The Next Great Adventure

What is forever?

The elderly man sat in an old, wooden rocking chair as he contemplated the question. As he slowly rocked back and forth, the weakened wood groaned under the strain of his body. The cobwebs draped along the legs of the chair and created a lace frame around two letters carve beneath the seat: N.F.

“Here you go dear,” a shaky voice whispered as the aged female body that owned the thin voice stepped across the threshold of the creaking cottage. “It’s the last of it,” the woman announced with a sense of finality as she placed a small glass on the table next to the elderly man. She took her place on the other side of the table in her rocking chair and kept a tight hold on her own glass with both hands.

She waited. Waited for movement. Waited for some acknowledgment from her husband. She noticed the daze in his eyes affixed on the rolling hills spread out before them. These hills were not your normal shade of green. Instead, they were speckled with the pinks, reds, and purples of the varied arrangement of wildflowers that were blossoming that summer.

“Do you think you’re going to miss it?” The old man finally croaked as his frail hand grasped the glass about one-third full of a blue liquid that awaited him.

“Miss what?” his wife asked curiously, her husband’s gentle glass-blue eyes still staring off into the distance. The wrinkles around his eyes had become more pronounced in recent weeks, but his eyes remained as lovely as when she had first met him many, many years ago.

“That,” he replied softly as he nodded his head, indicating the peaceful hills before them. Without another word, he slowly brought his glass into contact with his cracked lips and drained it of its contents, savoring each last drop.


“You know what you have to do,” the elder wizard said with a hint of force in his soft voice. His bright, caring eyes sparkled in the dim light of the cottage as he tugged at the end of his long, silver beard. He had been sitting at a table with his friend and the man’s wife for the past hour.

The other man hung his head but slowly nodded in understanding. “I know, Albus. I know.” It had been too good to last, but there was no doubt that he and his wife had lived a full life.

“It’s become a threat, old friend. Voldemort came within inches of getting his hands on it this past year, and quite a few students were harmed in his attempts.” Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, did not want to sound too harsh with his friend and partner, but the dangers his school were under the previous term added a bit of urgency to his voice.

“Oh Albus,” the woman finally spoke up, her throat catching on the threat of a sob as she rested her fragile hand on the wizard’s arm. “We understand.” The smile on her face was lined with sadness but filled with a peace and understanding. Her golden eyes flitted over to her husband’s face, which had suddenly become much more worn and tired.

Albus Dumbledore could not help but to respect the courage the woman showed. He had just delivered the news that the couple had been dreading to hear during the latter portion of their lives. That news had produced a deafening silence which hung over the table, none of its occupants wanted to acknowledge the truth.

Dumbledore reached one arm out and gently rested it on the gentleman’s back. At the same time, he reached his other hand into an inside pocket in his cloak and pulled out a tiny object wrapped in an old piece of tattered, maroon fabric. He then set the package down in the center of the table. The couple could only sit in silence and stare knowingly at the small ball of fabric.

That same knowing expression presently rested on the elderly woman’s face as she stared at the retreating hills in front of her home.

“Yes, Nicolas,” she whispered back after following her husband’s lead and draining the cool liquid from her own glass. “I’ll miss it.” Yes, she was going to miss the sight of beautiful hills, the smell of the sweet roses newly blossomed, the sound of the many species of birds that made their nest in the trees behind her home. But most of all, she was going to miss moments like the present -- sitting on the porch with her husband, watching the purple haze of dusk settle over the horizon as one more day passed slowly away. It’s the little things that matter when you realize that you’re going to lose them forever. Forever.

“Honey, I have a surprise for you,” a middle-aged Nicolas Flamel said eagerly as he dusted off the floo powder from his robes. He hurried over and grasped his wife’s hands in his own, leading her into the living room of their Parisian home. He then quickly sat her down on their plush, flowered couch as he cleared his throat.

“Here,” he whispered as anxiety had taken hold of his voice. His shaking hand reached inside his robes and plucked a red gem from a pocket close to his heart. The candlelight twinkled of the many faces of the crystal, a faint pink glow surrounding the gem. Giving it to his wife, he sat down next to her, his eyes remaining fixated on the reflection of the red jewel in her eyes.

The woman’s eyes, in turn, widened as she held the crystal in her hand, realization finally dawning. Her eyes began to water as she held back the tears until she knew for certain what it was she held in her hand.The stone was heavy, rather dense, but looked so…unimportant.

”Is this?”

“It is.” Her husband nodded slowly, holding a stern gaze on his wife’s features, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. “The Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“Oh Nicolas!” the woman cried, throwing her arms around her husband’s neck but still keeping a tight hold on the small stone in her hand. “I can’t believe it. You finally did it! I’m so proud of you!” The two of them shared an embrace for a long while, letting it all soak in.The Sorcerer’s Stone!

Nicolas Flamel and his wife continued to rock in silence, watching the purple sky turn to black. The wispy clouds stretched like cotton and disappeared into the black as small specks of light emerged from the darkness.

It was getting late, and yet neither one dared to move, enjoying the cool breeze that swept across their faces. The elderly lady reached her hand out to her husband, palm up, and rested it on the table between them.

“Nicolas?” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes, darling?” he answered, placing his own hand in hers. He was going to miss this -- her touch, her smile. They were supposed to live on for eternity, watching as the world changed around them. People would come and go, villains and heroes, the ordinary and the extraordinary. Yet they would remain.

“I love you,” the woman responded as a single tear rolled down her noble face.

Nicolas Flamel sighed as he gave his wife’s hand a small squeeze. “I love you too.” They’d had a great run, over five hundred years together, but it was time. The stone was destroyed and the Elixir gone. He had hoped to live out forever with Perenelle, but he’d experienced enough of life to know that all good things must come to an end.

Forever. To live forever meant they could enjoy the beauty of the world and watch as society and the environment changed from one generation to another. They would watch biographies and novels come to life as they witnessed the births, lives, and deaths of so many great witches and wizards. It had seemed like such a fascinating idea at the time.

But to be taken away forever from this world that they’d known for centuries? After five hundred years and the end drawing near, it almost seemed…a blessing. Nicolas surprised himself at the idea. And yet, after witnessing all that he had, death seemed to be the next logical step, the next great adventure.

As silence fell upon the house, save for the creaking of two wooden rocking chairs, a man’s voice floated along the night breeze.

“I love you too. Forever.”