A Harry Potter Quest: He who was not

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Present Date: 28th​ December 1993
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

The days passed by quickly. You spent the mornings painting with your mother and talking to her about memories of the past, learning many a thing about the life she and your father had shared together, while working for the Flamels. Their many adventures would have filled a series of novellas. After late brunch, both you and your father headed out together and with every passing day, he was becoming more merciless, letting fewer and fewer of your attacks through, before he took you out. He used a different wand each day, changing his tactics with them as if he was pleasing their will and fighting the way his chosen wand of the day liked it most. There was a lesson there for you to learn from.

After lunch, you visited the Flamels. Once your mother realized that your visits would be a daily thing, she started making you deliver the food that she was usually making them in advance. Even in their last years now, it seemed that there was not much family or friends to the Flamels. Famous and rich as they were, there was no one outside of this small island that even knew where they lived, it seemed.

"What is the first thing one needs to do in the process of creation?" Nicolas asked when you first sat together to discuss your shared project.

Talking to the old man in his new persona was much different than what you had become used to of him. His eyes were focused and sharp, his gaze unwavering as he waited for your answer. While you had never been someone to give uneducated responses, here you found yourself thinking over everything two times.

"One needs to first find an idea," you said in the end.

Your teacher shook his head without breaking eye contact. "Before the idea comes the Need," he said. "This is even more important to you than it is for me. Missing skills and understanding of the intricate relationship between different branches of magic are nothing to a pure need to make a specific thing happen. A need overrules everything else under the right circumstances."

His words made you think about the Grey Lady and her disdain and hate for her own life, not able to let it end without her ever having felt happy. Sally-Ann, young and innocent, ripped out of life too early and in a cruel way. You remembered her fear, her need to stay together with her friends in the castle. What you had identified as strong emotions that made the impossible come true, Nicolas was calling a need for something.

"I understand," you said. Your teacher looked at you for a moment, before a quizzical expression fell into his face.

"The accidental magic I did as a child, making inanimate objects come to life," you said. "Or the moment when a human dies and his soul is not ready to go on. A Need for a specific thing to happen, fuelled by emotion and magic … it can make anything possible."

"That is correct," Nicolas said, his face still thoughtful as he observed you. "It surprises me that you have this deep an insight. Who taught you this?"

"They are long dead and gone," you answered. "People I never met while living."

You looked down at the ground, still not feeling able to put those experiences into words.

"Ah … I think I might understand," Nicolas said, his hand coming to rest on your head. His rare gesture of compassion made you look up in surprise. While the oldest man in the world had always been kind and eager to listen to you, he had never cared for any physicality. "Your parents told me of what happened at your School. This might have given you a good grasp of what we are about to do then."

Letting go of you, he went back to one of his many shelves, taking out one or the other thing, before passing by his wife again, who was watching the both of you from her now familiar spot.

"We will use a Need for you to start on your journey here. Now, tell me Jacob; what is it that you truly want. We need something that gives you a Need strong enough for you to jump over any hurdle that will be created by missing skill, as we do not have the time to teach you in any ordinary fashion."

You thought about his question for a while. Your feet hitting in a slow rhythm against the ground below as you contemplated his words. While you were still sitting on a chair, your boots were creating the sound of steps, echoing against the walls of the basement. What was it that you needed? What could create a strong enough emotion for you to disregard the usual requirement of many years of traditional apprenticeship in the subject.

There was one thing that guided you most in your adventures: Curiosity. You needed something that could assist you when you finally roamed out of exploring only the castle.

The need was crystalizing inside your mind, forming a vague picture.

When you looked down at your boots, an idea was there as well.


→ Alchemy New Grade, D--

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Present Date: 30th​ December 1993
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

It was early in the morning and you were sitting on a high three-legged chair in your parents' workshop. Sitting in front of an easel you had borrowed out of your mother's equipment, you had been watching the empty canvas for an hour now. It was the second day in a row that you were trying to put something down on the plain surface, but couldn't quite grasp the image inside your head to make it clear enough to paint.

You closed your eyes frustrated seeing the four figures dance around in front of you, but when you opened them again – they were simply gone again. Sighing in frustration, you put the colour mixing palette down on the ground and stood up.

This morning your mother had headed out to the Flamel's house herself. Perenelle's health was further deteriorating with each passing day, needing more and more potent brewing's of your mother to keep her pain at bay and strengthen her weak physicality.

You were feeling a block build inside your head, emotions building up that you didn't know how to handle, chose to ignore and thoughts which you didn't know what to do with. The process of losing people that were important to you was a painful one. You felt helpless and ashamed, because you didn't even feel as if you were being able to give emotional support to anyone.

Frustrated with yourself, you gave up the latest attempt of creation and put away the equipment. You cleaned up the palette and brush that had gone unused in the end and pushed the easel back into its place at the wall. When you took the canvas and carried it over to the shelve where you had taken it out of, you tried to place it on top of the shelve. You set it on a large box, dusty and old, looking as if it hadn't been moved in years. While usually careful and considerate when handling your parents' things, the irritation you were feeling showed as you accidently pushed the box out of the shelve in the process of putting the canvas away.

The box came crashing down with a large bang.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, as frustration turned into anger. The next best thing landed in your hand, which was a small canvas, not any bigger than your head. You threw it through the entirety of the room, where it clashed against one of your fathers' sculptures. A second later, the sculpture fell to the ground, exploding into a hundred pieces.

You looked at the mess that had been a beautiful sculpture of an otter just a second before. Anger turned into an empty feeling of defeat, when you let yourself fall on the ground next to the box that had fallen of the shelve.

And finally, you started crying. When no one was looking and you felt that you could not take another step, there was no way to stop the tears from coming, so, you simply didn't. You sat there for a long time, before the tears stopped and you tried cleaning up your face with your sleeves, dirtying them with a mix of tears and snort.

"Ok, come on, Jacob … you can do this," you said to yourself, before pushing yourself back up again. The sculpture started to fall back together after a 'Reparo'. A moment later it stood on its original place, looking just like it always had; beautiful and whole. Then you leaned down to take on the large box and shove it back on its place, only to realize that it had fallen open, enabling you to see the painting that lay at the top of it.

The first difference to your mothers' usual paintings was that this picture did not move. While her paintings were intricate, detailed to perfection and would stand out under a thousand other pictures as special, even without any kind of magic, the movements and hidden secrets she put into her creations had made her famous. There were only few paintings you knew of that she had painted without the help of any magic, though.

Intrigued by your findings, you opened the box fully and took a closer look. Instantly you recognized yourself at the lower left corner of the painting. The tableau itself was one of the greatest works you had ever seen. The background was of an island in the center of an entire world of things. Painted in a distorted perspective to allow the front to be large and clear, the deeper you looked into the deeper layers of the picture, the more irregular forms and directions became as they merged into one another.

The island in itself you recognized as your home-island. It was an idealized version of the island while the ocean around it had created large waves and casted deep shadows onto its shores. The background was filled with a thousand distractions and wonderful things, your eyes rapidly jumping between them; a dragon, flying behind a shadow in the form of a bat, a girl, raising her sword in combat against the dragon above her, a moon, breaking apart as the sun behind it rose behind it. There were so many things happening in the background that it took you a moment for your eyes to fall back at the first level of the picture.

You were standing in the lower left corner of the painting, somewhere near the cliff of the island itself. In this picture you were much younger than you were now, maybe a year or two after you had willed a clay dolphin into life with your accidental magic. This young version of you was unaffected by all the other wonders in his world; his eyes were instead resting on something to his feet, something that you only noticed now as his eyes guided yours. In between his feet was a small frog, tiny and almost blending into the colors of the ground, made unnoticeable on the first look.

While the entire world was a distraction for every onlooker, only this small Jacob on the painting had decided to direct his attention on the frog that no one but him had seen, while ignoring everything else.

For this child, in this specific moment, there was nothing more important that what had caught his curiosity.

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Present Date: 02th​ January 1994
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

New year came and passed by and while most of the island chose to celebrate, you decided to stay away and spent the time with the Flamels and your parents. You imagined Perenelle smiling, when old stories about your father's stubbornness in his early years of working with her husband were retold. The old woman's expression did not show any enthusiasm in reality, as she was losing the last of her energy.

"Jacob," Nicolas said, when you arrived in the early afternoon a day later. His expression today was a set one, not allowing you to read into it as he guided you along into the house.

"Let us go up. Nelle wants to talk to you," he said, breaking the routine you had fallen into. Everyday you came at a similar time, bringing food with you, before you headed down to Nicolas and Perenelle in the basement to proceed with the work on your project. Nicolas was mostly just guiding you, while you made all the adjustments as Perenelle silently watched you two work. It was productive and you were learning many things that you had never thought of, but you were making slow progress, as you were not often able to cast the intricate spells and charms that were needed for what you had thought of.

Today though it seemed, the day would not fall into the usual routine.

"How is she feeling?" You asked Nicolas as you followed him into the living area and then the stairs up into their bedroom. There was a heavy smell of cauldron and potions in the air. With every step you took up, your heart wavered a little bit more. Having lived through two deaths that were not yours and having confronted two situations that could have killed you or left you of worse than dead, made you sure of one thing; you were not afraid of dying. The process of it was gruesome and lonely, but you felt no deep-seated fear before it. This was only directed towards your own dying, though.

Loosing someone that was important to you terrified you on such a level, that you were even afraid of processing it. With every further step up the stair, the tactic of simply ignoring that fear became harder and harder. Soon, you had reached the upper floor, before you followed Nicolas into the bedroom.

There was a husk in the bed. Caught between a thick set of blankets that had been neatly put around her, she looked as if she hadn't moved in hours.

"He is here, dear," Nicolas said, when he stepped into the room before you and sat down on the bed next to his wife. His hand found her pale forehead, checking her temperature before leaning down for a gentle kiss.

You followed your teacher into the room, your feet guiding the mind that had frozen in fear. When you sat down next to Perenelle, she was not looking at you, her head still facing into the same direction, leaning against the many cushions behind her.

"Jacob," she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "Jacob, my child."

"I am here," you said, as tears welled up in your eyes again. "I am here, madame. I am here."

There was a long pause, in which you watched Nicolas hug his wife's head and shoulders. His expression was still set, no emotion reaching his face as he simply let his wife put out a word every few seconds.

"I wish this would have gone different, child. Forgive this greed of mine for wanting a few more years to watch you grow, but it seems as if it comes to an end at last."

You didn't move from your chair by her side, couldn't even muster the strength to say anything.

"Have I told you, that I was always dead-set against having children, my dear Jacob?" She asked. Her eyes were either focused on the wall in front of her or resting, as she tried to focus on her words.

"Such an insufferable human being I am that I wouldn't want to share the attention I was getting. If I can teach you one thing at last, then what you shouldn't achieve to be in life."

"You taught me many good things," you said in protest, your voice breaking as a tear fell down your cheek. You wiped it down instantly, keeping your eyes on Perenelle, even as the world got blurry.

"I am happy to hear that, Jacob. Mayhap your words will safe me from the hellfire I have assured myself."

Another tear. You wiped it down, angry with yourself for not being able to control your emotions.

"But as I am assured that my fate will not be a good one, I will take it up on my soul to sin once again and rob a child of something precious. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, my child. Even if short, the memories with you are some of my dearest."

Suddenly, there was no holding anymore as you broke down in tears. You cried in silence, trying for her not to notice. Perenelle didn't move her head, still not able to see you at her side.

"Listen closely my child, for I will tell you of your creation. I will tell you of the biggest feat my husband has ever achieved and the sin I have taken upon my soul. Jacob, my child. My pure little, gentle, beautiful Jacob."

Her words became more sluggish, her voice faint, almost non-existent.

"We created this island two hundred years ago, when I was fed up with the rapid changes of the world around us. I invited only the oldest to come here and settle down with us. They followed my invitation, like moths follow the light. My husband was always the brilliant one, always the one people flocked to, but to this day we both know that there is more to true genius than sheer smartness … and in ruthlessness I have never lacked, my child. I pushed him on to create the Philosopher's Stone, even when he had no interest in lingering in this world for longer than was needed. I made him keep the makings of the stone's Elixir of Life secret and only use it on the both of us, disregarding all the good he wanted to do with it."

Nicolas was not looking up at you, still caressing his wife in her last moments in life. You did not understand what Perenelle was trying to communicate to you, so you wiped your face again and kept listening.

"On and on the list goes of my sins and cruelty, as I stood behind him, watching the world adore what his brilliance created. He finally had the recognition he deserved. We made things possible that were not there before, created wonders that others could not fathom, when my husband came up with an idea – that he did only dare to share with me, I listened closely. It was something so great that the price for it would be unfathomable. Nicolas knew that he couldn't pay the price, even if his genius was demanding it from him. What he dared to achieve would need would need the darkest of magics and would go far beyond even what foulness others used to keep themselves anchored to this realm."

"We created this island for the sole purpose of collecting the souls of the dead, Jacob. Barring those that passed on to truly leave this place. For two hundred years I took care of the enchantments that I had cast deep below the stones of the island. For two hundred years I caught the souls of those I had lied to and betrayed into settling down here for their last breaths. I sealed my fate with the sins I committed, so, that one day, when a pair of brilliant wizards, that were of an age where a natural birth would not be possible anymore, came to ask us for advice, we were able to help them. Your parents never understood how the Elixir of Life worked in truth. They took only a sip of it, both of them returning to the health of younger days, but your mother was still not able to birth anything in reality."

Here, finally, the old woman turned her head. Your eyes met hers, not understanding the true meaning of her words yet. Under immeasurable pain, she turned to you to look into your eyes as she said: "I was raised with Myths of old, my child. Myths of humans that had been created out of nothing … and for 600 hundred years, this was something I thought impossible, not able to be thought of. The Elixir of Life was the first of my many sins, my child. I want to teach you what my husband cannot. In magic there is no such thing as a perfect solution. There are laws in place that cannot be ignored, no matter your brilliance. Only genius can pay the true price, which after all is 'A life for a life'."

Only then, did you understand. Your eyes never left hers as she watched you in pain.

"The Elixir, derived from the Philosopher's Stone was built on a single death. A miniscule token for what utility it would gift us. Where brilliance had created the stone, only genius gave us the Elixir. Where brilliance had given us the idea, only genius made it possible for us to sacrifice two hundred years' worth of souls, bound to this island to create life inside a woman that had long lost the ability to procreate."

You didn't blink as the tears dried up in your eyes. Your breathing calmed as you thought of Basques and her wolf, slowing your mind and your breath.

"You, my child, are the creation my husband had thought of, but wasn't able to see through. And I take this last sin up on my soul to rob you of your innocence, so that when neither me nor Nicolas remain on this world, the wonder we have brought to this world is not forgotten."

Your eyes burned the picture into your mind. Of Perenelle Flamel, in the arms of her husband. The woman who had taught you French, who had cared deeply about manners and had scolded your hundreds of times for the way you loafed around with your head in the air. The witch who had advised your parents that they should send you to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, so that you could fully grasp your potential in time. Perenelle, who was 659 years old, had seen the world change many times over. You burned the picture into your mind of her pain and her deep regrets. You would never forget how she had looked the moment she died in her husbands' arms and how even after her death, neither you nor Nicolas had cried.

You would never forget that picture, because it became part of the soul that had been stitched together by dozens of others through that woman's sins. Souls that had been banned from passing on, who had been condemned to serve your soul as fuel for your life.

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Present Date: 04th​ January 1994
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

It was a sunny day. The wind carried the smell of fish and salt over the stone of the island, until it hit your nostrils. A few birds chirped up in the sky, circling above you before heading out into the ocean again. Two days had passed.

Your father stood to your right, his strong hand on your shoulder as he tried to comfort you. To your left stood your mother, tears in her eyes as she held your hand, trying to be strong for you. Your eyes were set on the grave before you. Earth was being carried by something invisible, filling the deep grave in the stone slowly, hiding away a corpse that was reunited with the planet more than five hundred years too late. To your left and right a hundred people had gathered to grief over the dead.

Your eyes scanned the rows, recognizing many of the island's inhabitant. There were ome faces you did know but had never seen before personally (the British Minister and the French Head of Council) and other faces you had not expected to see. Your Headmaster was looking at you, when you detected him in the back of the ceremony. His expression was indiscernible, his posture straighter than usual. The deep shadows that you had last seen on his face, after the incident with Sally-Ann had disappeared. To you, he almost looked like his older self again, only this time without his usual outgoing and expressionist personality to him. When his eyes met yours, you felt Lobo's presence for a moment.


Check, DC 70 → 1D100+7 → 19 (12 + 7) → Failure.


You nodded to greet him and turned back around, directing your eyes back at the marble tombstone your father had created.


Perenelle Flamel nè Rousseau

24th​ of February 1334 – 02th January 1994

'A brilliant mind is half the way to Genius.'


Her eyes flashed before yours. You could still vividly remember the pain in them, physical and emotional both. A woman, older than most creatures on earth had finally left this place. The question you were asking yourself, what was it that you would feel in a few days, when the process of grief finally struck you fully?


[ ] She had done what was needed – While you couldn't find it in your heart to condone what she had done, deep in your heart you understood her motives. She had come from a different time with different beliefs and in the end had been guided by visions of something larger than herself. There was a sin in her actions, but in light of what had been in the end good, creating something that had not existed on this world before, how could it be evil?

[ ] She had achieved what was great – She was a woman with deep intricate beliefs and someone who had strived to bring those beliefs of hers to life. Where others would have lingered in doubt and hesitated out of fear, she had simply walked on, taking all evil up on her soul to do what was needed in the end. Perenelle Flamel had been one of the few Greats walking the earth, taking the responsibility where her husband could not.

[ ] She had become nothing but a monster – You had been created out of nothing but the results of evil. Those that had been betrayed died without knowing their fate. They had been sealed to nurture an experiment and to create something that was wrong to exist and now you must live with this burden, for it is on you to carry her sin until the day that you died.