Chapter 6

Pucey and the two other Prefects were still in the hospital wing the next morning. Word had gotten around the school by lunchtime about the Slytherin's encounter with the troll and the usual disdain the other houses' reserved for the students in green was replaced by a grudging respect for the bravery displayed. Even the Gryffindors couldn't manage to say anything bad about them.

Hermione had left her involvement in the previous night's events to herself. When questioned by her roommates she shrugged them off, saying that she'd tripped and fallen behind everyone else. She didn't know why she was downplaying the part she took.

No, that was a lie; she did know. If everyone heard what she had done from her, they'd be impressed. But...if they heard it from someone else, they'd be doubly so, her modesty earning her more brownie points. And even though her standing amongst her fellow first-years was definitely improved, she needed to take any opportunity she could to gain ground.

Delilah would surely inform everyone about what had happened.

But Hermione hadn't seen Delilah at breakfast and she was nowhere to be seen among the students eating lunch. In fact, no one had seen her all day.

"I heard she's been in the Hospital Wing since early this morning," Tracey Davis informed the other first-years. "Refuses to leave Pucey's side."

"That's sweet," Millie said with a small smile.

They all slowly turned their heads to look at her, feeling like they were examining the large, quiet girl for the first time.

"What?" Her smile turned into a glare at the incredulous looks on their faces.

They all turned back to their food, shaking their heads, "Nothin'," Nott muttered, eyebrows raised, "nothin' at all."

"Whatever," she grumbled, rising from her seat and stomping out of the Great Hall.

When she was gone, they broke down, sputtering into laughter.

"Did you see that coming?" Daphne asked between giggles.

"From Millicent? Definitely not," Hermione said, grabbing another sandwich.

"Trying to eat enough to get your body to match that big head of yours, Granger?" Malfoy shot across the table.

"Fat jokes, how original Malfoy," she smiled, resting her chin in her hand as she leaned closer to him across the table. "I've got a good one though. A Slytherin and two Gryffindors walk into a trophy room-."

Malfoy's face turned white, "Alright, I get it," he said quickly.

Hermione took a large bite of her sandwich, waggling her eyebrows at Malfoy. Daphne eyed them both suspiciously, but said nothing.

When lunch was over, the two girls gathered their bags and headed for History of Magic.

"Hermione," Daphne broke the silence between them.

"Yeah."

"What's going on between you and Draco?"

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to remain nonchalant. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, please, I'm not an idiot. I mean the complete turn around here. One moment Draco's being an ass and then after you whisper mysteriously in his ear he's suddenly on his best behaviour; for an extended period of time at that. I've known Draco my whole life and that's never happened before. What did you say to him?"

Hermione chewed her lip, debating whether telling Daphne was the best decision. Their friendship was a tentative one, and no signs of loyalty, outside of being in the same house, had been made by either of them.

But she also knew that sharing information was a make or break turning point for a relationship. If she took the leap of faith that she could trust Daphne it could either go really well, cementing their friendship, or it could go really bad and give Daphne ammunition against her.

Hermione had never been in the position in which she now found herself. Back in her Muggle school, the only information she had to share was out of books, and it turned out that prepubescent girls didn't have an interest in diagramming sentences or figuring out how to balance a chemical equation.

She let out a deep sigh and took the leap. "Alright, I'll tell you. But it'll have to wait until later when there are not so many ears around," she said, looking pointedly at the first-year Ravenclaws who were walking in front of them.

"I'll hold you to that," Daphne said as they approached their History of Magic class.

Professor Binns droned on as usual. Even with her pension for learning, the only thing keeping her from nodding off into oblivion was having to focus on writing down what he was saying.

It wasn't the information that was sleep-inducing, so much as the way it was said. Professor Binns' voice was almost the exact equivalent to white noise lulling her to sleep.

The information itself was fascinating. Sometimes, with the way he spoke of the long-ago events and people, she got the feeling that he'd been there.

She added the finishing touches to her notes as Professor Binns ended the lesson at the end of the 14th century. She exited the class last, Daphne right on her heels.

Daphne intertwined her arm with Hermione's, pulling her close.

"So, spill it. What's going on?"

Hermione quickly recounted Malfoy choosing her as his second for the wizarding duel and then not showing up, having tipped Filch off and almost getting her caught.

"So, you blackmailed him?" Daphne was almost giddy with excitement.

Hermione blushed, "Well, when you put it like that…."

"Hermione, that was brilliant! It was so, so…," her eyes sparkled as she gazed at Hermione, "Slytherin of you."

She held Daphne's gaze for a moment before dropping her eyes to the floor, shrugging it off.

"So," Daphne continued, "Are you going to the first Quidditch match in a couple of weeks?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not much of a sports fan."

"Come on, you have to go. I heard Potter's going to be playing. So between getting to watch him without it being considered creepy and seeing Malfoy's face get red from jealousy, it should be a great match."

Hermione scrunched her nose. "Hold on, Potter's playing? But he's a first-year, they aren't allowed."

"Well, I heard that after his little stunt at flying practice, instead of punishing him, McGonagall put him on the team. In fact, this morning, he got a broom-shaped package in the mail." Daphne lowered her voice. "Between you and me, I hope he does brilliantly. He may be a Gryffindor, but he's cute."

Hermione shook her head, trying to keep the smile off her face. "Oh, Daphne."

Delilah, Pucey, and the two Prefects that had stood against the troll walked into the Great Hall for dinner to a rousing round of applause and loud cheers from the Slytherins.

Pucey took a sweeping bow as the other two Prefects pretended to pose for pictures before sitting down to eat.

Delilah stayed standing, searching the table, eyes flicking from student to student until they came to rest on Hermione. She leaned down, whispering something in Pucey's ear before continuing down the table.

"Hermione, can I speak to you for a minute?"

Daphne raised her eyebrows at the older girl's use of Hermione's first name.

"Yeah, of course," Hermione said, getting up and following Delilah to the side of the hall.

Delilah crossed her arms, "Look, I know I haven't been the most welcoming person. You being a Muggle-born kinda threw me for a loop. I know now that it shouldn't have and I'm sorry." The older girl scuffed the floor with her shoe. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you proved last night that you're a Slytherin through and through. And no matter what, I've got your back."

Every thought Hermione had had about gaining the respect of the rest of her housemates flew out the window. The older girl's words gave her a feeling that she'd never felt before; almost of invincibility. Right now, she didn't care if anyone else knew what she had done; this feeling was enough.

"Thank you, Delilah. I don't- I don't know what to say."

Delilah smiled, "Seems like a first."

Hermione blushed scarlet.

Delilah patted Hermione's shoulder, "Only joking of course. I'll see you around then."

Hermione stood frozen, afraid that if she tried to walk on her shaking legs she wouldn't make it back to the table.

She felt Daphne stand at her shoulder. "Hermione, is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she said, in a voice almost as shaky as her legs. "Yeah, everything's great."

Daphne helped her back to her seat. "What'd she say?"

"She just, um-" What was she supposed to say? The only way that what Delilah said would make sense is if she'd told Daphne what had really happened the night before.

"Another one of those things you'll have to tell me later," Daphne asked as she slid into the seat next to Hermione.

Hermione nodded.

Daphne shook her head in disbelief. "I don't think life will ever be boring with you around, that's for sure."


Hermione had sworn Daphne to secrecy after she'd told her about what had happened with the troll. Daphne had rolled her eyes, muttering about misguided humility, but relented after making Hermione promise that she'd go to the first Quidditch match.

When the Saturday of the match arrived, Hermione regretted making that promise. It was freezing outside and the wind had picked up, giving the cold sharp teeth that nipped at any exposed skin.

She sat in the stands sandwiched between Daphne and Nott, scarf wrapped around her face, leaving only her eyes poking out above the thick woolen garments.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," her voice was muffled behind the scarf.

"What was that, Granger?" Nott said. "You have something over your mouth. It's an improvement actually, not being able to hear your incessant blathering."

She glared at him before punching him in the arm.

"Look," Daphne squealed, "Here they come. Ooo, I like me a man in uniform."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help letting out a small giggle. The players looked so small from this distance you couldn't even tell who was male and who was female. For all they knew Daphne could be ogling a girl.

Hermione watched as the players mounted their brooms and rose quickly into the air, taking their places. Then the game started and Hermione was completely lost.

She watched as the players swooped around the field, trying to keep up with Lee Jordan's commentary. She found it quite funny and the most enjoyable part of the game.

All of a sudden Daphne gasped. "Look at Potter," she cried out, pointing up to where a small figure was being whipped around.

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest as she watched Harry desperately hang on to his broom. This wasn't right; his broom should not be moving that way.

"Someone's jinxing the broom," she said.

"What?"

Of course, they couldn't hear her with the scarf covering her mouth. She shook her head, not bothering to repeat herself, turning her attention from the field to the stands. She searched rapidly. There! Professor Quirrell's lips were moving, eyes fixated on Potter.

She pushed her way through the students, earning her evil glares and uncalled for names. She ignored them all, making a beeline for the teacher's stand. She was almost there when she noticed that right above Quirrell sat Professor Snape, muttering as well. What the hell?

She continued to move, planning on the fly. She ducked underneath the seats, pulling her wand out as she got behind Professor Snape. "Flamagio," she muttered.

Flames let from her wand and onto Snape's robe. The next few minutes was one of confusion, as she hurried to scramble from under the stands, not wishing to be found at the scene of the crime.

As she blended back into the student body she looked up to see how Potter was doing when she was deafened by shouting. She was in the Gryffindor side of the stands and Potter had just caught the snitch.

She made her way back to Daphne.

"Where did you go?" Daphne shouted above the din.

"I had to take care of something?"

"What?" Daphne shouted.

"Nevermind!"

"What?"

Hermione didn't bother trying to reply.

"What does it mean?"

Hermione and Daphne were back in the warmth of the castle after the match. Hermione had caught Daphne up on the events when she could be heard properly. Daphne had listened with rapt attention.

"I don't know," Hermione said, biting her lip. "One of them was jinking and the other was doing a counterjink. But I don't know which one. And it's not like I can just go and ask them. I mean, which one would I ask?"

"Which one do you trust?"

Hermione rubbed her forehead. "I don't know. I think I can trust Professor Snape, but I just don't know him well enough. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me. And he definitely doesn't like Potter."

"Well, you need to hurry up and figure it out," Daphne said. "Because no matter which one it is, it's a bad sign when a teacher is trying to kill a student."

Kill? Was one of them really trying to kill him?


Hermione sat sprawled at her usual table in the library, books scattered in front of her.

"Mid-term exams aren't for another month and a half, Hermione." Cedric Diggory plopped down across from her, taking in all the books she had open.

"Oh, no, this is just for personal interest," she said distractedly, looking up for just a moment.

She and Cedric had developed a studious friendship, their discussions never leaving the book-lined room.

Cedric raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure you're in the right house?"

Hermione flinched as he casually voiced her deepest fears, but tried to hide her concern. "That's the question isn't it," she chuckled, leaning back in her seat and stretching.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of movement behind Cedric and looked to see Potter and Weasley grabbing books at random off the shelves. She couldn't remember ever seeing the boys in here before and her curiosity was peaked.

"Um, excuse me, Cedric."

She got up and walked up to the two Gryffindors, appearing quietly by their side.

"What are you two doing here? I thought it was your goal to avoid the library for the whole year."

"Bloody hell!" Weasley exclaimed.

Madam Pince shot him a glare, shushing him.

"Bloody hell," he said, a little quieter. "Trying to scare us to death, Granger?"

"We're just doing a little research, is all," Potter said, but he wasn't able to meet her eyes. "Just trying to do a little better in our classes, earn a few points maybe."

"Mmhm, seriously, what are you looking for?" She tilted her head to read the titles in their arms.

"Great Wizards of the 20th Century? Finally researching yourself, are you?"

"Yeah, exactly," Potter said.

And then she saw the book in Ron's arms. Important Modern Magical Discoveries.

She narrowed her eyes at their obviously guilty faces. "Look, you guys owe me for saving you. Anyway, I may be able to help you."

Wesley looked as though he wanted to protest but Potter gave in. "Fine. Remember what we found behind the…," he lowered his voice, "the door to the third corridor."

"Yeah," she said, intrigued.

"Well, Hagrid let it slip that whatever's under that trap door has something to do with Nicholas Flamel. We figured if we can find out who that is…"

She nodded, following along with his reasoning. "You can find out what's under the door."

"Exactly."

Hermione chewed on the tip of her thumb. She'd heard that name before. Where had she heard that name before? Then she remembered.

"Wait, follow me." She led them back to her table, earning a curious glance from Cedric as she dug through her bag. She pulled out her notebook for History of Magic, flipping through it, grinning as she found what she was looking for.

"Right here," she said, tilting the book so they could read her writing. "Nicholas Flamel was a wizard born in the 14th century known for his work in alchemy."

Potter stared at her. "You take notes in History of Magic?"

Weasley snorted. "You listen in History of Magic?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you want to know more about Flamel you're looking in the wrong place."

She left them standing there, went to get a book, and then came back, already flipping through it. "Here."

"The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year,

enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)."

"Six hundred and fifty-eight? Wouldn't be able to do too much celebrating, would they?" Ron said.

"The Sorcerer's Stone? That must be it," Potter said.

"There's more," Hermione said. "I have to tell you guys something." She looked at Cedric, who had long ago stopped reading. She threw him a smile before leading the boys away.

She filled them in on what had happened at the match.

"I knew something wasn't right," Potter said, "I just didn't think it would be one of my teachers trying to kill me."

"Yeah, but which one is the real question," Hermione said.

"Yeah, because that's a mystery," Ron said. "It's obvious it's Snape. He's had it out for Harry since the beginning."

"Professor Snape is innocent until proven guilty, Weasley." Hermione wasn't about to let someone disrespect her Head of House.

"I don't know how things work in the Muggle world, but things work differently here, Granger," Ron snapped.

"Things being law doesn't make those things automatically right, Weasley."

"Stop it you two," Potter said. "Granger's right, we don't have proof."

Hermione smirked.

"But, Ron's also right. Snape hates me."

Ron smirked back at her.

"Well, I'll leave you two to conduct your investigation," Hermione turned to leave.

Potter grabbed her arm. "Grang-, erm, Hermione," he smiled at her. "Thanks."

She was startled that he'd called her just Hermione, but she gathered herself and managed to keep the quake out of her voice. "Yeah, of course," she said before walking away.

Her hands shook as she returned to her books. "Curse it all," she muttered under her breath, "Daphne's right. He is cute."