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If Voldemort had chosen Neville instead of me back then, would Voldemort still be alive?
Harry didn't know exactly what magic his mother used to protect him, but he could guess that the witch named Lily Evans had some extraordinary talent or power.
A person who was praised by every professor at school must have had something exceptional. Harry couldn't match what his mother had achieved, even though he was quite talented himself—he still had plenty of weaknesses.
His aptitude for Potions was only average. If Snape weren't his godfather, Snape would have had no interest in him. In fact, Snape probably wouldn't have even bothered to look at him twice.
As for Herbology, Harry wasn't any good either. He couldn't compete with Neville, whose gift for Herbology was evident from their first class. Neville seemed to have a natural affinity with plants, as if he was born knowing how to handle the temperamental magical species. All Harry could do was envy him.
The only subjects Harry truly excelled at were Transfiguration and Charms, where his control over magic surpassed that of other students.
Lily Evans, who excelled in everything, couldn't simply be described as a genius. It was no wonder Voldemort was defeated by her. She possessed powers that Voldemort didn't understand, and it's not far-fetched to think that if she had lived long enough to reach her full potential, Voldemort might not have been able to defeat her.
But what about Neville? And his parents?
Even though Neville's parents were excellent Aurors, they were only exceptional in the ordinary sense of the word. The Longbottom family, being an ancient pure-blood wizarding family, might have passed down something powerful, but even so, Harry didn't hold high expectations for them.
But that's all in the past. History is irreversible, and everything that has happened is set in stone. All Harry could do was speculate.
He picked up the notebook on his desk. The thin notebook had no more than twenty or thirty pages, and it wouldn't take long to skim through it. But as Harry read, his expression gradually changed.
From disbelief to shock, and then to utter amazement, waves of astonishment crashed over him, each stronger than the last.
Turning stone into gold? Immortality?
These were just the most basic and least valuable aspects of the Philosopher's Stone's power.
Turning stone into gold was a waste of magic, and immortality had enormous drawbacks. Although parts of this information had been intentionally erased—likely to conceal Nicholas Flamel's fatal weaknesses—it made sense that Flamel wouldn't want anyone to know them.
But what remained completely shattered Harry's understanding.
Alchemy, as a form of magic independent from the usual magical system, was far more powerful than words could describe.
As its own discipline, alchemy encompassed the combined strength of all other branches of magic—Charms, Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration.
It was no wonder that only a wizard with both talent and intellect could spend their entire life mastering alchemy. And no wonder the greatest alchemists were all ancient, hundreds of years old. This field was so vast that to become an alchemy master was equivalent to becoming a master of Charms, Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration all at once.
Such people were rare even at Hogwarts. Perhaps Dumbledore and Grindelwald counted as two, but there were no others.
Even though this notebook was just a simple introduction to the uses of the Philosopher's Stone, Harry could see the vast, boundless ocean of knowledge that lay behind it, a sea of wisdom so intimidating it made him feel small.
"I get it now..."
After putting the notebook down, Harry smiled bitterly.
"I believe you, Professor. Maybe destiny really does exist, and you're the one who can see it."
Harry shook his head. He wanted to say, "Even if I starve to death, even if I jump from this tower, I, Harry Potter, will never agree." But the truth was—he couldn't resist. The allure was stronger than a bottle of ice-cold soda appearing out of nowhere in a desert.
Harry had always dreamed of becoming a man like Hagrid, someone who could overpower anything that stood in his way. But that was impossible. Hagrid was half-giant, a naturally gifted one at that. In all of Hogwarts' history, few half-giants had ever been admitted.
This wasn't due to discrimination but because Hogwarts' enchanted Book of Admission wouldn't allow unqualified names to be recorded. Most half-giants, though magical, had most of their magic absorbed into their bodies, strengthening them. They were left with little to no magic for spellcasting. Only a few, like Hagrid, could manage basic tricks, but becoming a full-fledged wizard was nearly impossible.
Hagrid, who had been accepted by the Book of Admission, was truly one in a million. He was a rare talent among half-giants. Perhaps that was why Madame Maxime, also a half-giant, had fallen in love with him. Despite the obvious differences in their status, Maxime knew that Hagrid was an extraordinary man—a prince worthy of her.
Even if Harry enhanced his own body, he doubted he could even bend one of Hagrid's fingers. Hagrid's punches likely carried the force of twenty or thirty tons, enough to flip a tank. How could Harry compare to that?
But the Philosopher's Stone!
One of its powers could help Harry get closer to achieving what Hagrid had.
And that wasn't even the Stone's greatest gift!
Nicolas Flamel had detailed no fewer than forty-nine different powers of the Philosopher's Stone. As the pinnacle of alchemical creation, the Stone's power was terrifyingly overwhelming—almost beyond belief.
Harry couldn't even begin to imagine the extent of Flamel's strength, having mastered the creation of the Philosopher's Stone in this world.
"Hasn't anyone ever thought of trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Nicolas Flamel?"
"Something like that would be an irresistible temptation to anyone, right?"
"Isn't that true, Professor?"
Harry spoke excitedly, barely able to contain his emotions.
"Calm down."
Grindelwald waved his hand nonchalantly, as if this kind of reaction was nothing new.
"If Flamel dared to lend me the Stone, then it's obvious that those who know its powers are not limited to just you and me."
"This is a notebook he wrote two or three hundred years ago. How many people do you think have read it?"
"Then why didn't they try to—"
"Sigh, kids with no experience in the real world are always a hassle," Grindelwald interrupted, waving dismissively, clearly annoyed.
"Sure, people wanted to steal it, but they'd have to survive doing it first."
"Let me tell you this: Flamel is the only person in the world who possesses the power to destroy an entire nation by himself. A few hundred years ago, he wiped out the reborn Goblin Empire. Millions of his ultimate alchemical machines slaughtered 120,000 goblins, seized countless treasures, and in the process, destroyed two wizarding countries that foolishly got in his way. He killed thousands of wizards who dared to touch his spoils."
"Since then, no one has dared to mess with that old immortal. He created a massive spatial confinement array that covers tens of thousands of square kilometers. Forget about wizards using Apparition—only a handful of magical creatures naturally gifted in spatial travel could escape. When Flamel strikes, he wipes out entire families, leaving no loose ends."
"No one values their life more than him. As the only wizard in the world who can live until his soul completely decays, he's more protective of his life than anyone else."
"Steal the Philosopher's Stone? That's equivalent to threatening his life! For that, he'd be willing to start a world war that spans from one end of the continent to the other."
"A few hundred years ago, he commanded an army of millions of alchemical constructs. So, what do you think his power is like now, after absorbing all the treasures of the Goblin Empire and eradicating their ability to resist? Just how much stronger has he become?"
"Do you really think a five-hundred-year-old monster—who could live for another five hundred years or more—is easy to deal with?"
"Face reality, kid, even though it's harsh."
Grindelwald pointed at the door, indicating that since their discussion was over, Harry could leave.
(End of Chapter)