3/?
*
Harry glanced around the bedroom, listening for the breathing of his companions. The rest of the first-year Gryffindors were asleep, and that let Harry slip out of the room and down the stairs to the common room. Carrying 'The Book of Ages', Harry sat in one of the chairs. He took another glance around the room. He really hoped that no one saw him; even if Remus said it was a worthwhile gift, it seemed a little hokey, and was sure some people might mock him if they learned he was looking at a *book* for answers. Well, more so than people mocked Hermione.
Finally, Harry flipped open the book. "What's going on with Remus?" he asked, praying that the book could answer a specific question.
"Some things are not meant for man to know, but snooping around never hurts...as long as no one sees you."
Well, that was unhelpful. Harry flipped through the book, wondering if there was anything else printed in it. He found nothing - until the last page. There, printed in tiny lettering, was another message.
"Lust for that which you do not have is the root of darkness."
"You know, I think you're just pretending to be helpful," Harry griped, snapping the small book closed. "Nothing you say makes sense." He looked down at the book, suddenly wondering. The book might not be unhelpful; Remus was often equally obscure when he spoke, but if you took the time to think about what he said, there was usually more information available then you actually wanted to know. So what did this all mean? Well, the first thing seemed to be giving Harry tacit permission to spy on people to figure out what was going on. Which seemed so unlike Remus, or anything he'd approve of. The worst thing he could remember Remus ever doing was almost call Sirius' mother a very unpleasant name.
~*~
"Happy Mother's Day, Lily. Here. I got you a present. Something to keep your family in check when you need a rest." Lily Potter accepted the small, gold-wrapped box, a small smile on her face. She shook her head, still smiling.
"What is it, Sirius?" He only responded to her with a smirk. Remus, sitting on the other side of the table, was watching with his typical half-amusement. Lily pulled open the box, and gasped. "Oh, why it's lovely, Sirius! What does it do?" Sirius dramatically placed a hand on his chest, indignant at Lily's suspicious tone.
"What makes you so suspicious, my lovely redhead? I would no more give you a dangerous gift than I would kiss a werewolf."
Lily glared at him for a long, moment, and then set the delicate faux-silver necklace aside. "I won't dignify that statement with a response, Sirius. I don't think I want to know what this does. I will live in blissful ignorance." The window burst open beside her, suddenly, and a scrawny, black-feathered owl burst into the window. Clutched in its claws was a bright red envelope. The owl swooped at Sirius, and dropped the envelope, leaving the room with an indignant squawk.
"I'd hope she would have waited until later," Sirius muttered, watching the envelope nervously. "She's been sending these every year since..." He trailed off, affording Remus a tired glance. "Lily? Maybe you should take Harry-" But the envelope suddenly burst into flames, and a screeching, horrible voice blasted through the kitchen.
"SIRIUS BLACK! I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU'VE DONE! EVERY YEAR, ON MOTHER'S DAY, I REALIZE WHAT A FAILURE I AM BECAUSE I HAVE NOT GIVEN OUR FAMILY A SINGLE CHILD WORTHY OF BEING NAMED BLACK. BLOOD-TRAITOR, MONSTROSITY, *BASTARD*! IF I HAD NOT BORNE YOU MYSELF, I WOULD DENY THAT YOU EVEN SHARED BLOOD WITH ME!
"OH, WHAT A HORRID MISTAKE I MADE, GIVING BIRTH TO YOU! IF I'D KNOWN THEN WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE TURNED TO...I HOPE YOU HAVE A HORRID MOTHER'S DAY, KNOWING WHAT SHAME YOU'VE BROUGHT TO THE WOMAN WHO CARRIED YOU FOR NINE MONTHS AND INTRODUCED YOU TO THIS WORLD!" Harry couldn't help it; when the words finally stopped, he burst into tears. He'd never heard his parents, or anyone really, raise their voices and sound so...mad. And that woman's voice was so frightening. One thing was certain; he'd never forget that horrid voice, or what it had done to Sirius to hear it. The black-haired man had sat in his chair for a long time after that, head in his hands, and when Lily had finally calmed Harry down, the boy saw that his godfather was crying. Remus was watching the whole scene with a barely restrained tension. His fists clenched at his sides, he looked very much like he would want to find that horrid woman and tear her to shreds. Finally, he said something, very quiet, but Harry heard it.
"That bit-"
"REMUS!" Lily's tone stopped the exclamation, but Remus managed to get out one more comment before Harry was ushered upstairs for a nap.
"I suppose she'd have been happier if you'd taken up with someone like Snape."
~*~
"You know, Harry, it's against the rules to sleep in the common room." Harry opened his eyes to the faint morning light streaming through the windows of the common room, and a head of messy red hair.
"Ron? Since when did'ou care 'bout rules?" Harry managed.
The speaker chuckled, and leaned closer. Harry blushed a little when he realized he was talking to Percy; the Weasley had a leaner face, was a good deal taller, and had glasses balanced on his nose. "Morning Harry. As I said, you really shouldn't be sleeping out here. If Professor McGonagall found out I was letting students-"
"'M sorry," Harry murmured, "I came down t'think, but I fell asleep."
Percy smiled at Harry, and put a finger up against his lips. "All right, it'll be our little secret. Just...don't make a habit of this, Harry. Hurry up; you'll be late for your first Quidditch practice if you don't." Harry nodded, grateful, and headed upstairs to get ready for practice.
*
Quidditch practice was not as fun as Harry had hoped it would be; he often had to be up before dawn (Percy had lied; if you could see the sun, you *were* late for Quidditch practice), and spent far more of his free time than was healthy on the Quidditch pitch. It was beyond exhausting, and Harry was so desperate to vent that he even took to complaining to Draco Malfoy during Potions, with whom he had been paired. Malfoy rarely said much, just watched Harry with a self-satisfied smirk and continued the Potions work. As uncomfortable as working with Malfoy made Harry, he had to admit that the other boy's knowledge and natural talent was definitely helping his grade in Potions. And putting aside that Malfoy was a Slytherin, he wasn't the worst of company.
Of course, he didn't mention that fact to Ron. Dealing so often with the more unpleasant branch of Slytherin had left Ron bitter towards the entire house; Harry supposed he didn't blame him.
Another month passed, though, and Halloween arrived. Halloween was, among witches and wizards, a bit of a bigger deal than among Muggles. Among long-lived races, the old legends of ghosts and spirits hung on longer, making Halloween consider just a little more important. So on that day, many of the teachers had decided to have special classes. First, Professor Flitwick announced they would not be practicing any charms, but he would instead talk about some legendary magic that the class might find interesting.
After the first twenty minutes, Harry realized that it had been a *long* time since Professor Flitwick had been a kid. But somewhere around the halfway mark, it got good.
"-proof against magic. There are three metals known to resist magic, each with strange properties. The first is mercury, which has its own magical properties. Called quicksilver, it is said that mixtures of mercury can have healing powers, grant invisibility, or sometimes enable longevity. Muggles believe it to be poisonous, but that is because they don't know to hold mercury in the next metal I'll talk about: silver. Silver is one of the most powerful items to use against Dark magic. It can help in the curing of many curses, and often can be used to hold off creatures of the Dark. The poisonous properties of mercury, in fact, can be counter by holding it in a silver vessel. But by far the most fascinating of all of the magical metals is gold." The class fell absolutely silent. Professor Flitwick grinned.
"Thought that'd get your attention. Now, Muggles have it right to like gold so much. Gold is the only metal that cannot be touched by Transfiguration spells. In fact, it's very difficult to do any magic to enchant gold. Being very stable, it is considered to be a metaphor for perfect, healthy life. And thus, it is understandable that the Philosopher's Stone is one of the most sought-after artifacts in the wizarding world.
"The Philosopher's Stone has been created no more than five times in all of human history; Nicholas Flamel, of our era, is the only known holder of it for the past three centuries. But the rarity or singularity of the Philosopher's Stone is not what makes it important. It is its power." The class hung on Professor Flitwick's words, and a great sigh rocked at the edge of their consciousness as he continued. "The power of the Stone is to take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection. The Philosopher's Stone can transform any single metal into the perfect metal: whether you have iron, silver, or even the more volatile metals, such as sodium. The Philosopher's Stone can cure any illness or negate the power of any curse. The Philosopher's Stone can even combat the effects of ageing; in short, the holder of the Philosopher's Stone can live forever. Those who have sought the Stone, however, have discovered one fatal flaw in seeking it. The Stone cannot be made by one who is not perfectly balanced in body, mind, and spirit. And thus, it is only the rarest individual who can even attempt to create the Stone, and only the most singular that actually can. So, Miss Granger, can you tell me why it is important that only the person who can make the Stone should be allowed to use it?"
Hermione started at the teacher's attention, and then responded. "To make the Stone...you must be balanced. You must...you have to not want long life or gold a great deal, or you couldn't succeed. Anyone else would use the Stone for selfish means, but it is safe with its maker, because that is the one person who would be least likely to use it."
Quiet applause came from the door of the classroom, and Harry craned his head to see Professor Dumbledore standing there, clapping his hands.
"Bravo, Miss Granger. Yes, Nicholas is in fact driven only by his desire to acquire knowledge; he uses the Stone very rarely. In fact, I believe he had had it placed into storage at Gringott's Bank." Dumbledore glanced at Harry, and let his gaze drift towards Neville, who was taking hurried notes, although Harry wasn't sure they were necessarily related to what Professor Flitwick was talking about. "I certainly believe that it is a very neat arrangement, don't you? After all, the world almost never has such a neat way of working, unless we nudge it along. Ah, carry on, carry on."
Dumbeldore's leaving actually signaled the end of the interesting portion of the class; Flitwick drifted to less engaging topics, and the class drifted out. The rest of the day really was without mention, except for History of Magic.
"Hello, class," Remus said upon entering. "Given the spirit of things, I thought it might be a good time to discuss some of the more...interesting aspects of this holiday. Halloween, to Muggles, is a holiday of spirits, ghosts and goblins, evil witches, and, some say, the Devil himself." In the third row, Harry caught sight of Neville. Neville was pale, and kept clenching his fists on his desk. "Now, some of these creatures hold myths about them, some of which even witches and wizards believe in."
"Well, what about werewolves?" Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl (and, according to Hermione, a bit of a flake) asked. "Everyone knows that they're bloodthirsty monsters, and there's no arguing with that." Remus closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. In his desk, Neville began breathing quickly, occasional hitches in his breathing pattern making it very clear something was wrong.
"Miss Brown is perpetuating some of the most basic myths regarding werewolves-"
"However, teaching about werewolves is something reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin. Perhaps we could bring in Slatero and ask him a few questions about werewolves." Professor Snape was leaning against the door of the classroom, smirking somewhat at the History of Magic class. "Although I suppose canines are your specialty, aren't they?" He grinned with a rather feral smile and drifted into the classroom itself.
"Severus, I am trying to teach a class here-"
"Ah, of course. It didn't sound like a class to me, *Lupin*. It sounded much more like propaganda. You are supposed to be teaching this class *facts*."
Remus was trying to restrain something; Harry could see it. And the look on his face was very similar to the one he held moments before he had tried to call Mrs. Black an unflattering name. "Severus, please state your business or get out of my classroom."
Snape nodded, tapping his forehead. "Of course. I've been thinking, Lupin, and I've come to the conclusion that working with you is much more preferable to fighting all the time. Wouldn't you agree?" Snape slipped behind Remus' desk, and, sitiing down, began to run his hands lightly over the surface. "I mean, with us at each other's throats...well, we could accomplish so much more, *together*."
Neville was breathing very quickly, and it looked like he was going to pass out. Harry glanced at him, and raised his hand, trying to get Remus' attention. But the professor's attention was fully taken up by the Potions teacher. Harry looked at his other friends, hoping to get them to help. However, both of them were unresponsive. Hermione appeared to be faintly nauseated, and Ron looked like he desperately would like to be absolutely anywhere else *but* the classroom. The tableau felt horribly surreal, and Harry didn't know what was going on. Thus, when Neville slumped to his desk, unconscious, and people began to react, Harry was immensely relieved, something which his worry over Neville didn't even begin to match.
*
Dinner at the Great Hall was pretty impressive; thousands of jack-o-lanterns were hovering over the tables, gleaming and providing a ruddy light throughout the hall. The feast, as was tradition (or as the ridiculous amount of pumpkin remains demanded), contained mainly pumpkin-based dishes, and far ahead, on the enchanted ceiling, the full moon hung loomingly over the students. It was a wonderfully gloomy atmosphere for Halloween night, and Harry was enjoying himself immensely, until Neville returned from the infirmary. He slunk into his seat, looking absolutely miserable. Harry took a break from eating to lean over and speak to his companion.
"What happened, Neville?" The boy shook his head, paling a tad.
"It's just, I never, I *hate* Halloween," he complained bitterly. "Everyone always forgets, because they weren't there, it wasn't..." He trailed off, and Harry understood. The next morning would be a day of celebration - the Ministry would be closed, many businesses wouldn't open. But the price of that celebration sat before him, round face pulled down in a miserable pout.
"I'm sorry, Neville." The apology sounded useless, empty, and Harry knew nothing he could say would help the boy sitting next to him.
"Hey, Harry, could you pass the pumpkin juice?" Ron peered over Harry's shoulder and frowned at the sight of Neville. "Oh, are you brooding about History of Magic? I agree; it was horrible. Seeing Snape go on like that...it *still* gives me chills."
"What do you mean?" Harry couldn't see exactly what Ron was concerned about. Sure, Snape was unpleasant, but Ron and Hermione had looked *disgusted* at the teacher's presence. "I mean, Professor Snape wasn't doing anything really upsetting, was he?" Ron gave Harry an incredulous look, and then reached across the table to tap Hermione's hand. She broke off her conversation with a third-year student Harry didn't recognize.
"What is it, Ron?"
"Try to explain to Harry what was going on with Snape, 'Mione. God!" He turned away suddenly, looking ill. Hermione shook her head at Ron's actions, looking almost sad.
"Look, Harry, Snape...well, I don't know quite how to say it. I...I sometimes think, well, Snape doesn't have many friends, you see. None of the other teachers like him very much, and...he's very lonely, Harry." Her cheeks were getting a little flushed as she talked, and Harry wondered if she was feeling hot. He expressed his worry, and Hermione's red cheeks deepened in color. "I..." She gave Ron an accusing look, and he shrugged. Before Hermione could continue, however, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, admitting Professor Quirrel. He got only halfway before he fell to his knees. Trembling, he stretched a hand up to the high table, to Dumbledore.
"TROLL in the dungeon! I just...I thought you'd like to know." With that, he slumped to the floor, his purple turban lying at an odd angle. At that moment, the hall fell into pandemonium. But Dumbledore's voice rose above all of it.
"SILENCE!" The students froze, some half-up from their seats, until Dumbledore spoke again. "The prefects will take all students to their common rooms. All of the faculty will follow me to find the troll." He nodded to the prefects; Percy began trying to herd the Gryffindors toward the door, and other prefects moved to do the same for their housemates. Hermione, however, leaned over the table, close to Harry and Ron.
"Harry!" she whispered urgently. "Look at Snape!" Harry did without thinking, and gasped. As Snape moved with the rest of the faculty, a sort of grim satisfaction flashed in his eyes. As if he were pleased about something. And it struck Harry how odd it was that *anyone* could be pleased at the moment.
"Come on, Harry. I have to make sure you all get back to the common room. Ron, come along. Mum'd be horrified if she knew I wasn't looking out for you." Percy appeared, pushing Ron and Harry toward the door, shaking his head. "It's a good thing trolls move slowly, or we'd have to worry about that thing being anywhere in the castle."
As the students left the hall, the teachers were already gone, probably in the dungeons, scouring for the troll. Percy led the Gryffindors towards the painting which concealed the entry to the common room, the other prefects herding the middle and back of the group. However, just as they passed the third floor, Hermione froze.
"Harry! Ron! Listen!" Harry tried to explain to Hermione that this was not the time to try snooping in on-holy crap. If that wasn't the roar of a mountain troll, he didn't know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like.
Well, he actually *didn't* know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like, but that sound was exactly what he'd *think* it would sound like.
The problem was that they were on the third floor. And the troll was supposedly in the dungeon.
"We need to do something!" Hermione snapped, and hurried in the other direction, right towards the roaring. Ron gave Harry a startled look; his dark eyes almost large enough to fit a Galleon in.
"Is she mad?"
"No time to argue!" Harry snapped, grabbing Ron's arm. "We've got to make sure she doesn't get killed!"
"Well, what about us? I don't want to get killed, either!"
*
They lost Hermione somewhere near a moving stairway, but it became an irrelevant point very quickly, as the next roar from the troll was very, very close. Harry didn't try turning around, but next to him, he could feel Ron turning to glance down the hallway.
"Ron? I don't want to look behind us, do I?" Harry asked. He saw the very tight nod from the corner of his vision. "Well, what do we do? It's a *troll*!" Harry glanced sideways, trying to find a way out, and then saw it. The nearest stairway had shifted into a bridge that led to a huge, wooden doorway. "Come on; follow me!" He grabbed Ron's arm, dashing down the side passage, hoping that the door wasn't locked. It looked like a very sturdy door; it might be able to stop a troll. Finally, they reached it; Harry pulled at the door, thanking anyone who might be listening that it opened, slipped into the room beyond, and slammed the door behind them.
They stood there, breathing hard, huddled near the entry to the room. Ron slumped against Harry, hands gripping his arms tightly.
"Is it over?"
"Yeah," Harry responded, shifting a little closer to his friend. At the moment, being close to someone was driving away the incredible panic he had been feeling. And... "Ron, please tell me that's your breath."
"It isn't yours?" his friend asked nervously. Harry shook his head, dreading the next few moments of his life. While discovering that the hot, heavy breath on the back of his neck was in fact Ron would have definitely gone towards freaking Harry out, the fact that it wasn't made it infinitely worse.
"Lumos," he whispered, holding his wand up. And Harry turned slowly to see what shared the room with them. Hermione, who had read a great deal of Muggle mythology, would have found a good word for what they saw in the room. Harry and Ron, however, could only manage to come to the conclusion that it was really big, that it had lots of teeth, and that the teeth were spread between three heads. "Well, this is a bad thing," he managed to get out, only a moment before Ron screamed.
"Get away get away get away!" he screeched, tightening his grip on Harry's arms.
"Ron!" Harry threw himself into the door, opening it in one push, and came face-to-face with a mountain troll. Ron screamed again, and Harry raised his wand, wondering what he could do against something over ten times more massive than him.
"Reducto!" The shout from behind the troll exploded on its back, stunning the huge creature. It swayed for a moment, and then slumped to the ground, missing Harry by mere inches. Harry nudged the rubbery arm with his foot, watching, fascinated. It wasn't every day you got to get this close to a troll that had tried to kill you. But the momentary silence was broken by Professor Snape, their savior, who was stalking towards the two boys. His wand out, he stopped in front of the two students, glaring at Ron and Harry. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. What are you doing in *this* part of the castle?" He looked particularly annoyed with their presence *there*, Harry thought, as Professor Snape snapped off a short report to one of the castle's many house elves.
"We..." Ron managed before Hermione appeared behind Snape, panting heavily.
"Professor Snape! I'm so sorry. I ran off from the group...I heard the troll, and thought that maybe I could handle it myself. Harry and Ron were worried about me, and...well, I'm sorry." Hermione looked horrible, tears glittering in her eyes. "I didn't think I'd cause any trouble for anyone-"
"Not cause any trouble, Miss Granger?" Snape sounded amused at the sentiment. "You nearly got two classmates killed, all because you thought you could handle a mountain troll, something no *grown* witch would ever attempt alone. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and I will recommend you for a detention. If not worse." He whirled around, and glided from the students. As he left, other teachers began arriving, wavering between relief and anger at the three that had followed the troll up there. Hermione got her detention, and returned, shame-faced, to the dorms, Harry and Ron following.
When they finally got to the common room, Hermione was near tears. Harry didn't know how to respond, but Ron seemed to have a response. He sat Hermione down in a chair near the big fire, sat next to her, and began rubbing her back, whispering quietly. She seemed to calm down a little under the almost maternal ministrations, but still seemed out of sorts.
"I-you two must hate me!" she sobbed. "I got you in trouble, and I lost points for Gryffindor, and...and I couldn't do this by myself!" Harry sat near Ron and Hermione, the former of which gave him a pointed look, as if to say, 'say something, you prat!'
"Er...we don't hate you, Hermione. No one expects you to be perfect." This only elicited another sob from the girl, leaving Harry more bewildered. "And we decided to go after you. You're our friend, and we couldn't let that mountain troll get you, could we?" Ron gave Harry an encouraging look; he decided to keep going. "And Snape hates us anyway. I doubt you made it any worse. Look, why don't you get some sleep. Tomorrow's my first Quidditch match, you know. And you don't want to be sleepy for it, right?" Hermione managed a weak smile, so headed up to her own room, looking a little less like she was going to break down. As she left, Ron gave Harry a thumbs-up.
"Good job Harry. My mum always used to do that when we'd cry, so..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushed. "So, I say you take your own advice. You've got a game tomorrow, so you should get to bed."
"Like I could sleep after seeing that *thing*," Harry muttered. "What was that?"
"The third floor corridor," Ron responded. "At the beginning of the year, Dumbledore told us to stay out of it, or we'd suffer a painful death. I think you missed most of that announcement."
"Thanks for the warning," Harry grumbled. "We could have been killed."
"Well, we didn't," Ron answered. "And living with my family, you learn that something *not* happening is usually infinitely better than it actually happening."
"Right," Harry responded. "I...yeah, I think I'll take you up on your suggestion. G'night." He headed up to the dorms, making a quick stop by his trunk in his room. He pulled out Remus' book, hoping to find something to get rid of the incredible confusion, tension he was feeling. What he read was a little shocking.
"Remember that a near miss gives you infinitely more than a hit ever does."
Harry wondered how much Remus had ever talked to the Weasleys when he worked on this.
*
The next day, Harry woke up far too early. His dreams had contained far more Snape than was healthy for recuperative sleep, and far too many three-headed, slobbering dogs. His dream seemed to have had some purpose; he remembered running across a black-and-white tiled room, racing Snape, dodging giant dogs, and other things that had receded into faint memories. But what he did remember was Ron's scream, a scream for help. That's when he'd started to run faster, but with every step he took, the screams grew louder-
In any case, he'd woken early from his nightmares, and spent most of the morning trying to calm himself for the match. Playing in front of a stadium of hundreds was a lot different from flying around his backyard with Sirius, Remus the only witness to the events.
It was all too soon that Harry had to report to the changing rooms, where Oliver Wood was pacing. Fred and George appeared a moment later, readying for their job as Beaters, and the three Chasers came a few minutes later. Oliver stopped pacing, and turned to his team. "All right, ladies, gentlemen. This is our first game of the year, and it's going to be fantastic. Okay? We've got a new Seeker, and we know how he works. Twins, stay off him; he can avoid pretty much anything out there, and we need you to pay attention to everything else. All right, let's go out and kick some Ravenclaw butt!"
Harry lost most of the next half-hour; it was mostly a blur of sound and sight. The next part of his memory that was clear was when he was watching the field carefully from near the Ravenclaw goals. Suddenly, one of the Bludgers swung towards the stands. Students screamed and leapt out of the way as the large black ball crashed through the wooden seats. Harry swung around, startled. He saw among the crowd Hermione and Neville, and panicked. He began flying towards them, noticing that the Bludger was making another round; it looked like it was going to hit Neville. Harry leaned close to his broom, trying to fly faster, when it jerked to a halt.
"What?" The broom began to shake back and forth, slowly at first, until it reached a trembling crescendo, and then it bucked forward. "Yah!"
The stadium was blurring around Harry, but as he flipped around a tight circle, one image stuck in his mind. Professor Snape was standing in the crowd, his fingers twitching and his mouth moving in an unmistakable mumble. Snape was doing something, and Harry couldn't stop it. He willed someone, preferably Hermione, to notice, because he couldn't concentrate on doing anything other than hold onto his broom.
There was a horrible moment when Harry was only hanging onto the very tips of his fingers, but he managed to get a real grip only moments before the broom jerked to the left, and something flew into Harry's mouth. He began hacking, coughing, trying to clear his lungs-
He fell. His grip finally failed, and Harry slipped from his broom thirty feet to the ground. There was sharp pain, and incredible feeling of pressure in his lung, and Harry was still coughing. He still was choking, and with a crowd gathering around him, Harry wondered why no one was helping him. And then he realized what exactly had flown into his mouth. With one final hack, he spit out the winged, golden ball into his hand, and collapsed onto the field. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the scream of Lee Jordan, the student announcer, his voice amplified several hundred times.
"And Potter gets the Snitch - GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
*
Harry woke up in the middle of the night, his head throbbing. Madam Pomfrey, with the true instincts of a nurse, swooped upon him immediately, holding out a cup of bubbling green liquid.
"Here, drink this." When Harry scrunched up his face, she snapped back, "Well, don't complain! You should have been more careful, or you wouldn't have to drink this. Now, come on, Mr. Potter. Really Quidditch players spend too much time here - if you're not careful you get injured. Hmph." Madam Pomfrey stalked away, but paused before slipping out of the room. "You are to stay here until breakfast tomorrow. And don't you dare wake up early; I want you to get a full night's sleep!"
Harry glared at Madam Pomfrey's potion, wishing he could drain it somewhere, but there were some people you did not even *think* about crossing. He picked up the glass and downed it in one disgusting gulp. Suddenly, the bed next to him writhed, leaving Harry to almost drop the glass on the floor. Ron poked his head out from under the sheets on the next bed, grinning.
"Hey, Harry. You won't believe how hot it got under there."
"Ron, what are you doing here? Madam Pomfrey-"
"Madam Pomfrey can sod herself. I wanted to see you when you woke up. There's a celebration going on in the common room, you know. We're all amazed that you managed it. No one, in the history of Quidditch, has ever caught a Snitch in their throat, you know. Oliver's been sending off owls all night, and even Percy cracked a smile a few times. You, Harry, are nearly a hero. Well, except to Ravenclaw." Harry nodded, returning Ron's grin.
"Thanks. Er...how're you? And Neville? Hermione? I saw the Bludger fly into the stands."
"Ah, it almost hit Neville, but he panicked and dived off the seats." Ron shook his head. "That was an amazing game, you know. How do you feel? Did you have to drink one of Pomfrey's potions? George told me she makes them taste horrible to dissuade students from injuring themselves, you know."
Harry chuckled, and nodded at Ron, gesturing him to sit on the hospital bed. Ron hopped over, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed. He looked horrendously excited; flushed and a little out of breath, and Harry felt that energy trying to fill the room. It was infectious. "So...did you have a point to all this, or did you just want to sneak into the infirmary for the thrill of it?"
"I dunno," Ron murmured, suddenly looking away from Harry.
"Or do you regularly sneak into other boys' rooms in the dead of night?" Ron didn't respond; instead, he focused his attention on his own feet, and although Harry couldn't be sure, it looked like his cheeks were a tad redder.
"Oi, Ron?" The redhead shook his head, and glanced up.
"Sorry. Got lost in thought there. Y'know, Professor Lupin stopped by while you were in here. He looked horrible, though. And he had bites and scratches all over him, like a dog had been...chewing on him." Harry's mind must have hit the logical conclusion at the same moment it hit Ron's, because a feeling of dread hit him at the same time Ron's face fell into an amazed expression. "Harry...Professor Lupin wasn't at dinner last night."
"So? Are you saying Remus was responsible-"
"He could have let the troll in, Harry. I mean, he's a great wizard..."
"But what's the point? And why would he be in the third-floor corridor, Ron? Look, I guess he could have been up there, but what would be the point?" Ron twisted his face in concentration, and then shrugged.
"I guess you're right, Harry." He placed his hands on the bed behind his and stretched out his legs. "Professor Lupin wouldn't be messing around with big dogs, especially one with so many teeth."
"That's the spirit! So, are you going to brave the halls or try to avoid Madam Pomfrey?"
"Ah, I'll take my chances with the nurse," Ron responded. "I'd rather get chewed out by her with you around than try and avoid Filch on my own."
*
"-reckless, stupid, absolutely forbidden! I can't believe that you risked getting in trouble just to-"
"Keep me company while I was sick," Harry said, stopping Hermione in mid-rant. She shot Harry a fierce glare, and returned her attention to Ron.
"I'm tempted to tell Percy that you-"
"Hermione-"
"NO, Ron, I don't care what you have to say-"
"-Hermione, he really helped out last night. It's very lonely in the infirmary." Hermione examined Harry's eyes, turning her gaze occasionally onto Ron to examine *something* visible in their own gazes. Finally, she sighed, defeated.
"Very well. I suppose I'll keep quiet. But you two need to follow rules; it's very important to stay in line, or who knows what'll happen to you?" Ron gave Harry a roll of the eyes that had very quickly come to mean 'humor her, she's mad.'
"By the way, how'd you get my broom to stop all the jerking and bucking?" Harry asked. Ron glanced away from Hermione, who glanced at her plate. Finally, Ron spoke.
"'Mione, uh...set Professor Snape's robes on fire. He was muttering and glaring at you the whole time, so she figured he was trying to curse your broom, and possibly the Bludger, too."
"Even though I'm positive that it's impossible for someone to keep two curses of that magnitude going at the same time," Hermione interrupted. "I mean, the magic to curse the Bludger requires *undivided* attention, and the magic on a broom would require eye contact throughout the entire period. So it seems unlikely that Snape could have been doing both of them. But it makes me wonder who'd be helping him."
"*Anyway*," Ron said tightly, "Snape started flailing around, screaming, knocked an entire row of teachers into the seats in front of them, and the Bludger and broom plunged to the ground like they were Muggle-made. It was really exciting."
"I feel terrible about it," Hermione said, shaking her head. "What if Professor McGonagall found out?"
"She won't," Harry responded. "Really, Hermione, you're worrying too much."
"Yeah, we've got worse concerns. Like that three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor," Ron muttered. "Could've bitten my arm off, but *Hermione's* worried about *detention*."
"Cerberus?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued. "There's a *canis tricapita* in the castle? Why would anyone keep *canis tricapita* in a *castle*? What in the world is here to guard?"
"Guard?" Harry demanded. "What do you mean, 'guard'?" Hermione took a deep, 'I cannot believe how stupid the two of you are' breath.
"Members of the species *canis tricapita*, although they have three heads, are not particularly intelligent. It has been known that they could perform simple tasks, and have an incredible sense of loyalty. If you befriend a *canis tricapita*, it will protect you with its life, and, being nearly immortal, if you give it a task, it will perform the task for eternity. Telling one to guard something is one of the best ways to protect it."
"So, are you saying that monster is...protecting something?" Ron managed. Hermione nodded. "So, what could it be protecting?"
"I've no clue," Hermione responded. "But whatever it is, it's tremendously valuable. Cerberi are prohibitively expensive, and no one would take up the cost unless the treasure were far more valuable by itself."
"So...what is it?"
"Well, it's nothing ordinary. Or anything even of medium rarity...I'm going to have to do research." Hermione picked up her books from the breakfast table and fled the Great Hall, eager at the prospect of the library.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Ron chuckled. "She's utterly mad."
"In a good way," Harry added.
"Yeah. A good way." There was a pause as Ron took another plateful of eggs. "What's a bad way?"
"Snape."
"Ah."
*
Once again, time blurred somewhat as classes took over their lives; Harry found his life a delicate balance between homework and Quidditch, and Ron apparently spent a lot of the month of November tracking down other students and challenging them to wizard chess. He was feared among the academics, and it was said that you could clear a room of Ravenclaws by announcing Ron Weasley's presence. Potions, if possible, became even less pleasant, up to the point where Harry seriously considered slipping valerian into his next potion so that he'd lose consciousness and get to go to the infirmary.
In the second week of December, Harry received some unpleasant news. At the breakfast table, his parents' owl had delivered a short letter; in short, it announced that they were traveling to visit relatives in the States, and that Harry would have to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break. He took it hard, moping and growling at others for the next week and a half. Nothing Ron, Hermione, or Neville said changed his mood, and it got to the point where Hermione refused to even help Harry with his homework, stating that 'boys are impossible!'
Thus it was that Ron found Harry in the common room, sulking, three days before Christmas break. He jumped into the nearest chair, and at first waited for Harry to pay attention to him. When that didn't work, Ron, poked his friend.
"Come on, Harry, it isn't the end of the world. It's one Christmas, and...hey, a lot of kids stay here over Christmas. My parents are visiting my brother in Egypt, and I have to stay here, too." Ron peered over at Harry. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"My family always makes a big deal about Christmas; Sirius told me how when they were younger, they'd all have a big party the night before to remind them how much they care for one another. He always said Christmas was a very special anniversary for him, as well. I...I just don't want to be away from them this year."
"Well..." Ron looked a little uncomfortable as he thought, but he continued. "Your parents are going, right? Why don't you see if you can stay with Sirius while they're gone? They should be fine with you spending time with your godfather, right?" At Ron's words, Harry's mood lightened. Of course! Surely he could spend the vacation with Sirius. It wouldn't be the same, but Remus could come over, and Peter, and it could be a smaller celebration, and happy even if his parents weren't there. Harry reached out a hand and patted Ron's shoulder.
"Thanks, Ron. I was so worried, and you helped out a lot. Hey, maybe I'll talk to Remus and ask him what he thinks about it. So long!" He hopped out of his chair, more cheerful, and slipped out through the portrait-hole. Ron remained in his chair, however, staring aimlessly about the common room.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," he whispered, his voice dejected. "Have fun."
*
Harry passed the infirmary, paused in the passageway directly after it, trying to remember how to get to Remus' office on Thursdays. Suddenly, there was a voice behind him.
"Potter." Harry whirled, coming face-to-face to the pale visage of Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy-"
"Oh, don't sit there ready to hex me, Potter," Malfoy retorted before Harry could even get off a thought. "Look, given the fact that it's Christmas and all, goodwill towards men and all that rubbish, I got you a gift. Here. Don't open it until you absolutely have to, and don't bother thanking me. I don't need gratitude." He handed Harry a package wrapped in silver paper with green bows wrapped delicately around it, and then stalked towards the Slytherins' dungeons. Harry looked down at the present...it didn't *look* dangerous, but he didn't want to trust it. Yes, Malfoy could be tolerable, but Harry didn't see him as the Christmas present type.
He slid the present into one of his pockets, and then took the direction he *hoped* would lead to Remus' office. But as he passed an empty classroom, a voice caught his attention. Snape.
"So, are you beginning to see things my way, Lupin?" There was the sound of someone moving a chair, and then a growl.
"No, Severus. I'm not doing anything for your benefit. What's going on is..."
"I know very well what's going on, Lupin. If you can't accept the fact that this is your only shot at happiness-"
"I *am* happy, Severus."
"Really?" Snape sounded amused, almost innocent in his query. "Is that what you were doing Halloween night? Being happy?"
"Look, Severus-"
"You're tired of all this, aren't you, Lupin? Just help me, and...you'll get your own benefits." Neither teacher spoke for a long time, and Harry took the opportunity to draw close to the door. But he jerked away when a loud clapping sound.
"Get away from me, Severus. I think this is an appropriate time to remind you that our relationship is purely professional." Remus' voice was icy, a tone Harry had *never* heard, not even in the moments when he'd been most angry. "Maybe it's a good time to remind you that what you're trying to take is something that does *not* belong to you. I wouldn't betray his trust-"
"That you put such value in something so base!" Snape snapped.
"Not any longer," Remus whispered. Something clicked in Harry's mind.
Remus was trying to get past the dog, which was guarding something. Snape kept trying to get some sort of information out of him.
'To take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection.' Suddenly, it made a hell of a lot more sense.
"Remus is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
*
Harry returned to his room at a run, trying to deny the truth that was pounding in his head. Remus wanted the Philosopher's Stone; it made sense, if you understood that Remus was very ill. Almost monthly, he came down with a very nasty cold. It only lasted a few days, but the frequency hinted at something far more serious. And the Philosopher's Stone-
And Snape was trying to get involved, he supposed. Had found out about it and was trying to get something out of it. Harry had thought he'd sealed the curtains around his bed securely, but they suddenly parted, and Neville peered in.
"Harry? Is something wrong?" Harry shook his head, ducking it to keep his friend from seeing-
"You're crying," the other boy accused. He slipped through the curtains and sat at the edge of the mattress, giving Harry a-well, not a sympathetic look, but an understanding one. "Explain." Harry looked at Neville, recognizing the same firm sense of resistance his mother achieved when she *was* going to get an answer, no matter who was involved. He doubted he could escape the room, and even if he did, he was sure Neville would be there hours later, and he'd hate trying to convince Percy to let him sleep in the common room. The only question was how much to tell him.
"I just...I found out some things I don't think I would have wanted to know," Harry stated, hoping the obscure statement would be good enough. "Re-Professor Lupin-"
"Oh." Neville began looking more pitying as he scratched his leg idly. "Well, Harry, Professor Lupin is an adult. And I know he's a family friend and you feel close to him, but he has to make his own choices without undue interference, even if you don't agree with them. Even if you think they're really bad choices-"
"But he and Snape-"
"Harry, you have to be willing to accept this and move on," Neville said simply, looking for all the world like Hermione lecturing him.
"Accept it? What he's doing is wrong!" Harry snapped.
Neville blanched. He took a deep breath, and then when he spoke, sounded very much like he was fighting to keep himself under control. "Harry...please don't tell me you think that way."
"Of course I do!" Harry responded. "It's theft, plain and simple; I mean, there has to be a pretty damn good reason for a three-headed dog to be guarding it!" Neville froze, his mouth open, as if a response was already on his tongue. He suddenly closed his mouth, and, looking embarrassed, said,
"What?"
"Remus...I think that Remus set that troll loose in the school so that he could get to the third-floor corridor without anyone noticing," Harry explained. "There's something hidden there, and I think Remus wants it. And Professor Snape is trying to get involved; I heard the two of them talking in a classroom just now, and...Neville, I think it's the Philosopher's Stone!" Neville gave Harry an odd look, and hopped off the bed.
"Wait here, Harry. I'm going to get something to help you calm down." He returned a moment later, holding a small teacup. "Here. I always drink this after I have an upsetting nig-experience, and it always helps me to stop panicking and think clearly."
"Thanks, Neville." Harry took the cup and sipped at it. The first swallow went down, and he resisted the urge to choke. "Ugh! This stuff tastes like old socks." Neville shrugged, and Harry downed the rest of the tea quickly. Almost at the moment he swallowed the rest of the liquid, his eyes felt heavy. "Neville? Am I supposed to be...so sleepy?" He yawned, fighting the exhaustion overcoming him. On his side, Neville smiled guiltily.
"Sorry, Harry, but I really think you need rest at the moment; you're not thinking clearly. Everything will make more sense tomorrow morning, okay? It's an old recipe for dreamless sleep, so you'll feel better."
Harry tried to fight, to yell something, but instead, he lay back, letting his eyes slide closed, and fell asleep.
*
Neville had claimed his sleep would not have dreams, but something haunted Harry's sleep anyway. He couldn't remember much, mostly feelings. A swish of a cloak, the thump of a staff against stone, and a 'whooshing' sound, that ended in a wet thunk. Occasionally, a voice spoke, but its works failed to stick with him. What he did remember was very nearly useless; a snippet of conversation, Sirius speaking.
"I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says..."
Harry awoke at seven the next morning sweaty and with his glasses bent out of shape. He shook his head, trying to clear it of strange memories, and reached over to his bedside table to grab his wand. His arm gave a sharp complaint, so Harry pulled up the sleeve of his robe. What he saw nearly made him shout; From his hand to his elbow, his arm was red and blistered, and was throbbing painfully. It was if someone had set his arm on fire, except that there was not a single hint of scorching on his bedclothes. Furthermore, his wand wasn't on his bedside table. He must have grabbed it in the middle of the night, Harry mused, and dropped it at some point. He fumbled under his bed with his good hand, only to actually let out a cry when a hand touched his shoulder.
He whirled, breathing hard, and saw Neville standing above him, holding Harry's wand. "Hullo, Harry. I found this on the floor when I got up." He smiled shyly. "It looks like you threw it across the room, you know. Come on, do you want breakfast?" Harry nodded numbly, not thinking too much, or he would have remembered his arm. He took the wand in his left hand and followed Neville out of the dorm. When he got to the portrait-hole and Neville passed him, he caught a whiff of a very distinctive scent, one he remembered from several accidents when he was younger. Neville was very nearly soaked in Lockhart's Living burn cream, and his forehead, especially the area around his scar, was a shade redder than the rest of his face.
*
Harry glanced around the bedroom, listening for the breathing of his companions. The rest of the first-year Gryffindors were asleep, and that let Harry slip out of the room and down the stairs to the common room. Carrying 'The Book of Ages', Harry sat in one of the chairs. He took another glance around the room. He really hoped that no one saw him; even if Remus said it was a worthwhile gift, it seemed a little hokey, and was sure some people might mock him if they learned he was looking at a *book* for answers. Well, more so than people mocked Hermione.
Finally, Harry flipped open the book. "What's going on with Remus?" he asked, praying that the book could answer a specific question.
"Some things are not meant for man to know, but snooping around never hurts...as long as no one sees you."
Well, that was unhelpful. Harry flipped through the book, wondering if there was anything else printed in it. He found nothing - until the last page. There, printed in tiny lettering, was another message.
"Lust for that which you do not have is the root of darkness."
"You know, I think you're just pretending to be helpful," Harry griped, snapping the small book closed. "Nothing you say makes sense." He looked down at the book, suddenly wondering. The book might not be unhelpful; Remus was often equally obscure when he spoke, but if you took the time to think about what he said, there was usually more information available then you actually wanted to know. So what did this all mean? Well, the first thing seemed to be giving Harry tacit permission to spy on people to figure out what was going on. Which seemed so unlike Remus, or anything he'd approve of. The worst thing he could remember Remus ever doing was almost call Sirius' mother a very unpleasant name.
~*~
"Happy Mother's Day, Lily. Here. I got you a present. Something to keep your family in check when you need a rest." Lily Potter accepted the small, gold-wrapped box, a small smile on her face. She shook her head, still smiling.
"What is it, Sirius?" He only responded to her with a smirk. Remus, sitting on the other side of the table, was watching with his typical half-amusement. Lily pulled open the box, and gasped. "Oh, why it's lovely, Sirius! What does it do?" Sirius dramatically placed a hand on his chest, indignant at Lily's suspicious tone.
"What makes you so suspicious, my lovely redhead? I would no more give you a dangerous gift than I would kiss a werewolf."
Lily glared at him for a long, moment, and then set the delicate faux-silver necklace aside. "I won't dignify that statement with a response, Sirius. I don't think I want to know what this does. I will live in blissful ignorance." The window burst open beside her, suddenly, and a scrawny, black-feathered owl burst into the window. Clutched in its claws was a bright red envelope. The owl swooped at Sirius, and dropped the envelope, leaving the room with an indignant squawk.
"I'd hope she would have waited until later," Sirius muttered, watching the envelope nervously. "She's been sending these every year since..." He trailed off, affording Remus a tired glance. "Lily? Maybe you should take Harry-" But the envelope suddenly burst into flames, and a screeching, horrible voice blasted through the kitchen.
"SIRIUS BLACK! I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU'VE DONE! EVERY YEAR, ON MOTHER'S DAY, I REALIZE WHAT A FAILURE I AM BECAUSE I HAVE NOT GIVEN OUR FAMILY A SINGLE CHILD WORTHY OF BEING NAMED BLACK. BLOOD-TRAITOR, MONSTROSITY, *BASTARD*! IF I HAD NOT BORNE YOU MYSELF, I WOULD DENY THAT YOU EVEN SHARED BLOOD WITH ME!
"OH, WHAT A HORRID MISTAKE I MADE, GIVING BIRTH TO YOU! IF I'D KNOWN THEN WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE TURNED TO...I HOPE YOU HAVE A HORRID MOTHER'S DAY, KNOWING WHAT SHAME YOU'VE BROUGHT TO THE WOMAN WHO CARRIED YOU FOR NINE MONTHS AND INTRODUCED YOU TO THIS WORLD!" Harry couldn't help it; when the words finally stopped, he burst into tears. He'd never heard his parents, or anyone really, raise their voices and sound so...mad. And that woman's voice was so frightening. One thing was certain; he'd never forget that horrid voice, or what it had done to Sirius to hear it. The black-haired man had sat in his chair for a long time after that, head in his hands, and when Lily had finally calmed Harry down, the boy saw that his godfather was crying. Remus was watching the whole scene with a barely restrained tension. His fists clenched at his sides, he looked very much like he would want to find that horrid woman and tear her to shreds. Finally, he said something, very quiet, but Harry heard it.
"That bit-"
"REMUS!" Lily's tone stopped the exclamation, but Remus managed to get out one more comment before Harry was ushered upstairs for a nap.
"I suppose she'd have been happier if you'd taken up with someone like Snape."
~*~
"You know, Harry, it's against the rules to sleep in the common room." Harry opened his eyes to the faint morning light streaming through the windows of the common room, and a head of messy red hair.
"Ron? Since when did'ou care 'bout rules?" Harry managed.
The speaker chuckled, and leaned closer. Harry blushed a little when he realized he was talking to Percy; the Weasley had a leaner face, was a good deal taller, and had glasses balanced on his nose. "Morning Harry. As I said, you really shouldn't be sleeping out here. If Professor McGonagall found out I was letting students-"
"'M sorry," Harry murmured, "I came down t'think, but I fell asleep."
Percy smiled at Harry, and put a finger up against his lips. "All right, it'll be our little secret. Just...don't make a habit of this, Harry. Hurry up; you'll be late for your first Quidditch practice if you don't." Harry nodded, grateful, and headed upstairs to get ready for practice.
*
Quidditch practice was not as fun as Harry had hoped it would be; he often had to be up before dawn (Percy had lied; if you could see the sun, you *were* late for Quidditch practice), and spent far more of his free time than was healthy on the Quidditch pitch. It was beyond exhausting, and Harry was so desperate to vent that he even took to complaining to Draco Malfoy during Potions, with whom he had been paired. Malfoy rarely said much, just watched Harry with a self-satisfied smirk and continued the Potions work. As uncomfortable as working with Malfoy made Harry, he had to admit that the other boy's knowledge and natural talent was definitely helping his grade in Potions. And putting aside that Malfoy was a Slytherin, he wasn't the worst of company.
Of course, he didn't mention that fact to Ron. Dealing so often with the more unpleasant branch of Slytherin had left Ron bitter towards the entire house; Harry supposed he didn't blame him.
Another month passed, though, and Halloween arrived. Halloween was, among witches and wizards, a bit of a bigger deal than among Muggles. Among long-lived races, the old legends of ghosts and spirits hung on longer, making Halloween consider just a little more important. So on that day, many of the teachers had decided to have special classes. First, Professor Flitwick announced they would not be practicing any charms, but he would instead talk about some legendary magic that the class might find interesting.
After the first twenty minutes, Harry realized that it had been a *long* time since Professor Flitwick had been a kid. But somewhere around the halfway mark, it got good.
"-proof against magic. There are three metals known to resist magic, each with strange properties. The first is mercury, which has its own magical properties. Called quicksilver, it is said that mixtures of mercury can have healing powers, grant invisibility, or sometimes enable longevity. Muggles believe it to be poisonous, but that is because they don't know to hold mercury in the next metal I'll talk about: silver. Silver is one of the most powerful items to use against Dark magic. It can help in the curing of many curses, and often can be used to hold off creatures of the Dark. The poisonous properties of mercury, in fact, can be counter by holding it in a silver vessel. But by far the most fascinating of all of the magical metals is gold." The class fell absolutely silent. Professor Flitwick grinned.
"Thought that'd get your attention. Now, Muggles have it right to like gold so much. Gold is the only metal that cannot be touched by Transfiguration spells. In fact, it's very difficult to do any magic to enchant gold. Being very stable, it is considered to be a metaphor for perfect, healthy life. And thus, it is understandable that the Philosopher's Stone is one of the most sought-after artifacts in the wizarding world.
"The Philosopher's Stone has been created no more than five times in all of human history; Nicholas Flamel, of our era, is the only known holder of it for the past three centuries. But the rarity or singularity of the Philosopher's Stone is not what makes it important. It is its power." The class hung on Professor Flitwick's words, and a great sigh rocked at the edge of their consciousness as he continued. "The power of the Stone is to take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection. The Philosopher's Stone can transform any single metal into the perfect metal: whether you have iron, silver, or even the more volatile metals, such as sodium. The Philosopher's Stone can cure any illness or negate the power of any curse. The Philosopher's Stone can even combat the effects of ageing; in short, the holder of the Philosopher's Stone can live forever. Those who have sought the Stone, however, have discovered one fatal flaw in seeking it. The Stone cannot be made by one who is not perfectly balanced in body, mind, and spirit. And thus, it is only the rarest individual who can even attempt to create the Stone, and only the most singular that actually can. So, Miss Granger, can you tell me why it is important that only the person who can make the Stone should be allowed to use it?"
Hermione started at the teacher's attention, and then responded. "To make the Stone...you must be balanced. You must...you have to not want long life or gold a great deal, or you couldn't succeed. Anyone else would use the Stone for selfish means, but it is safe with its maker, because that is the one person who would be least likely to use it."
Quiet applause came from the door of the classroom, and Harry craned his head to see Professor Dumbledore standing there, clapping his hands.
"Bravo, Miss Granger. Yes, Nicholas is in fact driven only by his desire to acquire knowledge; he uses the Stone very rarely. In fact, I believe he had had it placed into storage at Gringott's Bank." Dumbledore glanced at Harry, and let his gaze drift towards Neville, who was taking hurried notes, although Harry wasn't sure they were necessarily related to what Professor Flitwick was talking about. "I certainly believe that it is a very neat arrangement, don't you? After all, the world almost never has such a neat way of working, unless we nudge it along. Ah, carry on, carry on."
Dumbeldore's leaving actually signaled the end of the interesting portion of the class; Flitwick drifted to less engaging topics, and the class drifted out. The rest of the day really was without mention, except for History of Magic.
"Hello, class," Remus said upon entering. "Given the spirit of things, I thought it might be a good time to discuss some of the more...interesting aspects of this holiday. Halloween, to Muggles, is a holiday of spirits, ghosts and goblins, evil witches, and, some say, the Devil himself." In the third row, Harry caught sight of Neville. Neville was pale, and kept clenching his fists on his desk. "Now, some of these creatures hold myths about them, some of which even witches and wizards believe in."
"Well, what about werewolves?" Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl (and, according to Hermione, a bit of a flake) asked. "Everyone knows that they're bloodthirsty monsters, and there's no arguing with that." Remus closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. In his desk, Neville began breathing quickly, occasional hitches in his breathing pattern making it very clear something was wrong.
"Miss Brown is perpetuating some of the most basic myths regarding werewolves-"
"However, teaching about werewolves is something reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin. Perhaps we could bring in Slatero and ask him a few questions about werewolves." Professor Snape was leaning against the door of the classroom, smirking somewhat at the History of Magic class. "Although I suppose canines are your specialty, aren't they?" He grinned with a rather feral smile and drifted into the classroom itself.
"Severus, I am trying to teach a class here-"
"Ah, of course. It didn't sound like a class to me, *Lupin*. It sounded much more like propaganda. You are supposed to be teaching this class *facts*."
Remus was trying to restrain something; Harry could see it. And the look on his face was very similar to the one he held moments before he had tried to call Mrs. Black an unflattering name. "Severus, please state your business or get out of my classroom."
Snape nodded, tapping his forehead. "Of course. I've been thinking, Lupin, and I've come to the conclusion that working with you is much more preferable to fighting all the time. Wouldn't you agree?" Snape slipped behind Remus' desk, and, sitiing down, began to run his hands lightly over the surface. "I mean, with us at each other's throats...well, we could accomplish so much more, *together*."
Neville was breathing very quickly, and it looked like he was going to pass out. Harry glanced at him, and raised his hand, trying to get Remus' attention. But the professor's attention was fully taken up by the Potions teacher. Harry looked at his other friends, hoping to get them to help. However, both of them were unresponsive. Hermione appeared to be faintly nauseated, and Ron looked like he desperately would like to be absolutely anywhere else *but* the classroom. The tableau felt horribly surreal, and Harry didn't know what was going on. Thus, when Neville slumped to his desk, unconscious, and people began to react, Harry was immensely relieved, something which his worry over Neville didn't even begin to match.
*
Dinner at the Great Hall was pretty impressive; thousands of jack-o-lanterns were hovering over the tables, gleaming and providing a ruddy light throughout the hall. The feast, as was tradition (or as the ridiculous amount of pumpkin remains demanded), contained mainly pumpkin-based dishes, and far ahead, on the enchanted ceiling, the full moon hung loomingly over the students. It was a wonderfully gloomy atmosphere for Halloween night, and Harry was enjoying himself immensely, until Neville returned from the infirmary. He slunk into his seat, looking absolutely miserable. Harry took a break from eating to lean over and speak to his companion.
"What happened, Neville?" The boy shook his head, paling a tad.
"It's just, I never, I *hate* Halloween," he complained bitterly. "Everyone always forgets, because they weren't there, it wasn't..." He trailed off, and Harry understood. The next morning would be a day of celebration - the Ministry would be closed, many businesses wouldn't open. But the price of that celebration sat before him, round face pulled down in a miserable pout.
"I'm sorry, Neville." The apology sounded useless, empty, and Harry knew nothing he could say would help the boy sitting next to him.
"Hey, Harry, could you pass the pumpkin juice?" Ron peered over Harry's shoulder and frowned at the sight of Neville. "Oh, are you brooding about History of Magic? I agree; it was horrible. Seeing Snape go on like that...it *still* gives me chills."
"What do you mean?" Harry couldn't see exactly what Ron was concerned about. Sure, Snape was unpleasant, but Ron and Hermione had looked *disgusted* at the teacher's presence. "I mean, Professor Snape wasn't doing anything really upsetting, was he?" Ron gave Harry an incredulous look, and then reached across the table to tap Hermione's hand. She broke off her conversation with a third-year student Harry didn't recognize.
"What is it, Ron?"
"Try to explain to Harry what was going on with Snape, 'Mione. God!" He turned away suddenly, looking ill. Hermione shook her head at Ron's actions, looking almost sad.
"Look, Harry, Snape...well, I don't know quite how to say it. I...I sometimes think, well, Snape doesn't have many friends, you see. None of the other teachers like him very much, and...he's very lonely, Harry." Her cheeks were getting a little flushed as she talked, and Harry wondered if she was feeling hot. He expressed his worry, and Hermione's red cheeks deepened in color. "I..." She gave Ron an accusing look, and he shrugged. Before Hermione could continue, however, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, admitting Professor Quirrel. He got only halfway before he fell to his knees. Trembling, he stretched a hand up to the high table, to Dumbledore.
"TROLL in the dungeon! I just...I thought you'd like to know." With that, he slumped to the floor, his purple turban lying at an odd angle. At that moment, the hall fell into pandemonium. But Dumbledore's voice rose above all of it.
"SILENCE!" The students froze, some half-up from their seats, until Dumbledore spoke again. "The prefects will take all students to their common rooms. All of the faculty will follow me to find the troll." He nodded to the prefects; Percy began trying to herd the Gryffindors toward the door, and other prefects moved to do the same for their housemates. Hermione, however, leaned over the table, close to Harry and Ron.
"Harry!" she whispered urgently. "Look at Snape!" Harry did without thinking, and gasped. As Snape moved with the rest of the faculty, a sort of grim satisfaction flashed in his eyes. As if he were pleased about something. And it struck Harry how odd it was that *anyone* could be pleased at the moment.
"Come on, Harry. I have to make sure you all get back to the common room. Ron, come along. Mum'd be horrified if she knew I wasn't looking out for you." Percy appeared, pushing Ron and Harry toward the door, shaking his head. "It's a good thing trolls move slowly, or we'd have to worry about that thing being anywhere in the castle."
As the students left the hall, the teachers were already gone, probably in the dungeons, scouring for the troll. Percy led the Gryffindors towards the painting which concealed the entry to the common room, the other prefects herding the middle and back of the group. However, just as they passed the third floor, Hermione froze.
"Harry! Ron! Listen!" Harry tried to explain to Hermione that this was not the time to try snooping in on-holy crap. If that wasn't the roar of a mountain troll, he didn't know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like.
Well, he actually *didn't* know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like, but that sound was exactly what he'd *think* it would sound like.
The problem was that they were on the third floor. And the troll was supposedly in the dungeon.
"We need to do something!" Hermione snapped, and hurried in the other direction, right towards the roaring. Ron gave Harry a startled look; his dark eyes almost large enough to fit a Galleon in.
"Is she mad?"
"No time to argue!" Harry snapped, grabbing Ron's arm. "We've got to make sure she doesn't get killed!"
"Well, what about us? I don't want to get killed, either!"
*
They lost Hermione somewhere near a moving stairway, but it became an irrelevant point very quickly, as the next roar from the troll was very, very close. Harry didn't try turning around, but next to him, he could feel Ron turning to glance down the hallway.
"Ron? I don't want to look behind us, do I?" Harry asked. He saw the very tight nod from the corner of his vision. "Well, what do we do? It's a *troll*!" Harry glanced sideways, trying to find a way out, and then saw it. The nearest stairway had shifted into a bridge that led to a huge, wooden doorway. "Come on; follow me!" He grabbed Ron's arm, dashing down the side passage, hoping that the door wasn't locked. It looked like a very sturdy door; it might be able to stop a troll. Finally, they reached it; Harry pulled at the door, thanking anyone who might be listening that it opened, slipped into the room beyond, and slammed the door behind them.
They stood there, breathing hard, huddled near the entry to the room. Ron slumped against Harry, hands gripping his arms tightly.
"Is it over?"
"Yeah," Harry responded, shifting a little closer to his friend. At the moment, being close to someone was driving away the incredible panic he had been feeling. And... "Ron, please tell me that's your breath."
"It isn't yours?" his friend asked nervously. Harry shook his head, dreading the next few moments of his life. While discovering that the hot, heavy breath on the back of his neck was in fact Ron would have definitely gone towards freaking Harry out, the fact that it wasn't made it infinitely worse.
"Lumos," he whispered, holding his wand up. And Harry turned slowly to see what shared the room with them. Hermione, who had read a great deal of Muggle mythology, would have found a good word for what they saw in the room. Harry and Ron, however, could only manage to come to the conclusion that it was really big, that it had lots of teeth, and that the teeth were spread between three heads. "Well, this is a bad thing," he managed to get out, only a moment before Ron screamed.
"Get away get away get away!" he screeched, tightening his grip on Harry's arms.
"Ron!" Harry threw himself into the door, opening it in one push, and came face-to-face with a mountain troll. Ron screamed again, and Harry raised his wand, wondering what he could do against something over ten times more massive than him.
"Reducto!" The shout from behind the troll exploded on its back, stunning the huge creature. It swayed for a moment, and then slumped to the ground, missing Harry by mere inches. Harry nudged the rubbery arm with his foot, watching, fascinated. It wasn't every day you got to get this close to a troll that had tried to kill you. But the momentary silence was broken by Professor Snape, their savior, who was stalking towards the two boys. His wand out, he stopped in front of the two students, glaring at Ron and Harry. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. What are you doing in *this* part of the castle?" He looked particularly annoyed with their presence *there*, Harry thought, as Professor Snape snapped off a short report to one of the castle's many house elves.
"We..." Ron managed before Hermione appeared behind Snape, panting heavily.
"Professor Snape! I'm so sorry. I ran off from the group...I heard the troll, and thought that maybe I could handle it myself. Harry and Ron were worried about me, and...well, I'm sorry." Hermione looked horrible, tears glittering in her eyes. "I didn't think I'd cause any trouble for anyone-"
"Not cause any trouble, Miss Granger?" Snape sounded amused at the sentiment. "You nearly got two classmates killed, all because you thought you could handle a mountain troll, something no *grown* witch would ever attempt alone. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and I will recommend you for a detention. If not worse." He whirled around, and glided from the students. As he left, other teachers began arriving, wavering between relief and anger at the three that had followed the troll up there. Hermione got her detention, and returned, shame-faced, to the dorms, Harry and Ron following.
When they finally got to the common room, Hermione was near tears. Harry didn't know how to respond, but Ron seemed to have a response. He sat Hermione down in a chair near the big fire, sat next to her, and began rubbing her back, whispering quietly. She seemed to calm down a little under the almost maternal ministrations, but still seemed out of sorts.
"I-you two must hate me!" she sobbed. "I got you in trouble, and I lost points for Gryffindor, and...and I couldn't do this by myself!" Harry sat near Ron and Hermione, the former of which gave him a pointed look, as if to say, 'say something, you prat!'
"Er...we don't hate you, Hermione. No one expects you to be perfect." This only elicited another sob from the girl, leaving Harry more bewildered. "And we decided to go after you. You're our friend, and we couldn't let that mountain troll get you, could we?" Ron gave Harry an encouraging look; he decided to keep going. "And Snape hates us anyway. I doubt you made it any worse. Look, why don't you get some sleep. Tomorrow's my first Quidditch match, you know. And you don't want to be sleepy for it, right?" Hermione managed a weak smile, so headed up to her own room, looking a little less like she was going to break down. As she left, Ron gave Harry a thumbs-up.
"Good job Harry. My mum always used to do that when we'd cry, so..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushed. "So, I say you take your own advice. You've got a game tomorrow, so you should get to bed."
"Like I could sleep after seeing that *thing*," Harry muttered. "What was that?"
"The third floor corridor," Ron responded. "At the beginning of the year, Dumbledore told us to stay out of it, or we'd suffer a painful death. I think you missed most of that announcement."
"Thanks for the warning," Harry grumbled. "We could have been killed."
"Well, we didn't," Ron answered. "And living with my family, you learn that something *not* happening is usually infinitely better than it actually happening."
"Right," Harry responded. "I...yeah, I think I'll take you up on your suggestion. G'night." He headed up to the dorms, making a quick stop by his trunk in his room. He pulled out Remus' book, hoping to find something to get rid of the incredible confusion, tension he was feeling. What he read was a little shocking.
"Remember that a near miss gives you infinitely more than a hit ever does."
Harry wondered how much Remus had ever talked to the Weasleys when he worked on this.
*
The next day, Harry woke up far too early. His dreams had contained far more Snape than was healthy for recuperative sleep, and far too many three-headed, slobbering dogs. His dream seemed to have had some purpose; he remembered running across a black-and-white tiled room, racing Snape, dodging giant dogs, and other things that had receded into faint memories. But what he did remember was Ron's scream, a scream for help. That's when he'd started to run faster, but with every step he took, the screams grew louder-
In any case, he'd woken early from his nightmares, and spent most of the morning trying to calm himself for the match. Playing in front of a stadium of hundreds was a lot different from flying around his backyard with Sirius, Remus the only witness to the events.
It was all too soon that Harry had to report to the changing rooms, where Oliver Wood was pacing. Fred and George appeared a moment later, readying for their job as Beaters, and the three Chasers came a few minutes later. Oliver stopped pacing, and turned to his team. "All right, ladies, gentlemen. This is our first game of the year, and it's going to be fantastic. Okay? We've got a new Seeker, and we know how he works. Twins, stay off him; he can avoid pretty much anything out there, and we need you to pay attention to everything else. All right, let's go out and kick some Ravenclaw butt!"
Harry lost most of the next half-hour; it was mostly a blur of sound and sight. The next part of his memory that was clear was when he was watching the field carefully from near the Ravenclaw goals. Suddenly, one of the Bludgers swung towards the stands. Students screamed and leapt out of the way as the large black ball crashed through the wooden seats. Harry swung around, startled. He saw among the crowd Hermione and Neville, and panicked. He began flying towards them, noticing that the Bludger was making another round; it looked like it was going to hit Neville. Harry leaned close to his broom, trying to fly faster, when it jerked to a halt.
"What?" The broom began to shake back and forth, slowly at first, until it reached a trembling crescendo, and then it bucked forward. "Yah!"
The stadium was blurring around Harry, but as he flipped around a tight circle, one image stuck in his mind. Professor Snape was standing in the crowd, his fingers twitching and his mouth moving in an unmistakable mumble. Snape was doing something, and Harry couldn't stop it. He willed someone, preferably Hermione, to notice, because he couldn't concentrate on doing anything other than hold onto his broom.
There was a horrible moment when Harry was only hanging onto the very tips of his fingers, but he managed to get a real grip only moments before the broom jerked to the left, and something flew into Harry's mouth. He began hacking, coughing, trying to clear his lungs-
He fell. His grip finally failed, and Harry slipped from his broom thirty feet to the ground. There was sharp pain, and incredible feeling of pressure in his lung, and Harry was still coughing. He still was choking, and with a crowd gathering around him, Harry wondered why no one was helping him. And then he realized what exactly had flown into his mouth. With one final hack, he spit out the winged, golden ball into his hand, and collapsed onto the field. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the scream of Lee Jordan, the student announcer, his voice amplified several hundred times.
"And Potter gets the Snitch - GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
*
Harry woke up in the middle of the night, his head throbbing. Madam Pomfrey, with the true instincts of a nurse, swooped upon him immediately, holding out a cup of bubbling green liquid.
"Here, drink this." When Harry scrunched up his face, she snapped back, "Well, don't complain! You should have been more careful, or you wouldn't have to drink this. Now, come on, Mr. Potter. Really Quidditch players spend too much time here - if you're not careful you get injured. Hmph." Madam Pomfrey stalked away, but paused before slipping out of the room. "You are to stay here until breakfast tomorrow. And don't you dare wake up early; I want you to get a full night's sleep!"
Harry glared at Madam Pomfrey's potion, wishing he could drain it somewhere, but there were some people you did not even *think* about crossing. He picked up the glass and downed it in one disgusting gulp. Suddenly, the bed next to him writhed, leaving Harry to almost drop the glass on the floor. Ron poked his head out from under the sheets on the next bed, grinning.
"Hey, Harry. You won't believe how hot it got under there."
"Ron, what are you doing here? Madam Pomfrey-"
"Madam Pomfrey can sod herself. I wanted to see you when you woke up. There's a celebration going on in the common room, you know. We're all amazed that you managed it. No one, in the history of Quidditch, has ever caught a Snitch in their throat, you know. Oliver's been sending off owls all night, and even Percy cracked a smile a few times. You, Harry, are nearly a hero. Well, except to Ravenclaw." Harry nodded, returning Ron's grin.
"Thanks. Er...how're you? And Neville? Hermione? I saw the Bludger fly into the stands."
"Ah, it almost hit Neville, but he panicked and dived off the seats." Ron shook his head. "That was an amazing game, you know. How do you feel? Did you have to drink one of Pomfrey's potions? George told me she makes them taste horrible to dissuade students from injuring themselves, you know."
Harry chuckled, and nodded at Ron, gesturing him to sit on the hospital bed. Ron hopped over, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed. He looked horrendously excited; flushed and a little out of breath, and Harry felt that energy trying to fill the room. It was infectious. "So...did you have a point to all this, or did you just want to sneak into the infirmary for the thrill of it?"
"I dunno," Ron murmured, suddenly looking away from Harry.
"Or do you regularly sneak into other boys' rooms in the dead of night?" Ron didn't respond; instead, he focused his attention on his own feet, and although Harry couldn't be sure, it looked like his cheeks were a tad redder.
"Oi, Ron?" The redhead shook his head, and glanced up.
"Sorry. Got lost in thought there. Y'know, Professor Lupin stopped by while you were in here. He looked horrible, though. And he had bites and scratches all over him, like a dog had been...chewing on him." Harry's mind must have hit the logical conclusion at the same moment it hit Ron's, because a feeling of dread hit him at the same time Ron's face fell into an amazed expression. "Harry...Professor Lupin wasn't at dinner last night."
"So? Are you saying Remus was responsible-"
"He could have let the troll in, Harry. I mean, he's a great wizard..."
"But what's the point? And why would he be in the third-floor corridor, Ron? Look, I guess he could have been up there, but what would be the point?" Ron twisted his face in concentration, and then shrugged.
"I guess you're right, Harry." He placed his hands on the bed behind his and stretched out his legs. "Professor Lupin wouldn't be messing around with big dogs, especially one with so many teeth."
"That's the spirit! So, are you going to brave the halls or try to avoid Madam Pomfrey?"
"Ah, I'll take my chances with the nurse," Ron responded. "I'd rather get chewed out by her with you around than try and avoid Filch on my own."
*
"-reckless, stupid, absolutely forbidden! I can't believe that you risked getting in trouble just to-"
"Keep me company while I was sick," Harry said, stopping Hermione in mid-rant. She shot Harry a fierce glare, and returned her attention to Ron.
"I'm tempted to tell Percy that you-"
"Hermione-"
"NO, Ron, I don't care what you have to say-"
"-Hermione, he really helped out last night. It's very lonely in the infirmary." Hermione examined Harry's eyes, turning her gaze occasionally onto Ron to examine *something* visible in their own gazes. Finally, she sighed, defeated.
"Very well. I suppose I'll keep quiet. But you two need to follow rules; it's very important to stay in line, or who knows what'll happen to you?" Ron gave Harry a roll of the eyes that had very quickly come to mean 'humor her, she's mad.'
"By the way, how'd you get my broom to stop all the jerking and bucking?" Harry asked. Ron glanced away from Hermione, who glanced at her plate. Finally, Ron spoke.
"'Mione, uh...set Professor Snape's robes on fire. He was muttering and glaring at you the whole time, so she figured he was trying to curse your broom, and possibly the Bludger, too."
"Even though I'm positive that it's impossible for someone to keep two curses of that magnitude going at the same time," Hermione interrupted. "I mean, the magic to curse the Bludger requires *undivided* attention, and the magic on a broom would require eye contact throughout the entire period. So it seems unlikely that Snape could have been doing both of them. But it makes me wonder who'd be helping him."
"*Anyway*," Ron said tightly, "Snape started flailing around, screaming, knocked an entire row of teachers into the seats in front of them, and the Bludger and broom plunged to the ground like they were Muggle-made. It was really exciting."
"I feel terrible about it," Hermione said, shaking her head. "What if Professor McGonagall found out?"
"She won't," Harry responded. "Really, Hermione, you're worrying too much."
"Yeah, we've got worse concerns. Like that three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor," Ron muttered. "Could've bitten my arm off, but *Hermione's* worried about *detention*."
"Cerberus?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued. "There's a *canis tricapita* in the castle? Why would anyone keep *canis tricapita* in a *castle*? What in the world is here to guard?"
"Guard?" Harry demanded. "What do you mean, 'guard'?" Hermione took a deep, 'I cannot believe how stupid the two of you are' breath.
"Members of the species *canis tricapita*, although they have three heads, are not particularly intelligent. It has been known that they could perform simple tasks, and have an incredible sense of loyalty. If you befriend a *canis tricapita*, it will protect you with its life, and, being nearly immortal, if you give it a task, it will perform the task for eternity. Telling one to guard something is one of the best ways to protect it."
"So, are you saying that monster is...protecting something?" Ron managed. Hermione nodded. "So, what could it be protecting?"
"I've no clue," Hermione responded. "But whatever it is, it's tremendously valuable. Cerberi are prohibitively expensive, and no one would take up the cost unless the treasure were far more valuable by itself."
"So...what is it?"
"Well, it's nothing ordinary. Or anything even of medium rarity...I'm going to have to do research." Hermione picked up her books from the breakfast table and fled the Great Hall, eager at the prospect of the library.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Ron chuckled. "She's utterly mad."
"In a good way," Harry added.
"Yeah. A good way." There was a pause as Ron took another plateful of eggs. "What's a bad way?"
"Snape."
"Ah."
*
Once again, time blurred somewhat as classes took over their lives; Harry found his life a delicate balance between homework and Quidditch, and Ron apparently spent a lot of the month of November tracking down other students and challenging them to wizard chess. He was feared among the academics, and it was said that you could clear a room of Ravenclaws by announcing Ron Weasley's presence. Potions, if possible, became even less pleasant, up to the point where Harry seriously considered slipping valerian into his next potion so that he'd lose consciousness and get to go to the infirmary.
In the second week of December, Harry received some unpleasant news. At the breakfast table, his parents' owl had delivered a short letter; in short, it announced that they were traveling to visit relatives in the States, and that Harry would have to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break. He took it hard, moping and growling at others for the next week and a half. Nothing Ron, Hermione, or Neville said changed his mood, and it got to the point where Hermione refused to even help Harry with his homework, stating that 'boys are impossible!'
Thus it was that Ron found Harry in the common room, sulking, three days before Christmas break. He jumped into the nearest chair, and at first waited for Harry to pay attention to him. When that didn't work, Ron, poked his friend.
"Come on, Harry, it isn't the end of the world. It's one Christmas, and...hey, a lot of kids stay here over Christmas. My parents are visiting my brother in Egypt, and I have to stay here, too." Ron peered over at Harry. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"My family always makes a big deal about Christmas; Sirius told me how when they were younger, they'd all have a big party the night before to remind them how much they care for one another. He always said Christmas was a very special anniversary for him, as well. I...I just don't want to be away from them this year."
"Well..." Ron looked a little uncomfortable as he thought, but he continued. "Your parents are going, right? Why don't you see if you can stay with Sirius while they're gone? They should be fine with you spending time with your godfather, right?" At Ron's words, Harry's mood lightened. Of course! Surely he could spend the vacation with Sirius. It wouldn't be the same, but Remus could come over, and Peter, and it could be a smaller celebration, and happy even if his parents weren't there. Harry reached out a hand and patted Ron's shoulder.
"Thanks, Ron. I was so worried, and you helped out a lot. Hey, maybe I'll talk to Remus and ask him what he thinks about it. So long!" He hopped out of his chair, more cheerful, and slipped out through the portrait-hole. Ron remained in his chair, however, staring aimlessly about the common room.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," he whispered, his voice dejected. "Have fun."
*
Harry passed the infirmary, paused in the passageway directly after it, trying to remember how to get to Remus' office on Thursdays. Suddenly, there was a voice behind him.
"Potter." Harry whirled, coming face-to-face to the pale visage of Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy-"
"Oh, don't sit there ready to hex me, Potter," Malfoy retorted before Harry could even get off a thought. "Look, given the fact that it's Christmas and all, goodwill towards men and all that rubbish, I got you a gift. Here. Don't open it until you absolutely have to, and don't bother thanking me. I don't need gratitude." He handed Harry a package wrapped in silver paper with green bows wrapped delicately around it, and then stalked towards the Slytherins' dungeons. Harry looked down at the present...it didn't *look* dangerous, but he didn't want to trust it. Yes, Malfoy could be tolerable, but Harry didn't see him as the Christmas present type.
He slid the present into one of his pockets, and then took the direction he *hoped* would lead to Remus' office. But as he passed an empty classroom, a voice caught his attention. Snape.
"So, are you beginning to see things my way, Lupin?" There was the sound of someone moving a chair, and then a growl.
"No, Severus. I'm not doing anything for your benefit. What's going on is..."
"I know very well what's going on, Lupin. If you can't accept the fact that this is your only shot at happiness-"
"I *am* happy, Severus."
"Really?" Snape sounded amused, almost innocent in his query. "Is that what you were doing Halloween night? Being happy?"
"Look, Severus-"
"You're tired of all this, aren't you, Lupin? Just help me, and...you'll get your own benefits." Neither teacher spoke for a long time, and Harry took the opportunity to draw close to the door. But he jerked away when a loud clapping sound.
"Get away from me, Severus. I think this is an appropriate time to remind you that our relationship is purely professional." Remus' voice was icy, a tone Harry had *never* heard, not even in the moments when he'd been most angry. "Maybe it's a good time to remind you that what you're trying to take is something that does *not* belong to you. I wouldn't betray his trust-"
"That you put such value in something so base!" Snape snapped.
"Not any longer," Remus whispered. Something clicked in Harry's mind.
Remus was trying to get past the dog, which was guarding something. Snape kept trying to get some sort of information out of him.
'To take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection.' Suddenly, it made a hell of a lot more sense.
"Remus is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
*
Harry returned to his room at a run, trying to deny the truth that was pounding in his head. Remus wanted the Philosopher's Stone; it made sense, if you understood that Remus was very ill. Almost monthly, he came down with a very nasty cold. It only lasted a few days, but the frequency hinted at something far more serious. And the Philosopher's Stone-
And Snape was trying to get involved, he supposed. Had found out about it and was trying to get something out of it. Harry had thought he'd sealed the curtains around his bed securely, but they suddenly parted, and Neville peered in.
"Harry? Is something wrong?" Harry shook his head, ducking it to keep his friend from seeing-
"You're crying," the other boy accused. He slipped through the curtains and sat at the edge of the mattress, giving Harry a-well, not a sympathetic look, but an understanding one. "Explain." Harry looked at Neville, recognizing the same firm sense of resistance his mother achieved when she *was* going to get an answer, no matter who was involved. He doubted he could escape the room, and even if he did, he was sure Neville would be there hours later, and he'd hate trying to convince Percy to let him sleep in the common room. The only question was how much to tell him.
"I just...I found out some things I don't think I would have wanted to know," Harry stated, hoping the obscure statement would be good enough. "Re-Professor Lupin-"
"Oh." Neville began looking more pitying as he scratched his leg idly. "Well, Harry, Professor Lupin is an adult. And I know he's a family friend and you feel close to him, but he has to make his own choices without undue interference, even if you don't agree with them. Even if you think they're really bad choices-"
"But he and Snape-"
"Harry, you have to be willing to accept this and move on," Neville said simply, looking for all the world like Hermione lecturing him.
"Accept it? What he's doing is wrong!" Harry snapped.
Neville blanched. He took a deep breath, and then when he spoke, sounded very much like he was fighting to keep himself under control. "Harry...please don't tell me you think that way."
"Of course I do!" Harry responded. "It's theft, plain and simple; I mean, there has to be a pretty damn good reason for a three-headed dog to be guarding it!" Neville froze, his mouth open, as if a response was already on his tongue. He suddenly closed his mouth, and, looking embarrassed, said,
"What?"
"Remus...I think that Remus set that troll loose in the school so that he could get to the third-floor corridor without anyone noticing," Harry explained. "There's something hidden there, and I think Remus wants it. And Professor Snape is trying to get involved; I heard the two of them talking in a classroom just now, and...Neville, I think it's the Philosopher's Stone!" Neville gave Harry an odd look, and hopped off the bed.
"Wait here, Harry. I'm going to get something to help you calm down." He returned a moment later, holding a small teacup. "Here. I always drink this after I have an upsetting nig-experience, and it always helps me to stop panicking and think clearly."
"Thanks, Neville." Harry took the cup and sipped at it. The first swallow went down, and he resisted the urge to choke. "Ugh! This stuff tastes like old socks." Neville shrugged, and Harry downed the rest of the tea quickly. Almost at the moment he swallowed the rest of the liquid, his eyes felt heavy. "Neville? Am I supposed to be...so sleepy?" He yawned, fighting the exhaustion overcoming him. On his side, Neville smiled guiltily.
"Sorry, Harry, but I really think you need rest at the moment; you're not thinking clearly. Everything will make more sense tomorrow morning, okay? It's an old recipe for dreamless sleep, so you'll feel better."
Harry tried to fight, to yell something, but instead, he lay back, letting his eyes slide closed, and fell asleep.
*
Neville had claimed his sleep would not have dreams, but something haunted Harry's sleep anyway. He couldn't remember much, mostly feelings. A swish of a cloak, the thump of a staff against stone, and a 'whooshing' sound, that ended in a wet thunk. Occasionally, a voice spoke, but its works failed to stick with him. What he did remember was very nearly useless; a snippet of conversation, Sirius speaking.
"I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says..."
Harry awoke at seven the next morning sweaty and with his glasses bent out of shape. He shook his head, trying to clear it of strange memories, and reached over to his bedside table to grab his wand. His arm gave a sharp complaint, so Harry pulled up the sleeve of his robe. What he saw nearly made him shout; From his hand to his elbow, his arm was red and blistered, and was throbbing painfully. It was if someone had set his arm on fire, except that there was not a single hint of scorching on his bedclothes. Furthermore, his wand wasn't on his bedside table. He must have grabbed it in the middle of the night, Harry mused, and dropped it at some point. He fumbled under his bed with his good hand, only to actually let out a cry when a hand touched his shoulder.
He whirled, breathing hard, and saw Neville standing above him, holding Harry's wand. "Hullo, Harry. I found this on the floor when I got up." He smiled shyly. "It looks like you threw it across the room, you know. Come on, do you want breakfast?" Harry nodded numbly, not thinking too much, or he would have remembered his arm. He took the wand in his left hand and followed Neville out of the dorm. When he got to the portrait-hole and Neville passed him, he caught a whiff of a very distinctive scent, one he remembered from several accidents when he was younger. Neville was very nearly soaked in Lockhart's Living burn cream, and his forehead, especially the area around his scar, was a shade redder than the rest of his face.
