The Art of Secrets

Chapter One: Saying Au Revoir to Paris

Erica sat back, careful not to smudge her chalk stained fingers over the alchemical circle she'd just drawn as she filled in the empty circles with ingredients, the laws of equivalent exchange tying her down. Pan, her ouroboros was long enough now that when he twined his way around the outer layers of the circle he could easily take his tail into his own mouth.

She watched with bated breath as the circle flared to life, a bright light shining blue, dancing around the room, reflecting off of her eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, the light died down, the circle faded away, the chalk burned up, and all that was left was one simple, small, round, wooden ball.

She picked it up, rolled it around her fingers even though they were still chalk-smudged and dirty from hours spent down there in that basement, drawing up circles and losing her mind. There was a tiny notch in the wood, so small it was hardly noticeable though she could feel it on her skin as she passed it around her hands, rough and sharp.

She set it down, picked it back up, rolled it around her palm once more then threw it at the wall, watching as it shattered into tiny wooden splinters, hollow. She vaguely heard Pan hissing at her in anger as he slithered away, only just avoiding the splinters, but his anger seemed irrelevant. She'd failed. Again.

"Temper, temper," she looked up as Nicolas grinned over from his position by the entryway, arms folded as he lent against the empty frame, the door having long since been demolished in a fire she'd accidentally started earlier that summer. "Even your ouroboros is running away now."

She watched as Pan twined his way up his leg, around his waist, up until he was draped around Nicolas' shoulders, tasting the air by his ear. "He has always been fickle, and he'll soon come back to me when he realises you're as cold-blooded as he is." She stood, pulled her wand from the knot she'd kept her hair up in, allowing her tangled waves to fall around her shoulders. "I'm sick of this."

"You're giving up?" He raised an eyebrow as she vanished the splinters and the remains of her attempts at alchemy, the hand holding her wand shaky. That was one of the first things that he had taught her, how to vanish failed attempts. It was a fifth-year spell, but she picked things up quickly. "I never took you for a quitter, Miss Riddle."

"I never took you for a slave driver, Mr Flamel," she returned, pressing the tip of her wand to her shoulder as she turned to him, grinning, "I'm sick of this for today."

"For today," he let out a short laugh, tilting his head up, motioning to the stairs behind him, "That's all good. You have a visitor."

"And you couldn't have led with that!" She groaned, pushing her way past him so she could start the long walk up the stairs, "It feels like weeks since I've seen anyone but you and Perenelle."

"That sounds about right," Nicolas followed her up, directing her with a hand on her elbow to the right once they'd reached the top of the stairs, leading her to the foyer.

She'd been studying with Nicolas in Paris ever since the beginning of the summer holidays, and though it was fun at first, she was pretty sure she was losing her mind as it was now, with only two weeks remaining in August. She wasn't entirely joking when she'd called Nicolas a slave driver. He worked her to the bone, constructing alchemical circles and instructing her on the very essence of alchemy itself, and all its teachings.

She practically lived, breathed and ate alchemy during her weeks living with them in their summer house, the only high point being back at the end of July when it was her birthday and her mother and Severus dropped by and took her on a tour of the city, to all the tourist spots she hadn't had the chance to see yet; the Eiffel Tower, the Arc De Triomphe, the Palace of Versailles. Nicolas and Perenelle had even joined them for dinner on a boat on the Seine as the sun set across the city.