After that night, Harry kept his word and didn't seek out the Mirror of Erised again. Not that he wasn't tempted to. He still felt the lure of the Mirror's promise to show him what he desired most, however he knew Dumbledore would have moved it somewhere where he wouldn't find it again. And besides, with term starting again he had found that the work load had increased and most of his time was taken up with completing the mountains of homework. Then, what time wasn't spent on his education was taken up with the search for information on Nicholas Flamel.
Between the three of them, they had searched every inch of the library, every book and possible resource available to them, but to no avail.
"There can't just be nothing," Hermione cried in despair, pushing another tome aside. Harry nodded his head, hidden behind a large manuscript he had propped up in front on him. Whilst he had original done this to give his aching neck a chance to recover, he soon discovered that this was in fact a brilliant way to hide his 'little breaks' from reading, so that Hermione didn't realise. As long as he remembered to occasionally turn the page.
He had stopped reading the countless dusty historical biographies and had found himself looking for something that wasn't written two hundred years ago by a reclusive and unadventurous wizard and, amongst his own textbooks, had come across Jacob's journal which he realised must have got mixed up with them in his haste earlier that morning.
When he first opened to book, he was dismayed to discover that it was written in Jacob's native tongue. Whilst he had learned some basic French in his muggle education prior to Hogwarts, it was nowhere near enough to even begin to enable him to translate. About to push the book aside until a later time, perhaps he could speak to Professor Amora about translating, when the ink on the page began to move, slithering from its original shapes to form new letters and Harry realised that the words themselves were changing, adapting so that their reader could understand.
Professor Amora's father must have charmed the book so that anyone could understand it, he thought as he scanned the pages. Reading further, he quickly realised that some of the pages had been burnt, either completely or partially destroying them and Harry wondered if it had been done deliberately. Each entry was marked with a date and place and Harry soon learned that as well as his researching into the Elders, the journal also contained accounts of Jacob's life, from his earlier days of studying ancient texts, to pursuing a legendary clan of faeries, rumoured to have protected the Elder Queen in her exile. It even contained details about Professor Amora's birth and childhood, though Harry skipped over those parts feeling as though it would be intruding in his professor's personal life. He was reading about Jacob's involvement in the fight against the dark wizard, Grindelwald, when he came across a passage that made his heart stop.
"I think I found something," he announced, showing the journal to his friends.
"Where did you get that?" Ron asked, examining the cover. "What's J.H.A?"
"Jacob Amora," Harry replied. "Professor Amora's father. It's his journal, she gave it to me the night she caught me out of bed after hours and I told her that I was in the library looking for a book on the Elders."
"Harry," Hermione sighed in exasperation. "We're supposed to be looking into Nicholas Flamel, not the Elders."
Ignoring her he pointed to the third paragraph down. "Read it."
"July 16th, 1927. Paris," she read aloud. Her eyes skimmed down the page to the extract Harry had pointed out. "Grindelwald is to hold a secret meeting, though we are yet to find where. Minerva thinks it will be to recruit witches and wizards to his cause, and I find myself inclined to agree." Her eyes widened in surprise as she read ahead, her mouth dropping open slightly. "I introduced Leiah to Nicholas today in the hope he would agree to help us. He was fascinated by her after she agreed to share her secret with him in the hope it would encourage him to fight. Leiah was equally enthralled and they spent hours discussing potions and alchemy, yet despite all this we were still unable to recruit Flamel to our cause."
Ron stared at Hermione, clearly with only one question on his mind. "Who's Leiah?"
Hermione did seem to hear him, as she gasped and slammed the journal shut. "Of course," she cried. "How could I have been so stupid? I checked it out weeks ago." And with that she dashed off to another part of the library with new found determination, still muttering angrily to herself. After a couple of minutes, she returned, carrying the largest book Harry had seen in his life. "I checked it out for a bit of light reading," she informed them, with Harry and Ron sharing a look of disbelief.
"That's light reading?" Ron muttered.
"Ah, here it is," Hermione scanned the page, eventually finding what she was looking for. "Nicholas Flamel is a renowned alchemist, and inventor of the philosopher's stone. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle. That's what Fluffy's guarding, under that trap door. It has to be the philosopher's stone," she cried enthusiastically, blushing when she received a harsh 'shush' from Madam Pince.
Glancing around and lowering his voice, Harry asked, "Why would anyone be interested in that?" He'd once read a book on myths and legends in his muggle school. It supposedly could turn lead to gold. "It can do more than just that," Hermione replied when he shared this with them. "It is rumoured to have the power to grant virtual immortality. It would be a very desirable item for anyone to have, especially a dark wizard."
"Snape must want to use it for himself," Harry declared, hastily gathering his things as Madam Pince began marshalling them from the library, moaning in despair at the array of book piled haphazardly across their table.
"Maybe," Hermione said, unconvinced. "Why not use it before now, I mean as one of the professors protecting it, surely he must have access to it?"
"Perhaps he's waiting for a distraction," Ron suggested. "You said it yourself, he's only one of several professors protecting the stone. They'd soon notice if he was sneaking down there."
Shaking her head, Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "No, there has to be something else."
At that moment, Neville Longbottom came sprinting up to them, red faced and puffing as he tried to catch his breath. "Quick, Hagrid," He wheezed, gradually turning a shade of purple. "He wants to see you. He said to go meet him at his hut, he said it was important."
Sharing a glance, the trio shot off towards Hagrid's hut, leaving a poor Neville still wheezing and huffing in confusion.
As they arrived at his door, the gigantic man shushed them and quickly ushered them inside, glancing around the growing darkness outside, before hastily shutting the door behind them.
"Hagrid, what's wrong?" Harry asked. "You said it was important." He watched as the Groundskeeper shuffled over towards the open fireplace, where he appeared to be boiling some large pot over the roaring flame. "It's almost time," he replied, donning a pair of large pink oven gloves. "Thought yer migh' like ter see. Not many get ter witness something like it,"
"Like what, Hagrid?" Harry said as the moved closer to the pot, weary of what they might find inside. Their eyes widened in surprise as Hagrid reached into it and pulled out a dark object, juggling it between his hands before dropping it to the table with a slight 'clunk'.
"Bloody hell," Ron gawped, shakily pointing at the object. "That's a dragon egg. My brother, Charlie, works with Dragons in Romania. He sends me pictures," he said by way off an explanation.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Do with it?" Hagrid bellowed. "Keep it, o' course."
"But Hagrid," Hermione chimed in. "Isn't keeping dragons illegal?" They watched as he appeared quite sheepish and muttered under his breath, something that sounded very much like "not unless anyone finds out."
A slight cracking sound interrupted their conversation and they turned to watch in silent awe as the egg began to crack and splinter, fragile chunks being broken from the force of a tiny creature from within, desperate to escape. Eventually, the tiny head of the baby dragon broke through, its skin smooth and slimy as it chirped wildly, stumbling forward onto the wooden table.
"Isn't he magnificent," Hagrid gushed, already smitten with the new arrival. Harry thought for a dragon that it was quite unimpressive. He'd expected claws and fangs and fire-breathing viciousness and this tiny little thing looked completely harmless, like it couldn't scare a mouse. However, as the dragon, which Hagrid had affectionately named 'Norbert', blew a stream of fire that singed Hagrid's beard, Harry realised that despite what it looked like now, the dragon would eventually grow into the terrifying creature of nightmares.
"Hey, who's that outside?" Ron asked, pointing out the window. Harry looked up in time to see a flash of pale blonde hair, as whoever it was realised that they had been caught spying and hastily took their leave.
"Blimey, look at the time," Hagrid gulped, finally shaken from his admiring of the infant dragon. "I hadn't even realised 'ow dark it was. You bes' be gettin' back before they realise yer still out." Saying their goodbyes to Hagrid (and Norbert) the trio quietly made their way back to the castle, conscious that without the cloak they could easily be spotted by a patrolling professor. For a while, Harry thought that they were going to make it back to their dorm undetected.
That was until they rounded a corner only to discover a furious looking Professor McGonagall stood in their path with none other than Draco Malfoy.
"Bloody Hell," Ron muttered.
Professor McGonagall raised an elegant eyebrow. "Bloody Hell indeed, Mr Weasley."