It was a quiet morning in my office, the kind of morning that fools one into thinking peace is a permanent condition. I sat behind my desk, the Philosopher's Stone resting lightly in my palm. A beautiful thing—dense, radiant, humming with dormant power. No one had noticed it was a fake in the Mirror of Erised. Not even young Sky Kingston, whose appetite for mischief is only outmatched by his ability to sniff out secrets.
Still, he never suspected the feather was meant to decay. That was the brilliance of it: he got his week, I got my silence. A neat little contract, heavily worded, artfully baited, and ultimately binding.
I smiled faintly to myself.
That smile faded the moment Fawkes gave a low trill and a letter dropped onto my desk in a flash of flame.
I opened it with a flick of my fingers. The handwriting was unmistakable.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Albus,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have recently been in correspondence with a very curious and articulate young man by the name of Sky Kingston. Imagine my surprise when he not only mentioned the Philosopher's Stone, but also asked about returning it to me personally at the end of the school year.
Yes, Albus. He knows. He knew enough to contact me. And what's more, I agreed. He even sent me a copy of the contract—one which I must admit, had me laughing out loud for a good ten minutes.
Outwitted on paper, no less. Albus, the irony is almost poetic. But let this be where the fun ends.
The Stone belongs to me and my wife, and I am officially requesting its safe return upon the completion of this academic year. I will not tolerate it being used as bait in your ridiculous cat-and-mouse game with Voldemort.
You placed the lives of children in danger, Albus. Again. And this time, you did it while leading me to believe your interest was merely academic. I was a fool to trust you.
Perenelle is absolutely livid, by the way. When she found out, she nearly hexed the walls off our sitting room. She says that if the two of you ever meet again, you can expect a level of fury that would make a Hungarian Horntail look tame.
After this, our long-standing friendship is at an end. I want nothing more to do with this reckless game you call strategy.
Sincerely, Nicholas Flamel
________________________________________________________________________________________
I stared at the parchment for a long moment.
"How in Merlin's name did he—"
I yanked open my desk drawer, pulling out the original contract between myself and Sky Kingston.
________________________________________________________________________________________
This binding agreement, forged between Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and Sky Kingston, ensures:
-The silence of Sky Kingston on all matters regarding the object of interest and its location.
-Said silence shall be upheld among all those not directly involved in the project.
-This silence will include those who are unaware of said object of interest.
-A letter of recommendation shall be provided to Mr. Kingston should the item be returned to the Headmaster after a minimum of one (1) week of possession and before the conclusion of the academic year.
-Neither party shall take action that would harm the stated interests of those involved or the integrity of the project unless there is a risk of life to others or Harry's.
-Should the provided item in the possession of Mr. Kingston be returned before the school years end, the object of interest shall be entrusted to him should he gain Nicholas Flamels permission.
-Should the provided item in the possession of Mr. Kingston NOT be returned, it will be the responsibility of Headmaster Dumbledore to return said object of interest.
-Breach of contract shall result in immediate forfeiture of any privileges or agreements outlined within.
-Breach of contract may result in the loss of magic as well as snapping wand(s)
*This contract will last until the Philosophers Stone has safely reached the hand of Nicholas Flamel
OR
should an agreement be reached otherwise by both parties.
________________________________________________________________________________________
My eyes caught on the phrasing.
"All those not directly involved."
Flamel, as the owner of the Stone, was directly involved. The boy had found the loophole.
Had this been done according to my plans, I could have ensured his silence forever.
And of course, Sky never could have known the Stone wasn't meant to be returned. Not unless I'd made my intentions obvious.
With a frustrated sigh, I reopened the contract and summoned a magnifying glass with a flick of my wand. My eyes scanned every line again, searching—no, scouring—for any other clever clauses, sneaky phrasings, or semantic time bombs he might have slipped past me. I double-checked the definitions of 'involved', revisited the contingencies on object return, and reread the enforcement clauses line by line.
The wording was maddeningly precise. Thorough, but not overt. He'd thought of everything. Every escape route I had mentally bookmarked had already been quietly bricked over with airtight language.
I paused at the clause about 'stated interests' and the phrase 'those involved.' At first, I had interpreted 'involved' to mean only myself and Sky—after all, we were the ones signing the contract. But now... now it was clear. Nicholas Flamel, as the rightful owner of the Stone, was undeniably involved.
And then I reread Nicholas's letter. This time, I saw a new line added at the bottom, penned in that infuriatingly elegant script:
________________________________________________________________________________________
"The Stone is to be returned to me no later than the final day of the term, Albus. If not, the contract itself ensures consequences that will extend to your very magic. Should Sky Kingston be the one to return the stone, he has until the beginning of the following school year to return it to me. I sincerely hope you haven't grown too attached to it."
________________________________________________________________________________________
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I could no longer keep the Stone. Not without risking everything. Sky had unknowingly—or perhaps very knowingly—boxed me into a corner.
I exhaled through my nose, slow and long, before dragging the contract closer yet again. There had to be another way. A loophole he missed. A crack in the ink.
But the ink was solid. The language was clear. And the trap, it seemed, had already sprung.
I rubbed my temples. "This boy... is either a prodigy or a bureaucratic demon sent to torment me."
I slowly hit my forehead on the desk.
And then again.
And again.
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK.
"Brilliant," I muttered. "Outwitted by an eleven-year-old with a taste for chaos and legalese."
I sat back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling, the Philosopher's Stone still glowing in my hand.