Chapter 169: Fudge's Enthusiasm, Nicolas Flamel's Invitation
Leonardo held the suitcase in one hand and the letter Fawkes had brought in the other.
Following the directions in the letter, he stopped in front of a battered red telephone box.
"This should be it."
He opened the door, stepped inside, and dialled on the rotary:
6–2–4–4–2.
Leonardo noticed the numbers lined up with the letters that spelled "MAGIC".
"Welcome. Please state your name and business."
A clear female voice sounded, not from the receiver but out of the air itself, as if the speaker were standing right in front of him.
Leonardo was not surprised. Dumbledore's letter had explained all this.
"My name is Leonardo Grafton. I am here to register as an Animagus."
There was no immediate reply.
Had the old booth finally broken down? The Ministry surely was not that short of money.
Leonardo was just wondering whether to take out his wand and give the mechanism a quick repair when the woman's voice came again, this time with a faint edge of shock under the professionalism.
"Thank you. Your visitor's badge is being prepared."
A second later, a silver badge clinked out where the dial had been.
It bore Leonardo's name and the purpose of his visit.
Then the entire telephone box began to sink like a lift.
Passers‑by on the pavement did not so much as glance over. Whatever they saw, it was not a phone box vanishing into the ground.
After about a minute, the booth came to a halt.
Leonardo stepped out into a wide atrium. Dark wooden floorboards gleamed under his feet. Overhead, a peacock‑blue ceiling shimmered with shifting golden runes.
"So this is the Ministry of Magic," he murmured.
It was his first visit, and he had chosen to go through the whole experience properly, the way ordinary visitors did.
Employees, he knew, usually just Apparated in—or flushed themselves down from the public toilets. The latter, unsurprisingly, was not a popular choice.
After registering his wand at security, he followed the directions in the letter, took a Ministry lift, and rode it down to Level One.
A light knock on the office door was enough to make it swing open of its own accord.
"Now, Cornelius," came a familiar voice from within, "I have only brought a child in for a simple registration. There was no need for the Minister himself to preside."
"Albus, my dear old friend! You make it sound like a chore. How could a matter like this ever be a 'bother'?"
Leonardo recognised Dumbledore at once. The other voice, full of bluster like a man giving a speech, could only belong to…
Behind a deceptively plain but clearly expensive desk sat an elderly wizard with a head of fluffy white hair, a pinstriped suit, and a violently red tie.
Cornelius Fudge.
Minister for Magic.
Fudge glanced toward the door and saw the handsome boy standing there. Dark green eyes, dark‑gold hair—he matched the file perfectly.
He sprang up from behind his oversized Ministerial desk and bustled around it, smiling so widely it almost looked painful.
"You must be Leonardo," he said. "Even more striking than I had heard. Do come in, do come in."
"Minister," Leonardo said politely, inclining his head.
He neither froze nor flustered.
Once all three had taken their seats, Dumbledore, sitting beside Leonardo, spoke first.
"Cornelius, you have more than enough to do," he said mildly. "An Animagus registration is usually more than adequately handled by the Improper Use of Magic Office."
"Usually? No, no, no," Fudge said, waving a hand. He fixed his eyes on Leonardo again, his expression arranged into something he clearly thought of as warm and fatherly.
"This is hardly a 'usual' case. My boy, you are only twelve—no, you have not even had your twelfth birthday yet—and you have already become an Animagus!
"Merlin's beard! It is nothing short of a miracle."
Leonardo had heard this sort of thing too often to be moved by it.
He might be meeting the Minister for the first time, but the speeches were familiar. Long before Hogwarts, people had been saying much the same, whether out of genuine admiration for him or out of respect for Aunt Penelope.
On this point at least, there was little difference between witches and wizards and Muggles.
For all the wonder in Fudge's tone, Leonardo could all but feel the gears turning. The man was already weighing his value, and what it meant that Dumbledore had come in person.
"Albus, we have to face facts," Fudge said, letting a note of seriousness override the flattery. "Leonardo is not an ordinary Genius. This is a level of talent the wizarding world might not see again in a century.
"His achievement deserves the full attention and recognition of the Minister."
The words were for Dumbledore, to show that he understood what he was looking at and was prepared to treat both mentor and pupil with due respect.
They were also for Leonardo—a little advance goodwill, and a hint of courtship.
Leonardo kept a flawless, perfectly measured smile in place. The first half of the speech hardly mattered. The second half was the important part, the one that made a point of stressing Fudge's "sincerity".
He might have no gift for crisis, but in peacetime Fudge was… adequate.
Dumbledore nodded.
"Your consideration is appreciated, Cornelius," he said. "Shall we begin?"
"Of course, of course!" Fudge said at once.
A folder shot out of a drawer and hovered over the desk. It was not the standard parchment form used for routine cases, but a more formal document edged in gold.
"It is very simple, my boy," Fudge said. "All we need is for you, here in front of Headmaster Dumbledore and me, to perform a transformation. We must confirm your Animagus form and enter it into the record."
Leonardo looked up. He met Dumbledore's eyes first and found the usual calm encouragement there.
Then he turned back to Fudge.
"As you wish, Minister," he said softly.
He did not speak an incantation. He did not even seem to brace himself.
A breath later, soft light rippled through the office, and Leonardo's human form vanished.
In his place sat a perfectly ordinary‑looking owl. It spread its wings a little and dipped its head politely toward the Minister.
"Splendid Transfiguration," Fudge said, scratching away at the form. "Seeing it in person is still astonishing. An Animagus at this age…"
When the registration was done, they chatted a little longer, then Dumbledore rose and took his leave with Leonardo.
As the lift rattled down, Dumbledore slipped a card into Leonardo's hand.
"I hear you have just come back from America," he said. "I hope you enjoyed yourself.
"I wonder if you would be willing to visit France next?"
"France?" Leonardo repeated.
He looked down at the card, running a thumb over the surface.
Dragonhide. Proper fire‑dragon hide too, not some mongrel crossbreed.
In the centre, a golden key symbol flickered. Ghostly runes glimmered and faded around it. The key itself trembled faintly, tip always pointing in one direction.
He thought he recognised the charm.
He turned the card over.
On the back, in tidy script, was a name.
Nicolas Flamel.
…
France.
Leonardo slipped through busy streets, the dragonhide card in his hand.
The golden key on its face turned now and then, nudging him toward new corners of the city.
There was no time to admire the foreign scenery. His mind was on what Dumbledore had said before they parted.
"Coming here to register your Animagus reminded me of something, Leonardo," the Headmaster had said. "Your Transfiguration has reached an impressive height. Have you thought of writing a paper?"
A thesis.
It felt almost nostalgic.
Leonardo had accepted the suggestion without hesitation.
To lay out knowledge in a systematic way was one of the best ways to test how well one truly understood it.
As for a topic, he was torn between Chimera Transfiguration and magical‑creature Transfiguration.
The first was a complex fusion of layered and micro‑precision transformations. The second opened a new branch of the field altogether and would cause a sensation.
He was not afraid of others learning from his work.
For one thing, both techniques were extremely difficult. Magical‑creature Transfiguration in particular was so demanding that he doubted many people would ever manage it. The more he used it, the more he felt it demanded a freakish kind of gift.
For another, he had confidence. By the time anyone caught sight of his back and tried to follow, he intended to have gone much further.
In the end, why choose? Children made choices. He could write both.
He turned into a quiet alley just as the card's key symbol flicked again. This time, it stood upright, the tip pointing…
Up.
Leonardo raised his head and squinted at the bright blue sky.
Surely not.
The vortices spun to life in his eyes as he summoned the Peeking Fiend's Eye and peered upward.
In an instant, the blazing sun vanished.
In its place spread a sheet of silver, filling almost all of his sight.
The whorls in his eyes widened, tracing the fine patterns etched over that silver surface. Power surged along the lines, immense but perfectly controlled.
A small shape bulged from the smooth expanse—a rounded dome. At its top, a black opening turned until it was pointing straight down at him.
Through the Peeking Fiend's Eye, he saw magic gathering at the mouth of that hole, building toward release.
His instincts did not scream danger. He thought he knew what this was.
A ball of coloured magic shot from the opening.
A heartbeat later, it burst into a spray of silent fireworks.
Leonardo's mouth twitched. Charming.
The glowing sparks did not fade. They drifted and coalesced in mid‑air, forming a single word.
Bonjour.
Leonardo recognised the French for hello at a glance.
He drew his wand and flicked it, leaving a trail of light that shaped the same word in response.
A moment later, a soft white glow bathed the alley, wrapping around him and lifting him off his feet.
Leonardo did not resist. He only thought, helplessly, of silver ships and white beams of light.
Was this not exactly how Muggles thought aliens behaved?
None of it—a silver vessel hanging in the sky, word‑fireworks in broad daylight, this vertical ascent—registered for any passing Muggle eye.
When he passed fully into the ship, the card crumbled to dust in his hand.
He was about to mutter that it was just like a legendary alchemist to use pure dragonhide as a disposable key when he saw the specks of leather vanish into the silver floor as soon as they touched it.
Recycled.
Alchemy everywhere.
He looked up again and found an old man standing in front of him.
Old was the first word that occurred to him.
Leonardo had never seen anyone so aged. The man's hair had gone past white, almost to colourless. The wrinkles on his face were like ravines.
He wore a robe the colour of moonlight. It could not hide how thin he was underneath.
The old man drifted closer.
Drifted.
Leonardo's eyes flicked down to the hem of the robe, which trailed on the floor. Under it, he could just make out the curve of something wheel‑like.
So, more balance‑board than ghost. No wonder Jacob had once asked if he was dead. Seeing him now, the question made even more sense.
For all the thoughts racing through his head, Leonardo still bowed.
"Good day, Mr Nicolas Flamel," he said.
The famed alchemist. The maker of the Philosopher's Stone. A man who had walked the earth for six centuries.
"Hello, Leonardo Grafton," Nicolas said.
His voice was soft and slow. He extended one hand with great care, as though afraid that too much force would break it.
Leonardo stepped forward and reached out as well, careful to match that lightness.
With the Elixir of Life, Nicolas had dodged death, but not decay. His body was too worn, too fragile.
Leonardo clasped his hand as gently as he could.
Ding.
[A loan has been triggered: Emerald Tablet Fragment (annual).]
Emerald Tablet?
If he remembered correctly, that was an Egyptian stone slab said to hold the foundational secrets of alchemy.
An annual loan—and a fragment, no less. This was the first time he had ever seen the system offer an incomplete item.
He released Nicolas' hand and skimmed the new entry with a corner of his mind.
Another aptitude‑type loan.
Alchemy. Potions.
"Child, your eyes are very unusual," Nicolas said.
The comment jolted Leonardo. He stopped reading the description at once.
Had Nicolas noticed the Peeking Fiend's Eye?
He looked up. Those ancient eyes were the deepest he had ever seen. Centuries had left them worn, but had also honed their ability to see through things.
"Do not worry," Nicolas said, smiling faintly. "I was only remarking on it. Very few people use that sort of old magic to alter their bodies these days."
Old magic.
Leonardo thought back to the description of the Peeking Fiend's Eye—magic that blended potioncraft, alchemy, and Transfiguration to remake the eyes. Just like the Chimera manual, another legacy from some long‑dead wizard.
"Ancient knowledge," people called it.
He looked at Nicolas again and almost laughed at himself. Six hundred years of life.
For Nicolas Flamel, what the rest of the world called "ancient magic" was just… magic. The everyday craft of his youth.
A living piece of history. A peerless alchemist. A powerful, learned wizard.
Of course, he would notice the change in Leonardo's eyes.
Though if body‑modifying magic like this existed in the so‑called old days, and could make life easier, why had Nicolas left his own flesh so worn out?
With his skill, he could surely have reforged at least part of it into something more comfortable.
As if he had read the thought, Nicolas chuckled.
"I do miss those days," he said. "When my back was straight, and my hands were strong, and my mind did not need naps. But age is its own experience.
"There is something… interesting about being this brittle, is there not?"