Chapter 41: Honesty
Wade liked the Weasley twins—they were the kind of people who, even in the darkest moments, would still try to bring laughter to others. He’d originally only meant to stop them from recklessly endangering themselves, but seeing their bright, carefree expressions, he found himself suddenly wondering:
Why am I even hiding the truth from Voldemort?
Voldemort had gone to such great lengths to conceal his true identity because he feared Dumbledore. What possible benefit could Wade gain by helping him keep the secret?
On the contrary, if Wade was the only one who knew, his position would be dangerously exposed—if Voldemort ever discovered the truth, he’d be in serious trouble.
But if the secret were to spread… then the real danger would fall upon Voldemort himself.
With that thought, the weight of guilt and hesitation that had been pressing on him suddenly lifted.
Still, Wade didn’t want to completely expose the secret either—letting Voldemort have no way out. After all, Dumbledore couldn’t kill him outright, and Voldemort was only hiding at Hogwarts because he wanted the Philosopher’s Stone. If he realized the stone was beyond his reach, he might lose control and unleash chaos across the school before Dumbledore could arrive. The students wouldn’t stand a chance.
He hesitated, then said, “Actually…”
The twins’ eyes lit up instantly.
“—We should find somewhere quiet to talk.”
For Wade, the safest places were either his own dormitory or the Umbrella Room. He remembered the school had another hidden room—the Room of Requirement—but when he’d watched the film, he’d been too caught up in the plot and visuals to pay attention to its exact location. To this day, he’d been searching off and on for three months without success.
To avoid the kind of disaster that often played out in movies—where a crucial secret is whispered in the open, only for an eavesdropping ear to betray it to the villain, leading to tragedy—they headed straight for the Umbrella Room.
The holiday season was approaching, and students’ academic enthusiasm had naturally waned. The room was nearly empty, save for two figures: Hermione was buried under a towering stack of books, her face pale with exhaustion from reading; while Liam had piled up a mountain of wood, busily crafting new dummies.
“Whoa, is this your secret base?” Fred peered in, grinning.
A second red head soon followed, poking in beside him. “Hi there, Know-It-All.”
“Ugh, I’m not doing well,” Hermione groaned. “Does anyone know who Nicolas Flamel is? He’s not in Great Wizards of the 20th Century, nor in the Contemporary Famous Wizards Directory. I’ve checked Major Magical Discoveries of the Modern Era and Research on the Development of Modern Wizardry—no mention of him anywhere. I’ve gone through nearly a hundred books! Could it be… he’s just never been written about?”
Everyone in the room froze. Then, in unison:
“You’re kidding, Hermione. Nicolas Flamel? Of course he’s in the books!”
Hermione slowly lifted her head, blinking in confusion. Her expression was one of genuine bewilderment—so rare and vulnerable it almost made you want to comfort her.
“You… all know who Nicolas Flamel is?”
“Of course!” Liam stood, adjusting a newly built dummy. “He celebrated his 665th birthday last year! The Daily Prophet even ran a feature on it. My dad says he might be the oldest living wizard in history.”
“Six hundred and sixty-five?” Hermione repeated, stunned.
“Nicolas Flamel is the greatest alchemist of all time,” Fred said. “He’s the one who created the only Philosopher’s Stone in existence.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone?” Hermione frowned, trying to recall where she’d heard that name.
“It can transmute any metal into pure gold,” George added. “And it creates the Elixir of Life. That was my dream as a kid—owning a Philosopher’s Stone.”
“Transmutation of metals… eternal life?” Hermione murmured, still caught in disbelief.
Wade, closing the door behind him, couldn’t help but mutter: “Hermione, are you stuck on repeat now?”
The twins didn’t know what a “recorder” was, but the meaning was clear—and they burst into laughter.
Hermione looked up at Wade with wide, hopeful eyes. “So… you do know who Nicolas Flamel is, right?”
Wade nodded simply. “I’ve been studying alchemy lately. His works were my first reading.”
“Alchemy?” Liam’s eyes widened. “That’s sixth-year material!”
“Exactly,” Wade said. “But I figured I’d start building a foundation now.” He paused. “Is Theo not with you today?”
“He’s helping Professor Sprout sort the greenhouses,” Liam explained, wiping sawdust off his sleeves as he walked over to grab a water cup. Wade waved his wand, casting a quick Scourgify to clear the tiny wood shavings from Liam’s clothes.
Fred swung his legs over the back of a chair, poking Hermione’s shoulder. “Hey! You alive? Still breathing? What’s the capital of France?”
Hermione, sprawled across the table, lazily swatted his hand away and sat up, groaning. “I should’ve just asked in the first place—I’ve been searching for over a month!”
Wade glanced at the books scattered across her desk—all modern magical history texts. Of course she wouldn’t find Flamel in those. He’d been born in 1330s France, mentioned in much older sources.
“Hermione,” Liam asked gently, “why were you looking him up?”
When Wade wasn’t around, Hermione was always the one to answer questions for everyone. Over time, they’d come to see her not just as a classmate, but as a real friend.
“I… I just…” She hesitated, about to brush it off with “nothing,” because explaining would mean admitting they’d broken rules and sneaked into the Forbidden Area. But when she looked up, she saw the sincere concern in everyone’s eyes—no mockery, no judgment, just honest care.
The guilt hit her hard.
“Alright,” she said, taking a breath. “It’s like this… We had this adventure last time—when we went into the Forbidden Area. After the Quidditch match, Harry and Ron went to visit Hagrid, the Gamekeeper. He… kind of let it slip that the three-headed dog was guarding something connected to Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.”
She paused, then concluded: “So that dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone. I’m sure Flamel asked Dumbledore to keep it safe. He knew someone was after the stone—and since he trusted Dumbledore, he left it here at Hogwarts.”
She glanced at Wade, but didn’t mention his earlier theory—that perhaps Dumbledore was testing Harry all along. Though she was becoming more convinced that Wade was right, she didn’t want to risk making Harry even more of a target.
She knew what it felt like to be on the spotlight. Just look at Harry—how he’d been hounded by classmates since day one. She knew her friend had been deeply troubled by it.
“Who’s after the Philosopher’s Stone?” Liam asked.
Hermione said, “Harry and Ron think it’s Snape—he’s got a leg that looks like it was bitten by the three-headed dog. But I… I think—”
Before she could finish, George suddenly said: “—Quirrell?”
Hermione froze for two seconds. Then: “What does Professor Quirrell have to do with this? I mean, he’s not exactly competent—”
(End of Chapter)
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