CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NICOLAS FLAMEL


Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the Invisibility Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his father disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. One day, Harry soon got word from Oliver Wood that the next Quidditch match Gryffindor would be against Hufflepuff.

Having something to be excited about besides his studies, Harry took time, as always, to manage time between his studies, homework and fun. As a result of this, he was a brilliant wizard excelling in a good amount of his subjects. But compared to before, he didn't mind being second only to Hermione, who he was glad to have as a friend now.

As a result of his hard work, Harry kept his family up to speed as usual with how his classes were going, he even found time to practice his extra Charms lessons with Professor Flitwick.

"Now repeat after me, Potter," squeaked Professor Flitwick, who was now teaching him the charm on how to repair broken items and his attention focused on a broken priceless vase.

"Reparo."

"Reparo!" Harry repeated.

And right in front of his eyes, the vase which had been destroyed earlier with a destruction charm was quickly repaired like clockwork.

"You're getting pretty good, Harry," Professor Flitwick commended, having gotten used to calling Harry by his first name, like some of the staff. "Not a day goes by that I am glad you chose to take up my offer."

"And I am grateful to have had a most excellent teacher." Harry replied.

"Well said," nodded Professor Flitwick, "and for that, as well as your hard work, I believe that this earns you ten well-earned points for Slytherin."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry bowed.

"Anytime." Professor Flitwick beamed. "And with that, I think that there's nothing more to teach you in our private lessons with these months having flow by rather quickly." Harry's face then suddenly drooped into sadness for a bit, "But remember, Potter, if you ever want more to learn, that's why I am happy to teach you in class too. So don't feel too down."

Cheering up, Harry smiled, "I won't forget and thank you, Professor."

"I thank you for being an excellent pupil."

As Harry made his exit, he smiled to himself knowing he was still well liked by his professors, though there was the matter of Professor Snape's loyalties at hand, but Harry thought it best not to worry about that.

Throughout the course of his last four months with Professor Flitwick, outside of Reaparo, Harry had learned and mastered the following charms and their primary function: Alohomora (the Unlocking Charm), Protego (the Shield Charm), Accio (the Summoning Charm), Immobulus (the Freezing Charm), Colovaria (the Color Change Charm), Scourgify (the Scouring Charm), Tergo (a Cleaning Charm which was similar to Scourgify), Vermilious (a Charm used to shoot out red sparks if ever he were in danger), and finally, Oculus Reaparo (the Eyeglasses Repair Charm), in the event his glasses ever broke. With his lessons at an end, Harry went about to resume his normal studies. It was when he completed most of his homework for that week, Ron and Hermione found him heading to the Great Hall.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"I've just heard from George and Fred", Ron said frantically, "Snape's refereeing the next match."

"When has he ever refereed a Quidditch match?" Harry wondered.

"Search me." Ron shrugged.

Before Hermione could express an opinion or concern, the three soon saw that at that moment, Neville toppled into the Great Hall. How he had managed to walk through halls was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to them.

Everyone fell over laughing except the three, as Hermione then leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with her, Harry or Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

Ron felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said as Ron handed Neville the sweet. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Ron was about to say 'speak for yourself', but he ultimately did not to as Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, guys… I think I'll go to bed… D'you want the card, Harry, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever —"

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here — listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel' !"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to Ravenclaw tower. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back ten minutes later with an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected as Ron asked, "The what?"

"You heard her," replied Harry, who rolled his eyes.

"Oh, honestly, Ronald, don't you read? Look — read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and they read:


The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with mak-
ing the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with as-
tonishing 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 cele-
brated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last
year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife,
Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).


"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to watch the match," he told Ron and Hermione. "If Snape does something wrong to either the game or me. I'll be sure to let Dumbledore know."

"Sounds good to me," said Hermione.

"Same," agreed Ron.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry wondered, would the idea of Gryffindor overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was interesting, no one had done it for seven years, but would Ron's house be allowed to, with such an unusual referee?

To make matters worse, Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were not any better as Snape hardly praised his hard work anymore. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could — yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

But on the day of the match, Harry was in for a surprise, as they found a match in the stands, Hermione gave him some good news.

"Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harry's heart did a somersault.

"Dumbledore?" he asked and soon found out that Hermione was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry sighed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Ron noticed this too. "I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told them. "Look — they're off. Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long Gryffindor's going to this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Snape.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty. "It's people they feel sorry for. Much like your family, Weasley, they've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take their eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word —"

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly.

"What?"

Ron soon saw that Kenneth Towler had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as he streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Towler's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped, but Harry tried to stop him, only to no avail. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Ron, Neville, stop!" Harry bellowed.

But Hermione didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle. Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches — the next second, Kenneth had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! You've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat.

As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped — then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror… been keeping busy… excellent…"

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Sometime later, Harry frowned and approached Ron, who smiled with triumph through a heavy nosebleed. He couldn't believe it, Gryffindor in the lead. Yet the fight went unnoticed by Snape.

And speaking of Snape…

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. He recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner — what was going on?

Harry jumped onto a borrowed broom and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"… d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I —"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you —"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't —"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.

"Yeah?" asked Ron.

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy — and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' — I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.


Author's notes:

* So that was my thirteenth chapter of the Sorcerer's Stone, and as always with every one of my stories, let me know what you all think so far by leaving your feedback in the comments area.
* The Harry Potter franchise, its characters, elements and everything else are owned and were created by J. K. Rowling.


That said, until the next chapter my fellow Wizards, Witches and Muggles:
I'm M. R. Parkerson signing off…