Harry Potter 50 Shades of Gray

"Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't panic when I arrived in this world? Why I trusted you so quickly? Why I was never surprised by your magic despite it never existing in my world?" Cyrna gave a crooked smile. "Well, that has to do with my secret. I knew this world, this reality—I knew you before I met you, just as I know about the Stone, Dumbledore, Riddle, and the Boy Who Lived. All of this—" she gestured around her—"was written in a fictional book series named after its protagonist, Harry Potter. So I know what will happen to you and the Stone if you continue with your plans, and before I told you my secret, I knew with certainty the events that would take place in the next seven years." Her eyes darted between the Flamels. "I'm telling you this because I felt that I owed you a choice—Do you want to know what will happen to you and the Stone if you follow Dumbledore's plan?"

It was like a great weight had been lifted from her. She could tell them; she could save them! But she was also uneasy, because no matter how much she convinced herself this was fine, there was still a part of her that wanted them to reject her offer. Because ultimately, she hated having to risk any part of canon. Call her obsessed, but she simply wanted no responsibility that came with interference; because once she interfered, the consequences—good or bad—were hers to enjoy or fix. She simply did not want to deal with all that.

The Flamels were silent for a long time. Nicolas' eyes were wide; the implications of what she said finally hitting him. And after spending so long observing his student, Nicolas somehow knew—from the urgency in her voice—that Dumbledore's plan would end with their deaths. Nicolas looked at Perenelle, wondering if she had been able to draw the same conclusion.

So his end was nigh, he mused. What a curious thought. Nicolas turned to Cyrna. "I can surmise what will happen." He hesitated, "But can you tell me if this was worth it? Will it prevent Voldemort from rising?"

Nicolas' breath caught in his throat when he saw Cyrna gaze at him, for an instance, with an emotion that was frighteningly close to pity. "Sort of," she said finally. "It delays him, but he will rise again."

"So my existence was negligible in the grand scheme of things," Nicolas muttered. His lips quirked into a smile. How nice that after hundreds of years of being hunted for the Stone, he could finally fade into anonymity in death.

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you anything?" Cyrna could barely believe that she was begging to tell.

"It won't change anything," said Perenelle softly. "As long as Voldemort rises, the Philosopher's Stone must be destroyed. When he first rose into power as the Dark Lord, there were moments where he almost caught us, even when we were out of country. You see, even if we were to live separate from society, it is impossible to completely sever our ties—whether for administrative or personal affairs. There will always be some people who know where we live. The risk of losing the Stone will always be present, and that must never happen."

Seeing the misery on his student's face, Nicolas reached across the table, ruffling her hair fondly. Perenelle walked over, wrapping her in a warm hug.

And Cyrna hid her face in Perenelle's arms, her heart sinking with disappointment.

...

In the bedroom, ready to turn in for the night, Nicolas asked Perenelle, "Do you know what will happen if we follow Albus' plans?"

"We'll die, won't we? I didn't really catch on until the end though." They lay down together on the bed in silence. "I will follow you even if you choose death, Nicolas, and perhaps, this is the best choice we can make to contribute to the future war that Albus believes is coming. We have been alive for too long. It is unnatural."

Nicolas' eyes closed in thought. "It was strange to see my apprentice grow into an old man like myself."

"And Cyrna might lose her advantage if we deviate from the story so soon."

"Yes, there is that as well," Nicolas sighed.

Having once chosen the world over his son, the choice he had to make now was terribly easy in comparison. His choice would protect both the world and the child that he had grown fond of. In that sense, the answer was obvious. "I think it is our time," he said.

In the middle of the night, the moonlight was the only source of light. They could hear the tapping of the branches against their windows as the cold winter wind howled in the night. It was strange to both the Flamels that this would be one of their last winters, but neither felt anxious nor upset about this fact.

Perenelle's mother had warned her when her husband had created the Stone that the beauty of life was in the fleetingness, the spontaneity, and the thrill of adventure. Though Perenelle did not regret living her unnaturally long life, she recognized that it had been a long time since she had felt the thrill of her mortality. Living so long… she hadn't realized that she had changed so much over the years.

She had become detached—oh, she still cared for others, but when losses piled higher than a mountain, she simply grew numb to it. Losing a friend was no longer as painful as it had been when she was young—when she had still been mortal.

And now that she realized her time was finite, she felt as if she had awakened from a long daze; despite it being night, she felt as if the world was brighter than ever before. How long had it been since she last listened to the wind? Enjoyed the biting cold of winter? Enjoyed the changing of the seasons? How long had it been since she last had a child to mother?

Perhaps this was why Perenelle had been so insistent on keeping Cyrna. The motivations had not been wholly selfless. Perenelle smiled, thinking of what her mother had told her—Death as the next great adventure.

Yes, she supposed she was ready.

....

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