They dragged the man into the corner and tied him up tightly.
John took the man's wand, tossed it aside casually, and headed toward Montmorency Street.
He looked around carefully. A house with a long and ancient history caught his attention.
It was surrounded by a beautiful flower garden, yet people nearby seemed to completely ignore its existence.
After a moment of thought, John decided to take a look.
He knocked on the door. No one responded from inside.
Just as John was considering whether to sneak in, the tightly closed door suddenly opened.
A frail old man appeared, trembling slightly. His hair was silver-white, and upon seeing John, he showed a look of delight.
"You've finally arrived. Come in and have some tea. I believe the tea leaves are in the cupboard."
The old man opened the door as he spoke, letting John inside. He muttered to himself like someone with a fading memory.
"Wait a moment, I need to find a book first."
John stepped in and noticed the surroundings were filled with various objects.
There were many silver items on the tables — some looked like tweezers, others like silver chopsticks.
John sat down. A teapot on the side jumped out by itself. The tea canister opened, and the tea leaves flew into the teapot.
The teapot wobbled its round body, and a stream of clear water appeared out of nowhere.
As the teapot shook, the water and tea leaves mingled, and a freshly brewed pot of black tea was ready just like that.
John was amazed. The teapot was clearly marked with signs of alchemical craftsmanship.
The old man was still rummaging through things. Books were being piled onto the floor and table.
Then, he stuffed all the books into a small handbag in one go.
Even with all those books inside, the handbag showed no sign of bulging.
John knew at once — it had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
After finishing everything, the old man stood there content for a moment before walking over.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. These things have been sitting around for so long, I sometimes forget where I put them."
The old man extended a hand toward John. Seeing how frail he was, John reached out gently and carefully.
But the moment their hands touched, the old man let out a pained cry — his hand was as fragile as an old, dry cookie.
John was startled, afraid he'd hurt him.
"It's alright," the old man said, seeing John's worried face. "Hello, John Wick. My name is Nicolas Flamel."
The very Nicolas Flamel John had long dreamed of meeting stood before him.
He didn't look well — at least not to John. His body seemed on the verge of collapse.
"I was supposed to teach you personally, but everything that happened this year delayed me. However, my journal tells me you're quite gifted."
Nicolas handed the bag full of books to John, smiling warmly.
The journal had been created by Flamel himself — not only containing a projection of his younger self but also able to communicate remotely with him.
The books were his personal notes and insights from his centuries of life.
After a moment's thought, John asked, "Is this because of the Philosopher's Stone?"
He wasn't stupid. Nicolas Flamel sounded as if he were delivering a final message.
From what Dumbledore had said about publicly claiming the stone had been destroyed, it seemed Nicolas was ready to end his immortality.
Flamel shook his head, smiling, "Child, everyone dies eventually. If not for your appearance, the Philosopher's Stone would have been destroyed in June already."
He truly was dying — the remaining Elixir of Life would only last him this one year.
This great alchemical legend, who had lived for 665 years, was at the end of his long life. If not for John, he might never have decided to take on another student.
Through Dumbledore's recommendation and the feedback from the journal, Flamel believed John was the perfect person to inherit his legacy.
John felt a little down — he had thought he'd finally found a mentor in alchemy, only to discover it would be a short-lived relationship.
This was Flamel's old home — he had intended to live out his final days in seclusion in Devon.
Now with the bag in hand, John felt heavier at heart.
"Professor, who was that man outside?" he asked, thinking of the stranger he encountered earlier.
Flamel smiled at the word "Professor." Though they had just met, it felt like they'd known each other for years.
"That man was a Death Eater. Even with Voldemort defeated, he still seeks his next resurrection."
Mentioning that name made Flamel's expression turn grim.
He had lived through both Dark Lord eras and deeply understood Voldemort's obsession with immortality — it bordered on madness.
Even though the Dark Lord had fallen twelve years ago, his followers still searched for Flamel, hoping to revive their master.
Flamel had temporarily separated from his wife and returned here to teach John.
John spent the rest of his break living with him.
He absorbed alchemical knowledge like a sponge. Flamel's knowledge wasn't limited to alchemy — he was a master of runes, spells, and magical creatures.
Day by day, John studied diligently, taking in everything.
Flamel was quite pleased with his student — alchemy required talent, and more importantly, an unyielding thirst for knowledge.
John possessed both. In him, Flamel saw a reflection of his younger self.
The same obsession with alchemy. The same hunger for understanding.
The Philosopher's Stone John had once held was now destroyed.
But with the only living creator of such a stone at his side, John felt no regret.
As time ran short, John knew it was nearly time to part.
"John, you are the most gifted student I've ever met."
Flamel was leaving — he wanted to spend his final days with his wife.
But teaching John brought him great joy and a sense of fulfillment. "The pursuit of alchemy never truly ends. The Philosopher's Stone isn't your final goal, but your starting point."
He had taught John how to create the stone. Standing on the shoulders of giants, John could now reach greater heights. And Flamel had high hopes for him.
By the time John would become the next great alchemist, Flamel would, unfortunately, already be gone.
John embraced his teacher — the gesture was gentle and filled with reluctant emotion.
Flamel, however, was at peace. He didn't fear death. To him, death was like finally finding a place to rest after a long, hard day's work.
With Flamel's departure, John's journey in France had come to an end.
He went to Beauxbatons and retrieved the journal.
Fleur was reluctant to see him go. John was one of her few true friends.
"Fleur, we'll see each other again — maybe not at Beauxbatons, but at Hogwarts."
John grinned. He remembered a storyline where several schools competed in a tournament.
Beauxbatons was one of them.
Fleur appearing there wasn't impossible.
He handed her a badge.
Fleur said, reluctant, "Promise to write me. Your owl's getting fat — let it exercise more."
Poor Laurel, the owl, was innocently insulted.
John agreed cheerfully. After saying goodbye, he returned to the hidden square and wandered around until he finally found the drunk who sold him the portal.
After John left, the drunk ended up hanging on a statue, his wand thrown into a filthy ditch.
"That's what you get for scamming me!"
John bore grudges. After being cheated out of three Galleons, he hung the man there for three days.