D UMBLEDORE had convinced Harry not to look for the Mirror of Erised again and for the remainder of the Christmas holidays, the Invisibility Cloak remained folded at the bottom of Harry’s suitcase. Harry wanted to immediately forget what he had seen in the mirror, but he couldn’t. He started having nightmares. Many times he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high, shrill laugh could be heard.
“See, Dumbledore’s right. “That mirror will drive you crazy,” said Ron, when Harry told him about his nightmare.
Hermione, who returned the day before the new semester started, had a different view of the incident. He was half horrified at the thought of Harry leaving his room, wandering around the school for three nights in a row (“What if Filch caught you!”) and half disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find out who Nicolas Flamel was.
They had almost given up hope of finding Flamel in a library book, although Harry was still sure he had read the name somewhere. As soon as the new semester started, they went back to flipping through books for ten minutes during their break. Harry had even less time than his two friends, because Quidditch practice had started again.
Wood trained his team harder than ever. Even the rain that continued to fall to replace the snow did not break his spirit. The Weasley twins complained that Wood had become a bigot, but Harry sided with Wood. If they win their next match, against Hufflepuff, they will overtake Slytherin in the Inter-House Championship for the first time in seven years. Despite the desire to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares if he was tired after training.
Then, during a training session in torrential rain and mud, Wood delivered bad news to his team. He had just been furious with the Weasley twins, who were constantly attacking each other and pretending to slip off their brooms.
“You guys can’t stop playing around!” he shouted. ”It’s actions like that that will make us lose the game! Snape will be the referee this time and he will find any excuse to reduce Gryffindor’s points!”
George Weasley literally fell off his broom hearing this.
“Snape is the referee?” he said with a mouth full of mud. “When has he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He certainly wouldn’t be fair if there was a chance of us overtaking Slytherin.”
Another team member landed at George’s side to complain.
“It’s not my fault ,” said Wood. “What is clear is that we must ensure that we play cleanly, so that Snape will have no reason to blame us.”
That might be fine, Harry thought, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he played Quidditch.…
The rest of the team were still chatting as usual after training, but Harry went straight back to the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione were playing chess there. Chess was the only activity that Hermione could lose at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.
“Don’t talk to me yet,” said Ron as Harry sat down next to him. “I need consent…” He saw Harry’s face. “Why did you? You look sick.”
Speaking quietly so no one would hear, Harry told his two friends about Snape’s sudden desire to become a referee
Quidditch.
“Don’t play,” said Hermione immediately. “Just say you’re sick,” said Ron.
“Pretend your leg is broken,” Hermione suggested. “Just break it , ” said Ron.
“No way,” said Harry. “There is no spare Seeker. If I withdraw, Gryffindor won’t be able to play at all.”
Just then Neville rolled into the common room. How he managed to climb through the picture hole is anyone’s guess, as his legs were stuck together. They immediately recognized the cause, the Curse of the Locked Legs. He would definitely have to jump up and down Gryffindor Tower.
Everyone laughed, except Hermione. He immediately jumped to his feet and cast a counter-curse spell. Neville’s legs separated and he stood, shaking.
“What happened?” Hermione asked him, inviting him to sit near Harry and Ron.
“Malfoy,” said Neville shakily. “I met him in front of the library. He said he was looking for a child he could use to practice the curse.”
”Meet Professor McGonagall!” Hermione pushed Neville. ”Report him!”
Neville shook his head.
“I don’t want to add to the hassle,” he muttered.
“You have to be brave enough to face it, Neville!” Ron said. “He is used to mistreating other people, but that is no reason for us to give up and not make things difficult for him.”
“There’s no need to tell you that I’m not brave enough to be a Gryffindor. Malfoy has done it,” Neville said choked up.
Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the last chocolate from Hermione’s Christmas gift box. He handed it to Neville, who looked like he was about to cry.
“You’re worth twelve times as much as Malfoy,” said Harry. “The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, right? And where is Malfoy? In smelly Slytherin.”
Neville’s lips quivered into a weak smile as he unwrapped the Chocolate Frog.
“Thanks, Harry… I think I’m going to bed… Would you like the card? You collect it, right?”
After Neville left, Harry looked at his Famous Wizards card. “Dumbledore again,” he said. “He was the first…”
Harry gasped in surprise. Wide-eyed looking at the back of the card.
Then he looked up, looking at Ron and Hermione.
“I’ve found him!” he whispered. ”I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read his name somewhere before. Apparently I read it on the train that brought me here – listen to this, ‘Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the black wizard Grindelwald in 1945, his discovery of twelve uses for dragon’s blood, and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel !’”
Hermione immediately jumped to her feet. He hadn’t looked this happy since they got the grade for their first PR back then.
“Wait here!” she said, and she ran up the stairs to the girls’ room. Harry and Ron had just exchanged surprised glances when he came back clutching a very large book.
“It never occurred to me to look here!” he whispered tensely. “I borrowed this from the library a few weeks ago for some light reading.”
“Light?” said Ron, but Hermione shushed him until she found something, then she started flipping through the book quickly, muttering to herself.
Finally he found what he was looking for. ” I already guessed! I already guessed! ”
“Can we talk now?” Ron grumbled. Hermione ignored him.
“Nicolas Flamel,” he whispered dramatically, “is the only one known to have created the Philosopher’s Stone !”
This remark did not have the effect that Hermione had hoped for. “What rock?” Harry and Ron asked.
“Oh, my gosh, aren’t you two reading? Look…read this.” He pushed the book towards them, and Harry and Ron read:
The ancient science of alchemy deals with the making of Lucky Stones, legendary objects with extraordinary magical powers. This stone will turn any metal into pure gold. This stone also produces the Liquid of Life, which will make its drinker live forever.
Over the centuries there have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone, but the only stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the famous alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who last year celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight years).
“You know, now?” said Hermione, as Harry and Ron finished reading. “That dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone! I bet he left it with Dumbledore because they were friends, and he knew someone wanted the stone. That’s why he wants the stone removed from Gringotts!”
“The stone that makes gold and makes you immortal!” said Harry. “No wonder Snape wanted it! Everyone will want it.”
“And it’s no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in the book Recent Developments in the Wizarding World ,” said Ron. “He wouldn’t be in that category if he was only six hundred and sixty-five, would he?”
The next morning, in Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, while taking notes on various ways to treat werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they would do with the Philosopher’s Stone if they had it. It was only when Ron said that he was going to buy his own Quidditch team that Harry thought of Snape and his upcoming Quidditch match.
“I’m going to play,” he said to Ron and Hermione. “Otherwise all the Slytherins will think I’m afraid of Snape. I will show them… the smiles will be wiped off their faces if we win.”
“As long as you’re not the one knocked out of the field,” said Hermione.
The closer the match day got, the more anxious Harry became, although he didn’t say so to Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn’t so calm either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the Inter-House Championship was exciting, no one had managed it in seven years, but could they do it with such a biased referee?
Harry didn’t know whether it was just his imagination or not, but it felt like he always saw Snape, wherever he went. Sometimes he wondered if Snape was following him, looking for an opportunity to catch him when he was alone. Potions lessons had turned into a weekly torture, because Snape was being so annoying towards Harry. Could it be that Snape knew that Harry and his two friends knew about the Philosopher’s Stone? It seemed impossible—but sometimes Harry felt that Snape could read people’s minds.
Harry knew that, as they wished him good luck outside the changing rooms, Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they would ever see him alive. This can’t be said to be fun. Harry barely heard Wood’s advice as he put on his Quidditch robes and took out his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found seats in the stands near Neville – who couldn’t understand why they both looked so grim and worried, nor why they had both brought wands to the match. Harry had no idea that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Locked Legs Curse. They got this idea from Malfoy who used it on Neville, and they were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any signs of wanting to harm Harry.
“Don’t forget, the spell is Locomotor Mortis ,” Hermione muttered as Ron tucked his wand into the sleeve of his robes.
“I know,” said Ron. “Don’t be fussy.”
In the dressing room, Wood invited Harry to talk alone.
“Not that I want to pressure you, Potter, but if there ever was a need to catch the Snitch as early as possible, now would be the time.
Finish the match before Snape can side with Hufflepuff too much.”
“The whole school is out there!” said Fred Weasley, peering through the door. “Even… my God… Dumbledore is watching too!”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat.
“Dumbledore?” he said as he ran to the door to see for himself.
Fred is right. The silver beard could not be mistaken.
Harry wanted to laugh out loud with relief. He’s safe. It was clear that Snape would not dare try to harm him if Dumbledore was around.
Maybe that was why Snape looked so angry when the two teams walked onto the field. Ron saw it too.
“I’ve never seen Snape so angry,” he said to Hermione. ” Look… they’re starting. Ouch!”
Someone poked Ron in the back of the head. Malfoy. “Oh, sorry, Weasley, I didn’t see you there.”
Malfoy grinned widely at Crabbe and Goyle.
“How long can Potter stay on his broom this time, huh? Anyone want to bet? How about you, Weasley?”
Ron didn’t answer. Snape had just given Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had thrown a Bludger at him. Hermione—who had all her fingers crossed in her lap for good luck—stared intently at Harry as he circled around the competing teams, looking for the Snitch.
“You know how I think they choose the Gryffindor team?” Malfoy said loudly a few minutes later, when Snape again awarded Hufflepuff a penalty for no reason whatsoever. “Those who are chosen are people who really deserve to be pitied. Just look—there’s the Potter, who has no parents, and then the Weasley twins, who have no money. You should be on the team, Longbottom. You don’t have a brain.”
Neville’s face was bright red, but he turned in his seat to face Malfoy.
“I’m worth twelve times as much as you are, Malfoy,” he stammered.
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes off the match, said, “You’re right, Neville.”
“Longbottom, if brains were made of gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley. Uh, that’s really bad.”
Ron’s nerves were on edge from how worried he was about Harry. “I warn you, Malfoy—one more word…”
“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly. “Harry…!” “What? Where?”
Harry suddenly performed an extraordinary rant, causing the audience to squeal in amazement and cheer uproariously. Hermione stood up, her fingers crossed in front of her mouth as Harry shot down like a bullet.
“You’re lucky, Weasley. Potter apparently saw coins on the ground!” said Malfoy.
Ron’s patience was running out. Before Malfoy realized what was happening, Ron was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then climbed over the back of his chair to help.
“Come on, Harry!” Hermione screamed, jumping up on her stool to get a better look as Harry launched himself straight at Snape. Hermione didn’t even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling under her seat, or the fistfights and screams that emerged amidst the hail of blows coming from Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.
High in the sky, Snape spun on his broom, just as a flash of red shot past him, mere inches from him—the next second, Harry had stopped his dive, his arms raised in triumph, the Snitch clutched in his hands.
The audience erupted into an uproar. This was a record indeed, no one remembered the Snitch ever being caught so quickly.
“Ron! Ron! Where are you? The match is over! Harry wins! We won! Gryffindor leads!” shouted Hermione, jumping up and down in her seat and hugging Parvati Patil who was sitting in front of her.
Harry jumped off his broom, thirty inches from the ground. He didn’t believe it. He had succeeded—the game was over, even though it had only lasted no more than five minutes. As the Gryffindors flooded onto the pitch, Harry saw Snape land nearby, his face pale, his lips taut. Then Harry felt a touch
hands on his shoulders, he looked up and looked at Dumbledore’s smiling face.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear him. ”Glad to see you’re not thinking about that mirror all the time…you’re keeping yourself busy…awesome…”
Snape spat bitterly onto the ground.
Harry left the dressing room alone some time later, to return his Two Thousand Nimbus to the broom storage. He has never felt this cheerful. He’s really done something to be proud of now—no one can say he’s just a household name anymore. The night air has never been so fragrant. He stepped on the damp grass, recalling the events of the last hour. A happy flashback: the Gryffindors ran over to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione were in the distance, jumping for joy. Ron cheered even though his nose was bleeding.
Harry had arrived at the broom room. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows gleaming red in the setting sun. Gryffindor took the lead. He had succeeded, he had proven to Snape…
And speaking of Snape…
A hooded figure descended the front steps of the castle quickly. Obviously not wanting to be seen, he walked as fast as he could towards the Forbidden Forest. Victory faded from Harry’s mind as he watched the figure. He recognized her gait. Snape, sneaking into the Forest while the others were having dinner – what exactly was going on?
Harry jumped back onto the Nimbus Two Thousand and flew off. Hovering silently above the castle, he saw Snape running into the Forest. He trailed.
The trees were so thick he couldn’t see where Snape was. Harry flew in circles, lower and lower, touching the upper branches of the trees, until he heard voices. He launched himself in the direction of the voices and landed soundlessly in a large beech tree nearby.
Carefully he climbed up one of the branches, holding his broom tightly, trying to peek through the gaps in the leaves.
Below, in a shady clearing, Snape stood, but he was not alone. Quirrell was there too. Harry couldn’t see the expression on his face clearly, but he was stuttering worse than usual. Harry struggled to catch what they were talking about.
”…d-don’t know why you w-want to m-meet here, Severus…”
“Oh, I think we should keep this a secret,” said Snape, his voice cold. “Students shouldn’t know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Harry leaned forward. Quirrell muttered something. Snape interrupted him.
“Have you found out how to get past Hagrid’s pet?”
“B-but, Severus, I…”
“You wouldn’t want me to be your enemy, would you, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step forward.
”I-I d-don’t know what…”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
An owl screamed loudly and Harry almost fell out of the tree. He managed to compose himself and was able to hear Snape say, “…your little hocuspocus, I’m waiting.”
”B-but I n-no…”
“Very well,” Snape said. “We’ll talk again another time, when you’ve had time to think about this and decide who you want to be loyal to.”
Snape pulled his cloak over his head and stepped out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing still, as if petrified.
“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione exclaimed loudly.
“We won! You win!” shouted Ron, patting Harry on the back. “And I punched Malfoy’s eyes blue and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle alone! He was still unconscious, but Madam Pomfrey said he would recover—know the feeling of Slytherin! Everyone is waiting for you in the common room, we are going to party. Fred and George stole cakes and other food from the kitchen.”
“That’ll come later,” said Harry breathlessly. “Come on, let’s find an empty room, wait until you hear this…”
Harry made sure Peeves wasn’t inside before closing the door behind them before he told his two friends what he had seen and heard.
“So we were right, apparently it was the Philosopher’s Stone, and Snape was trying to force Quirrell to help him steal it. He asks if Quirrell knows how to get past Fluffy—and he also says about Quirrell’s ‘hocuspocus’—I think there’s someone else protecting the rock, besides Fluffy. Probably various spells and incantations, and Quirrell must have cast some Anti-Dark Magic spells that Snape had to break through…”
“So you’re saying the stone is safe only if Quirrell still stands against Snape?” Hermione asked worriedly.
“Not until Tuesday and it’s gone, then,” said Ron.
