Chapter 73 - 72: The Awkward Compartment

"Have you ever heard of Nicolas Flamel?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with urgency. "Nicolas Flamel?" Edward raised an eyebrow. His mind raced, searching for the name, while curiosity about her question bubbled up. "Hermione, I'm not doubting you, but why are you asking me this?" "It's just, like you said, wouldn't it be better to wait and ask a professor when we're back at Hogwarts? I bet Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick would be happy to help—though, maybe not Professor Snape," Edward added with a playful smirk. His keen sense of empathy told him there was more to Hermione's question—something deeper, something she wasn't saying outright. Hermione's expression showed she wasn't surprised by his response. She glanced at the compartment door, waiting until two passing students in the corridor moved out of earshot before lowering her voice. "See, I knew you'd ask that! And that's exactly why I can't go to the professors!" "If I can't find anything about Nicolas Flamel in the books, you're my only hope. Just you!" "Just me?" Edward's eyebrows climbed higher. "Don't you remember? After the first Quidditch match before the holidays, when you visited Harry in the hospital wing, Hagrid was there too. After you left, we kept talking, and Hagrid let the name slip," Hermione explained. "Oh, right, and you also sent eight Slytherin Quidditch players to the hospital wing that day. Not that I'm judging—nice work, by the way." Edward nodded, urging her to go on. He definitely remembered the incident. "After that midnight duel, when you distracted Filch, a few of us stumbled into a room guarded by a three-headed dog! Harry and I have been convinced that Snape's trying to steal whatever that dog's guarding, and it's got something to do with Nicolas Flamel!" Edward's face lit up with realization. So that's why Hermione couldn't ask any of the staff—Hagrid had spilled the beans, and he'd likely clam up if pressed further. "So you see? I can't ask any professors, and I can't find anything about Nicolas Flamel in the books. You're the only one who might know something," Hermione said, her voice brimming with urgency. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione, but I've got to say, Snape's not the one who cursed Harry," Edward replied, shaking his head while trying to place the name Nicolas Flamel. "Why won't you believe it? We've got other evidence—his leg was bitten by that three-headed dog—" "Because I asked him myself." Hermione's words were cut off by Edward's interruption. Her jaw dropped, her mind grinding to a halt. "You asked Snape? Are you mad? What if he'd hurt you? He tried to kill Harry in front of everyone—" Hermione stopped mid-sentence, something clicking. "Wait, no, that was ages ago. And you're sitting here, perfectly fine, so Snape didn't do anything to you," she said, shaking her bushy hair in confusion. "So... it really wasn't him?" "Of course not. I know you Gryffindors don't like Snape, but I know what kind of person he is. Besides, Professor Dumbledore vouched for him." Hermione could see the sincerity in Edward's eyes, and it planted a seed of doubt in her mind. "Okay, fine. I still don't want to believe it, but I'll tell Harry and Ron. Anyway, back to Nicolas Flamel." Edward focused, racking his brain. The name Nicolas Flamel—he'd definitely come across it somewhere. Not in the Magical Knight's Handbook—that was too old. Maybe A History of Magic? He had the textbook in his luggage, but it was so thick it'd take forever to search. If only he could narrow down a time period. Noticing Edward's hesitation, Hermione jumped in. "I've already checked Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and Studies in Recent Developments in Wizardry. His name's not in any of them." So, not a modern or contemporary wizard, then. But from what Hermione said, he was still alive. That would make him over a hundred years old. Was there really a wizard like that? Living... forever? Immortality? Alchemy? Edward's thoughts spiraled. A famous legend about immortality surfaced in his mind. "Drinking from the Holy Grail can restore youth, bring the dead back to life, even grant eternal life." Then he remembered an old book at home, one that mentioned the Grail. "No one knows the true origin of the Holy Grail. The classic tale says it was the wine goblet used by the Son, but other legends claim it was forged from pure gold." "One of King Arthur's Round Table knights, the pure-hearted Galahad, found the Grail. Legend says he returned it to the heavens, but ever since, rumors of the Grail reappearing in the mortal world have persisted." "It's said to have appeared in Britain, France, Italy, Germany—accounts vary. But one of the most famous owners of the Grail was Nicolas Flamel." "He drank from the Grail and, with its power, became a great alchemist." Nicolas Flamel—Nicolas Flamel. Edward's eyes lit up. He'd found the name. Hermione, anxiously waiting and hoping Edward knew something, immediately noticed the change in his expression. "Well? Did you remember something?" "I did. Nicolas Flamel is—" "Who?" A third voice cut Edward off before he could finish. Daphne was leaning against the compartment door, watching with keen interest as Hermione's eager but slightly flustered expression met Edward, who was about to reveal the answer. "Miss Greengrass, don't you know eavesdropping is rude?" Hermione said, clearly annoyed. She was this close to getting the answer she'd been agonizing over, and now this interruption could change everything. Couldn't you have shown up earlier—or not at all? "Miss Granger, I think you're overreacting a bit. I didn't realize you and Edward were that close," Daphne said, unfazed by Hermione's irritation. "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin chatting in the same compartment? I'd say that's bound to spark some curiosity, don't you think?" Daphne sauntered in and sat next to Edward, elegantly crossing her right leg. "Especially when I overhear a name I've never heard before. So, who's this Nicolas Flamel?"