"My favorite person in history was Ivan the Terrible."
"Oh, he was sweet."
Gomez and Morticia Addams
Chapter 15: Nicolas Flamel
Erica returned to Hogwarts the day before the term began, and the reality of leaving her mother again left her feeling a bit miserable. But she was glad to see her friends again. The first ones she saw were the Weasley twins. And they instantly recognized the sweater she was wearing.
"Mum's favorite got a Weasley sweater," George observed.
"Guess that means she and Harry are officially part of the family," Fred said. A wicked grin grew on his face. "Two more baby siblings to pick on. How unfortunate."
"I'm older than you guys," Erica deadpanned.
"What?" the twins shrieked together.
"Yup." She popped the "p."
"How's that possible?" George asked, he and his twin following Erica towards Gryffindor tower.
"Because it is."
"Vague."
"Sorry."
"No, seriously," George asked, "how are you older than us but still in your first year?"
"I got kicked out of Ilvermorny and didn't get admitted to Hogwarts until this year. And due to the difference in curriculum, I started over."
Erica wasn't sure Fred and George heard anything after "I got kicked out of Ilvermorny." Instead, they stared at Erica like they had a whole new perspective of her.
"Icle Erica got expelled?" Fred breathed.
"Truly?" George asked.
Erica shrugged and nodded.
The pair instantly whooped and wiped fake tears from their eyes. Fred's eyes shone with genuine cheer. "We're so proud!"
Erica snorted, and soon was laughing heartily. Genuinely. Trust Fred and George to make her feel better about something that she wasn't proud of. Even if it was unintentional.
When she got back to the tower, Erica ran upstairs to the dormitory to unpack. She wanted to get it over with before her roommates got back. But unpacking didn't take her long, and soon she went down to the common room to chill.
Harry and Ron eventually joined her, and she eagerly thanked them for their gifts. She had (embarrassingly) already eaten half the Chocolate Frogs Ron had given her, and she had broken in the new pencils and sketchbook Harry had given her.
They thanked her for their gifts as well. They'd both loved the Christmas sugar cookies she'd made. Harry also promised that the Quidditch gloves would get good use, and so would the glasses. He'd thrown his old taped pair away immediately, and had his new, shiny specs pushed up his nose. Ron was not much of a reader, but he was happy with the book Erica had gotten him about the Chudley Cannons. And he told her the poster had gone up right on his dormitory wall.
Hermione joined them later that night, finally arriving back with the rest of the school. She and Erica hugged and thanked each other for their gifts and then the four friends occupied a corner of the common room to exchange stories.
Neither Erica nor Hermione had been able to find out anything about Nicolas Flamel. And to their disappointment, Harry and Ron hadn't managed it either. But them not being able to find anything on Nicolas Flamel was the least interesting thing about their holidays.
Harry told the girls all about the mysterious present from the anonymous giver.
An Invisibility Cloak.
Harry showed them the cloak and note. Erica immediately recognized the handwriting. It was Professor Dumbledore's looped script. But she kept quiet. He hadn't signed the note for a reason. It wasn't her place to tell Harry.
But even the Invisibility Cloak wasn't the most interesting thing about Harry's holidays.
It was the mirror he'd found.
The mirror that, apparently, showed you the deepest and most desperate desires of your heart.
The Mirror of Erised.
Harry seemed uncomfortable talking about it, and Erica was fine with that. She didn't like the idea of that mirror anyway. Maybe it was because she already knew what she'd see in it if she came across it, and the knowledge that what she'd see was an impossible reality. But something about the idea of the mirror also just seemed… off.
Hermione seemed more bothered by the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!") than the idea of the mirror.
Though both girls were disappointed that he hadn't found any information about Nicolas Flamel.
They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere, and Erica was also insistent that the name sounded familiar. 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 three, because Quidditch practice 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 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. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares (as a result of that magic mirror) when he was tired out after training.
Then, during one particular 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 of 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," Wood said. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
Which was all very well, Harry thought, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch…
The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another 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, and Erica writing a letter beside them. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron (and secretly Erica, too) thought was very good for her.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron said 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 would hear, Harry told the other three about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," Hermione said at once.
"Play sick," Erica said.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," Ron said.
"I can't," Harry said. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."
Erica sighed. She still wasn't over her anxiety that Professor Quirrell was less innocent than he appeared to be, but she also couldn't deny that Snape was more than a little suspicious. This desire to referee a Quidditch match, Harry's Quidditch match, was worrying.
But she couldn't think about it any longer, because Neville suddenly 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 was the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up Gryffindor Tower.
Everyone fell over laughing except Erica and Hermione, who both leapt up. Hermione performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and Erica helped the trembling boy to his feet.
"Neville, what happened?" Erica asked, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron.
Neville blushed as she helped him, and shakily answered, "Malfoy. I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."
"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"
Neville shook his head.
"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.
Erica sighed sadly. She felt awful for the boy.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron said. "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 out.
"That's not what Ron meant, Neville," Erica soothed kindly. "He just meant that Malfoy's a bully, and sometimes, the only way to stop bullies is to stand up to them." Erica's gaze softened. "Neville, it would be very brave to stand up to Malfoy. But it is also brave of you to continue being yourself day after day, even when others bully you for it," Erica said. "A friend of mine told me that bravery comes in many forms, Neville. Be proud of who you are. The Sorting Hat is never wrong, and if it believes you belong in Gryffindor, then you do. Regardless of how we view ourselves."
Erica smiled kindly at Neville, and the boy, whose blush had gotten worse, nervously smiled back.
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.
"Erica's right. 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 into a weak smile again as he unwrapped the frog.
"Thanks, Erica. Thanks, Harry… I think I'll go to bed… D'you want the card, Harry, 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, Hermione, and Erica.
"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: '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 and Erica both gasped, and Hermione went as far as to jump to her feet. Neither of them had looked so excited in a long time.
"Stay there!" Hermione said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Harry 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."
"Light?" Ron said, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.
"I knew the name had sounded familiar," Erica muttered. "So stupid. How could I forget? In my old History of Magic class, back at Ilvermorny, someone in my year was fascinated with alchemy. They asked about famous alchemists. The professor told us that Nicolas Flamel was the most accomplished alchemist in history.
"In all history?" Harry gasped. "Then why wasn't he in any of the books?"
At last, Hermione found what she was looking for.
"I knew it! I knew it!" Hermione was beaming at them. "It's like Erica said! Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"
This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.
"The what?" Harry and Ron said.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look — read that, there."
She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read:
The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with
making the Sorcerer'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 Sorcerer'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?" Hermione and Erica said, when Harry and Ron had finished. Hermione continued, "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer'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!"
"Alchemy is all about the study of the four elements, and the transmutation of substances into something else, like substances into gold. That's why Flamel became so famous. He was truly the first alchemist to succeed at their prime goal. He developed the Sorcerer's Stone, and it's the only one in existence."
"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" Harry said. "No wonder Snape's after it. Anyone would want it."
"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Ron said. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
~)8(~
The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites (a lesson that had Erica squirming in her skin), Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer'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 his friends. "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 field," Hermione said.
~)8(~
As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he'd told Ron, Hermione, and Erica. 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?
Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know that they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could — yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling the Snape could read minds.
Harry seemed to notice the Potions Master's behavior as well, and kept an eye on him. She was always hesitant to leave Harry alone, in case he'd run into Snape. Harry was quietly thankful for her protective behavior. He felt much better with her watching his back.
He'd noticed over the months they'd been friends that Erica was oddly observant: watchful of people, strangely attuned to changes, sensitive to things that were out of the ordinary. Harry thought everything at Hogwarts qualified as "out of the ordinary" but Erica always noticed the little things. He just attributed it to her being older and more accustomed to magic.
But whatever she had noticed made her wary around Snape. And made her protective of Harry. And he was thankful for it.
~)8(~
Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd see him alive again. It wasn't what you'd call comforting. But Erica assured him he'd do great, and that she'd be there to set Snape's robes on fire again if he tried anything. That made him feel better. But eventually, the nerves returned, and Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up Nimbus Two Thousand.
Ron, Hermione, and Erica, however, 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 all brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that despite Erica's words about setting Snape on fire again, she and the other two had a different plan in mind. The three of them had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and Erica using it on the troll back at Halloween, and they were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.
"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Erica simply rolled her eyes at them.
Back in the locker 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. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."
"The whole school's out there!" Fred Weasley said, peering out 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 that Snape would dare try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione and Erica.
"It's because Dumbledore's in the crowd," Erica gasped. She pointed, and sure enough, there was the tell-tale silver hair of Albus Dumbledore.
"Perfect," Hermione whispered. "Snape isn't brave enough to try anything with Dumbledore here."
Erica didn't respond, instead raising a pair of borrowed binoculars to her eyes. She found Quirrell's turban in the crowds, and observed his face. He sat unusually still for the normally skittish man, and he kept glancing in Dumbledore's direction, his eyes dark and pointed. He wrung his hands together, something Erica was used to seeing, but this time it didn't seem like a nervous tic. It seemed more like he was frustrated. Annoyed.
But suddenly, the Defense professor winced, and the frustration devolved into distress. And he resembled his usual self again.
But when Erica looked around the crowds to see what had sent him into a little panic, she couldn't find anything.
She looked back at Quirrell. His lips moved, and he glanced down towards his shoulder, hiding his face.
Erica frowned and lowered the binoculars. Was he… talking to himself?
How strange.
Erica had kept an eye on Snape for a while now, ever since Harry had told her that he was going to be refereeing. The move had been suspicious, and Erica had begun to wonder if she had been wrong about him and Quirrell. But she had also kept watch on the Defense professor. He watched Harry. Not like Snape did, but the habit was there. But at some point, Quirrell seemed to notice that Erica was wary around him. And he started avoiding both her and Harry.
It didn't make Erica less suspicious.
And after observing Quirrell in the stands, she was becoming more and more wary of the strange Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
"Look — they're off. Ouch!"
Ron's cry of pain caught Erica's attention. 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. Erica kept her eyes on the game, but her brows were drawn in agner. She gripped her wand tight, and she seemed to be contemplating if hexing Malfoy was worth the detention she'd surely get.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy said 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 Malfoy.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.
Malfoy, Crabbe, ad Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
Erica gripped her wand tighter. Hexing Malfoy sounded like a better idea by the minute.
"Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word —"
"Ron!" Hermione said suddenly, "Harry — !"
"What? Where?"
"There!" Erica pointed.
Harry 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 Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet. Erica stood, her eyes locked on his form, Malfoy practically forgotten.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" Malfoy said.
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, her and Erica leaping onto their seats to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape — they didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under their seats, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.
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, 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 would ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" Hermione shrieked, dancing up and down in her seat and hugging Erica, the Parvati. Erica threw her arms around Dean and Seamus, whooping and cheering for Harry.
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 came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped — then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.
"Well done," Dumbledore said quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror… been keeping busy… excellent…"
Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
And back in the stands, Erica stopped in her celebrating long enough to deliver a sound punch to Malfoy's ugly face.
~)8(~
Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now — no one could say he was just a famous name anymore. 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 onto their shoulders; Ron, Hermione, and Erica in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd 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. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure's prowling walk, Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner — what was going on?
Harry jumped back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.
The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in the towering beech tree.
He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.
Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry 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," Snape said, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."
Harry 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," Snape said, taking a step toward him.
"I-I don't know what you —"
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself 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 his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.
~)8(~
"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Erica fussed.
"We won! We won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, Erica gave him a broken nose, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right — 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," Harry said breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"
He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then told them what he'd seen and heard.
"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer'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 Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —"
"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape," Hermione said in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron said.
Erica could only shake her head, her face white.
This is the last chapter for the day, folks. Only five more chapters left in this story, let me know what you think!
Sammiemoosam