Hermione found it extremely hard to leave Bertram Bott's library once she had found the book she was looking for. Her eyes kept straying and catching on the titles of the old books, including the first edition of Hogwarts: A History—published just sixty years after its founding—and the diary of Wendelin the Weird. She finally sighed regretfully and went back to the kitchen.
Ron and Bertram were playing poker at the table. Ron's pile of sickles was noticeably larger; as the youngest brother in a family of boys that included Fred and George, he knew every trick in the book. He turned around as she entered and scooped up a stack of silver coins. "Here, Hermione, here's yours back." At her puzzled look, he said, blushing, "Well, I needed something to start with."
"You gambled with my money?" she said in disbelief.
"What?" he said, sounding injured. "I wasn't going to lose."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, we've got a big day ahead of us. We should get some sleep." She turned to Bertram. "Thank you for your hospitality. We'll just—"
"Oh, you needn't leave," he interrupted. "I have extra rooms."
"We've imposed enough," she said. "We can—"
"Nonsense," he interrupted again. "The ground will be soaking wet. I don't mind. It's been a long time since I've had guests." As he crossed the room to his magic door, Ron picked up his winnings. Hermione whispered, "You're not actually going to keep that, are you?"
"Sure," said Ron, giving her a strange look. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Ron, we're guests! We can't go stealing his money!"
"He lost it fair and square," Ron said stoutly. "Terrible poker player. Besides, he's a millionaire, he won't miss it."
I hate it when he makes sense, Hermione thought. "Goodnight, Ron." She walked into the bedroom on the other side of the magic door.
"'Night, Hermy."
§§§
The two shared a breakfast with Bertram, and then set off. The ground was spongy and the air carried the smell of recent rain, but fortunately the sun was shining brightly. Fortunate indeed, for Hermione was reading the book she had found last night as they hiked.
"How can you do that?" Ron asked, staring at her.
"Years of practice," she answered dryly. "Be sure to tell me if I'm about to run into a tree."
The castle was only about a mile away when Hermione said, "That's interesting."
"What?" Ron said wearily. Not again, he thought.
"There's a secret basement in the castle. A hiding place. None of the other books mention that."
Ron smiled sarcastically. "I'm sure that'll be really helpful when we're looking for the Sorcerer's Stone, which is in the lake!" Hermione glared at him.
They crested a hill a half-hour later, and below were the ruins of the Damodred castle. "Not very impressive, is it?" Ron said with a bit of a sneer.
"It is six hundred years old. Look, there's the lake."
It was as Hermione had described it: perfectly circular, lined with white marble, and a very long mile across. Ron moaned. "This'll take forever."
"Then I suppose we had better get started."
§§§
Two hours later, Ron and Hermione were very wet, very tired, and no closer to finding the Sorcerer's Stone. They discussed the problem over lunch.
"We've been over every inch of the lake," Ron complained, spearing two hot dogs with a stick and bringing them over the fire.
"Obviously we haven't, or we would have found it by now," Hermione snapped. "Maybe this wasn't the lake in your dream. Maybe the Stone is somewhere else."
"Oh, don't even say it," Ron moaned. He tilted his head in thought. "But I don't think so. This place looked familiar the first time I saw it. It's got to be here."
Hermione wrapped a hot dog in bread and took a bite. "Maybe we should look in the castle."
"Why? The Stone is in the lake."
"Maybe we'll find a clue there. Better than diving for the rest of the day."
"Okay," said Ron skeptically.
Wiping crumbs from their sodden clothing, Ron and Hermione trooped over to the castle, bringing Bertram's book with them. They looked all over, Hermione naming each room from the plans in her book, but they found nothing but dirt, stone, and the occasional wrapper. Other people had explored the castle, apparently. "What about the 'secret basement?' " Ron suggested.
"We've been everywhere else," Hermione said in agreement.
Following the map, Hermione led him to the study, where they cleared away dead leaves and a rotting carpet to reveal a large tile square with a heavy iron ring and a lock in the middle. They tried lifting it, but it didn't budge. "Alohomora!" Hermione whispered. The lock glowed red for a moment, but when they tried lifting it again, it held fast. "Great," said Hermione. "I guess we go back to the lake."
"No—hold on a minute—" Ron rooted around in the backpack, pulling things out, digging for something. Why did I put it on the bottom? he cursed himself. Hermione was looking with a very disapproving gaze over the things he had brought out. "Dungbombs, Ron? Why did you bring dungbombs?"
"You never know," he said. "They might come in handy. Besides, dungbombs rule." Hermione sniffed. Ron finally closed his hand around what he had been looking for—Harry's pocketknife. He flipped it open and went to work picking the lock. Hermione watched curiously. "I didn't know you could pick locks."
"Ever since first year. With brothers like mine, you learn everything." There was an audible pop! "That should do it," Ron said. He grasped the iron ring and pulled the tile up easily. Below were dark, dusty stairs covered with carpet that might have once been red. They stepped carefully down them, lighting their wands.
They were in a short corridor with several doors on both sides. Finding nothing of value in the first one, except for some empty wooden boxes, they tried the second door, which Ron had to unlock again. Inside was a very large room, the walls covered in tapestries that must have been beautiful once, and full of gilded furniture. A thick layer of dust covered everything, of course. "My gosh," said Hermione. "Their bomb shelter, and they still manage to spend a fortune on it."
Ron was just opening a bureau drawer when a voice said, "Lady Clarissa! Where have you been? What are you doing in those clothes?"
He whipped around, his heart beating like a rabbit's, to see Hermione staring at a large gilt mirror, which apparently was the speaker. They approached it, and the mirror said, "Who is this man? Lord Jeffrey won't like it if he catches you here with a kitchen boy again." Kitchen boy! Ron thought indignantly.
Hermione was frowning at the mirror as if she'd never seen anything quite like it. "Lady Clarissa?" she asked.
"Yes, of course you are. What is wrong, my Lady? Have you hit your head?"
"Yes." Hermione grabbed the answer like a life preserver. She rubbed her head and pretended to moan. "Yes, and I can't remember very much. Who are you?"
"Mira, my Lady," the mirror answered. Ron blinked. Mira the mirror. Why not. "You really should change, my Lady. If my Lord catches you in that scandalous outfit—" Scandalous? Ron thought. It's just jeans and a T-shirt "—and with this kitchen boy, he'll have you punished, I know it."
"I don't think he'll find me, Mira," Hermione soothed. "Do you know where my necklace is?"
The mirror paused before answering. "I think so, my Lady. Let me show you." The image in the mirror suddenly changed; it now showed a young woman in a blue dress fixing her hair. The Sorcerer's Stone was on a chain around her neck. Ron took a step back; it was the image he had seen in his dreams. He now knew why the mirror had mistaken Hermione for Clarissa; the similarity was incredible.
A door banged open in the mirror, and a tall, handsome blond man walked into the picture. "Clarissa," he said in a hard voice, "you've got to go, while there's still time."
"I want to stay," she said in a sulky voice. It was extremely odd to hear that sound come from a person who looked like Hermione.
"Don't be foolish!" Lord Jeffrey said. "They'll kill you."
"Then I'll die with you!" she said grandly.
"This isn't a game, Clarissa!" He thumped his fist on the bureau Ron had been looking at. "I've been through the house. The bodies are piled up like kindling. The whole place is on fire. You must go, now!"
The Lady Clarissa's expression changed. "Fine," she said defiantly. "But I expect you to join me soon."
"That may not be possible," he said grimly. Clarissa's sulky chin trembled. The hard-faced man continued. "Before you go, give me your necklace."
Her hand instantly clutched it. "Why?" she asked, sounding even more upset about losing her necklace than her husband.
"They want it," he said simply. "If I die, I'll at least die happy knowing that I kept from them what they wanted most." He removed it from his wife's neck. "I'll have one of the house-elves put it in the chamber at the bottom of the lake; no one will ever find it there. Now leave." Melodramatic tears dripping down her cheeks, Clarissa Apparated. Lord Jeffrey sighed and turned to leave, and the image in the mirror changed back to their reflections. Wow, thought Ron. I wonder if our mirror can do that.
"Thank you, Mira," Hermione said absently. She turned to Ron. " 'Chamber at the bottom of the lake.' Did you see a chamber at the bottom of the lake?"
"I didn't get that far," he admitted.
"Let's go," she said. Waving to the mirror, she left the room and the basement, Ron tagging along behind her.
§§§
Ron and Hermione swam side by side, the Bubble-Head Charm around their heads. It was extremely boring, Ron thought, kicking and stroking in the endless white marble pool, always deeper to go. He watched the sun above dim. His arms pumped rhythmically and his thoughts wandered as they swam deeper and deeper…and then Hermione pointed. He could see a square of black upon the white marble. When they came to it, he saw that it was like a window, looking down on a room below. Hermione touched it, and her hand slipped right through. They pulled themselves in and found a small bare room—bare except for a table, upon which glittered—
"There it is," Hermione breathed. Ron carefully scooped up the Stone and looked at it wonderingly, breath caught in his throat. He had thought of this moment so many times, and now that it was here it felt slightly unreal. He grasped it tightly in his fist and climbed back through the window in the ceiling. Hermione followed, and they quickly rose back to the surface. Feelings of triumph rose in Ron. Finally! Finally, after a week, all they had to do was get back to Harry. They had done it. His bubble burst before he reached the surface, soaking his head, but he didn't care. He popped above the water, grinning and flinging his arm up in joy. The Sorcerer's Stone bounce on its gold chain. Hermione was at the surface now, and as her perfectly cast Bubble-Head Charm had not burst, no water disguised the tears of happiness on her face.
§§§
Note to my more clueless readers: When Hermione said "bomb shelter" she was speaking metaphorically, so don't yell at me.
Note: Thanks to all of my reviewers, whom I love and cherish: Guy Fawkes, ronluver (What?), me (It would have been interesting, but the story's about Ron and Hermione. We'll find out a little of what happened at Hogwarts in the next chapter), Sinead Potter (your wish is granted), California Love, Jackie (I'm sorry, okay? Geez, make one little mistake…J ), and Sheli. Remember, reviews make my day!