Chapter Eight
When I got back to Gryffindor tower, there was still someone awake in the common room. "Harry?" I walked over and sat down across from him.
"What did you really see in the Mirror?" he asked me. I just looked at him, wondering whether it was safe to tell him or not. My mouth made the decision for me.
"I saw myself," I told him.
"You mean you're happy, really happy? Even though your parents are dead and everything?"
"No, I mean," I hung my head. "Let me rephrase this. I saw the person I want to be. I'm not happy, and I want to be. Does that make more sense?"
"Yeah, a little bit." Harry looked around the common room, and then the question that had been pulling at his brain spilled out. "How do you know so much about what's happening?"
"Harry, I'm . . ." I began. Tired, say you're tired! , I thought, but instead I said, "I'm not from here."
"From England? I know that . . ." I cut Harry off.
"No, I'm not from here, from this world."
"Excuse me?"
"I think it's time you knew the truth," I sighed, and then, I told him everything. About Lisa, Laura, and me getting sucked into the Lord of the Rings and Animorphs, how we had to die to get home, how we had to die at the end of the year. I told him about the morphing power, about the watch. Everything. I didn't hold back on any of the details, I just let it all go. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders as I ended my story. The only problem was, I was now in tears.
When I concluded my story, Harry just stared at me as if he didn't believe me, which he probably didn't. "Proof."
"Excuse me?"
"I need proof."
I looked at him. "Harry, I don't have anything that will make you believe . . ." The book! That had to be why I had it. "Wait, wait right here." I ran up the staircase, into the dormitory, and over to my trunk. I dug through it until I came to the bottom, wiping away my tears as I did so. Finally, I found the book and ran it back down to Harry. "It's all the proof I have," I said as I handed it to him.
Harry took the book and looked at it for a long time, years it seemed. He flipped through it page by page, read bits and pieces here and there. I wrung my hands in anticipation. Finally, Harry looked up from the book. "It's everything that's happened," he said in disbelief. I nodded. "But, how . . .?"
"I honestly don't know," I replied. "But I wish I did."
Harry looked back down at the book.
"So, do you know everything that's going to happen?"
"Yes, but please, don't ask me. You aren't even supposed to know. I swore to Dumbledore that I wouldn't tell anyone or change anything."
"And that's why you lied?"
"Yes, that's why I lied."
Harry was silent.
"I'm sorry I got mad at you," he said slowly.
"That's all right, I would have been mad at me, too."
"Are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Dying?"
"To death." I smiled and sat down again. "But really you don't feel that much. It's no big deal," I lied.
"No big deal," Harry said, "right." He handed me the book. Then, he got up and made to leave for his dormitory.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind keeping this just between us?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
"Thanks."
Harry then walked up the staircase, and I heard his dormitory door close shut. I looked down at the book in my hand. I got up and went over to one of the windows. I looked skyward, into the velvety darkness of the heavens. I looked to God.
"Why me?" I whispered. I then climbed up the staircase and walked into the girls' dormitory to sleep.
Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak remained folded at the bottom of his trunk. I had convinced Harry that I was from an alternate universe, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays he didn't know what to make of me.
However, when he started having nightmares, he gave Ron and me the picture. He told us that over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.
"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," Ron told him.
Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry and me out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that we hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. When she said this, Harry looked over at me. He now knew that I knew who Flamel was, but he also knew that I couldn't tell him, as much as I wanted to.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. I told him he had, but I wouldn't tell him where. Once term had started, we were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during our breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of us, because Quidditch practice had started again.
Harry told us that Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys had complained that Wood was becoming fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, Gryffindor would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years.
One night, I was so fed up with homework that, in the rain and mud, I went to watch the Gryffindor team practice. Hermione had lent me the fire- in-a-jar and I was huddled inside my cloak. During this 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 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 told them. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
Harry and I headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room after the practice session was over, warming our hands with the fire-in-a-jar, where we found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something we all thought was very good for her.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron told us. Harry took a seat next to him, and I sat down next to Hermione. "I need to concen ---" He caught sight of our faces, Harry's especially. "What's the matter with you two? You look terrible?"
Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry explained about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," Hermione said at once.
"Say you're ill," Ron offered.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," Ron told him.
"I can't," Harry told them. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."
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 we recognized at once as the Leg- Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower. Poor Neville.
Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.
"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry, Ron, and me.
"Malfoy," Neville replied shakily. "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.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron told him. "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.
Harry felt in the pockets of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry told him. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
"Yeah, Neville, you can take on Malfoy any old time! All he is, is a bunch of talk. If Malfoy had gotten into Gryffindor, and not you, hell, I don't know what we'd do!"
Neville's lips twitched in a weak smiled. He then opened the frog.
"Thanks, Courtney, 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. My heart fluttered. I knew what was coming next.
"Dumbledore again," Harry 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 me.
"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 his 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 we had gotten back the marks for our very first piece of homework.
"Stay there!" she told us, and then she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry looked at Ron, confused, and then he looked at me. I smiled and nodded just as Hermione came 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 remarked, but Hermione told him 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?" Ron asked grumpily. Hermione ignored him.
"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "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 asked.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look --- read that, there."
She pushed the book towards the three of us, and, even though I knew what I was about to read, I read it along with Harry and Ron anyway. We 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 said, when we had finished reading. "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!"
"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 added. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, we were all discussing what we would do with a Sorcerer's Stone if we had one. When Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team, we all remembered about Snape and the coming match.
"I'm going to play," Harry told us. "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.
"You'll be fine," I told him. He relaxed, which was good, but the only problem was, I didn't know if my words were the truth or not. I couldn't remember everything.
The match drew nearer and, on the afternoon of the match, Ron, Hermione, and I all wished him luck outside the locker rooms. Ron and Hermione were acting as if they would never see him alive again, I on the other hand knew he would be fine. Harry went into the locker room to change; Ron, Hermione, and I found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why Ron and Hermione looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. I had mine as well, due to Hermione forcing me to. Harry didn't know it, but we had all been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker curse. We had gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and we were ready to us 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 and I slipped our wands up our sleeves.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Hermione looked at me.
"What? I know it," I told her. She nodded, clearly satisfied, and turned her attention to the field. I scanned the stands to see who was there. Suddenly, I noticed a familiar face that made my heart fly. "Dumbledore's here!"
"What?" Hermione and Ron both said in unison.
"Yeah, right over there!" I replied, pointing toward Dumbledore.
We all laughed in relief. Harry was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that's why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field. Ron noticed it as well.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione and me. "Look --- they're off. Ouch!"
Someone had just 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. Lisa, I suddenly realized, was, for once, not with the boys. I didn't care at the moment. I put my focus back on the game.
"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered.
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.
"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, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
I sensed a fight coming on, and even though I could have done so much to prevent it, I refused to take my eyes away from the game.
"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?"
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. She was making me nervous, so I stood up as well.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" Malfoy remarked.
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 and I screamed together, leaping onto our seats to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape --- we didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under our 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 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 could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor's in the lead!" Hermione shrieked, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front. I had no one to hug, so I hugged myself. My grin was splitting my face in two, but I didn't care.
Hermione came out of her embrace with Parvati and turned to me. Still dancing up and down, we hugged one another.
Down below, Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. The look on his face said that he couldn't believe what had just happened. Ron (with a heavy nosebleed), Hermione, and I filtered down to the field with the rest of the Gryffindors to congratulate Harry on his victory.
Alone and cold, I waited outside the locker room for Harry. Everyone else had gone back up to the castle to celebrate, but it was too noisy for me. Harry came out of the locker room alone some time after the game. He was heading to the broomshed to put away his Nimbus Two Thousand. He walked straight past me in his happiness, so I trotted to catch up with him. "Congratulations," I said when I got near enough.
"Oh, thanks!" he said, slowing down some.
"You should have seen the look on Snape's face when you shot past him!" I laughed. Harry joined in.
"You were right, I was fine," Harry told me.
"I'm always right," I said sarcastically with a smile.
We had reached the shed. "I guess I showed Snape, huh?"
"Yeah, you showed a lot of people."
"Speaking of Snape . . ." Harry looked past me. I turned and saw a hooded figure come swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. I recognized the figure's prowling walk. It was Snape, sneaking into the forest --- while everyone else was at dinner.
Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and told me to get on. "Will it hold two people?" I asked warily.
"I guess we'll find out," Harry replied. I got on and held on tight to Harry's robes. I closed my eyes for the lift-off, but soon lost all feeling of fear. I opened my eyes. It was great! The wind was in my hair; it was exactly like flying in a bird morph, only better, in my opinion.
Gliding silently over the castle we saw Snape enter the forest at a run. We followed.
The trees were so thick we couldn't see where Snape had gone. Harry took the broom in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until we could hear voices. We glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.
Harry carefully climbed along one of the branches, holding tight to the broomstick, trying to see through the leaves, while I lingered behind. I could hear perfectly fine from where I was, no need to repeat past mistakes.
Below us, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. I knew this because from my perch in the tree, I could vaguely make out his ugly purple turban. I couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry seemed to be straining to catch what they were saying, but I could hear them pretty well.
" . . . 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.
Quirrell was muttering something, but it was too low for me to make out. 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 warned, taking a step toward Quirrell.
"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. I grabbed his robes and steadied him in time for us 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 I could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.
I gave Harry's robes a slight tug and jerked my head to tell him we should leave. He nodded and we got back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and rode to the broomshed.
Neither of us talked on our way back to Gryffindor tower. When we walked in, Hermione squeaked, "Where have you two been?"
"We won! You won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, 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. Then he looked at me, and then back and Ron and Hermione. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this . . ."
Harry made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind us, then he told Hermione and Ron what we had seen. I kept my mouth shut, like usual when it came to explaining stuff.
"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 safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" Hermione asked in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron remarked.
I, of course, knew better, but they didn't need to know that, not just yet anyway.
When I got back to Gryffindor tower, there was still someone awake in the common room. "Harry?" I walked over and sat down across from him.
"What did you really see in the Mirror?" he asked me. I just looked at him, wondering whether it was safe to tell him or not. My mouth made the decision for me.
"I saw myself," I told him.
"You mean you're happy, really happy? Even though your parents are dead and everything?"
"No, I mean," I hung my head. "Let me rephrase this. I saw the person I want to be. I'm not happy, and I want to be. Does that make more sense?"
"Yeah, a little bit." Harry looked around the common room, and then the question that had been pulling at his brain spilled out. "How do you know so much about what's happening?"
"Harry, I'm . . ." I began. Tired, say you're tired! , I thought, but instead I said, "I'm not from here."
"From England? I know that . . ." I cut Harry off.
"No, I'm not from here, from this world."
"Excuse me?"
"I think it's time you knew the truth," I sighed, and then, I told him everything. About Lisa, Laura, and me getting sucked into the Lord of the Rings and Animorphs, how we had to die to get home, how we had to die at the end of the year. I told him about the morphing power, about the watch. Everything. I didn't hold back on any of the details, I just let it all go. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders as I ended my story. The only problem was, I was now in tears.
When I concluded my story, Harry just stared at me as if he didn't believe me, which he probably didn't. "Proof."
"Excuse me?"
"I need proof."
I looked at him. "Harry, I don't have anything that will make you believe . . ." The book! That had to be why I had it. "Wait, wait right here." I ran up the staircase, into the dormitory, and over to my trunk. I dug through it until I came to the bottom, wiping away my tears as I did so. Finally, I found the book and ran it back down to Harry. "It's all the proof I have," I said as I handed it to him.
Harry took the book and looked at it for a long time, years it seemed. He flipped through it page by page, read bits and pieces here and there. I wrung my hands in anticipation. Finally, Harry looked up from the book. "It's everything that's happened," he said in disbelief. I nodded. "But, how . . .?"
"I honestly don't know," I replied. "But I wish I did."
Harry looked back down at the book.
"So, do you know everything that's going to happen?"
"Yes, but please, don't ask me. You aren't even supposed to know. I swore to Dumbledore that I wouldn't tell anyone or change anything."
"And that's why you lied?"
"Yes, that's why I lied."
Harry was silent.
"I'm sorry I got mad at you," he said slowly.
"That's all right, I would have been mad at me, too."
"Are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Dying?"
"To death." I smiled and sat down again. "But really you don't feel that much. It's no big deal," I lied.
"No big deal," Harry said, "right." He handed me the book. Then, he got up and made to leave for his dormitory.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind keeping this just between us?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
"Thanks."
Harry then walked up the staircase, and I heard his dormitory door close shut. I looked down at the book in my hand. I got up and went over to one of the windows. I looked skyward, into the velvety darkness of the heavens. I looked to God.
"Why me?" I whispered. I then climbed up the staircase and walked into the girls' dormitory to sleep.
Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak remained folded at the bottom of his trunk. I had convinced Harry that I was from an alternate universe, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays he didn't know what to make of me.
However, when he started having nightmares, he gave Ron and me the picture. He told us that over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.
"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," Ron told him.
Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry and me out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that we hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. When she said this, Harry looked over at me. He now knew that I knew who Flamel was, but he also knew that I couldn't tell him, as much as I wanted to.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. I told him he had, but I wouldn't tell him where. Once term had started, we were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during our breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of us, because Quidditch practice had started again.
Harry told us that Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys had complained that Wood was becoming fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, Gryffindor would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years.
One night, I was so fed up with homework that, in the rain and mud, I went to watch the Gryffindor team practice. Hermione had lent me the fire- in-a-jar and I was huddled inside my cloak. During this 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 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 told them. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
Harry and I headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room after the practice session was over, warming our hands with the fire-in-a-jar, where we found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something we all thought was very good for her.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron told us. Harry took a seat next to him, and I sat down next to Hermione. "I need to concen ---" He caught sight of our faces, Harry's especially. "What's the matter with you two? You look terrible?"
Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry explained about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," Hermione said at once.
"Say you're ill," Ron offered.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," Ron told him.
"I can't," Harry told them. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."
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 we recognized at once as the Leg- Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower. Poor Neville.
Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.
"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry, Ron, and me.
"Malfoy," Neville replied shakily. "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.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron told him. "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.
Harry felt in the pockets of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry told him. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
"Yeah, Neville, you can take on Malfoy any old time! All he is, is a bunch of talk. If Malfoy had gotten into Gryffindor, and not you, hell, I don't know what we'd do!"
Neville's lips twitched in a weak smiled. He then opened the frog.
"Thanks, Courtney, 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. My heart fluttered. I knew what was coming next.
"Dumbledore again," Harry 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 me.
"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 his 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 we had gotten back the marks for our very first piece of homework.
"Stay there!" she told us, and then she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry looked at Ron, confused, and then he looked at me. I smiled and nodded just as Hermione came 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 remarked, but Hermione told him 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?" Ron asked grumpily. Hermione ignored him.
"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "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 asked.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look --- read that, there."
She pushed the book towards the three of us, and, even though I knew what I was about to read, I read it along with Harry and Ron anyway. We 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 said, when we had finished reading. "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!"
"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 added. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, we were all discussing what we would do with a Sorcerer's Stone if we had one. When Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team, we all remembered about Snape and the coming match.
"I'm going to play," Harry told us. "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.
"You'll be fine," I told him. He relaxed, which was good, but the only problem was, I didn't know if my words were the truth or not. I couldn't remember everything.
The match drew nearer and, on the afternoon of the match, Ron, Hermione, and I all wished him luck outside the locker rooms. Ron and Hermione were acting as if they would never see him alive again, I on the other hand knew he would be fine. Harry went into the locker room to change; Ron, Hermione, and I found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why Ron and Hermione looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. I had mine as well, due to Hermione forcing me to. Harry didn't know it, but we had all been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker curse. We had gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and we were ready to us 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 and I slipped our wands up our sleeves.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Hermione looked at me.
"What? I know it," I told her. She nodded, clearly satisfied, and turned her attention to the field. I scanned the stands to see who was there. Suddenly, I noticed a familiar face that made my heart fly. "Dumbledore's here!"
"What?" Hermione and Ron both said in unison.
"Yeah, right over there!" I replied, pointing toward Dumbledore.
We all laughed in relief. Harry was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that's why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field. Ron noticed it as well.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione and me. "Look --- they're off. Ouch!"
Someone had just 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. Lisa, I suddenly realized, was, for once, not with the boys. I didn't care at the moment. I put my focus back on the game.
"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered.
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.
"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, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
I sensed a fight coming on, and even though I could have done so much to prevent it, I refused to take my eyes away from the game.
"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?"
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. She was making me nervous, so I stood up as well.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" Malfoy remarked.
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 and I screamed together, leaping onto our seats to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape --- we didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under our 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 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 could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor's in the lead!" Hermione shrieked, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front. I had no one to hug, so I hugged myself. My grin was splitting my face in two, but I didn't care.
Hermione came out of her embrace with Parvati and turned to me. Still dancing up and down, we hugged one another.
Down below, Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. The look on his face said that he couldn't believe what had just happened. Ron (with a heavy nosebleed), Hermione, and I filtered down to the field with the rest of the Gryffindors to congratulate Harry on his victory.
Alone and cold, I waited outside the locker room for Harry. Everyone else had gone back up to the castle to celebrate, but it was too noisy for me. Harry came out of the locker room alone some time after the game. He was heading to the broomshed to put away his Nimbus Two Thousand. He walked straight past me in his happiness, so I trotted to catch up with him. "Congratulations," I said when I got near enough.
"Oh, thanks!" he said, slowing down some.
"You should have seen the look on Snape's face when you shot past him!" I laughed. Harry joined in.
"You were right, I was fine," Harry told me.
"I'm always right," I said sarcastically with a smile.
We had reached the shed. "I guess I showed Snape, huh?"
"Yeah, you showed a lot of people."
"Speaking of Snape . . ." Harry looked past me. I turned and saw a hooded figure come swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. I recognized the figure's prowling walk. It was Snape, sneaking into the forest --- while everyone else was at dinner.
Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and told me to get on. "Will it hold two people?" I asked warily.
"I guess we'll find out," Harry replied. I got on and held on tight to Harry's robes. I closed my eyes for the lift-off, but soon lost all feeling of fear. I opened my eyes. It was great! The wind was in my hair; it was exactly like flying in a bird morph, only better, in my opinion.
Gliding silently over the castle we saw Snape enter the forest at a run. We followed.
The trees were so thick we couldn't see where Snape had gone. Harry took the broom in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until we could hear voices. We glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.
Harry carefully climbed along one of the branches, holding tight to the broomstick, trying to see through the leaves, while I lingered behind. I could hear perfectly fine from where I was, no need to repeat past mistakes.
Below us, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. I knew this because from my perch in the tree, I could vaguely make out his ugly purple turban. I couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry seemed to be straining to catch what they were saying, but I could hear them pretty well.
" . . . 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.
Quirrell was muttering something, but it was too low for me to make out. 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 warned, taking a step toward Quirrell.
"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. I grabbed his robes and steadied him in time for us 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 I could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.
I gave Harry's robes a slight tug and jerked my head to tell him we should leave. He nodded and we got back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and rode to the broomshed.
Neither of us talked on our way back to Gryffindor tower. When we walked in, Hermione squeaked, "Where have you two been?"
"We won! You won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, 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. Then he looked at me, and then back and Ron and Hermione. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this . . ."
Harry made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind us, then he told Hermione and Ron what we had seen. I kept my mouth shut, like usual when it came to explaining stuff.
"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 safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" Hermione asked in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron remarked.
I, of course, knew better, but they didn't need to know that, not just yet anyway.
