Chapter 23: The Last Meeting

It was a great day at Malfoy Manor. The flowers bloomed, and the sun was warm and pleasant. Narcissa sat content in the manor garden, enjoying her morning tea, when Dante came to meet her.

“Good morning, Mother. I’ll be visiting an acquaintance today. I won’t be here for lunch,” Dante spoke in his usual plain tone.

Narcissa paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. She set it down slowly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied her son. “An acquaintance?” she repeated, her tone laced with skepticism. “Dante, you don’t have friends. You barely tolerate people. Who is this acquaintance?”

Dante, unfazed by her probing, replied simply, “Someone you haven’t met. And you don’t need to worry. I’ll be back by evening.”

Before Narcissa could press further, he disappeared with a sharp crack of Apparition, leaving her no time to respond.

Narcissa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That boy,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s impossible.”

Deciding she needed to vent her frustrations, she made her way to Lucius’s study. She found him seated at his desk, engrossed in a stack of Ministry correspondence. Without preamble, she said, “Dante just left. He said he’s visiting an acquaintance and won’t be back until evening. Do you know anything about this?”

Lucius looked up. “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine. Dante can take care of himself.”

Narcissa nodded and sighed tiredly. She left the study without another word. The pair of father and son were driving her mad. She couldn’t help but wonder why Lucius’s behavior was so different when it came to Dante.

Lucius’s attitude toward their eldest son was nothing like his approach with Draco. With Draco, Lucius was a proper father—firm but caring, always guiding and teaching. But with Dante, it was different. There was a strange dynamic between the two that she couldn’t understand. Yet, she couldn’t deny the bond of trust between them, a bond that went beyond the usual parent-child relationship.

Narcissa couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy. She loved Dante deeply, yet their relationship felt distant compared to the closeness he shared with Lucius. She wanted to bridge that gap, to understand him the way Lucius seemed to. But every time she tried, Dante would deflect or disappear, leaving her feeling more like an outsider than a mother.

She sighed again, her shoulders slumping slightly. [Perhaps I’m overthinking this. Lucius trusts him, and Dante has never made a mistake. That should be enough.]

But deep down, it wasn’t. She wanted to be part of that unspoken bond between Lucius and Dante. She wanted to understand her eldest son, to know what drove him and what he was truly capable of.

___________

It was noon when Dante stood in front of a weathered, unassuming house nestled in the French countryside. The air was still, and the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. He knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet surroundings.

After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing an old man who resembled a ghost more than a living being. His skin was pale and translucent, his frame frail, and his eyes hollow yet piercing. It was Nicolas Flamel, the legendary alchemist, now a shadow of a human being.

Dante smiled faintly. “I am glad I found you here,” he said, his tone calm but carrying an edge of familiarity. “After I didn’t find you in Devon, I figured you’d come here—where you met Perenelle centuries ago.”

Flamel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice thin and raspy.

“Dante Malfoy,” Dante replied, his smile unwavering. “Are you going to keep me at the door, or shall we talk inside?”

Flamel blinked, then stepped aside, gesturing for Dante to enter. The young wizard walked slowly into the house, his glowing eyes scanning the interior. The place was a relic of the past, filled with artifacts and trinkets that were centuries old. Dust clung to every surface, and the air smelled of decay and forgotten memories.

Flamel waited for Dante to take a seat before speaking. “I’ve heard of you,” he said, his voice low and weak. “The potion prodigy. The creator of Magic Circuits. Why is someone like you here?”

Dante leaned back in his chair, a smile on his face. “I came to see you before you died,” he said bluntly. “And to note how merciless the Stone has been to you. You don’t even resemble a human anymore.”

Flamel didn’t flinch at the harsh words. “We decided to destroy the Stone because we’ve accepted our mortality,” he said quietly. “And because our condition has grown worse. It’s time to let go.”

Dante’s smile remained, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The Stone lost its power, didn’t it? I know you too well, Nicholas. With all the guilt you carry, you wouldn’t destroy it. You’d cling to it, even if it’s useless. It is your twisted way of atonement after all”

Flamel’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

Dante’s voice grew colder. “I know you instigated wars to reap the souls of Muggles and wizards alike to create the Stone. All for the sole purpose of extending Perenelle’s life.”

Flamel’s face paled further, if that were possible. “How do you know this?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Dante ignored the question. “Are you afraid someone else will attempt to create the Stone to cheat death? Is that why you are still hiding the truth? Or is it the shame of your actions?”

Flamel’s aged face twisted with emotion. “The Stone cost too many lives,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was young and couldn’t resist the temptation of keeping my love by my side. I’ve spent centuries trying to make up for what I did.”

Dante sighed, his expression one of disappointment. “This twisted sense of justice and guilt is what I despise about you. I told you before—you’re no good person. Just a hypocrite, turning a blind eye to your own actions while stifling the future of others as if everyone is like you. You refuse to share truth, good or bad, in the name of what you call the greater good. You were, and always will be, a hypocrite, Nicholas.”

Flamel froze, his eyes widening in recognition at the familiar words and tone. “Ekrizdis,” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips like a curse.

Dante’s smile widened. “So, you haven’t forgotten your old acquaintance. I wasn’t originally planning to visit you, but when I saw that you’d be dead soon and Perenelle is gone, I decided to come and see you one last time.”

Flamel stepped back, his frail body trembling. “Why are you really here, Ekrizdis? Are you here to take revenge for how I stood in your way back then?”

Dante shook his head. “Stood my way? You were just an annoyance who slandered others back then. I won’t go out of my way for revenge for such a petty reason. I truly came to check on your state—to see the man who committed more crimes than any other in the name of love, the hypocrite who attacked others, because of his own guilt and mistakes.”

Flamel’s voice rose, anger cutting through his weakness. “Your experiments were deranged and too dark to be allowed, Ekrizdis! You are no different!”

Dante’s expression hardened. “I gave the worst of scum and criminals a chance to help bring advancement to this world, to do something good. You caused the death of tens of thousands of innocents to selfishly live happily with a woman. But you are right, I would have done the same if I were in your place. The difference is I am not a blind or a hypocrite.”

Flamel clenched his fists, his voice shaking. “How are you here? How did you steal the body of a young child?”

Dante’s smile returned, but it was cold and devoid of warmth. “I didn’t steal anything. This is part of a magic I created long ago to beat death. My life as ‘Ekrizdis’ was the seventh. This is the eighth.”

Flamel was shocked at that but recovered quickly. “Why did you truly come here?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “To mock me? To see me die?”

Dante’s smile faded, replaced by a look of profound disappointment. “I feel too much disappointment in the world, and more so in you. If you were going to live longer, I might never have bothered to come. But now that you’re dying, I wanted to see if you’ve changed after centuries.” He paused, his expression sad. “The only other person who lived through different eras is blind to his own actions and the state of the world, or maybe you choose to be blind?”

Suddenly, Dante flicked his wand. Flamel’s body was thrown backward, slamming into the wall before sliding to the floor, helpless and unable to move. Dante walked closer, his cold eyes filled with disdain and despise.

“You feel guilt over the sins you’ve committed, yet you continue to commit more, so shamelessly,” Dante said, his voice low and dangerous. “If you had seen the errors in your ways, I would have let you pass on in peace. But seeing you like this
 you deserve the same treatment as the criminals you claimed to help in the past.”

The temperature in the room dropped sharply as a Dementor glided through the door, its presence suffocating. Flamel stared at Dante with helpless eyes as the creature drew closer.

Dante’s expression was icy. “I’ll make use of your centuries of memories and emotions,” he said coldly.

Those were the last words Flamel heard before the Dementor leaned in, its hooded face inches from his, and gave him the Kiss.

Dante turned and left the house without looking back. He apparated away, leaving behind the lifeless body of Nicolas Flamel, alone in the isolation of his home in France. No one would hear about him after today.

As Dante disappeared into the distance, the weight of centuries of guilt, hypocrisy, and wasted potential lingered in the air.