Disclaimer: see another chapter.
/watch?v=RWtrBg-GbUQ
I think this is also a bit long and a bit of a mix-match of a bunch things I had to add. In short, this is a huge filler. I also looked back and realized I hadn't included the Nimbus 2000. Yes, stupid me. I'm also adjusting the chapter order so that the prologue isn't chapter one, that it's combined with the actual first chapter.
CHAPTER TWENTY: CAUGHT IN THE ACT
Living doesn't come first try
It takes a lifetime getting it right
It takes a lifetime to learn how to sing
To find my place in the world's symphony
- Kris Allen "Lifetime"
Harry could be found many a night in front of the Mirror of Erised, either by himself or with Draco, who had also taken to asking to borrow to Cloak to go by himself. Either way, Harry would never take the cold silver snakes; they were rather clingy. Harry would just be sitting on the hard, cold ground and staring up at the magic Mirror, letting the painful love and want flow through him in a great warmth. The Cloak thrown over his shoulders, Harry would always be ready in case footsteps sounded.
One night, the night he truly needed the Cloak, he had left it at the entrance, eager to see his family. There was nothing, nothing at all to stop him from staying there every night except...
"Back again, Harry?"
Harry almost shot out of his skin at the kind voice. Behind him, perched on the corner of the desk, was Albus Dumbledore, smiling slightly at him.
Keeping an even tone, Harry said, "Yes, sir."
Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "So," he said, slipping off the desk to sit beside Harry on the floor, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
Harry looked back up at his parents and Draco. "Yes, sir," he said heavily.
"I expect you've realised by now what it does?" asked Dumbledore.
"It—well, it shows me my family and—" Harry scrambled for words, trying to explain.
"It shows the family you wish you had," offered Dumbledore.
Harry nodded, not bothering to ask how Dumbledore knew. If he had been there, he must've had some sort of spell to see what Harry saw.
"And it showed your friend Draco with the family he wished he had."
Harry frowned. Draco said it was Theo, Blaise, him and Harry before everything. "But—?"
"People change and sometimes the strongest awakening comes when you stand up and wait to see who will stand with you," said Dumbledore with another smile. "I don't need a cloak to become invisible," he added when Harry was about to ask him how he'd known that. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"
Harry thought for a moment. "It shows—it shows what we—want?" he asked hesitantly. "What we wish would happen? No matter it's possibility?"
"Yes and no," answered Dumbledore. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never had a proper family, see the ideal one standing around you. Draco Malfoy, who has been rejected by his family, sees himself standing with what he sees as his. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.
"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask neither you nor Draco to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put on that admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?"
Harry, still digesting Dumbledore's words, stood up and said, "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously, you've just done so," said Dumbledore, smiling. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?" asked Harry in a rush.
Dumbledore made no motion to stand up, only smiling as though it was a very good question. "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks."
Harry scrutinized him.
"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People with insist on giving me books."
Harry threw the Cloak over his shoulders and headed back to the dungeons. He was saying the password when he realized that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. It was quite a question, he thought. Rather personal. Harry cast his thoughts around for something Professor Dumbledore could want and they settled on "family". It was, after all, what Harry and Draco had seen and Harry couldn't remember hearing of any kind of sibling or children. But then again, he thought as he crawled back into bed, perhaps Dumbledore just had very holey socks.
\ \ / /
Dumbledore took one last look at his sister, brother and parents before returning to his office. He was still marvelling at Harry's Sorting, and not in a good way. Dumbledore had expected Harry to be Sorted into Gryffindor like his parents—James had, in fact, been Sorted the instant the Hat touched his messy black hair, Lily had taken a bit longer but Dumbledore suspected it was for her friendship for Severus.
He had watched the Sorting with an anxiety that had been steadily increasing. Dumbledore had checked and triple-checked everything but he still wasn't sure if the Horcrux aspect of Harry could possess him by itself or it needed a Voldemort with a body out there. He wasn't sure if the part of Harry that was Tom Riddle could subtly influence him or take outright control him.
The Hat screaming, "SLYTHERIN!" hardly did anything for Dumbledore's nerves. He swore he felt his blood pressure rise fifty points. Now, there wasn't anything specific about which house Harry was in, but being in Slytherin, where the traits were so much easier turned towards Dark means, when he had a suspicion that he might be possessed by the most evil Dark wizard for a century was certainly something to worry about. The Sorting Hat couldn't even tell Dumbledore if there was anything in Harry's mind; it couldn't even talk about another.
Dumbledore couldn't deny Harry had the Slytherin traits of determination, cunning and resourcefulness without exhibiting any Dark or cruel nature like Tom had as a young boy. But that didn't mean that the strength of the possession couldn't change. Additionally, when Dumbledore had briefly looked through Harry's eyes and seen what he had observed in the Mirror: his parents, the image also, rather surprisingly and comfortingly, included Draco Malfoy.
Voldemort couldn't be controlling him then, thought Dumbledore. Someone filled with that sort of love and willing to exercise that kind of reckless bravery to see it couldn't be manipulated by Tom Riddle—he hoped.
Dumbledore resolved to keep a closer eye on the boy.
\ \ / /
The holidays ended far too soon for either Harry or Draco. The start of term, however, brought something much more welcome than being forced to wake up at six-thirty again: Hermione, fresh back from skiing.
Apparently, she had a cousin who wasn't too talented on the, as Draco called them, "Muggle sticks" and had faceplanted many times. They exchanged Christmas stories and she was fascinated by the Transfigured and Charmed snakes the boys had gotten, as well as bursting into giggles at Draco's face when Ron had told the tale of the Slytherin common room's redecoration. Hermione had also poked and prodded the Invisibility Cloak, while Ron experimented in front of a mirror.
Harry and Draco, along with Ron and Hermione, had visited "Fluffy" several times, looking and checking to make sure it was still in place because, they figured, as long as it was there and growling, Quirrell hadn't gotten whatever it was. Several times they were almost caught or, on one memorable occasion, caught by McGonagall who was about to land them all in detention when Quirrell came around and said, in his usual trembling voice, "I-It's o-o-only na-natural, Min-Minerva, for ch-children to b-b-b-b curious. Run-run al-al-along, now." They all took his advice and booked it.
Draco and Harry had considered taking Hermione and Ron to the Mirror of Erised but that reminded Harry of Professor Dumbledore's warning; he told Draco and, very reluctantly, both agreed to not go back. They did introduce both Hermione and Ron to Hagrid, though, in mid February.
A great fire was burning inside, making the cabin as hot as a summer day and melting the snow from their hair. He was already making a cup of tea for himself and set out a plate of rock-cakes that no one touched and another four mugs, pouring the boiling water and adding the tea bags.
"Another Weasley, eh?" asked Hagrid as he shook Ron's entire arm. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the Forest. Lately, I've been seein' another redhead near them trees—is that yeh?"
Draco nearly choked on the tea. Ron blushed but nodded. "We just wanted to see inside."
Hagrid laughed at that. "Fred an' George have seen it 'undreds o' times. 'Specially in their first year."
Then, seeing Hermione still standing near the door, Hagrid grinned and shook her arm thoroughly.
"Hermione Granger," she said shakily, still taking in Hagrid's size. Seeing it as you got off the train was one thing, spending time with a man this large was quite another. Harry had a suspicion she was remembering the Muggle story Jack and the Beanstalk.
"Eh?" asked Hagrid. "McGonagall's very proud of yeh, she is. Brightest witch in yer year, she tells me."
Hermione blushed at least as deeply as Ron. She muttered something about it just being practise before finding something out the window very interesting.
Seeing her embarrassment, Hagrid went back to Ron. "So, how's yer brother Charlie? Loved him, great with animals. How's he handling the dragons?"
"He gets awful burns," said Ron conversationally. "Seventh degree from the wild ones like a Horntail—they're nasty things."
Hagrid frowned at that. "They're tameable, though."
"Well, sure, they are," said Draco in a wary tone. "Your spine will tame it as a good chew toy until it spits out the bones. And they're illegal."
"Dragon breeding was outlawed by the—" started Hermione excitedly, back in her comfort zone when Draco looked into the fire and gasped loud enough for her to stop.
"Hagrid!" he exclaimed, still staring at the fire. "You didn't!"
Ron followed his gaze as did Harry and Hermione. In the fire was a large, black egg larger than an ostrich's.
"Well, er—" Hagrid started awkwardly.
"Is that—" started Ron, his eyes wide.
"You've got to be kidding!" said Hermione shrilly.
"What is it?" asked Harry.
Everyone looked at him as though he were very stupid.
"I get it's a dragon egg," he said, rather sharper than he meant to. "What species—breed, whatever, what is it?"
"A Norwegian Ridgeback," said Hagrid proudly. "I've got it all here." He rummaged around in his sheets, eventually pulling out a book. "Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit," he said. "It's a bit outta date but it's got it all. Keep it in the fire, then, when it hatches, feed it a bucket o' brandy with chicken blood ev'ry half hour."
"You're mental," said Draco grimly. "You've officially lost it. Oh, I forgot: thanks for the chocolate." Harry snorted. Draco had finished that in about twenty minutes.
Hagrid waved a giant hand and started to stroke the fire. "Forget 'bout it."
Hermione had other worries. "Dragons breath fire," she said very clearly, as though he thought Hagrid was very slow. "You live in a wooden house."
"Whatdoya think of the name 'Norbert'?" he asked thoughtfully.
They all exchanged a look.
"Good name for a dragon," said Ron at last. "Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback. What?" he defended as he was now given the look. "It is a good name. I know Charlie's used it for a Swedish Short-Snout—no, wait, that one was Sabina. It was the Hebridean Black that he christened Norbert... or was it Bertha?"
\ \ / /
Harry had more to worry about than a dragon and three-headed dog. The exams loomed nearer and nearer and his Quidditch trainings were becoming a sort of thrice-weekly torture. Flint, even though quite taken with his Seeker abilities, was very hesitant and scared that they would lose their next match against Hufflepuff. If they won this one, they'd take the Cup for the sixth year in a row (Snape was even refereeing, much to Hermione's scepticism) but their star player had an awful broom.
Harry was riding an old Shooting Star, the best broom the school had, and was rather shocked he had out-flown Vicky Frobisher. She rode a Moontrimmer, but even so, everyone agreed Harry needed a new broom before they played Hufflepuff. Diggory flew a Comet Two-Sixty, not the best but defiantly passing a Shooting Star.
And that was why the day of a match he was staring at his breakfast in a very disappointed way as wriggly things crawled in his stomach, giving him a very bad, cynical mood.
"You've gotta eat something," said Hermione.
"I'm not hungry," said Harry tonelessly.
"Eat, Harry," said Flint as he passed by, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "If not, then Diggory'll just have to nudge you into the stands and you'll go down. Don't wanna seethat happen—unless you catch the Snitch first, of course." He left, following his team. Harry glared after him.
Draco came in the Great Hall and sat down beside Harry, looking very smug.
"Where'd you go?" asked Ron, between bites of scrambled egg.
"Yeah, we were dying without you," said Harry, poking at his porridge with a spoon.
Draco gave him a look but only said, "You'll see."
Ten minutes later, they did. The mail flew in and hundreds of owls found their owners, dropping packages and letters. Draco's owl flew down and dropped a long, thin package in front of them.
Ron dropped his fork with a clatter and stared at the package. "That—broomstick!" he said in awe.
"Yep," said Draco.
Harry tore off the wrappings and a mahogany broom rolled out. It had neat, straight twigs and Harry felt as though he could faint as he read the gold lettering at the top. "Nimbus Two Thousand?" he read.
"Yep."
Hermione had other problems. "First years aren't allowed—"
"You're just jealous because Slytherin'll win the Cup now," said Ron. "Can I just touch the broom, Harry?"
Harry, very reluctantly, let Ron hold it.
"I settled it with Professor Snape. Blimey, he wants Slytherin to win more than—well," said Draco calmingly, "more than he dislikes Harry."
Harry snorted and took the broom back, admiring it. "He hates me."
"He hates Gryffindor much more," countered Draco. "That's the best broom out there."
Harry felt his jaw drop as he looked at the clock. "Te-ten minutes. I've gotta go."
With that, he ran from the Great Hall, the others calling that they'd find good seats. So far, Hermione was a bit torn between Slytherin and Gryffindor but since she didn't really care about the wizarding sport, she cheered for her friends. Draco found that very amusing even though he was yelling at least twice as loud as her.
Harry, his new broom balanced over his shoulder, wandered into the Slytherin tents and managed to get changed without anyone asking anything. Then the Keeper, Miles Bletchley, dropped the gloves he was putting on. "Potter... what broom is that?"
"Nimbus Two Thousand," said Harry proudly. Everyone turned around and the Slytherin team ended up being late; they were admiring the broom too much.
After the game started, Harry ended up looping around the stands a bit too much, the Slytherins and Hermione yelling. But he did have to get a handle on the new broom. It was a dream to fly; it turned at the slightest touch and was faster than anything Harry had ever flown. When he noticed a canary yellow player diving quickly, though, Harry realized he was in hot water: Diggory had seen the Snitch.
After urging his broom on, it shot forward like a rocket. Harry kept himself flat against it and caught up even quicker than he expected. He outstretched his hand and watched Diggory pull sharply from the dive, only to hover over him and shoot in front. Harry knew what he did was very stupid but he couldn't resist. He levelled himself with Diggory and slammed him as hard as he could. Diggory spun off course and flew into the stands.
Harry felt his fingers close over the struggling golden ball. He had caught it. The crowds roared and the yellow and black, as well as the other house colours, were charmed by an older year Slytherin, clearly not forgetting the legendary Christmas prank, into being green and silver. He also thought he saw Snape's mouth turning into a horrible smile.
They had won. Relief and joy washed over Harry but then he realised he was too close to the ground. His foot caught in the sand near the Hufflepuff goalposts and spun him head over heels. The last thing Harry saw was the tall, metal pole coming alarmingly close.
\ \ / /
"Fantastic capture! We're in the lead now!"
"Honestly, Draco, do you care about anything else? Your best friend was just knocked unconscious by a pole!"
"That's hardly a nice way to put it, 'Mione."
"He's looking a bit pale, isn't he?"
"Pale? He smashed into a goalpost from a flying broomstick; I'm surprised he hasn't gotten brain damage."
Harry wished the voices would shut up. His ears were ringing and his head felt three times its normal size. "I thought you were the one with brain damage," he muttered, recognising the voices.
The smiling faces of Draco, Hermione and Ron cleared as Harry put on his glasses. His face felt as though he had run headlong into a brick wall. He flexed his muscles and felt something near his eyes tense. He tried to sit up but stars seemed to appear in the Hospital Wing. Thinking that wasn't very good, he put a hand to his head and lay back down. Soon, the faint sunlight trailing in through the windows was the brightest thing and the loudest sound was their voices.
"You all right?" asked Hermione in a would be quiet voice. "Madam Pomfrey fixed the glasses but didn't want to try anything on you until you... well, woke up."
"Maybe we should shut up," suggested Ron.
"Yeah, just maybe," said Harry, closing his eyes.
"Just maybe," repeated Ron.
Harry felt his face stretch into its own grin.
"That was a great game," said Draco. "You should've seen Diggory's face when he woke up."
"He was unconscious, too," said Hermione with a disapproving look taking over the smile. "You shouldn't have done that, Harry."
"You mental?" asked Ron faintly. "That was brilliant."
"Flint thought it was fantastic," said Draco. "The team's still being bombarded by Diggory. He wanted to make sure you're all right but there's only three visitors at a time."
"Feel bad for him, Flint, I mean," said Ron, laughing.
Hermione still looked as though she wanted to smile but knew it was wrong. "You were great," she said as all the boys looked at her.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. "Come on, come on, Potter. What have you been doing?" she barked, bringing over a goblet of some horrid smelling drink that she thrust into his hands. With a wave of her wand, the tenseness vanished from his face. Harry had a feeling his glasses had embedded shattered glass and metal in his face. "A hit like that—it's a miracle you didn't cave your head it," she huffed impatiently. "Take this his in case anything did go wrong in that head of yours."
Harry uneasily drank it and almost spat it back out. A few seconds later he felt as though he could run a marathon. "You think I could have some of that to-go?"
She gave him a look and snatched the goblet back. "No. You can leave."
Harry jumped out of bed and Ron handed him the broom with an odd look on his face. "You wanna have a go?"
Ron's face lit up and he started to go to the Quidditch Pitch. Harry noticed Draco was also giving the same sort of look. "Yeah, you can try it. Go on," he coaxed as they stepped onto the smooth, sloping grass of the pitch.
Ron took it and soared above and below, looping around and through the rings, all with a shout of happiness. "This is fantastic!"
Draco did much the same thing but this time, Hermione came back with another two brooms from the training cupboard. They were older and slower, but Harry recognised them as some of the better school brooms. She grinned at the sports-obsessed boys before handing Ron and Harry the brooms. Another half dozen races later, the three of them landed in front of a still-smiling Hermione.
"That's great," said both Ron and Draco.
Harry waved a hand and offered to put the school brooms back before returning to the common room. They knew there'd be some sort of party for demolishing Hufflepuff. Harry planned on getting Hermione in and Draco and Ron had no issues with her. She didn't even make an excuse for studying, still smiling. Harry knew that there weren't really that many Slytherins who were supremacists; many of the older students weren't, growing out of it and creating a mind for themselves, but he wouldn't put it past many of the younger years to mock and scorn the Muggle-born.
Harry had opened the cupboard when he saw a hooded figure running across the grounds, quickly and often looking behind him, clearly not wanting to be followed. What...? He returned the brooms and mounted his own, trailing the figure silently. He went into the Forbidden Forest, at a run. Harry now recognised it was Snape. What was he doing while everyone, except the celebrating Slytherins, was at dinner?
Snape stopped at last in a shadowy clearing, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was also there. Harry felt a chill go up his spine. There was one reason they had never considered: could, possibly, Snape be working with Quirrell? Harry perched himself in a tree and tried to make out Quirrell's face. He couldn't see it but his stuttering sent another shiver down Harry's spine as he heard the two wizards speak.
"... d-don't know wh-why you w-w-w-wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-p-p-places, S-S-S-Severus..." His voice wasn't cold but the stuttering idiot he was before and Harry would bet his was trembling. Why would he be putting up an act in front of Snape? Unless he knew Harry was watching. Harry moved to obscure his face by the tall branches and swallowed.
"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape in his usual icy tone. Maybe they had gotten it wrong, thought Harry. Maybe Snape was working against Quirrell, trying to steal "seven hundred and thirteen" himself and Quirrell was simply shocked into being a braver person, the stuttering gone. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all," he continued silky.
Harry committed the name to memory. Philosopher's Stone. He leaned forward, trying to see Quirrell's face better; he was mumbling.
"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?" interrupted Snape cuttingly.
"B-b-b-but, Severus, I—" started Quirrell but Snape cut across him again.
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, advancing menacingly.
"I-I-I-I don't know w-w-what you m-m—"
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
An owl hooted loudly, almost making Harry fall from his tree. He steadied himself quickly and caught Snape's voice again.
"—your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."
"B-b-b-but I d-d-d-don't—"
"Very well," snapped Snape with such venom that Quirrell actually flinched. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."
He pulled up his hood and started to run back to the castle. Harry could still see Quirrell, standing there, trembling in the faint light, wringing his hands frightfully.
Harry left and flew straight to the castle, beating Snape by quite a bit. He had forgotten to change but the common room was almost in the aftermath of a bomb. Green and silver confetti (in snakes and squares, respectively) rained down on the team, who was being raised on the shoulders of the other seventh years. Food and drink was standing on a large table, normally reserved for homework, but now covered with dishes and bottles.
Harry was about to go to Ron, Hermione and Draco, who were somewhere in the centre of it all, being demanded where the Seeker was, when someone picked up Harry and was balanced on another's shoulders. Oh, well. He'd wait until this screaming lot calmed down, for they were shouting quite loud, singing some song that sounded like a Slytherin theme.
Flint was patting him on the leg; the highest place he could reach. Harry balanced awkwardly on Derrik's and Chase's shoulders as some fourth year started singing another song that sounded as though he had made it up on the spot.
"Oh, Potter, you... otter,
You're winning us Quidditch,
You're great on the pitch,
You'll get us the Snitch,
Before the other—"
"Whoa, Latner!" someone shouted. "Language!"
That broke out a fresh round of laughter as they noticed he had a bottle of... something in his hand, but, judging from his next slurred words, Harry didn't think it was pumpkin juice.
When Harry was finally let down he found himself thumped on the back, congratulated and almost swarmed in cheers and hugs. Slytherin had won the Cup, or been a sure-fire win for it, for seven years. The eighth was something rather big and now they would win with the famous Harry Potter.
He made it over to his friends and said breathlessly, "I've got to talk to you."
Their smiles fell slightly.
"Later," said Harry wearily as the party continued.
Harry expected another half hour, an hour at most. Not so much. The cheering Slytherins partied late into the night, only stopping when Snape came to interrupt. "Mr. Flint," said Snape silkily, his face arranged in pure fury. Every noise from everyone stopped instantly and smiles disappeared. Harry and Draco shoved Hermione behind them, blocking her from view. Snape ignored the confetti falling on his robes and hair. "Bed. Now."
There was a mad scramble and Harry was pleased to note that even the other Slytherins were scared of Snape. Harry pulled Hermione forward and took her into their room, dragging Ron and Draco behind him. The three of them ducked in as Harry held the door open. They crammed in, Hermione and Ron sitting on Draco's and Harry's trunks.
They started to discuss when they'd let Hermione and Ron go to their proper rooms, but when they took one look on Harry's face they stopped talking.
"Right," said Ron, "what did you want to say earlier?"
Harry told them about Snape and Quirrell's meeting in the Forest. "Don't you see?" he said when he was finished. "Snape and Quirrell weren't trying to stop each other from stealing the Stone, they were working together to get it, but Quirrell is having second thoughts about working with him."
"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione. She had been frowning at him in disapproval, probably from suggesting a teacher wasn't perfect. She also looked like she would like to kick herself; she must've heard of the Philosopher's Stone in a book five inches thick. "Maybe—I mean, it sounds more like Snape was trying to figure out how far Quirrell had gotten. There must be a bunch more things protecting the Stone."
Ron looked at her as though she were mad. "No, Snape was trying to get Quirrell to help him get the Stone and Quirrell is trying to be brave and suck it up."
"What about you, Draco?" asked Harry impatiently. "What do you think?"
He had been silent the entire time, only rolling his eyes when Harry said the Philosopher's Stone. "I think," he started thoughtfully, "that Snape and Quirrell are each trying to get the Stone individually and Snape is trying to force Quirrell to help him." It looked like it cost him a lot to say that, and Harry remembered that he was quite close to Snape.
"What's the Philosopher's Stone, anyways?" asked Ron.
"It's a rock made by Nicholas Flamel over six hundred years ago that can turn any metal into pure gold," said Hermione, sounding as though, even on a topic that wasn't school related, she'd swallowed a book. Harry wouldn't be surprised if she was unintentionally quoting. "It will also create the Elixir of Life, which'll make the drinker immortal."
"Immortality and money," said Ron in awe. "No wonder they both want it. Hell, I'd steal it."
Draco groaned. "So, the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" he asked in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron grimly. "I'd better be going," he added in a much more cheerful voice. "Goodnight." He stood up and left, presumably going to his room. That made Harry wonder who he was rooming with; he'd ask him later.
Hermione sat very still, looking quite awkward.
Harry, however, was digging through his trunk for something. He pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and handed it to Hermione hesitantly. "You should head back to Gryffindor Tower." He looked pointedly at the two beds. "I don't think you'd like to sleep here."
She smiled and threw the Cloak over her. "I'll give it to you tomorrow." She pulled it over her head and she disappeared. A moment passed before the handle of the door clicked down and swung open, with no one there. It looked rather strange.
Draco and Harry took a long time to go to sleep, discussing the Stone and the professors' attempts to steal it. Eventually, they both fell asleep but both boys had dreams full of glowing rocks and hook-nosed teachers and men in turbans.
\ \ / /
Few notes. Dumbledore knew what Harry was seeing due to some cleverly used Legilimency. The Slytherins are grudgingly allowing Hermione in because they're fully aware that if Harry "decides" to stop winning, they're going to lose the Cup. My chapters seem to be getting longer and longer...
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