"That's why it makes perfect sense for someone to want to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione said. "Who wouldn't want something that can make you live forever and produce unlimited gold?"
"But if such a thing exists, why don't they just make more of them?" Hermione asked, a note of confusion in her voice.
Albert replied, "I don't think it's that they don't want to, but rather that they can't."
"Why not? If you can do it once, surely you can do it again once you've mastered the method."
"When I was looking for information on Nicolas Flamel in my family's library, I read several books on alchemy. I didn't understand much, but there was one thing I remember very clearly—the core principle of alchemy is the Law of Equivalent Exchange."
He paused, waiting for Hermione to nod in understanding before continuing.
"Now think about it: from the perspective of equivalent exchange, what kind of price would you need to pay for something that extends life against the laws of nature and transforms matter into gold?"
Hermione pondered for a moment, then suddenly gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as if horrified.
"I've thought about it too," Albert said quietly. "Only at the cost of other lives could such powerful effects be achieved."
"But... but Nicolas is a friend of Professor Dumbledore. He can't be the kind of person who would do something so horrible."
Albert immediately realized Hermione had misunderstood him. "I'm not saying Nicolas was a murderer. But when he created the Philosopher's Stone, there were devastating outbreaks of disease in Paris, where he lived—plague, smallpox. At the time, science was primitive, and these infectious diseases claimed a vast number of lives. For example, the Black Death in 1353 increased the death rate in Paris by over forty times. And during the smallpox outbreak in 1418, over sixty thousand people died in just a month and a half. The loss of life during those times could have been enough to 'create' the Philosopher's Stone... but such opportunities are very rare."
"I think I remember something about that from elementary school history," Hermione murmured, nodding.
"Let's write to Harry now and tell him what we've found," she added. "That way he and Ron won't have to worry about it during the Christmas holiday."
"I bet they've long forgotten about it," Albert muttered under his breath.
In the end, since Hermione had other things to do, Albert returned home and wrote a detailed letter to Harry and Ron about what he had discovered concerning Nicolas Flamel. He sent the message via owl.
Just as Albert predicted, Harry hadn't spent his holiday searching for answers. He and Ron were far too busy enjoying themselves. With most students gone for the break, the common room was much quieter, allowing them to lounge in the comfiest chairs near the fire.
When Albert's letter arrived, they were feasting on all the food they could manage—bread, pastries, mushrooms—while casually plotting ways to get Malfoy expelled, even if they knew those plans were impossible.
"Hey, Harry, there's a letter outside." Ron pointed to a snowy owl tapping at the window with a message tied to her leg.
Harry opened the window, and a gust of wind hit him in the face. He took the letter and tore off a piece of buttered bread, offering it to the owl, who pecked at it gratefully before fluttering away into the sky.
"Who's it from?" Ron asked.
Harry tore open the envelope and read it. "It's from Albert. He says he and Hermione found some information on Nicolas Flamel. They'll tell us everything once the holiday is over."
"See? I told you ages ago," Ron said smugly, stretching out lazily in his chair. "Albert and Hermione—those two love reading. They're the best people for this kind of thing. Just leave it to them."
Harry was astonished at how easily Albert had found something they'd spent weeks searching for.
"How did Albert find that information so quickly?" he asked Ron. "We combed through every book in the Hogwarts library and found nothing."
"Well," Ron replied, "Albert has access to his family's private library."
"His family has a library?" Harry asked, surprised. "I thought your family was noble. Doesn't your family have a book collection?"
"Yeah, but Albert's family is way more powerful than mine used to be," Ron explained. "The Blacks were one of the most influential wizarding families—until they started losing their power after that tragedy eleven years ago. That's when Albert's father was sent to Azkaban."
"Oh my god… All of that happened to Albert and I didn't even know?" Harry said, stunned.
"Huh? Didn't you hear him on the train?" Ron asked.
"Not really. I was feeling dizzy when I first met Albert, so I couldn't focus on what he was saying. All I remember is him saying his dad was in prison."
"Well, he said that person murdered his entire family that day. He came to Hogwarts to study magic so he could get revenge on that person."
"Ron, stop being cryptic. Who's that person you keep talking about?"
"I can't say it. Mum said if I say his name, he'll come and kill me!" Ron whispered frantically. "But you know who I mean—the one you defeated when you were a baby."
"You mean Voldemort?" Harry asked bluntly.
Ron nearly jumped out of his seat, rushing over to clamp a hand over Harry's mouth.
"Shhh! Don't say the name! You'll get us killed!"
Harry burst into laughter at Ron's terrified reaction.
"Relax! Hagrid told me Voldemort's not coming back. You don't have to be so scared."
After their conversation, Ron began teaching Harry how to play wizard's chess. It was almost identical to regular chess—except the pieces were alive and moved on their own, making it feel more like commanding a real army.
Harry, using borrowed pieces, quickly learned he was no match for Ron, who used his grandfather's seasoned chess set. The pieces even criticized Harry's moves, making him feel even more out of his depth.
Meanwhile, Albert returned to his schoolwork in the days leading up to Christmas. He practiced the Piercing Charm every day, hoping to reach at least halfway to the second tier of mastery before the holidays were over.
During his breaks, he decorated the house, fixed broken things in the storage room, and handled more repairs each day.
On the day before Christmas Eve, Albert decorated the dining hall for the celebration he had planned with Kreacher.
Kreacher, the grumpy old house-elf, meticulously polished every window, table, and chair in preparation.
That afternoon, feeling cooped up after days of studying, Albert de
cided to go for a walk.
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