https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-497-Nicolas-Flamel-s-Collection-Chamber/13685580/
https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-499-Departure-On-the-Way-to-the-Pitch/13685587/
Chapter 498: The Distribution of Legacy
In the days that followed, Wade remained by Nicolas Flamel and Pereinal’s side, helping them sort through their vast collection—something Flamel openly referred to as their “legacy.”
“Think about it,” Pereinal said with a warm smile, wrapped in a blanket and cradling a steaming cup of tea, seated in her armchair. “We’re truly fortunate. So many people never get the chance to do this.”
“These things bring back memories of all the time we’ve shared,” Flamel said, gently holding Pereinal’s hand. “I found the ebony pipe you gave me—the one you gifted on my 380th birthday.”
“Oh, I remember,” Pereinal replied, her voice soft with nostalgia. “There was a piece of amber embedded at the tip. You liked it so much, you used it for years.”
“I found it just a moment ago,” Flamel added, shaking his head with regret. “There was still a little tobacco in the bowl. I barely touched it—and it crumbled to dust.”
They sat side by side on the balcony, leaning close, quietly sifting through fragments of memory, exchanging tender stories from a life that had spanned over six centuries.
Perhaps because death was now near, the couple had an endless stream of things to say. Yet Pereinal’s strength waned, and she often drifted off to sleep mid-sentence.
When that happened, Flamel would carefully tuck the blanket around her, smooth her hair, and sit in silence beside her for a while before returning to work with Wade—though even now, lifting a thick book left him breathless. He would pause after just a few minutes, exhausted.
Over six hundred years, Flamel had received countless Christmas gifts—though he himself couldn’t recall how many. There were magical artifacts, rare materials, priceless paintings, and jewels. He hadn’t actively collected them, yet they had accumulated, one by one, like grains of sand on a shore.
He and Pereinal had no children, but they had many friends. Flamel maintained close ties with several magical schools, especially Beauxbatons—the very school he had once attended.
As a result, most of the legacy was to be given to his friends, including certain magical creatures.
From the West to the East, from mountain peaks to the depths of the sea, even in the Arctic, he had friends. When he paused to count them, even he was surprised.
Some items were to be donated to magical schools, hospitals, or institutions—some even went to Muggle universities and museums.
Others he wished to leave to the house-elves who had cared for them for so many years. Though the number wasn’t great, the gesture brought the little creatures to tears, one of them collapsing to the floor in heartfelt gratitude.
“After I’m gone,” Flamel said, gently pulling Wade’s hand, “I hope you’ll take them on.”
“Without a master, house-elves are even more wretched than stray dogs on the street. And I can’t bear the thought of them falling into the hands of some cruel wizard—treated like slaves.”
“Milo and the others are kind, respectful, and intelligent. Some even know a bit of alchemy. They’ll be a great help to you.”
“I promise,” Wade said. “I’ll take good care of them.”
“Ah… I’m glad I wrote to you,” Flamel smiled. “I heard you took in a house-elf, treating him like family. That’s precisely why I chose to entrust Milo and the others to you.”
“But no wages, no clothes,” he added, chuckling. “They’d be frightened out of their wits, Wade. Not every little sprite is full of freedom and rebellion.”
Some of the legacy, Flamel decided, would be buried with him—like the pipe Pereinal had given him.
These items held no great monetary value, yet to Flamel, each carried irreplaceable memories. To him, they were priceless.
Wade sealed the final box. A green feather quill soared through the air, swiftly writing the recipient’s name and address before being placed on a shelf.
Along the walnut wood bookshelf, stretching all the way to the roof, stood over a hundred identical boxes—each no larger than a common shoebox, light as air, as if they contained nothing more than a single sweater.
Yet inside, the magic boxes could hold far more than their appearance suggested. Some, when the seal was broken, would instantly fill an entire classroom with their contents.
Flamel had already contacted the Owl Post Office. The boxes would be sent out at the agreed time—after his passing.
As for the gifts meant for Muggle friends or institutions, Wade had arranged with Muggle logistics companies. It took several trucks to haul away the entire collection.
With each item removed, the room grew emptier, quieter. What had once been overflowing with treasures now felt almost bare—save for the essential household items.
But Flamel hadn’t kept Wade by his side just to help with the work.
As they sorted through the collection, Flamel spoke to Wade like spring wind melting into rain—offering insights into alchemy that were never written in any book.
He didn’t discuss the known principles. Instead, he spoke of the process of creating alchemical artifacts—how one could transform a barren desert into a lush oasis. He simplified complex ideas: the transmutation of elements, the refinement of life, the nature of time and space, the mysteries of the universe.
“Wade,” Flamel said one day, resting, “the most impressive alchemy—most of it—is really no different from enchanting a teacup with a Scourgify spell.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Wade replied. “Are you saying… human alchemy?”
“No—don’t try to understand,” Flamel corrected himself, almost as if he’d spoken too freely. “Seeking the origin of knowledge is dangerous. The answer leads only to destruction.”
Wade nodded thoughtfully.
Flamel left no gold, no silver, no powerful alchemical artifact for Wade—except for the Clock Collection Chamber.
But he did give him a chest of alchemical materials.
Though it was called “a chest,” in the magical world, such containers held unimaginable capacity.
“Child,” Flamel said gently, “tangible treasures bring only misfortune. Knowledge—that is the greatest gift I leave you.”
“Knowledge is freedom. Knowledge is burden. It is the most wondrous alchemy of all.”
“It can grant power and wealth. It can turn stone into gold. It can make a man master of his own fate. Once you possess it, no one can take it from you.”
“But you must understand its dangers, Wade. I’ve seen brilliant minds—men who knew more than anyone else—become mad. Their wisdom became the very tool of their own undoing.”
He paused, taking a long, weary breath.
“Wade… remember this: never become Icarus.”
(End of Chapter)
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