Someone's aunt. Vulture hat. TWITCH. "Thank you, but if I'd intended to gather immortality tips I would have communicated with Flamel while I had the chance," he retorts.
And that is about at the outside of enough. Not the right side of wizard?! Is he really expected to take that from the veritable reincarnation of Gryffindor only probably with giant blood?!? "What in the nine blithering hells are you on about?" he demands, eyes narrowing to sharp little obsidian daggers.
That was a pipe dream. One should have goals. Boiled milk? Chamomile? Hot tea? Enya? Cold air warm blankets? Dreary old textbook? I've been thinking about picking up something to stiffen my chamomile lattes with, myself... the problem being that there's only on-street parking and I'm on the fourth floor with no elevator, so moving my car to go get heavy liquid is kind of an exercise in masochism. (g)