Every resident of the gilded Palais Beauxbatons was carted to the neighboring school at the hallowed castle of Hogwarts to celebrate the fiftieth Triwizard Tournament, and the ceremony of the Goblet of Fire, in which a single champion would be chosen to represent their school. The good news, as I quickly learned upon arriving, was that all but the champion would be returning to France. The unfortunate news was that mine had been the name pulled from the goblet. Meaning that, until the Triwizard Cup was won, Hogwarts Castle would be my home, and I had to resign myself to the disheartening possibility that Perenelle would be married off before my return.

Many months later, I departed Scotland for France, wiser and embroiled in a rivalry between the other champions. And though I had lost the tournament, I did not leave without a prize in the form of two treasures discovered at the castle that were believed to be as old as Hogwarts itself — a Cloak of Invisibility and a ring that possessed the power to resurrect the spirit of loved ones long passed. Both the glory and the Triwizard Cup went to Durmstrang Institute, and to a boy who had subsequently influenced the Hogwarts champion and myself into a new and silent competition during our private time together to seek out the fabled, magical land of Sacredoon. It became an obsession of sorts because no one knew precisely what was held there, only that it housed the most prized possession in the wizarding world. The Durmstrang champion hungered to claim it for himself, long before the tournament began, caring of nothing and no one more than his obsession.

That was enough to convince me of the importance of life, and I rushed back to Perenelle, who I found happily unwed and waiting patiently for my return. But I was ignorant to think that the tournament had ended. Bitter with her own loss, and placing all blame upon me, the champion from Hogwarts sought to take her revenge by poisoning the water in Perenelle's village with an unforgivable potion called Black Death. It took root in Perenelle's father, causing his quick demise. And when I saw signs of the fatal poison in Perenelle, I abandoned my education and did not rest in my pursuit of the remedy.

Day and night, I met with Potions Masters from across Europe, experimented even further with the highly volatile blood of dragons, and sought advice from some of the greater minds of the age who had once desired my attention. Yet, when they learned I was attempting to save the life of a Muggle, their interest waned. Black Death was harmful to the wizarding community but less effective, and the remedies they had in place against the cursed potion barely kept Muggles alive, which included Perenelle.

For the first time, I doubted that the effects of alchemy could be reversed by the same means, and entertained a far more dangerous line of thinking. My conclusions rested on the dark and inevitable. Perenelle would die, and I needed to be focused instead on her resurrection. Which is why I turned my attention to the stone that I had recovered from Hogwarts castle.

My first decision was to return to the mind of an academic and to study the Resurrection Stone as if its purpose were foreign to me. I began testing it in different conditions and atmospheres and soon realized that the stone would grow moist and drip when under certain environmental constraints.

I could not believe my eyes. I was in possession of a weeping stone.

The weeping stone, the oldest legend in alchemy, was rumored to absorb any potion and conform to its properties, containing any solution in its entirety, with the possibility of everlasting usage. As a master potion amulet, the power of the weeping stone would never deplete, and the stone would never go dry. Despite my initial understanding, the magical properties of the Resurrection Stone relied entirely on the potion that had been placed within the weeping stone. And so, with great care, I extracted some of the potion that wielded the potential to resurrect the spirits of the dead and began testing its power.