Chapter 497: Nicolas Flamel's Collection Chamber
Candlelight flickered, casting trembling shadows on the walls—like the sudden tremor of Wade’s own heartbeat.
He instinctively gripped the Feather Quill in his hand, his voice unsteady. “I… I don’t understand, sir… what you mean by ‘gift’—is it…?”
He wasn’t truly confused. It was simply that the suddenness of this “surprise” was overwhelming. Wade couldn’t help but doubt—was there some hidden danger behind this unexpected generosity?
Beyond the unconditional love of his parents, Wade had never believed anything could be given to him without effort. The admiration of elders, the respect of peers, the reverence of house-elves—each had been earned through persistent effort, through showing himself, step by step.
He still remembered the cold wind that night, trapped on the window ledge outside, the invisible noose slowly tightening around his neck, the fear that had never left him.
So now, faced with this gift that had fallen from the sky like a giant pie, Wade felt no thrill—only alertness. A chill crept silently up his spine.
“My collection of books,” Flamel said, smiling gently, “my personal notes, and of course, my private Collection Chamber.”
He assumed Wade was simply overwhelmed with joy, and his expression softened with warmth, his eyes twinkling with kindness.
“Albus carries too heavy a burden. His passion for alchemy in his youth was long ago replaced by other responsibilities.”
“I had planned to leave my books to the Hogwarts Library. Perhaps, in years to come, some child would open them, curious, and step into the world of alchemy.”
“But Albus recommended you.”
“He said… rather than wait for some future unknown figure who might never come, it was better to choose the most outstanding, the youngest, true Alchemist of the present.”
“Dear Wade,” Flamel continued, “before you even accepted my invitation, I had already heard so much from Albus. Every invention of yours—I’ve studied them, explored them.”
“Frankly, they’re full of brilliant thoughts. But what truly surprised me was the passion, the reverence you show for alchemy in your work.”
“I am nearing the end, Wade. If my research is to be inherited by someone like you, then I have no regrets.”
A surge of heat flooded Wade’s body, burning from his cheeks down to his fingertips. His heart pounded violently, his ears ringing, a faint dizziness washing over him.
He knew he should respond immediately, but what escaped his lips was, “Sir… I… I don’t know what to say. This is… too much…”
“Don’t answer now, child,” Flamel said kindly. “I understand. Sometimes, a sudden gift brings anxiety—like being pushed to the edge of a cliff.”
Wade was barely more than a fraction of Flamel’s age. To the ancient wizard, the boy’s hesitation, his lack of worldly experience, was simply the innocence of youth—untouched by the harshness of the world, still unshaped by time.
And that, Flamel thought, was precisely what made him so precious.
“Come with me, Wade,” Flamel said, turning. “Let me show you what you’re to inherit.”
Wade followed instinctively, nearly tripping over Flamel’s heels.
It was clear Flamel wanted to move quickly, but even at his brisk pace, Wade could only keep up by walking slowly—too slow to pass him.
Fortunately, the Collection Chamber wasn’t far.
In fact, Flamel approached the massive mechanical pendulum clock set into the corner of the wall.
The clock’s body was crafted from deep brown walnut, its four corners inlaid with brass. The face was golden, its edge marked with fine, precise markings. Copper hands moved with deliberate strength.
On the hour, the clock’s pendulum struck a brass tube, producing a clear, resonant chime. If someone stood near, it would even announce the time with cheerful enthusiasm—sometimes prompting visitors to wipe the dust off its crown.
Wade had seen this clock every day during his stay. He’d sensed, intuitively, that like most magical family heirlooms, it held a little magic—though not much.
As Flamel drew near, the clock chimed: “Good evening, Mr. Flamel. It is now nine twenty-one. The night is… very…”
Before it could finish, Flamel seized the minute hand, twisted it two full turns clockwise, three counter-clockwise, then tapped the numbers 6651382 in sequence with his wand.
With a sharp, clear click, the brass casing of the clock slowly slid open.
Wade held his breath, nearly forgetting to breathe.
Behind the clock’s back half lay a hidden space—just like the secret compartment in his own closet.
Inside was a vast chamber—an enormous hall stretching from floor to ceiling, lined with thousands of bookshelves, packed from base to dome with countless books, scrolls, and manuscripts, stacked high and deep, so many that they seemed to threaten to collapse under their own weight.
Some shelves held sealed boxes, their purpose unknown. Engraved magical runes glowed softly under the light of a hovering Magical Glowing Orb, casting a warm, gentle radiance.
“Good heavens…” Wade whispered, stunned. For once, he had no words.
It felt as if this chamber alone could fulfill half his life’s desires.
“I’ve been organizing these for years,” Flamel said, guiding Wade between the shelves. He picked up a scroll, glanced at it, then closed it again. “Ah, ancient alchemical manuscripts… Honestly, most of it is outdated, or about species long extinct. Not much practical use. But still—being unique, they hold some value.”
“These books…” Wade asked, awed, “have you read them all?”
“Of course,” Flamel replied. “If they weren’t carefully selected, how could they ever enter my Collection Chamber? Pell has helped me with much of the sorting.”
Wade nodded, though a hint of doubt lingered in his eyes. His gaze drifted to a distant section of shelves.
There, the books were chained, bound by iron links, some sealed in locked boxes.
“Oh, you noticed,” Flamel said solemnly. “Those are dangerous knowledge. Even opening one could be perilous. I’m leaving them to you—but I hope you never have to open them.”
“Then why not destroy them?” Wade asked, puzzled.
“Because they are wisdom left behind by our ancestors,” Flamel said slowly. “Though dangerous, they may one day be needed.”
“Needed… when?”
“In Norse mythology,” Flamel said, meeting Wade’s gaze, “Odin, the All-Father, sacrificed one of his eyes to gain ultimate wisdom. He cast it into the Well guarded by Mimir.”
“If the day ever comes,” Flamel continued, “when you are willing to pay a cost even greater than Odin’s to gain certain knowledge… then you may open those books.”
A shiver ran through Wade. He stared at the chains, the sealed boxes, and quietly tamped down the fire of curiosity in his chest.
(End of Chapter)
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