaster Nigellus that we're on our way," he said. "So we should probably head out. I have a sleigh waiting."

"We're not going to use floo powder?"

Flamel wrinkled his nose in distaste. "A lovely winter day like this? I think not."

They went outside, and for a moment Albus just blinked at the day. The snow on the mountaintops was pure white, the air a delicate shade of winter blue. Evergreen trees marched through the Forbidden Forest like uniformed sentries among the bare branches of their fickle summer companions, and the turrets of the castle stood out in a crisp contrast to the world that took his breath away. The sleigh, pulled by an Aethonan, its wings already spread to catch the wind, stood on the road beside the lake. He felt himself smile, and it seemed alien... how long had it been? He looked at Flamel. "The sleigh will be nice," he said.

They climbed in among piles of blankets charmed to keep them warm (even radiating heat upward to keep their noses from freezing), then Flamel took the reins. "On, then!" he called to the Aethonan, and after a heart pounding moment of speed, the sleigh left the snowy ground, and they were skimming over the top of the Forbidden Forest. Albus looked down, delighted. He could see a herd of centaurs on a bald hilltop far in the Forest, beyond any point his excursions so far had taken him. One of them waved to Flamel.

Further on, he saw the shine of a frozen pool of water. "Is that in the Forbidden Forest still?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Flamel said. "The Forest is larger than it looks on the outside."

"I didn't know there was a lake there."

"You can't reach it from the school, so don't try."

"Could we land there?"

"You can only arrive there if you have been invited by the Lady who dwells in its waters."

"A mermaid?"

Flamel raised an eyebrow. "Might I suggest paying more attention in History of Magic?"

"History of... Lady... lake... why, you don't mean that she's...?"

"One and the same."

"I thought that was far south of here!"

"It was, once. But any number of things have been emptied into the waters by Muggles in recent years, so the Lady--quite wisely, in my opinion--chose to relocate the entire lake to its Unplottable location."

"Why in the Forbidden Forest? Why not make it Unplottable where it was?"

"For company, I suppose," Flamel said quietly. "She's quite old and quite alone, and the place it once was is now almost entirely Muggle-owned."

"And they can't see her."

"Except for the one she may someday choose again, no." He sighed. "Here, she is close to other magical creatures, some of whom she has invited to live upon the shores of her lake, and she can have some communion with other wizards and witches. A certain oak tree stands at her shore, which she loves above all things."

"Is she really a witch?"

"She once was. Now, she is the lake, the water, the shapes she can become... I haven't a word for what Nimue has become."

"She'd have to be almost immortal," Albus said, impressed.

"Mmmm," Flamel answered non-committally, and leaned to one side, steering the sleigh to the left and beginning a descent. The tree tops came closer, and then they were skimming over a high hilltop, where a stone house out over the sea. A plump woman stood by the door, wrapped in furs, waving upward. Flamel leaned over. "My wife, Perenelle," he said. "Wave to her; I can't let go of the reins."

Albus waved to the smiling woman, then the Aethonan pulled into a quick turn and landed the sleigh gently beside the house. Flamel jumped down--surprisingly quickly, for a man as old as he was--and hugged his wife, then helped Albus down. "Perenelle," he said, "I would like you to meet young Albus Dumbledore. He is quite the bright student, and he'll be helping us with the dragon's blood."

"Lovely," Perenelle Flamel said, tipping Albus's chin up with one hand. "What a pleasant face you have." She smiled at this odd pronouncement. Her accent was much stronger than her husband's. Albus was fascinated by her eyes--deep and brown and dark--and by the softness of her hand. His mother had died when he was very small, and he didn't remember a lady fussing at him like this. "Come inside, I have lunch for you both."

Albus wasn't sure what he'd expected to find in Flamel's house, if he'd expected anything at all. Perhaps an extension of his office at school--disorganized piles of scrolls, a few lumps of metal that had been cauldrons before students had accidentally melted them, jars of odd ingredients--and that element was present. A long wooden table was covered end to end with scrolls in a dozen languages, and most of the door frames were in use as narrow shelves for jars of unknown substances. But unlike the frayed and unkempt furniture in his office, the furniture here was rich and dark, mahogany and deep red velvet, expertly carved ebony, chandeliers with tiny magical flames embedded at the heart of each crystal.

Perenelle served a simple but filling lunch of bread and cheese, with hot milk to warm them up from their ride. She asked after Albus's studies, and he told her, but he tried to keep his mouth shut--he was most interested in hearing the Flamels speak to one another. It was like listening to a secret code, though he didn't think they were trying to hide anything.

"I spoke to Jacques Fortier," Perenelle said.

"And he--

"--oh you know, the children--"

"--right, yes. And Eleta?"

"Fine, fine. They have taken the baskets for us, you know."

"And here... shall we bring them ourselves, my love?"

"I've brought a few. St. Mungo's, of course, and the memorial fund. Michael Marvolo asked after you."

"He can come to the school and see me."

"You know how he feels about--

"Idiocy. Has the weather been kind here?"

Albus let his eyes wander back and forth between them, not trying to follow the names or the conversation, just watching the easy way they batted it back and forth, like long-time Chasers handling a Quaffle. When they'd finished eating, Flamel charmed several empty jars to follow him, and he led Albus down the stairs into a long, dim room with at least three dozen large cauldrons, lined with tiny box shelves filled with little labeled jars.

"Put on the new spectacles," Flamel said. "Now is when you will need them."

"I should wait until I can buy them..."

"They are already bought. You are paying me for them by helping me, and to help me, you must use them."

Albus nodded and pulled his new spectacles from his pocket, putting them on gingerly. The edge of the table seemed to leap up at him. He sat down on a stool beside it (a more difficult proposition that it should have been, as the new lenses made it seem to move around when he looked down at it), and Flamel made the jars fly over to him and land in five rows on the table.

"There are labels," he said. "You may use a mild sticking Charm; it won't be noticed. Mark the first row 'A,' the second 'B,' and so on, and put a number beside each... A-2, B-3, like this. Do you understand?"

"Sure." Albus picked a quill and began while Flamel rummaged around in a cold pantry off to one side.

Flamel hadn't been exaggerating--it was dull work. First, labeling forty jars, then helping Flamel measure an equal quantity of dragon's blood into each; Distribution Charms were ineffective on living matter, or at least matter that had once been living. Headmaster Nigellus had taken a Charms class one day and explained: "Surely, you children would not find it particularly amusing if I could Distribute or Summon your wagging little tongues, now would you?" The business of organizing Flamel's upcoming experiments was tedious, but Albus was glad of this--he felt that he was earning his money.

He spent the next two days going out into the Forest with Perenelle, while Flamel puttered about in his dungeon taking care of what he referred to as "unrelated business" and getting things just as he liked them. "Don't imagine he is doing anything rigorous or interesting," Perenelle said, wading into a swamp to gather a Dugbog. "He is fussy about having food he likes in easy reach, and having the light fall as he enjoys it, and other things of that nature. We are amusing ourselves more than he is." She smiled, splashed her hands down into the water, and came up with a grayish animal, which she transfered into a bucket Albus had carried. "What else shall we try it on, eh?"

Albus came back from these trips piled with detritus from the Forest, his legs aching from walking and his back aching from carrying, feeling useful and satisfied with himself. Flamel had him spend the evening categorizing the new material for the sorts of things they would try on it with the dragon's blood. The third evening, he actually explained his plans, showing Albus how he was going to set up different tests and observe the results. "Perhaps we will learn something new?" He smiled eagerly.

Two days before Christmas, the three of them piled back into the sleigh and went to London to shop. Flamel gave Albus his wages in advance--Albus didn't feel guilty, as he knew he would be earning them--and they went their separate ways in Diagon Alley. Albus found a tiny locket for Perenelle and a hat for Flamel. He checked his watch, considered going to visit Aberforth for a few minutes, then ducked guiltily past the pub instead, hoping no one would recognize him.

No such luck.

The door opened and Aberforth sauntered out. "Bit of Christmas shopping, little brother?"

"Bit. I've, er... you know. Some wages. Not much, and I had to buy specs."

"I know." Aberforth smiled. "Sounds like you've got a plum little position there."

"D'you want... money?"

"No. That's yours. If you've got a bit left, you should put it in Gringotts. Have a bit for when you finish school."

"But, the pub..."

"Pub's my problem. You've got better things to do with your life."

Albus looked down at the cobblestones, ashamed of his assumptions. "I'm sorry, Aberforth," he said.

Aberforth shrugged. "Reckon I don't look like much to a bright lad like you. Reckon I'm not much. But I'm not going to get in your way. I want you to go far. So have a happy Christmas."

"Yes, I... Happy Christmas, Aberforth."

There was no embrace or proper end to the moment. Aberforth just nodded and went back into the pub. Albus waved and went back to meet the Flamels.

Christmas was a small affair, but a joyous one. The Flamels gave Albus a fine Muggle book by an author called Charles Dickens, which curiously dealt with ghosts and magical visions of the past and future. Albus was quite curious to see how a Muggle would write about that, and it was a struggle not to read it right then and there. He dozed off at the table after the large meal, and woke up in the narrow room he slept in on the third floor of the house.

When he awakened, the house was dark and quiet, and the moon outside was high in the sky. He felt rested and not at all sleepy, so he pulled on a dressing gown and went downstairs thinking he might tidy things up a bit as a gift to say thank you.

The kitchen had already been cleaned, and the dishes were washing themselves in the sink. It looked like the Flamels had moved into the parlor after Albus had fallen asleep; two wine glasses and an empty bottle were on a small table, in a pile of old scrolls. Albus went to pick them up.

And paused.

The scrolls were written in Flamel's hand--Albus knew it well--but they were rotting around the edges and the ink had become blurred from handling. There were diagrams and mathematical notations and...

Dates.

September, one said in French. The year of our Lord, thirteen-hundred-and-eighty-two.

I am near a breakthrough...


Albus blinked at it.

In the silence, he heard a soft laugh coming from the dungeon.

He moved quietly, wondering if he was dreaming, if thoughts of ghosts and memories had brought on this odd vision, but he could feel the stones beneath his feet and the rail beneath his hand as he moved through the house. He reached the top of the dungeon stairs and looked down.

Flamel and Perenelle were standing in a globe of light around a torch, each with a goblet full of potion. Flamel picked up a red stone the size of his fist, pinched it hard, and broke of a few tiny grains from the end of it. He dropped some into each goblet, and they raised a toast to one another, then drank.

"To another year," Flamel said. "With you."

"And with you," Perenelle said. "My dearest love."

Albus backed away, but not fast enough. Flamel looked up and saw him there.

They looked at one another for a long time.

Then Albus went back upstairs, and didn't sleep.

In the morning, Flamel was waiting for him at the base of the stairs. "Please," he said. "Walk with me."

Albus nodded dubiously, but allowed himself to be led outside. "That's a philosopher's stone," he said when they were in the crisp morning. "You're... really old."

Flamel nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Does anyone know?"

"Of course people know. I have been teaching at Hogwarts for nearly one hundred years, Albus. And again, I would urge you to study more in History of Magic--this would not have so surprised you."

"But you've never talked about it in class! That's important."

"I know." Flamel sighed, and led them into the woods. A boulder sat along the edge of the path, and he leaned against it. "It is a difficult choice, Albus. I don't hide it, but I am not at the school to field questions about how to turn base metals into gold, or live forever. They aren't appropriate questions for schoolchildren, yet they are inevitably the ones asked when this particular circumstance becomes known. Immortality is a tempting notion. I know that better than most. But when it becomes an end in itself, rather than a chance to spend more time here giving something to the world, then it becomes a trap. I won't lead my students into a trap."

"But you're in it."

Flamel smiled ruefully. "Yes, I suppose I am. Perhaps that's all it really is, all these years. A trap."

"But you just stay in it!"

"You're angry with me."

"No, I just..."

"You are. It's all right." He got up and wandered a few more steps down the path. "I sometimes wonder what it is I've waited for, and believe that when the time comes to leave, I shall know it. Other times, I suspect that I am merely a stubborn old man who is afraid of death."

Albus shook his head.

"It's too bad. I had hoped... Well, it has been many years since I last took a proper apprentice. I thought you might..." Another sigh. "But you are angry."

Albus didn't answer.




Okay, it's an odd place to end it. Maybe I'll pick up some other time, but I'm not sure right now how it plays out.

Tags:

14 comments or Leave a comment
Comments
ninepointfivemm From: ninepointfivemm Date: May 13th, 2005 06:34 am (UTC) (Link)
Very interesting.

I like how Albus is a bit like Harry. That's fun.
malabud From: malabud Date: May 13th, 2005 07:19 am (UTC) (Link)
For those who haven't breathlessly followed my deathless prose for years

You mean, there are readers who don't?! I thought everyone in the SW and HP fandoms waited with baited breath for your every fic post? Or is it just me? *g* Seriously, I think you have far more readers than you realize and your half-joking, self-deprecating comment is truer than you know.

As to the story, child Albus is quite different from his adult self, which is only natural, but I can see where some of his adult personality traits come from. Adult Albus seems to have (consciously?) patterned himself after Flamel, interestingly enough. They both take a great deal of personal interest in certain students, are extremely perceptive, and have a great deal of empathy. You've also included many striking resemblances between Albus and Harry, which I find fascinating. You will continue this, yes?
lyras From: lyras Date: May 13th, 2005 08:37 am (UTC) (Link)
This is really interesting. I like the way you've worked in other things such as Aberforth's, er, problem with the goat - and the fact that this affects Albus, too.

I also like your take on Flamel towards the end; why he might still be using the stone, after all this time.

Must go and reread Albus's sorting when I get a chance!
velvetmouse From: velvetmouse Date: May 13th, 2005 11:01 am (UTC) (Link)
Please, ms., may I have some more?

Lovely, as always. I really enjoy seeing the beginnings of some of Albus's mannerisms/quirks/etc... you do a great job of working them into the natural flow of the tale without beating us over the head with them. I'd love to see where this goes... *hopeful look*

One small thing: way at the beginning, Albus addresses Prof. Potter with a "Yes, Miss." Given that she's just mentioned that she was married, wouldn't the correct address be "Yes, Ma'am" or "Yes, Professor"?
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 13th, 2005 11:44 am (UTC) (Link)
It felt weird to me, too, but I got Britpicked on that on another story awhile back--someone said that "Ma'am" wouldn't be used in that context and it would always be "Miss."
From: catkind Date: May 13th, 2005 03:18 pm (UTC) (Link)

UK Elections

I enjoyed the story, particularly the question of the spectacles, and the way Nicolas and Perenelle have been together so long their conversations are incomprehensible to outsiders! Thanks for brightening a long afternoon.

*Waves Brit passport around, carefully covering hideous ancient photo*
In modern Britain it'd definitely be "Miss". A married female schoolmistress with the title of Professor in a co-ed boarding school in the 1850s is rather a rhetorical question, but judging by Dickens I would tend to go for "Ma'am" or "Professor" as velvetmouse suggests. On the other hand, if Hogwarts were ahead of their time in having female Professors, perhaps they were ahead of their time on calling them "Miss" too.

catkind
velvetmouse From: velvetmouse Date: May 13th, 2005 06:36 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: UK Elections

Interesting. *files this away for future reference*

Does "Miss" not have the connotation of being a younger, un-married woman, then? That's definitely the association it has on this side of the Puddle.
To me (and perhaps this is a regional thing? I'm from the NorthEast USA)
Miss = young, unmarried woman/girl
Mrs. = married woman
Ms. and Ma'am = adult woman, marriage status non-specified
Professor = gender neutral title for a teacher (generally doesn't have a specific rank attatched to it, as I know it does many places in the UK and Europe... I find it interesting that JKR chose that particular title for her school's teachers)
From: catkind Date: May 13th, 2005 09:45 pm (UTC) (Link)
(How bizarre. I'm sure I didn't put that heading there.)
Miss is indeed an unmarried woman, though it's fast losing popularity to Ms as the default title.

Customers are addressed as Sir or Madam, though these days in normal shops they tend to avoid using anything at all. The more you're paying, the more likely you are to get "Madam"ed. For some reason kids seem to call teachers Sir or Miss if not Mr X, Miss/Mrs/Ms Z. Or often "Awww, Mi-iisss!" Not surprisingly, some teachers object to this and insist on being addressed by name.
From: psalm_27 Date: May 13th, 2005 11:46 am (UTC) (Link)
A perfect read with my morning tea. I'm always so pleased with how you tie canon in with your stories. Mentions of the Potters, Prewitts and Marvolos are a wonderful touch. Loved that Professor Potter is a Black, again, wonderful tie-in with canon.
author_by_night From: author_by_night Date: May 13th, 2005 12:11 pm (UTC) (Link)
What is it with you, Fern? Why do you keep getting story ideas that are like mine? Dora was one thing, but this is just freaky!

Granted, Nicholas Flamel and Fawkes hadn't had time to be given a role, but in it, DD grew up in the Forest with Centaurs.

*Anyway*. Very interesting - I like your Albus!
sreya From: sreya Date: May 13th, 2005 03:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
Didn't you know? Fern reads the minds of her fellow fen and snatches their plot ideas, then quickly writes them out before the rest of us can finish. Invasion of the plot bunny snatcher!

:~p (We love you, Fern!)
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 13th, 2005 03:18 pm (UTC) (Link)
Nah, I just clearly have brilliant readers who think of all the good ideas before I luck over them. ;)
sreya From: sreya Date: May 13th, 2005 03:12 pm (UTC) (Link)
Well, it has been many years since I last took a proper apprentice. I thought you might...

Seems to me that would be a good way to round out the story right there -- whether Albus does become Flamel's apprentice after this revelation, and how Albus grapples with the questions posed by the Stone.

I found it interesting that they actually put bits of the Stone into what they drank. Of course, I don't know anything about the original Philosopher's Stone mythology (I should look into that), but I guess I'd always assumed the Stone was more a tool than an ingredient. Or something. I guess I haven't thought about it much at all!

Oh, and I loved this bit.
"And they can't see her."
"Except for the one she may someday choose again, no."


I take it your ideas of a new Arthur are still plaguing you!
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: May 13th, 2005 03:29 pm (UTC) (Link)
I take it your ideas of a new Arthur are still plaguing you!
Oh, stuff like that plagued me long before Harry Potter came along to put a fannish angle on it. I always loved the idea of legendary figures coming back, especially when there's a legend that they will do so at an hour of great need. Arthur's perfect in this way; he's got it all, and not being a religious figure, we can all have the same sort of wistful sigh for him.
14 comments or Leave a comment