Erwin t Dumbledore’s gaze evenly. "Forgive my candor, Professor, but the Dark Lord’s fate ans nothing to . I live by one rule: the strongest survive. Whether Voldemort lives or dies, it won’t touch my life. At worst, if he seizes power and lets walk away unscathed, I’d consider switching sides. You know well enough by now, Headmaster. All I want is to survive—no more, no less."
Dumbledore fell silent, the truth of Erwin’s words hitting like a blunt force. The boy truly didn’t care about Voldemort’s survival. For once, the headmaster found himself off-balance, a rare discomfort for soone accustod to holding all the cards.
He tried another tack. "Erwin, you called Harry your friend. Doesn’t that compel you to stand by him?"
Erwin’s lips twisted into a wry smile. "Co now, Professor, let’s not play the innocent. The mont you ntioned your visit to the Burrow, everything shifted. No more good-boy act from . This is the straight talk you wanted, isn’t it? If you’re after my help, na your price. Friendship won’t guilt into it—you know that."
Dumbledore sighed, the weight of his misstep settling in. By exposing Erwin’s guarded nature, he’d shattered the fragile rapport between them. No more subtle manipulations or pretense. Erwin spoke freely now, unburdened by caution, and it was entirely the headmaster’s doing. So truths were better left unsaid, but the damage was done.
He sat quietly, his fingers steepled. Erwin waited patiently, lifting the teacup from the desk and taking a sip. He grimaced. "Sweetened black tea? Tastes like syrupy regret."
Dumbledore shrugged, a faint smile breaking through. "Sweetness has its charms—it’s the flavor of contentnt, after all."
"Perhaps," Erwin conceded. "So, what’s your offer, Professor?"
"I’ve considered what I can provide," Dumbledore replied.
Erwin shook his head. "No, there’s sothing specific you have that piques my interest."
Dumbledore paused, his blue eyes sharpening. "The Philosopher’s Stone?"
"Exactly," Erwin said, his smile sharpening. "But not the depleted one hidden here. I want a fresh one, full of power."
Dumbledore’s expression hardened. "Impossible. Even Nicolas Flal couldn’t craft another."
"You’re not being honest with , Professor." Erwin leaned forward. "I stumbled on sothing fascinating in the library. Care to hear?"
The headmaster eyed the boy’s confident grin, his brow furrowing slightly. Erwin pressed on, undeterred.
"The records describe how the great alchemist Nicolas Flal, after transmuting rcury to gold, had a bold vision: to infuse that power into an object, granting it the ability to turn base tal to gold indefinitely. His alchemical genius was unmatched, but he couldn’t achieve it alone. So, he partnered with a powerful wizard. Together, they sourced a rare material. With Flal’s expertise and the wizard’s potent magic, they succeeded. Ecstatic, Flal nad it the Philosopher’s Stone. But the infusion proved volatile—the wizard’s magic was too imnse. To stabilize it, Flal secretly divided the stone’s power into two parts, sharing the secret only with his collaborator.
"He handed the second portion to the wizard as both paynt and a safeguard. Years later, as Flal’s health waned yet his curiosity burned, he refined his share further, weaving in alchemy to grant extended life. But true immortality eludes us all; what he created was a twisted facsimile, more curse than gift. The other stone, stripped of that life-extending essence, vanished with the wizard. And you, Professor Dumbledore, hold it now, don’t you?"
A flicker of surprise lit Dumbledore’s eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "Erwin, where did you uncover this?"
Erwin’s pulse quickened, but he kept his face impassive. He’d fabricated the tale on the spot, drawing from a half-rembered online theory from his old life—a speculative post backed by obscure historical clues. It was a bluff to probe deeper, his real aim the spent stone for study. Yet Dumbledore’s reaction suggested there might be truth to it after all.
"As I said," Erwin replied coolly, "a book in the library. It’s docunted there."
Dumbledore studied him for a long mont. "If you’re not inclined to elaborate, I won’t press. Yes, another Philosopher’s Stone exists. Your account is mostly accurate—no one beyond Flal and myself should know of it. I won’t inquire further on your source. This one only transmutes tals; its other powers are long gone. You’re hardly in need of gold, so why pursue it?"
"I have my reasons," Erwin said firmly. "You don’t need to know them. Give that stone, and I’ll ensure Harry’s safe this term—as long as I’m at Hogwarts."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Not sufficient. I need you as his full-ti guardian."
Erwin rose with a scoff. "It’s getting late, Professor. Evening study awaits. Goodnight."
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