Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Author Note: Last night, something wondrous happened. Chapter One of Whitney Potter and the Philosopher's Stone reached 1,000 hits! To celebrate, I'm adding Chapter 12 a little ahead of schedule. Thank you, my darlings, and as always, please review.

/-wujy

Chapter Twelve – The Set Up

"This wasn't the best plan ever," Whitney said to Ron at quarter of midnight that night. She was hugging the shadows of the wall outside the trophy room and not looking particularly pleased about the situation. She was tired and cranky and felt surly enough to take on Crabbe and Goyle by herself. She'd get her neck broken, of course, but she wasn't really in her proper state of mind this late at night. She was used to going to bed earlier.

"That's what I said," Hermione said grumpily. She was looking just as upset at having been accidentally locked out of the common room.

"C-c-can we g-go back to the common room?" Neville asked from the other side of Hermione. "I bet the Fat Lady's back in her portrait."

"Go now," Ron said, checking that the coast was clear before leading her into the trophy room and ignoring all of them. Whitney slipped through the door behind him, Hermione and Neville close behind her.

The trophy room was an impressive spread of the castle that, even in the darkness, glinted pieces of moon and candle light all around it. The entire room positively glittered with all of its treasures. Whitney had never been in it before, but Hermione had been able to lead them without too much difficulty. It hadn't taken much convincing, either; Hermione had been happy to come along to tell them how dangerous and stupid they were all being while they ducked through Hogwarts' halls.

The trophy room, Whitney noticed was also spectacularly silent and empty.

"He's not here," Ron said, looking around at the room.

"Stellar deduction," Hermione quipped unhappily. "Proved by his being absent."

Whitney half-smiled, but didn't contribute to the argument that was now taking place. She was feeling nervous enough already and couldn't quite trust herself to speak without throwing up. She still hadn't figured out how she was going to use magic to defend herself. As the silence dredged on—tempered only by Ron and Hermione's whispered bickering—her mood didn't improve. Of course, if Malfoy was a ratfink and had sold them out to Filch, she wouldn't have to worry about that—and that was exactly what he had done.

A noise from the other room made Ron and Hermione fall silent and the sound of Filch crooning to Mrs. Norris made Whitney's blood run cold. Well, that settled that, then. Whitney wouldn't have to worry about defending herself in a duel; Malfoy had sold them down the river.

"Out!" she hissed, grabbing a handful of Neville's robes since he was nearer to her than the other two. She led the way down the corridor with Filch screaming behind them and her feet took her by surprise by navigating the corridors through muscle memory. Why? she silently screamed at herself. Why would anyone do something like this? Even Dudley, for all his faults, had never tried to get her expelled. Of course, that was possibly because, with her expelled, he wouldn't be able to torment her during the day…

Whitney glanced over her shoulder to make sure Neville, Ron, and Hermione were still behind her and, when she made sure they could all see her, she ran down another, less familiar corridor which ended in a locked door.

"Oh no," Whitney breathed. She frantically yanked on the lock several times before Hermione nudged her aside and unlocked it with an incantation. All four of them piled into the corridor and locked it once they were on the other side. Whitney pressed her ear to the door and listened carefully for any sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris from her side of it. She felt the door handle twitch under her hand and heard an unsettlingly close voice say, "Still locked, my pet."

Adrenaline was pumping through Whitney's temples, pounding so hard that she barely noticed when Neville tugged on her sleeve. She was concentrating on the sounds of Filch leaving to look for them somewhere else. When she did notice, the tugging had become more urgent and she turned to look over his shoulder… and at the most terrifying thing Whitney had ever seen. "Don't look into its eyes," she hissed at the three of them. She knew enough about dogs from Aunt Marge to know that eye contact was a territorial challenge. She looked down immediately, her eyes falling over a trapdoor at the dog's feet, but she didn't have enough time get a proper look.

Ron fumbled madly with the door latch, his fingers seemingly unable to stop shaking. He managed to get it undone, though, and Whitney fell backward into the corridor, crawling out of the way as Ron slammed the door shut. Whitney was too shocked to make any sound, and everyone but Neville—who was whimpering quietly—seemed to feel the same. The only real thing Whitney found she had the presence of mind to accomplish was pulling herself up from the floor. Wordlessly, she helped Neville to his feet.

The boy seemed absolutely catatonic on the journey back to the Gryffindor common room with his Housemates. As they walked, Whitney gripped his hand tightly and whispered, "Neville? Neville."

Neville looked up at her with rather empty eyes, but he was at least responsive. "You're going to be okay." she told him, though she was looking worried. "D'you hear me?"

Neville nodded, but it wasn't certain whether it was genuine or if he was simply trying to get her to leave him alone. Whitney's hand slipped from his and she planted it on his shoulder. She floundered for words—any words—but finally only said, "I'm sorry."

She turned as they entered the common room and walked up the stairs toward her dormitory, leaving a lost-looking Neville standing next to the fireplace.

"Madness," Ron said, shaking his head as he trudged up the stairs to the boys' room. "Absolute madness."

Whitney couldn't help but agree as she accompanied Hermione up the stairs to the girls' dorm, but her shaky brain was still recovering from the fact that she could have died only moments before.

Despite her exhaustion, Whitney didn't sleep that night. She went to bed and stared up at the ceiling of her four-poster for hours until the sun began to fill the room with golden light, and then she drug herself to the shower. Somewhere during the night, her thought process had boiled down from a reliving of her near-death experience to a single question: what on earth could be so important that it needed to be guarded by such a monster?

Whitney shook her wet hair out of her face and brushed it out, her eyes beginning to droop as the early signs of sleep deprivation took hold. Walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast felt like wading through low tide, her feet were so heavy. Eating helped to alleviate some of that, as did the scalding cup of tea she was drinking when Ron sat down across from her, looking just as tired.

Hermione, Whitney noticed, had purposely sat at the opposite end of the table, looking haughty and occasionally throwing glares in their direction over her pumpkin juice. Whitney couldn't help but think this was a little funny. She'd grown up with people becoming furious with her easily, but never had someone ignored her out of annoyance. It was almost… normal.

Whitney half-smiled at the thought and Ron, catching her eye, grinned back. "Crazy, that, last night," he said, looking relieved that Whitney wasn't as angry as Hermione was.

Whitney let out a "Ha!" and allowed herself to crack a larger smile. "More than," she responded.

Something about the way Ron was smiling made her feel like the night before had been a crazy dream rather than a truly dangerous situation. She found herself giggling uncontrollably, almost madly as she thought about it. Ron laughed with her and Whitney, for some reason, found this even funnier and laughed harder. She doubled over at the table, leaning onto the empty space on the bench next to her and wheezing slightly. She was sure she'd never laughed so hard in her entire life. By the time she was able to gain control of herself, Ron was wiping away tears from his eyes and holding his stomach with one hand. Other people at the table were looking at them strangely and, from across the room, she could see Draco looking livid.

Whitney looked at Ron and said, "I think he's really disappointed that we didn't get expelled."

Ron scowled and started to say something, but was interrupted as a long, thin package was dropped onto the table by six, large screech owls, which then flew away immediately. The package smacked into the bowl of cereal she'd been eating, splashing milk everywhere and drenching her robes. Whitney, with her eyes closed, could hear Ron chuckling again and had the sudden urge to chuck a biscuit at him.

He'd probably just catch it in his mouth, she thought wildly to herself, opening her eyes once more. She wiped the mess from her robes to the floor under the table where it disappeared, and then turned her attention to the package.

Whitney looked confused as she removed the note attached to it, then her confusion changed to shock.

"What?" Ron asked, looking worried. She paused before handing the note over to him, but found that she didn't mind him knowing. He already knew about the Quidditch team, anyway.

Ron choked on his breakfast as he read the note while Whitney placed her hands nervously on the packaging. The note had told her not to open it in the Great Hall and she had the sudden urge to run with it and open it without anyone watching. Her nerves about Quidditch were temporarily forgotten as she dwelled on the fact that no one had ever really given her anything before. Hagrid had shown her to things that had already belonged to her, and had bought her an owl for her birthday, she supposed. And the Dursleys always gave her… something on her birthday. But no one had ever given her a proper gift for no reason before, and this was—from the look on Ron's face—a very good one.

Whitney looked up at him with her mouth open and they seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time. Forgetting their breakfast and their fatigue, they both got up from the table and sprinted from the Great Hall, Whitney carrying the package tightly to her chest.

Their excitement was interrupted, however, when Draco stopped them in the Entrance Hall outside. Whitney had to fight down a sudden, protective urge to punch him in the nose, which was a brand new sensation for her; she'd never wanted to actually hit anyone before.

Whitney frowned at him, but all he said was, "I know what you've got there, Potter. You've got a broom. You'll have it now. First years aren't allowed broomsticks."

Whitney opened her mouth to say something she'd probably have regretted when Professor Flitwick popped up out of nowhere, looking cheery. "Good morning," he said, looking meaningfully between Whitney and Draco.

"Potter's got a broom, Professor," Draco said, looking victorious.

"What, what?" Professor Flitwick asked, looking momentarily stunning by the sudden change of topic. He calmed, however, and smiled. "Oh, yes," he says, remembering. "Professor McGonagall mentioned something about your special circumstances to me. What model have you got?"

Whitney checked the note again and read from it, "A… Nimbus Two Thousand."

"Oh," he said, looking a little lost. "Is that a very good one?"

Whitney looked to Ron, who would know better than she would.

"The best," Ron said. It was obvious that he was loving the look of complete horror on Draco's face. "Top of the line."

"Lovely, lovely," Professor Flitwick said. "Well, enjoy your free day, students," he called over his shoulder, waddling into the Great Hall.

"Uh, come on, Ron," Whitney said, tugging the boy up the stairs with her. She was trying not to look so pleased with herself, but it was difficult not to.

"Okay," she said, looking at him as they climbed the stairs together. "Tell me everything you know about Quidditch."