CH 12: NICOLAS FLAMEL
Professor Snape had convinced Marly not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, but he hadn't stopped her from roaming the rest of Hogwarts, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, she spent at least an hour a night exploring. Once, she found a secret passageway, the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that Fred and George had found in their first year—but halfway through it there was pile-up of dirt and stone from an old cave-in that she couldn't get over, and she dismissed the tunnel as not worth the effort. Marly wished she could forget what she'd seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn't. She started having nightmares. Over and over again she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.
Marly hadn't told Ron that she'd gone back to see the mirror a second night, but when she told him of the nightmares, he thought—rightly so—that the mirror was the cause. "That mirror could drive anyone mad, I think," he said in a rare moment of wisdom, "showing only what you most desire—wouldn't anyone want to stay and look in it forever?"
Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Marly being out of bed, roaming the school almost every night ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.
They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Marly was still sure she'd read the name somewhere. Whenever she asked, Madam Pince told Marly that the book was still checked out. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Marly had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch had started again.
Wood was working the team 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 Marly 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. Quite apart from wanting to win, Marly found that she had fewer nightmares when she was tired out after training.
Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten 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 of 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 one another as usual at the end of practice, and Marly talked a bit with Katie Bell, the only second-year on the team. Then Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, the other Chasers, called Katie over. Marly headed back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Marly and Ron thought was very good for her.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Marly sat down next to him, "I need to concentrate."
Hermione frowned at Marly. "What happened? You took your time coming back."
Marly shrugged. "I talked with Katie for a bit after practice. Oh, and…" Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Marly told the other two about Professor Snape's sudden desire to be a Quidditch referee. "I don't like it, he won't be fair to our team, he hates Gryffindor."
"Hates Gryffindor? Marly, he tried to kill you last time you played! 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.
"I can't," said Marly. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all. Besides, Madam Pomfrey would fix it in a blink, just like Nev's wrist. Where is he, anyway?"
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 over laughing except Hermione and Marly. Hermione leapt up and performed the countercurse. His legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling
"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Marly and Ron.
"Nott," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice on. Crabbe and Goyle were there, too."
"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"
Neville shook his head.
"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.
"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, Nott's done that already," Neville choked out.
Marly felt in the pocket of her robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given her for Christmas. She gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.
"You're worth twelve of Nott," Marly said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Nott? In stinking Slytherin."
Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.
"Thanks, Marly..I think I'll go to bed…d'you want the card?"
As Neville walked away, Marly looked at the Famous Wizard card.
"Dumbledore again," she said, "He was the first one I ever—"
She gasped. She stared at the back of the card. Then she looked up at Ron and Hermione.
"I've found him!" she 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: 'Dumbledore is particularly 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. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.
"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to their dormitory. Marly and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.
"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."
Marly frowned suspiciously. That must be the book Madam Pince told me about, she thought. "So you're the one who checked it out, Madam Pince recommended it to me, she said that's the only book with a substantial record of Flamel's work in alchemy."
"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told them to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.
At last she found what she was looking for.
"I knew it! I knew it!"
"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him, which made Marly have to swallow a laugh.
"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorceror's Stone!"
This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.
"The what?" said Marly and Ron.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look—read that, there."
She pushed the book toward them, and Marly and Ron read:
The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, 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.
There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).
"See?" said Hermione, when Marly and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"
"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Marly. "Anyone would want it."
"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
"You'd better go tell Neville about this," said Marly. "That is, if he hasn't fallen asleep yet."
The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Marly, Neville, and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one (and knew how to use it). It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Marly remembered about Professor Snape and the coming match.
"I'm going to play," she told the other three. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Professor 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 field," said Hermione.
As the match drew nearer, however, Marly became more and more nervous, whatever she told Hermione, Neville, and Ron. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?
Marly didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Professor Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether the Potions Master was following her, trying to catch her with the Mirror of Erised again. Potions lessons weren't completely torture; but while Professor Snape didn't outright ignore her, he certainly didn't help her. By contrast, he seemed to be treating every other Gryffindor horribly. Could Professor Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Marly didn't see how he could, unless Madam Pince had told him—yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Professor Snape could read minds.
Marly knew, when they wished her good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Neville, Ron, and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Marly hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as she pulled on her Quidditch robes and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand.
Hermione, Neville, and Ron, meanwhile, had place a place in the stands next to Dean and Seamus, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. Little did Marly know that Hermione, Neville, and Ron had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Nott using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Professor Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Marly.
"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve. Neville gripped his tightly, knuckles white.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Marly aside.
"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."
"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out the door. "Even—blimey—Dumbledore's come to watch!"
Marly's heart did a somersault.
"Dumbledore?" she said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.
Marly could have laughed out loud with relief. She was safe. There was simply no way that whoever had cursed her broom last game—whether it was Snape or someone else—could hurt him, they wouldn't dare, not with Dumbledore watching.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron told Hermione and Neville. "Look—they're off. Ouch!"
Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Nott.
"Oh, sorry, Weasel, didn't see you there."
Nott 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, Weasel?"
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 Marly, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Quidditch team?" said Nott loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's 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 Nott.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Nott," he stammered.
Nott, 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."
Draco, who appeared quite suddenly, sneered at Nott. "Maybe youshould try out, Nott—you've got no chance."
Nott looked a bit taken aback.
"Look!" said Hermione suddenly, "Marly—!"
"What? Where?"
Marly had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Marly streaked toward the ground like a bullet.
"You're in luck, Weasel, Potter must have spotted some Galleons on the ground!" said Nott.
Ron snapped. Before Nott 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. Draco sighed loudly, then nonchalantly waved his wand and said a spell. The brawling boys fell down, all of them with their legs stuck together.
"There are teachers present," Draco reminded them, and after a moment muttered the counter-curse for Neville and Ron. "Sorry, meant to just get Nott, but then I realized it wouldn't be fair, you two whaling on him without a chance for him to fight back."
"Come on, Marly!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Marly sped straight at Snape—she didn't even notice the stare-down between Nott and Draco.
Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches—the next second, Marly had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her hand.
The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
Marly jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Professor Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped—then Marly felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, grinning at her.
"Well done, Potter!" he exclaimed. "That had to be the fastest catch in the history of Hogwarts—I hadn't even spotted it yet. You should think about going professional!"
Marly blushed. "I'm only in first year, still," she protested.
"No, really! I'd bet you my broomstick that by the time your fifth year rolls about, you'll have scouts coming from every team around!"
She shrugged. "Well, maybe…"
Marly left the locker room alone some time later, to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. She couldn't ever remember feeling happier. She'd really done something to be proud of now—no one could say she was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. She walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders; Draco, Hermione, Neville, and Ron in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
Marly had reached the shed. She leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. She'd done it, she'd shown Slytherin…shown Snape…
And speaking of Snape…
A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the Forbidden Forest. Marly's victory faded from her mind as she watched. She recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner—what was going on?
Marly jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape entering the forest at a run. She followed.
The trees were so thick she couldn't see where Snape had gone. She flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices. She glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.
She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to her broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.
Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Marly couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Marly strained to catch what they were saying.
"…d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"
"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."
Marly leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.
"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"
"B-b-but Severus, I—"
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.
"I-I don't know what you—"
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
An owl hooted loudly, and Marly nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "—your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."
"B-but I d-d-don't—"
"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."
He threw the cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Marly could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.
Marly swallowed. After hearing that conversation, it was very hard for her to keep her conviction that Snape wasn't the one after the Stone.
"Marlene, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.
"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Marly on the back. "And I gave Nott a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! Good thing Draco stopped us or Neville would be out cold—talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."
"Never mind that now," said Marly breathlessly. "Get Nev—and Draco—let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"
She made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then she told them what she'd seen and heard.
"So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'—I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark spell that Snape needs to break through—"
"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Draco.