HP: Alchemy? Nah, It's Crafting

"Paying seventy Galleons for a rush-order robe—this is daylight robbery, isn't it?"

At the French Ministry of Magic's grand hall, Kasenhis pointed to his robe, shimmering with a faint purple magical glow, and complained to Ollivander beside him.

Ollivander simply smiled without saying a word.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions gave discounts for students due to subsidies, which made them affordable. However, at the normal rate… seventy Galleons, while steep, wasn't entirely unreasonable considering Madam Malkin had worked overtime to make the robe.

Charging extra for urgent orders wasn't a crime.

Caught between a longtime associate and an up-and-coming alchemy star, Ollivander decided it was best to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes, silence truly was golden.

"By the way, have you prepared your speech? This isn't like those award ceremonies. Treat it like your classroom lecture—or even a thesis defense," Ollivander added.

"I didn't prepare anything… Honestly, I haven't even written the thesis. Why do you think I was only credited as a supervising professor on those two papers before?" Kasenhis shrugged.

"Wait—you were serious about that? I thought you were just being modest," Ollivander said, stunned.

"Heh~ What else? Do you enjoy writing papers?"

"Documenting your knowledge in writing is a captivating experience. You should try writing one yourself. Trust me, you'd fall in love with it."

"...Alright, I'll give it a shot when I have time," Kasenhis nodded. Before he could say more, a staff member from the French Ministry of Magic approached him.

The staff member led Kasenhis to the raised platform in the grand hall. There stood a podium, and behind it was an enormous magical holographic display device—allegedly sponsored generously by Nicolas Flamel himself.

"Please begin, Professor Kasenhis. I've noticed your students enjoy addressing you that way," said an elderly, thin man with long, unkempt white hair, smiling warmly from the audience.

"Ahaha~ You're not a student, Mr. Flamel," Kasenhis waved modestly, summoning a standard-issue enchanting table onto the stage.

"The basic structure of an enchanting table is incredibly simple," Kasenhis began, "and I've received many letters at Hogwarts about successful attempts to replicate enchanting tables. So, we won't go over the basic structure again here."

"Instead, let's dive straight into the principles of enchantment. As you know, the principle lies in the use of runic scripts—though it's not limited to those. We can also directly infuse spells into items. For example, a sword enchanted with Flaming Fury. The downside? That sword would be useless for cutting butter—it would melt too quickly, and then vaporize entirely. And besides..."

"Does he always veer off-topic like this?" someone in the audience murmured.

"Isn't he a professor? All professors have this...quirk. My old professor used to steer every lecture toward his disastrous honeymoon," came another reply.

"Are professors the same all over the world?"

"Probably. Back when I was a professor..."

As the murmurs continued in the audience, Kasenhis stepped off the podium, casually grabbing a drink from the self-serve bar. He took a sip to soothe his throat.

Haah~

Giving a lecture to these alchemy bigshots was a far cry from teaching young wizards—it was far more challenging.

As Kasenhis mulled over this, he noticed a thin, frail figure walking toward him. It was none other than Nicolas Flamel.

To be honest, the moment Kasenhis saw Flamel, he didn't even dare to breathe loudly. Not out of some star-struck reverence for a legendary alchemist, but purely because he was terrified that if he puffed out a bit too much air, he might accidentally blow the old man away.

"Honestly, have you ever considered crafting yourself a magical wheelchair or something like that?" Kasenhis asked cautiously.

"Ahaha..." Flamel shook his head with a gentle smile. "Of course not. The secret to staying healthy as an elderly man is regular physical activity. And the same goes for young folks, too."

Kasenhis nodded in agreement and reached for a glass of vodka from the drinks shelf to offer Flamel.

"Erm... Let me clarify. That advice does not include unhealthy exercises for your stomach," Flamel remarked, waving his hand dismissively.

"Fair enough," Kasenhis replied, pouring the vodka straight into his own whiskey glass. The two distilled spirits blended together into a strange concoction.

...It tasted terrible.

Kasenhis made a mental note to never, under any circumstances, repeat that particular experiment in his lifetime.

"This morning, Dumbledore sent me a letter recommending a talented young man like yourself," Flamel began, as though searching his pockets for the letter. "A remarkable young talent, he said. I think I may have left it at home, though..."

Kasenhis stared blankly at Flamel.

"...You're just going to stand there and stare at me like that?"

"Wouldn't that be something?" Kasenhis chuckled.

"Most people, when they see me like this, rush to tell me not to bother searching. Perhaps they're afraid I'll strain my back or they simply trust me enough to believe I wouldn't lie about something so trivial," Nicolas Flamel said, his tone light but amused.

"Well, if you want to look, go ahead," Kasenhis replied casually.

"What I mean is, perhaps you should offer me an excuse to stop looking, because I didn't bring the letter with me today," Flamel admitted with a sly grin.

"...You could've just said so from the start," Kasenhis replied, a bit exasperated as he stared at the elderly alchemist.

It all clicked now—Flamel and Dumbledore got along so well because they were both the quintessential "cheeky old men."

"However, all of that was just an icebreaker," Flamel continued. "You can think of it as a way for me to ease into the conversation without things getting awkward. I came to find you because I have a question. Dumbledore mentioned that you don't need a Philosopher's Stone or complex alchemical rituals to transmute anything into gold?"

Kasenhis gave him a faint smile, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a simple feather quill.

"Something like that," he said. Holding the quill in his hand, he let golden magic slowly spread from his fingers up the quill, transforming the entire feather into solid gold.

Flamel took the golden quill, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. He squeezed it slightly, then bent it to test its malleability.

"Thank goodness I didn't meet you in my youth," Flamel finally said, his tone carrying both amazement and humor. "If I had seen this before I created the Philosopher's Stone, I would've absolutely given up on alchemy altogether."

"I thought you'd charge forward, undeterred, like a hero in the face of adversity," Kasenhis quipped.

Nicolas Flamel waved his hand dismissively. "Don't believe the glowing praise in the alchemy textbooks about me. I'm not nearly that magnanimous. The truth is, the reason I've come this far is twofold: first, because I do have exceptional talent; and second, because of that talent, my journey has been paved with flowers and applause at nearly every step."

"If it had been mud and insults instead," Flamel continued with a self-deprecating chuckle, "Nicolas Flamel would have long since crumbled into dust."

Kasenhis raised an eyebrow. "I'll make a note of that."

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