The day after the dragon hatched, Neville and Hermione went back down to Hagrid's hut after dinner. Harry, Fred, and George had Quidditch practice, their second of the day, and Harry was starting to get seriously worried about her homework situation. The next flurry of days passed similarly, with Quidditch every morning, and sometimes at night as well. Oliver was on a quest, nearly rabid with his desire to beat Ravenclaw to the Quidditch Cup.
The second week of May, only a little more than a month before the Quidditch finals, seventh years started falling ill with the same sickness that had felled the professors a few months earlier. Wood was over the moon when he heard that the Ravenclaw Seeker was among the first.
Meanwhile, Hagrid was having more and more trouble with Norbert. Hermione and Neville were going down every day after dinner, although Hermione had recently taken to going down by herself since Neville was starting to fall behind on homework. The same day that Oliver gleefully informed the team that the Ravenclaw Seeker was ill, Hermione came back scowling, a large handkerchief wrapped around her hands.
Harry and Neville had been waiting for her in the common room, working on their Charms essay that Hermione had already finished. The common room was fairly crowded, with small pockets of silence where Zakir, Ryan, and Aiden were sitting together near the open window, and where Fred and George had taken over their customary table in the far corner where few dared disturb them. Harry wasn't the only member of the Quidditch team feeling stressed about her homework, although it was debatable whether or not the twins were working on homework, or something else.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked as soon as Hermione was close enough for her to not have to yell to be heard.
Hermione plunked herself down into the chair next to Harry and hissed, "It bit me!" at her. She showed her hand to her, and Harry could see that it was swollen to twice its normal size. "And Hagrid still won't admit that he needs to get rid of it!" Harry busied herself sharpening the point of her quill to hide her exasperation.
Hermione had been trying to get Hagrid to get rid of the dragon ever since Norbert had hatched, and Harry regretfully had to agree that her friend had a point. Already, only two weeks after he had hatched, Norbert was the size of a large house cat, and was getter bigger each day. It wouldn't be long before the dragon outgrew the cabin or burnt it down. Fred and George had a bet against each other as to which it would do first.
"Will your hand be okay?" Neville asked, eyes glued to Hermione's bandaged hand.
"It'll be fine," she hissed back, dumping her bag onto the table and fishing out her Potions homework that wasn't due until next week.
The hand wasn't fine. It took nearly a day and a half before Harry could get Hermione to admit it and go to Madam Pomfrey, where she lied through her teeth and said she had run afoul of a weird plant in the greenhouse. Madam Pomfrey had looked at her askance when Hermione had been unable to answer her query as to which greenhouse she had been in, and what the plant looked like. Thankfully, the matron hadn't asked too many questions, although Hermione was aghast to find out that she would be in the Hospital Wing for upwards of three days. Harry, who Hermione had dragged to the Hospital Wing with her, made a promise to bring the homework given each day, no matter how busy her schedule was.
"You've got to find a way to get the beast away," Hermione insisted quietly after only a day in the Hospital. "It's a menace, and could very well kill us all if measures aren't taken." Hermione had refused to call it anything but 'the beast' since it had bitten her. "Before someone like - like Malfoy finds out about it!"
"I'll think of something," Harry assured her. "How's Madam Pomfrey?" she asked in a quieter voice.
"Not so bad," Hermione replied. "I'm surprised. Fred and George say that she's always overbearing and asks a lot of questions."
"Since when have you been talking with Fred and George?" Harry asked, a small grin on her face.
Hermione blushed. "Well. Neville goes to the greenhouses quite a bit, and you're on the pitch doing extra training with Oliver or in the library when I'm not so sometimes I ask George for help with Charms?" she finished with a question.
"Do you like George?" Harry asked. It really as the only possible explanation, because Hermione never needed help with Charms. She was hands-down the best in their year, and was probably better than most of the second years, too. Hermione refused to meet her eyes.
"Of course not," she said stoutly. "He - he - he breaks too many rules and his grades are atrocious."
"But he's really funny and quite brilliant, when he wants to be," Harry pointed out.
"I don't like him," Hermione insisted, but Harry could tell she was lying.
"Fine," Harry said. As she stood to leave, she added, "If you like, I could ask him to drop by. You know, to help you with your Charms?"
"Harry Potter! You will do no such thing!" Harry heard yelled after her as she ran out of the Hospital Wing, narrowly dodging another student with a green and silver scarf wound about their neck as she scampered down the stairs and out to the Quidditch pitch, where Fred, George, and the rest of her team were waiting for her.
"Potter!" Oliver called out when she skidded into the locker room, already pulling her robes over her head and starting to unbutton her shirt. "You're late!"
"Sorry, Oliver!" she called over to him, very much aware of the rest of the team listening in. They had all been yelled at by Oliver over the course of the season, but Oliver had unofficially taken Harry under his wing and she had received the least amount of ire, which made it extra interesting whenever he did start in on her. "I was getting Hermione her homework!"
Fred and George snickered.
"Oh, yes," Fred said.
"Can't live without homework!"
"Well, fine," Olive said. "But next time leave your girlfriend a little earlier."
This set Fred and George into paroxysms of laughter, which none of the rest of the team could understand. The chasers did laugh, but only because Harry immediately blushed bright red and denied it with a vehement, "She's not my girlfriend!"
The entire practice was torture, as even Aiden, only a year older than her, would fly by her during drills, and whisper 'Hermione' at her. Fred and George were the worst, hitting Bludgers towards her instead of the wildly swooping target Oliver had conjured so that they could chase after the 'rogue' bludgers, whispering 'girlfriend' as they did so. Harry got so mad at them that she purposefully got in their way, which led to several near-collisions since both Fred and George were riding Cleansweep Fives, which were at least six years old and couldn't stop as quickly as they used to.
At the end of practice, though, Oliver came over to her. "You're flying better than Charlie Weasley," he said, slapping her on the back. She winced, knowing she would have a bruise to show for it. Alex had always teased her about it, but she did bruise easily. Harry gasped as she realized that she'd just found a way to fix all their problems.
"Merlin! Oliver," she exclaimed, "You're a genius!" Harry grabbed Oliver in a hug and tore away to the locker room, where she changed in record time, and ran out, past a stunned Oliver. "You can still move, you know!" she yelled back at him as she pelted across the Quidditch pitch and towards the school. Oliver's figure was still standing still when it finally faded into the darkness.
Harry slowed down shortly before she reached the Hospital Wing, knowing that Madam Pomfrey would not take kindly to her bursting in at full speed. She slipped inside the room, walking quickly but quietly over to Hermione, who was illuminated by the conjured blue-bell flames she was so fond of.
"I've figured it out!" Harry said when she was close enough.
Hermione jumped, eyes darting past Harry wildly. "Oh," she said. "It's just you."
"What?" Harry was taken by momentary surprise. "You didn't actually think I was going to send George, did you?" Even in the faint light, Harry could see the red blush staining her cheeks. "Merlin, Hermione, I wouldn't do that. That's - that's cruel," she finished.
"Yes, well," Hermione said, closing the book but refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "I haven't - I haven't always had the best of luck with friends," she said quickly.
"Oh." Harry paused, unsure. "Well, I haven't had friends until you and Neville and the twins, so it's kind of the same."
"But you have a brother," Hermione pointed out, resolutely avoiding Harry's eyes.
"Yes. And if you had one you'd know how annoying they could be." Harry sighed and slipped her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes. "Anyways," she said briskly, "That's not what I came to talk to you about." After checking to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn't nearby, Harry leaned towards Hermione. "I figured out how to get Norbert away, and Hagrid might actually agree with it." Hermione finally looked up and met her eyes.
"But - how?"
"Oliver actually gave me the idea," Harry said with a small laugh. "I think I may have permanently damaged him when I told him he was a genius."
Hermione smiled a bit, and Harry relaxed, glad her friend was all right. "How long do you think it'll take?" she asked, running her uninjured hand along the spine of the book in her lap.
"I don't really know," Harry said. "I need to write a letter, and it'll have to go pretty far. A few days, at least," she finished.
"Good," Hermione said, picking up her book again. Peering closely, Harry could see it was for Transfiguration. "Will you - " Hermione started, fingers tapping nervously. She sighed. "I really hate having to ask, but will you help me with the Transfiguration?"
Harry forced herself not to gape. It was really an indication of how strong their friendship had become that Hermione was asking for help on Transfiguration. She knew how much Hermione hated admitting that she needed help with anything. "Yes, of course," she managed to get out, trying not to make a fuss about it.
Hermione let out a breath and smiled. "It's just - " she opened the book and flipped to the section describing mammal-to-object Transfigurations. "- in the book it says that the only way to get the Transfiguration to complete is to do it one part of the animal at a time. Step by step, in a way, like focusing on turning fur to wood, and completely vanishing the tail and whiskers. But we haven't learned how to Vanish things yet, so it's all rather backwards."
Harry frowned. "That book isn't doing a very good job describing. Maybe that's how that person does their Transfigurations, but I find that it's better to just picture what you want in your mind, and really concentrate on it. It's like those buttons at the beginning of the year. I was picturing different colored and patterned buttons - were you?"
"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "I just…I just couldn't get them to turn out!"
"Here," Harry said, getting a quill out of her book bag and placing it on the bed. "Think about it like it's just a charm. Just - "
"But it's not a charm," Hermione protested. "Charms are just so simple! You just say the incantation and do the wand motion and that's it! Transfiguration you have to - to - oh, I don't know!" Harry could tell being stuck in the Hospital Wing, unable to go to class, was taking it's toll on Hermione.
"Calm down," she ordered. "Go on - close your eyes and count to ten, then hold your breath for three seconds and count to ten again." Hermione did as instructed, and when she opened her eyes again, she was much calmer.
"Thanks," she said, slightly abashed.
"No problem," Harry said. "I feel like that about History of Magic sometimes."
"No," Hermione corrected. "You feel like snoring in History of Magic." They laughed together quietly, ever-conscious of Madam Pomfrey's sharp ears.
"Turn the quill into a - a stick," Harry said, failing to come up with anything else to turn it into.
"Why a stick?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know," Harry replied somewhat crossly. "Just what I thought of."
"Fine," Hermione said, raising her wand. "But I don't know what incantation to use."
"Erm," Harry said. If it was her, she would have simply used the same incantation that they'd used for the matches. But for Hermione, who liked everything to be precise, she didn't think that would work. "Try elignum." A lot of Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy emphasized the sheer amount of Latin-based incantations, so Harry had been learning quite of bit of Latin over the year.
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "And what about the wand motion."
"A quick jab, like with the matchsticks," Harry instructed. "And yes, I'm sure. Just picture the stick in your mind. Make sure you've got every detail of it fixed in your mind."
Hermione nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. It was a minute or two before she moved suddenly, jabbing her wand at the quill and saying, clearly, "Elignum." With a quiet pop!, the quill morphed into a slender wooden rod.
She opened her eyes. "Oh! I did it!" Hermione reached out her hand and picked up the wood. It disintegrated into feathery shavings. Her face fell.
"That's all right," Harry said immediately. "Wood is hard to do, really. Try again. You've just got to concentrate on the texture of the wood this time." Gritting her teeth, Hermione closed her eyes, scrunching up her nose as she concentrated. This time, she produced a wooden quill.
"Just keep trying," Harry said, standing up. "I've got to go, or I'll be late for curfew." As she strode out of the Hospital Wing, she called over her shoulder, "You can keep the quill!" and heard Hermione's faint thank you as the door closed behind her.
As soon as she was sure she was alone, Harry broke into a run. I'm going to get quite a bit of practice if I keep running all over the place, she thought as she located the quickest path to the owlery and ran up a flight of stairs.
Harry was breathing heavily by the time she reached the owlery, which was full of low hoots and large, blinking eyes. Harry ignored them and pulled her extra quill, a bottle of ink, and a bit of parchment from her bag and found one of the cleaner window ledges to write out a note.
May 11
Dear Mr. Weasley,
Harry began, and then paused, tapping her lips with the end of her quill for a long moment before continuing.
I am a student at Hogwarts. Your younger brothers Fred and George are quite good friends of mine,
and I share a dorm with your youngest brother, Ron. I've found myself in a bit of a sticky situation. Hagrid,
as I'm sure you remember, has a bit of an interest in such creatures that most of us would also term
dangerous, and has acquired a dragon egg. A Norwegian Ridgeback, to be exact, but when you live in a
wooden hut, I suppose the breed of dragon doesn't really make much of a difference. Its flames are equally
as dangerous as any other breed of dragon, and the wood equally as flammable.
The dragon hatched two and a half weeks ago, and is growing at an alarming rate. I've heard multiple times,
from both the twins and Ron, that you work at a dragon sanctuary. Is there any possible way you could help
us by taking the dragon? You and I both know the punishments for dragon-egg trading and possession of a live
dragon, and Hagrid is too nice of a person for that particular fate. Please write back as soon as possible. I don't
think the dragon will want to stay indoors much longer, if you catch my meaning.
Relievedly Yours,
Harry Potter
Harry looked over her letter. Not her best work, but Alex had always been better at things like this - the whole cloak and dagger spy-like subtlety - , and she simply didn't have time to spare. Norbert was getting wilder by the day, and Hagrid's absence in the Great Hall for meals was starting to be noticed, by students if not by the professors.
Deciding it was the best she was going to do at such short notice, Harry rolled up the letter and held up her wrist. A small, pale barn owl that belonged to the school fluttered down to her arm, holding out its leg expectantly.
"That goes to Charlie Weasley," Harry told it as she carried it to the window. "He's in Romania." The owl turned its head to look at her and hooted softly. "I know it's far away," she continued, stroking the owl gently, "but it really is rather important, and it would be nice if it could get there in two days." The owl looked at her with large, amber eyes, and blinked. Harry took that for a yes. "Thank you," she said, just before the pale tan wings spread and the owl launched itself out the window.
Only three days later, the owl was back, clearly exhausted. It returned at the very end of breakfast, hooted dolefully when Harry gave it some of her bacon, and then took off, most likely for a very long nap in the owlery.
"What is it?" Hermione asked. Madam Pomfrey had released her from the Hospital Wing the night before.
"The answer from Charlie." Harry tucked it inside her robes for reading later. Charlie's name caught the attention of the twins.
"What about Charlie?" Fred asked, abandoning his conversation with Lee, who also leaned over. Harry eyed him, but when George nodded at her, spoke.
"I sent him a letter about Norbert," she said, speaking so that, if anyone was eavesdropping, they wouldn't understand. "I just got his reply."
"Let's see it, then," George said. Harry hesitated, but at Fred's raised eyebrows, she fished it out of her pocket and opened it up. Messy handwriting met her eyes, and she had difficulty reading it.
Harry -
My friends and I will meet you and Norbert on the Astronomy Tower, at midnight on Friday. Don't be
late. Don't get caught. And dump some pumpkin juice on the twins for me.
Charlie
"Wow," Harry said as she passed the note to George, whose hand was still outstretched and waiting. "Your brother has really messy handwriting."
"That's because Bill taught him how to write when he was five and Charlie was four," Fred told her as he and George read the note.
"May I see?" Hermione asked. George balled up the note and tossed it at her. "Eurgh," she said. "Harry, even your brother's writing is better than this."
"Thanks," she said sourly. "I'll make sure to tell him that in my next letter. 'Dear Alex'," she parroted, "'Hermione says to tell you that she's finally found someone with worse handwriting than you. Congratulations. Love, Harry.'" Fred and George snorted into their kippers, and Neville was having difficulty breathing around his mouthful of eggs. Only Hermione and Lee were immune, although Lee wasn't paying much attention to the conversation any more, preferring instead to stare at a brunette further down the table who Harry was sure was a third year, although the name was escaping her at the moment.
Harry ignored them and turned to Hermione. "But this is tomorrow night!" she said, holding up the note. The rest of them shut up.
"We've got to visit Hagrid," Hermione said seriously.
"It'll be just you and Nev," Harry warned her. "Oliver's been having twice a day practices for a while, and I can't say that today's going to be any different."
Hermione nodded once. "I can make that work. I think I know what to say to him," she added, pulling a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink bottle out of her ever-present book bag. She dipped her quill in the ink and started scribbling a list.
"Uh. Hermione?" Harry said, unsure as to what her reception would be.
"Harry?"
"You do realize that class starts in about five minutes, don't you?"
Hermione froze, halfway through a word. She huffed and packed away her supplies. "Why didn't you say so before I brought my things out?" she asked. "Come on," she said to Harry and Neville, swinging her legs over the bench and standing.
"See you two later!" Harry called to Fred and George, who simply winked and pulled the platter of toast closer, apparently with no intention of going to class.
Hermione and Neville barely made it back before curfew that night. Harry, Fred, and George were waiting for them in the common room, which was full of fifth years and seventh years studying for their rapidly approaching exams, only a month away.
"How'd it go?" Harry asked as Hermione flung herself dramatically onto the sofa next to her. Neville grabbed a pillow from between Harry and Hermione and used it as cushioning where he lay on the floor. Fred and George, squashed into the same armchair, looked up from their prized notebook.
"I think we got him to do it," Hermione said, a proud smile on her face.
"It was all Hermione," Neville cut in, a look of awe on her face. "She was amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so persuasive. I was about ready to give her Trevor!"
Hermione made a face, but Harry could tell she was pleased. "I didn't do that much," she protested. "I just pointed out all the laws Hagrid was breaking, and told him that if he was caught, even Dumbledore couldn't protect him and would likely get in trouble himself, and that Hagrid would be facing at least ten years in Azkaban. I even cited the books I found the information in, in case he wants to look it up."
"Oh," Harry said, moving so she was leaning against the armrest, with her feet curled under her. "So that's where you were during lunch."
Fred and George, who had been disturbingly quiet until that point, spoke up. "So, who's going on the mission?" George asked.
"What - what do you mean?" Neville asked, looking from the twins to Harry.
"Well, we can't all go," Fred pointed out.
"Too many people just makes it messy," George agreed.
"I'd say two is best."
"Three at most."
"Hermione shouldn't go," Harry said immediately.
"Yes - wait. What?" Hermione glared at her.
"Your hand," Harry pointed out. "It's still not all the way healed, and Norbert, from what you've told me, is pretty big. I don't think you'd be able to do it."
"Would too!" Hermione objected in a rather childish manner. "I can so carry half a crate!"
"Well, if Hermione's out, so is Harry."
"What!" Now it was Harry's turn to be defensive. "I'm just as capable as either of you two!"
"Capable, yes," George agreed.
Fred clarified, "You're just a lot smaller. Even Hermione's taller than you are."
"But being small is a good thing!" Harry pointed out. "I can be a - a scout, or a lookout. You know, to make sure Filch isn't lurking around!"
"I think Harry's right," Neville said quietly from the floor, interrupting what would soon be an argument. "Hermione's hand isn't all the way healed yet, and I'm too clumsy."
"Exactly," Harry said, crossing her arms and glaring at the twins. Belatedly, she added, "Sorry, Neville." He shrugged in a manner that indicated he wasn't insulted by her agreeing with his statement.
"And," Hermione chimed in, seeming to agree with Neville's plan, "You three have worked together before. No point in denying it," she added when Fred immediately opened his mouth to protest.
"She's getting wiser every day, she is," George said sadly. Harry grinned as Hermione blushed.
"So it's us three then?" Harry asked, pointing from herself to the twins.
"Sounds like," Fred replied, leaning back into the chair, earning an irritated elbow in the ribs from George.
"I'm going to bed then," Harry said, getting up from the couch. "We've got a late night tomorrow, and Oliver'll be getting us up for early practice." She made a face at the twins before saying, "Night Hermione. Are you coming, Neville?"
"Oh. No. I'm going to work on my Charms. Hermione said she'd help."
"Good luck, then," Harry said. She knew she would have quite a bit of homework to make up over the weekend, and likely wouldn't be able to leave the library except to eat, but right now she was simply too tired to care.
"We're coming," George said.
"Yeah, hold up." Harry watched as the twins struggled up from the chair they'd wedged themselves in. Fred ended up tripping over George's foot and nearly crashing into Harry, who only saved herself by jumping back.
"Thanks for the help," Fred grumbled with a glare at Harry.
"Not at all," Harry shot back with a grin. "Glad I could be of service."
"I'll show you service," Fred muttered as the three of them started up the boy's staircase. George elbowed him in the side again.
"Night!" Harry called as she went into her dorm. The twins continued up to the seventh room, only one from the very top of Gryffindor Tower. Fred made a rude gesture behind his back, and the last thing Harry saw was George whacking him on the back of his head with their notebook.
The next morning, Harry raced up the stairs to Fred, George, and Lee's room, not bothering to knock. She stopped dead. Even though it was the same size as her dorm, and only had three beds, she could barely see the floor. It was covered with clothes, shoes of all types, bits of parchment, stacks of books, odd-looking metal instruments, candy wrappers, and even a large quantity of feathers that looked to be from the punctured pillow still stuck up on the top of Lee's bed. A large cauldron sat on the top of the radiator in the middle of the room, although it wasn't actually heating at the moment.
Wrinkling her nose carefully, Harry gingerly picked her way through the room. She avoided the mud-soaked socks, and skirted the pile of (hopefully) clean boxers, before coming to the first stack of books. She bent down to look at the titles. Smiling with relief, she picked them up and moved them to the doorway, then returned twice more. It had been nearly six months since she had borrowed (without permission) the books on Alchemy, and, when she had finally spared the time to read the notices on the board in the common room on her way to breakfast only a few minutes ago, she had seen a flyer from the library, asking for 'whoever stole the books to return them', only not in such polite language.
Ignoring the small noises Fred and George and Lee were making as they slept, Harry grabbed the last stack of books, thankful that they had all been in the same place. It might have taken thirty minutes for her to find them all otherwise. As she started back to the door, she glanced down at the books in her arms, then at the large stack awaiting her. She groaning, remembering that it had taken her plus Neville and Hermione to smuggle them from the library. She finished her perilous journey to the door and added the four books in her arms to the pile, then turned to survey the room once more.
She scanned the room slowly, searching for the bag Fred and George had had that night in the Trophy Room. It was hard work, since it had been shadowy that night and the events had blurred together a little what with Filch showing up and Fluffy. It took her a good ten (very frustrating) minutes to finally locate the bag - draped over the end of one of the twins' bed. It was impossible to tell who was who when all she could see was red hair and a small amount of pale, freckled skin.
Muttering a few choice words she had picked up on the Quidditch pitch, Harry once again navigated through the messy room. She didn't want to know what that brown stuff was, and the large pile of dungbombs looked like it would fall at the slightest provocation. When she reached the foot of the bed, she snatched the bag and immediately returned to the door, where she proceeded to stuff all of the books into it. As she bounded down the stairs, bag over her shoulder, she was happy to see that either Fred or George had figured out how to cast a Feather-Weight Charm. The bag weighed no more than a typical school bag. A typical empty school bag.
Hermione and Neville were waiting for her in the Common Room.
"What took you so long?" Hermione asked as soon as Harry was close enough to hear.
"Their room is a minefield," Harry told her with a grimace. "Neville," she said, "remind me never to complain about Ron's trunk ever again."
"Don't complain about Ron's trunk ever again," Neville said with a small smile. Harry was glad - it had taken Neville a very long time for him to feel comfortable enough to joke around.
"Thanks," Harry snarked back. As they exited through the portrait hole, she said, "Can we stop by the library? I've got some books to return."
"But you haven't taken any books out of the library for ages," Hermione pointed out. "How could you have some to return?"
"It's been since November," Harry said, hoping Hermione, at least, would understand what she was implying.
"But you're not allowed to keep - oh."
"What?" Neville asked, clearly lost.
"You do remember our night-time escapade back in November, don't you?" Harry asked, trying to lead Neville to the answer. When he nodded, she continued, "And you remember why we were out there in the first place, right?"
"Yes," he said, a small frown on his face, "I do. But what has that got to do with - " He broke off. "Oh. I get it."
"I saw the notice on the board in the common room while I was waiting for you two after my shower," Harry said. "Fred and George were back in bed - the lazy lumps. I don't see why they bother. Quidditch just wakes me up. I can't imagine trying to go back to sleep afterwards." Oliver had been particularly brutal that morning, scrounging up every last Bludger the school owned - all nine of them, even if one of them only veered right and three went so slow that Harry could outfly them - and setting them on the team with instructions to "dodge or get bruised". Harry knew that, by this time tomorrow, her stomach and upper back would have some very impressive bruises, and Fred and George had fared no better. Carrying Norbert up to the tallest tower at Hogwarts was looking less and less attractive. "And I've got all the books here," Harry added, hoisting the bag up slightly. "Crap." She realized that she'd left her real book-bag, the one with all her school supplies, in the common room.
"Language," Hermione corrected.
"Sorry," Harry apologized automatically. "Look, do you two mind waiting here for a sec. I've left my bag in the common room, and we won't have time to come back up here before History of Magic."
"No," Hermione said, "That's fine. I'll take the bag of books."
"It's not heavy at all," Harry told her, but passed it over anyways. It would be faster running without it flapping at her side. "See you in just a sec," she called over her shoulder, already retracing the few corridors to the Fat Lady. Her last sight of Hermione and Neville was that of a curious Hermione opening the bag and pulling a thick tome out.
Harry nearly flew back to the Fat Lady, panted the password (Wattlebird), grabbed her bag, which was laying on the chair just where she'd left it, and was back out the portrait before it had time to properly close.
"Next time I'll just stay open for you!" the Fat Lady called after her.
"Thanks!" Harry yelled back over her shoulder, and as she rounded the corner, she faintly heard the Fat Lady shouting, "I was being sarcastic!"
She was only partway back to where she had left Neville and Hermione when they appeared, jogging lightly towards her, large grins on their faces.
"You won't believe what I just read in this book," Hermione gushed, holding up a book titled Notable Alchemists of the Millenium. "I mean, I wasn't even looking for it, I just opened the book to the first page and it was right there, in the Table of Contents!"
"What?" Harry asked. Even Neville looked excited and gleeful, something she'd never seen before.
"Flamel." With one word, Hermione showed Harry the Table of Contents. "See," she said. "Just there." With one finger she pointed to the words, 'The Extensive Works of Nicholas Flamel'.
"Can I?" Harry asked, already reaching for the book. Hermione let her take it without hesitation.
"We didn't even read it, much," she said eagerly as Harry flipped to page 146. "Just that he's the only known - "
"-creator of a Sorcerer's Stone," Harry finished for her, reading directly from the book. "Bloody buggering hell!" she exclaimed, ignoring Hermione's irritated tsk. "This says that he's still alive, and that he's six hundred and fifty-eight!"
"And it was written seven years ago," Hermione interjected excitedly. "So that would make him about six hundred sixty-five, if his birthday hasn't already happened, and his wife, Perenelle, is even older than he is!"
"That's just - that's - " Harry didn't know how to express just how bizarre it was to think that one man and his wife and witnessed over six hundred years of history.
"Amazing," Hermione said with a dreamy look on her face. "Imagine all the things he knows! And the first-hand accounts of Queen Elizabeth's reign! Oh, if I could only talk to him!"
"But what does Flamel have to do with Fluffy?" Harry mused. Hermione stopped talking immediately.
"Oh," she said, face pale. "I didn't even think of that."
"Well," Neville said. "Maybe he's - he's hiding here?" His face turned bright red when both Hermione and Harry looked at him incredulously.
"No," Hermione said kindly. "I don't think he would."
"Didn't Hagrid say something about Dumbledore and Flamel?" Harry asked, straining to remember back to that one conversation in which Hagrid had slipped up.
"I - I don't remember," Hermione admitted.
"Don't look at me," Neville said when they looked at him expectantly. "Half the time I forget my tie in the morning, and I haven't seen Trevor for three days."
"I'm sure Trevor is fine," Harry said automatically, her mind working a mile a minute. "Here, let's move out of the hallway," she said, starting back towards the library. "We've still got to take these books back before Madam Pince orchestrates a search of the entire school." They walked down to the library in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Just before they reached the library, Harry grabbed Hermione's arm. "I've got it!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, just in case Madam Pince was waiting on the other side of the door, waiting to pounce.
Hermione and Neville turned to her expectantly. "Well?" Hermione said in a voice that clearly meant, give it your best go, and we'll see.
"Dumbledore's old, right?" Harry started. Hermione opened her mouth, probably to tell her just exactly how old Dumbledore was, but Harry overrode her. "And he's brilliant. Everyone says so; best student since - I don't know - Ravenclaw's daughter. So it makes sense that he would have studied Alchemy at some point, doesn't it. And who better to teach the most brilliant mind Hogwarts has seen in hundreds of years but Flamel himself?!"
"What does that have to do with Fluffy?" Neville asked.
Hermione, however, knew exactly what Harry was implying. "Don't you see, Neville?" she said, flipping the book open to the first page about Flamel. "It says right here: the only known creator of a Sorcerer's Stone." She tapped the page with her forefinger. "That's what's under the trap door. That's what Fluffy's guarding." She closed the book and stuffed it into the bag still hanging off her right shoulder. "Harry," she said bluntly, "You're a genius."
Harry blushed. "I've got nothing on you, Hermione," she said. "I bet if you'd have grown up in the wizarding world you would have already known who Flamel was, even before all this mess. I just got lucky."
"No," Hermione insisted, although she had gone rather pink in the face at Harry's compliment. "You've just got this…knack for putting two and two together and getting four, while I'm still stuck at three."
Harry punched Hermione lightly on the shoulder, as Alex had done to her a million times growing up. "You're still scads better than me at Charms," she said. "And I can barely stay awake in History of Magic."
"And you're the best in our year at Transfiguration. Even Professor McGonagall thinks you're talented! A prodigy! And that's not even mentioning Potions and Defense!"
"And Neville's the best at Herbology," Harry pointed out, shifting the attention to a dumbstruck Neville. "Aren't you, Nev?"
"Y - yeah," he said. "I suppose. But I've always liked plants," he said honestly.
"Good," Harry said, "Now that we're done with this awkward complimenting thing, could you hand me that bag, please, Hermione. I want to get this done with and see if we can still manage a bit of breakfast. It'll be time for History soon."
They all gave a small chuckle at Harry's attempt to dispel the fluttery nerves she knew they were all feeling - now that they knew what was hidden under the trapdoor, what were they supposed to do?