~Prologue: The Hidden Stone~

A/N: all things Harry Potter (c) J.K. Rowling

all things Fullmetal Alchemist (c) Hiromu Arakawa

Albus Dumbledore peered into the quickly falling night as he stowed his wand away within his cloak, deciding that the sun had not yet set enough to interfere with his sight. Diagon Alley was relatively calm this Autumn's evening, and a few of the usually-lively shops were already closed up for the day...

Good thing Albus was not in the alley that eve to go shopping.

He stopped in front of Gringotts Bank and glanced around him, looking to see if anyone had followed him there. After looking behind him once more, he felt reassured that his business tonight was most certainly going to be done without an overtly curious audience trailing behind him. However, as he ambled towards the steps of the bank, he was halted by a large hand clamping onto his shoulder. Dumbledore smiled and turned:

"Nicholas Flamel, my good man! You haven't changed a bit."

Nicholas greeted his old friend with a smile as he replied:

"It has been far too long, Albus. Far too long."

"And so it has."

"Though I do wish our meeting was built upon a happier demeanor," the old alchemist spoke, his voice laced with a bit of regret as he held up the small parcel in his hand. "And I had planned to utilize this is so many righteous ways..."

"Ah, yes. Tis indeed a shame that a great piece of alchemy such as the Sorcerer's Stone must be locked up. But we must keep it away from Voldemort at all costs."

Flamel made a face at the name, and then said, "So you do not believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is truly defeated."

"No. He is out there. Waiting."

Flamel nodded in solemn understanding and gestured for Dumbledore to lead the way into the bank, following behind him closely.

"What became of the boy, Albus?" inquired Flamel as he slid a letter and his wand towards the goblin at the front desk.

"Harry left his home with nothing but a scar. He was sent to live with his aunt and uncle from his mother's side of the family. There he will remain until he become of age." Dumbledore shook his head as he boarded the cart with Flamel and the goblin.

"That poor boy, all alone in the world," Flamel said sadly.

"No, no, not quite alone. We are on his side, are we not?" Dumbledore pointed out.

"Well, of course, Albus! What other purpose do I have to locking up my precious stone?"

"None other than to protect The Boy Who Lived and the rest of the Wizarding World."

"No other reason would be grand enough," Flamel muttered under his breath. Dumbledore chuckled, patting his old friend on the back.

"And how is your wife, Nicholas?"

As the two skilled wizards caught up, the cart continued to travel deeper and deeper into the depths of the bank, the darkness becoming greater, and the candlelight getting dimmer. Suddenly, the fast cart came to a halt, and the goblin spoke in his raspy voice:

"Vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Hopping out of the cart, the goblin lifted a thin, hairy finger up to the door and stroked it gently. Dumbledore and Flamel waited patiently as the door slowly melted away, revealing an empty vault waiting to be filled. Dumbledore nodded once at Flamel, who slowly set his precious stone down inside of the vault and then, after taking one last wistful look at his life's work, reluctantly walked away from it. The goblin sealed the vault and gestured for them to get back into the cart.

"...it'll be safe and secure there, Nicholas."

"I know, I trust Gringotts enough. Doesn't make letting go of one's life's work any easier."

"I understand."

They rode in silence for a moment or so longer before Dumbledore asked:

"Say, have you from Hohenheim as of late?"

Flamel looked at Dumbledore questionably:

"Van Hohenheim? Well, last I heard from him he was headed back to Resembool to start a family."

"Oh, really?" Dumbledore said curiously.

"Yes, he actually wrote about a year ago. He said he and his wife had had a son and were expecting another."

"Hohenheim had a child? Didn't think that was possible," Dumbledore said incredulously.

"Neither did I," Flamel chuckled. "He hasn't written since, though. I do hope he is well."

"Yes, yes. Well, do let me know if you hear from him again, will you?"

Flamel raised an eyebrow at his friend:

"Well, of course, certainly. But may I inquire as to why you have such a sudden interest with Van Hohenheim, Albus?"

"Oh, it's nothing much, he came up in a recent conversation I had with Sybill Trelawney. I was simply wonderingly whatever became of him."

"Ah. Well, he never did like to stay in one place for too long, did he?"

They exited the cart and walked out the doors into the brisk night. Nicholas Flamel offered his hand to his friend.

"This is where we shall part now, I suppose."

"Yes, my endearing alchemist, now we must part."

Dumbledore took his friend's hand and shook it fervently.

"Do try to keep in touch. I am a very busy man, but I am never too busy for friends," Dumbledore said, giving Flamel a look from over his half-moon spectacles. The old wizard chuckled:

"I shall try to, that I shall. Until we meet again, farewell!"

"Goodbye, Nicholas!"

And with that Flamel dissapparated out of sight, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts.

He strolled down the empty alleyway a bit, taking in the peacefulness of the night as he thought about the Sorcerer's Stone, a marvelous creation made by Flamel and himself, using Van Hohenheim alchemic theorems to bring it into being...Van Hohenheim...

Hmm, Dumbledore thought to himself as he found himself at the other side of Diagon Alley. He looked back at Gringotts Bank once more as a realization of sorts struck him: if he was in fact born last year, just as Nicholas said, then Hohenheim's son is approximately the same age as Harry Potter...hmm...