"Have you ever heard of Nicolas Flal?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with urgency.
"Nicolas Flal?" Edward raised an eyebrow.
His mind raced, searching for the na, while curiosity about her question bubbled up.
"Hermione, I'm not doubting you, but why are you asking this?"
"It's just, like you said, wouldn't it be better to wait and ask a professor when we're back at Hogwarts? I bet Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick would be happy to help—though, maybe not Professor Snape," Edward added with a playful smirk.
His keen sense of empathy told him there was more to Hermione's question—sothing deeper, sothing she wasn't saying outright.
Hermione's expression showed she wasn't surprised by his response. She glanced at the compartnt door, waiting until two passing students in the corridor moved out of earshot before lowering her voice.
"See, I knew you'd ask that! And that's exactly why I can't go to the professors!"
"If I can't find anything about Nicolas Flal in the books, you're my only hope. Just you!"
"Just ?" Edward's eyebrows climbed higher.
"Don't you rember? After the first Quidditch match before the holidays, when you visited Harry in the hospital wing, Hagrid was there too. After you left, we kept talking, and Hagrid let the na slip," Hermione explained.
"Oh, right, and you also sent eight Slytherin Quidditch players to the hospital wing that day. Not that I'm judging—nice work, by the way."
Edward nodded, urging her to go on. He definitely rembered the incident.
"After that midnight duel, when you distracted Filch, a few of us stumbled into a room guarded by a three-headed dog! Harry and I have been convinced that Snape's trying to steal whatever that dog's guarding, and it's got sothing to do with Nicolas Flal!"
Edward's face lit up with realization. So that's why Hermione couldn't ask any of the staff—Hagrid had spilled the beans, and he'd likely clam up if pressed further.
"So you see? I can't ask any professors, and I can't find anything about Nicolas Flal in the books. You're the only one who might know sothing," Hermione said, her voice brimming with urgency.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione, but I've got to say, Snape's not the one who cursed Harry," Edward replied, shaking his head while trying to place the na Nicolas Flal.
"Why won't you believe it? We've got other evidence—his leg was bitten by that three-headed dog—"
"Because I asked him myself."
Hermione's words were cut off by Edward's interruption.
Her jaw dropped, her mind grinding to a halt.
"You asked Snape? Are you mad? What if he'd hurt you? He tried to kill Harry in front of everyone—"
Hermione stopped mid-sentence, sothing clicking.
"Wait, no, that was ages ago. And you're sitting here, perfectly fine, so Snape didn't do anything to you," she said, shaking her bushy hair in confusion. "So… it really wasn't him?"
"Of course not. I know you Gryffindors don't like Snape, but I know what kind of person he is. Besides, Professor Dumbledore vouched for him."
Hermione could see the sincerity in Edward's eyes, and it planted a seed of doubt in her mind.
"Okay, fine. I still don't want to believe it, but I'll tell Harry and Ron. Anyway, back to Nicolas Flal."
Edward focused, racking his brain. The na Nicolas Flal—he'd definitely co across it sowhere.
Not in the Magical Knight's Handbook—that was too old.
Maybe A History of Magic? He had the textbook in his luggage, but it was so thick it'd take forever to search. If only he could narrow down a ti period.
Noticing Edward's hesitation, Hermione jumped in. "I've already checked Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Nas of Our Ti, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and Studies in Recent Developnts in Wizardry. His na's not in any of them."
So, not a modern or contemporary wizard, then. But from what Hermione said, he was still alive.
That would make him over a hundred years old. Was there really a wizard like that?
Living… forever? Immortality? Alchemy?
Edward's thoughts spiraled. A famous legend about immortality surfaced in his mind.
"Drinking from the Holy Grail can restore youth, bring the dead back to life, even grant eternal life."
Then he rembered an old book at ho, one that ntioned the Grail.
"No one knows the true origin of the Holy Grail. The classic tale says it was the wine goblet used by the Son, but other legends claim it was forged from pure gold."
"One of King Arthur's Round Table knights, the pure-hearted Galahad, found the Grail. Legend says he returned it to the heavens, but ever since, rumors of the Grail reappearing in the mortal world have persisted."
"It's said to have appeared in Britain, France, Italy, Germany—accounts vary. But one of the most famous owners of the Grail was Nicolas Flal."
"He drank from the Grail and, with its power, beca a great alchemist."
Nicolas Flal—Nicolas Flal.
Edward's eyes lit up. He'd found the na.
Hermione, anxiously waiting and hoping Edward knew sothing, imdiately noticed the change in his expression.
"Well? Did you rember sothing?"
"I did. Nicolas Flal is—"
"Who?"
A third voice cut Edward off before he could finish.
Daphne was leaning against the compartnt door, watching with keen interest as Hermione's eager but slightly flustered expression t Edward, who was about to reveal the answer.
"Miss Greengrass, don't you know eavesdropping is rude?" Hermione said, clearly annoyed.
She was this close to getting the answer she'd been agonizing over, and now this interruption could change everything.
Couldn't you have shown up earlier—or not at all?
"Miss Granger, I think you're overreacting a bit. I didn't realize you and Edward were that close," Daphne said, unfazed by Hermione's irritation.
"A Gryffindor and a Slytherin chatting in the sa compartnt? I'd say that's bound to spark so curiosity, don't you think?"
Daphne sauntered in and sat next to Edward, elegantly crossing her right leg.
"Especially when I overhear a na I've never heard before. So, who's this Nicolas Flal?"
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