Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the Mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.
"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.
Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!") and disappointment that he hadn't found out who Nicolas Flamel was.
Harry was glad he hadn▓t told her about the Animagus Book. He had started to gather up his ingredients for the two potions, and would be ready to brew it in a month or two. The first potion was designed to pass up the time needed to meditate on the chosen form, and the other gave the animagus control over his animal.
Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started practice again.
Wood was working them harder than ever.
Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side.
If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years.
Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just got very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.
"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"
George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.
"Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."
The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.
"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
The rest of the team hung back to talk to each other as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him. "I need to concen-" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."
Speaking quietly so that no one else could hear, Harry told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," said Hermione at once.
"Say you're ill," said Ron.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," said Ron.
"All he needs is a cast Ron," Hermione pressed.
"What's a cast? Anyway... Harry... maybe you can figure out how to break both your legs..."
"I can't, and if i could i wouldn't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all. And I like walking thank you very much."
At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse.
He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.
Everyone fell about laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the counter-curse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet trembling.
"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."
"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked.
Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the Frog.
"Thanks, Harry ... I think I'll go to bed ... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?".
As Neville walked away. Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.
"Dumbledore again," he said. "He was the first one I ever -"
He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.
"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here - listen to this: 'Professor Dumbledore is particualrly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"
Hermione jumped to her feet, pulled at her bag, and pulled out a book, an enormous, old book.
"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."
"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione silenced him with a glare, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.
At last she found what she was looking for.
"I knew it! Here it is, Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorceror's Stone! It is a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal."
"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorceror's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it!"
"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."
Next morning in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorceror's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.
"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them ... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."
"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the pitch," said Hermione.
Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus two Thousand.
Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match.
Little did Harry know that Ron and hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd got the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.
Back in the changing room, Wood had taken Harry aside.
"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the snitch it's now. I want you to finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."
"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Even - blimey - Dumbledore's come to watch!"
Harry's heart did a somersault.
"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.
Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way Snape would dare to try and hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the pitch, something that Ron had noticed, too.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look - they're off. Ouch!"
Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.
⌠Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.
"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"
Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him.
Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all.
"It's the people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
Ron's nerves were already stretched to breaking point with anxiety about Harry.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word -"
"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly. "Harry -!"
Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crosses fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.
Ron snapped.
Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping off her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape, she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.
Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches - next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.
The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Herry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.
Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it - the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes.
As Gryffindors began spilling on to the pitch, the entire school missed Snape crash into the pitch, pale, white-faced and unconscious... The twins would never tell anyone of the bludger they hid in Harry's shadow - then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.
"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror ... been keeping busy ... excellent ..."
He'd really done something to be proud of now - no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet.
He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him on to their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
And Snape in a sickening heap by the Hufflepuff end of the stands... Potions would be cancelled during the next week.