Matou Shinji and the Philosopher's Stone
A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story
Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.
Summary: Ladies of Eternity, magi of the past hiding in the present, with ancient, nigh unfathomable crafts at their command. That is the destiny of a Witch in the Moonlit world, with the female child of a witch bearing the destiny of inheriting the blood and history of their line without any exceptions, upon which the mother will expire, her task done. But this is a story of a Witch's son – a boy tossed aside by destiny – a boy determined to become someone special, with blood, sweat, and wand. This is the story of Shinji Matou, and his newfound path in the Wizarding World.
Chapter 15. Secrets
The general clime around Hogwarts grew cold after the events that had transpired at the first meeting of the reinstated Dueling Club. And no, it wasn't simply that the temperature had dropped, though the mountains had indeed become icy grey, with the lake beginning to freeze over and the ground covered in frost. The students too had grown colder and more suspicious after the revelation that the Boy-Who-Lived was in fact a Parselmouth – and thus the apparent Heir to Salazar Slytherin. A Dark Wizard in the making, rumors said, with the potential to be worse than even You-Know-Who at his most savage and cruel. The rumors of what had happened with the troll on Halloween night fed into this, with some now believing that it Harry Potter had staged the incident – that he had used his dark powers to release the beast into the castle, trading its life for…followers.
After all, it was well known that serpents – and the tongue of serpents – was involved in some of the cruelest of all magics, and if Potter's immediate reaction (in front of the assembled students of Hogwarts, no less!) to having someone defy him was to order the snake to kill his enemy, only to be stopped by the quick thinking of the Defense Professor – who knew what he was capable of when no one was watching?
So went the argument from some of the younger Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs – chief among them Ron Weasley and Ernie Macmillan, and such was why few of them even associated with him. Not that this was a significant change, mind you, but now many refused even to look at him, moving out of the way when he passed, skirting around him in the corridors, with conversations going silent the moment he entered a room. Even the fact that the Weasley Twins were his allies, and that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of their ire, hadn't stifled the rumors. After all, they were inveterate troublemakers to begin with, who had cost Gryffindor points on many an occasion, and while they might be good people – who said the same was true of the Boy-Who-Lived?
The reaction of the Slytherins to this information was about the opposite, for they were a group who valued power and ruthlessness, and someone who was able to display both without receiving any consequences was someone to follow. More to the point, someone who had begun building a power base, with older, more experienced – and in some cases, intimidating – individuals joining him, was not to be trifled with. Thus, most in the House of Snakes had begun to defer to the Boy-Who-Lived, to grant whatever requests he made of them, to try and stick closely to him and gain his favor, especially Pansy Parkinson, who was almost always by his side during classes, in the halls, or in the Common Room.
Some of the Slytherins were less than happy that Parkinson had so publicly staked her claim to the Boy-Who-Lived. Indeed, there were rumors that she and Greengrass had dueled over an insult the former had made – or at least comment about how Greengrass alone couldn't satisfy the Heir of Slytherin.
And Ravenclaw – well, opinions were divided among those in the House of Knowledge. No one spoke openly against Potter, given that one of their Prefects was aligned with him, but neither did any openly support him, save Matou and Hillard, the two Stone Cutters of the House. Ravenclaw being what it was, popular support or opposition wouldn't have concerned its members much – they were a House that sought their own answers, as opposed to just buying into popular trends.
Sokaris was respected by many in Ravenclaw for that very reason – that she was both intelligent and detached from the world around her, being utterly apathetic to the factionalism of Hogwarts. Indeed, the fact that both she and Matou had been granted private study rooms early in the year had piqued the interest of a number of students, as access to those was traditionally only given to students working on major independent projects, usually for electives such as Alchemy.
Hermione Granger, on the other hand, while respected for her love of books and her classroom performance, was seen as being too involved – too much of an activist. She always seemed to want to help someone or to show someone the right path, mostly because that was what she knew – that was what her intelligence had been accepted for during her time among the Muggles. Which was why her silence was something of a surprise – with her love of authority and her rivalry with the Matou boy, most in Ravenclaw expected her to speak out against Potter and the Stone Cutter Society.
Instead, while she was quick to point out that there was nothing proper about rule-breaking behavior, she also mentioned that people should be given the benefit of the doubt.
Now, a good part of this could be attributed to finding out that Sokaris herself – the one person she thought would never stoop to such a thing - had engaged in pranking, and besides that, had been associating with the Stone Cutters. The rest though, that could be traced back to the rest of what happened the night after the Potter Revelation, as some were calling it.
To the fact that she'd cried into Shinji's chest and exhausted, had fallen asleep with her head cradled on his lap.
In truth, Hermione Granger was ashamed to have shown how weak she was, to have cried in front of anyone, much less Matou. The fact that she'd woken up in the morning, with her head cradled on his lap was even more humiliating, making her cheeks burn every time she thought of it.
And he'd said not a single word to tease her, not a single thing to hurt her when she was at her lowest, her most vulnerable, had just held her gently in a way she couldn't remember anyone except her parents doing when she was small.
She'd woken up before he did, and was surprised how peaceful he looked when he was asleep. More though, she was surprised that he hadn't just taken the opportunity to slip away into the study room where he spent his nights.
He was selfish, she knew. Concerned only for his image and reputation. Though himself above most of Ravenclaw.
...so why hadn't he just left her alone? Why had he been so…nice…to her? Why had he slept—well, spent the night with her?
It wasn't as if she liked him or anything. She'd just…wanted to know why of all people, he would have done such a thing. Why Sokaris would have chosen to spend time with…him and Potter.
…why they didn't fit into neat little boxes of "good people" and "bad."
…why none of them made sense.
She'd always been taught that rulebreakers were "bad", that the proper course of action was to just tell the teachers and follow the rules – that rules were there for a reason. And until the prank war, nothing she'd experienced at Hogwarts had given her reason to suspect otherwise. Sure, she wasn't the most popular person, but at least in Ravenclaw, the house that valued learning and wisdom, she'd thought she was among peers.
And it was true that here she'd faced competition – and that no one had really needed her help to study, which in some ways she missed, because now she didn't feel helpful. Her talent for transfiguration aside, she wasn't…special. Not in the same way Sokaris was special, as a possible metamorphmagus and foreign student. Not in the same way Matou was special, with his wandless, non-verbal magic.
The first had been her closest friend here, where everyone else was just an acquaintance. Someone who spent time with her without asking what she could do for them…until she disappeared from the Tower without warning during the prank wars, reappearing briefly only to vanish again.
Why? Why had she done it?
She didn't understand, and when she woke up, she'd been too embarrassed to ask, so she had just left while he was still sleeping. And afterwards…well, he hadn't brought it up, though he did treat her just a bit more kindly.
Honestly – the boy from the East confused her, now more than ever. That was why she was spending time with him in the library while the rest of the school was out watching that ridiculous Quidditch game, helping him with some research for Sokaris.
It wasn't because she just wanted to feel useful to someone, she told herself. Nor because she enjoyed Matou's company or anything. It wouldn't do if someone got the wrong idea.
No, it was because the problem posed by Matou Shinji was an interesting one.
…by which she meant the problem he had asked for her help on, not the boy himself. He had come to her later in the week, asking if she knew of any connections between Hogwarts, its Headmaster and Alchemy. When asked why he wanted to know, Shinji had simply replied that it had to do with the corridor on the Third Floor, an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face.
She'd started off with Hogwarts: A History, of course, only to find nothing – save for the fact that Alchemy was apparently offered as a sixth and seventh year elective, and that somewhere in the school existed a Chamber of Secrets. Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry likewise failed to reveal anything about alchemical discoveries, though she did learn that Albus Dumbledore was widely credited with discovering the 12 uses of Dragon Blood (a claim contested by Ivor Dillonsby, who claimed to have discovered 8 of the 12 and Dumbledore had stolen his work and used his influence over the Wizarding World to publish first).
Not that initial success was expected – the sheer size of the library suggested otherwise, given the thousands of shelves on hundreds of narrow rows containing tens of thousands of books.
"Perhaps we should look into Alchemy instead?" Shinji asked dryly, holding out an enormous, dusty tome with the title of Alchemy: Ancient Art and Science by the improbably named Argo Pyrites.
He placed the book in front of them and opened it, with the title page identifying Mr. Pyrites as having been a researcher at the Centre for Alchemical Studies in Egypt, the premier institute for Alchemy in the Wizarding World.
They went through such terms as albedo, nigredo, citrinitas, and rubedo, introduced in the first chapter describing the great work of Alchemy, as well as its purpose: the creation of the Philosopher's Stone – a legendary substance with astonishing powers.
"…the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione repeated reverently. "The legendary artifact that can turn anything into gold? Wizards…can make that?"
Yes, she'd learned that magic was real – but magic and alchemy were two different things. After all, alchemy lay at the foundation of chemistry, with alchemy lending its name to chemistry later on, though certain of its practices had always been suspect.
Thus, when she'd learned that magic was real - she'd never made the connection that Alchemy was real – and that the Philosophers' Stone was not just a myth. After all, in some ways, its powers transcended mere magic.
"Well, we need to read more, but apparently practitioners of witchcraft think it creates an elixir of life too," Shinji noted, his eyes looking sharply at the page. "Granting immortality and curing all illness."
A powerful artifact indeed, though not one of raw power in and of itself according to the book.
What it could enable though, had startling implications, given how perilous the quest for immortality was for magi in the here and now. Currently, those who sought eternal life had few options, all of which usually boiled down to either becoming a Dead Apostle or something else inhuman.
Still…there was no indication one existed, as they read on, past chapters on Zosimos of Panopolis, Hermes Trimegistus, Geber and the principles of transmutation, until finally they came to…
"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione read quietly, as this was after all, the library. "The Immortal Alchemist – the owner of the only known Philosopher's Stone. Though Muggle accounts claim that Flamel was a mere manuscript reseller who came into possession of a mysterious tome from Egypt in which was contained the recipe for the Philosopher's Stone, Flamel was in truth an accomplished Wizard. In his youth, Nicolas was a pupil of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and later funded both the castle and the grounds of Beauxbatons. His creation of the Stone marks him as the greatest of alchemists. 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)."
"And this book is an old one – he may be even older now," Shinji commented, taking notes on both this Alchemist – and the Muggle rumors that he had acquired a tome from Egypt. "Still, no note of a connection to Hogwarts yet."
"…well, we'll, just have to keep looking, right?" Hermione asked, moving to close the book – but squeaking and pulling back as their fingers touched. "Sorry."
"No, my fault," Shinji admitted, going back to shelf the book. "And yes. I have a hunch, but a hunch isn't good enough."
So the Philosopher's Stone did exist. But what was the connection to Hogwarts or Dumbledore? And what did these papers from Egypt have to do with it?
That, Shinji wanted – no, needed – to know.
But at least now there was a place to look.
"An immortal Alchemist – I wonder if he's connected with any of the more recent Headmasters or Professors."
"Well, only one way to find out."
Ironically, another member of the Stone Cutter Society would discover that piece of the puzzle – the Flamel-Dumbledore connection—by accident, though initially would have no inkling of what the man had made. For Harry Potter had chosen not to attend the first Quidditch match of the season – the match pitting Gryffindor against Slytherin, and had chosen instead to have tea with Hagrid.
The whole "Descendent of Slytherin" business was beginning to get to him, with the unwanted attention from his own House and the suspicion and ire of several others. At least the professors hadn't said anything about it, and the Ravenclaws for the most part acted like it hadn't happened – something for which he was grateful, as he didn't think he'd done anything to deserve the wariness, fear, or respect he'd been shown after the snake bit Malfoy.
Even Malfoy himself had later begged forgiveness for his slights against the Boy-Who-Lives – something which might have otherwise pleased him, save for the fact that it was rooted in fear.
As if he was a monster to be placated.
A monster like Voldemort.
It made him kind of sick to think people were thinking of him in the same manner as the Dark Wizard who had destroyed so many lives, which was one reason he'd chosen not to attend the Quidditch game, since everyone would be there.
And worse, since it was Gryffindor vs Slytherin, with Fred and George Weasley – friends of a sort – on one team, and his House fielding the other, he didn't want to cheer against either one. He didn't want to cheer against his friends, but also knew that cheering for them was something of a no-no, given that Slytherins were supposed to appear united at all times – something which even Malfoy had at least somewhat followed in the beginning.
So instead, he'd feigned illness, choosing not to attend the Quidditch match or breakfast before it, letting Pansy and Daphne know that they really should go and that he'd be right as rain soon enough. And then when everyone had left, he had simply gone to visit Hagrid, the half-giant groundskeeper of Hogwarts who had introduced him to the world of magic.
He felt a bit guilty, since he hadn't had the chance to really visit the man before, but in between everything else, he didn't really have time. The pressure of school – and learning to excel for the first time – the incident with the troll, and now all of this mess, had kept him focused on his life inside the school.
As it turned out, Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with a sizable crossbow and a pair of galoshes to the side of the door. Harry knocked, hearing a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks, with Hagrid's voice calling out, "Back, Fang—back now."
The half-giant's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. On top of his usual garb, he had a large pair of binoculars around his neck – had he been trying to watch the game from here?
"Harry – what yeh doing here?" the man asked gruffly. "Quidditch game is today. Gryffindor and Slytherin too – about the only time I enjoy the antics of the Weasley Twins. Usually have to chase em away from the forest, I do."
"…I just…wanted to visit," Harry replied weakly. He didn't know what to do – would he be unwelcome here too, because of Quidditch? He just hadn't felt comfortable coming out here when everyone was watching him before, given Malfoy's sentiments about the gameskeeper being a kind of savage – which he assumed some of the others shared.
"Eh, come in then," Hagrid grunted, waving Harry inside his humble abode. A small, but homey place, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle boiling on the open fire, and a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it in the corner. "Make yerself at home."
As he said this, the half-giant let go of the boarhound - Fang, apparently - who bounded straight for Harry and licked his nose. Like Hagrid, Fang was apparently not as fierce as he looked – though the same couldn't be said for the three-headed dog on the third floor corridor, from what his friends had said.
Harry looked on as Hagrid poured boiling water into a large teapot and put some rather lumpy cakes onto a place - shapeless lumps with raisins that resembled nothing so much as a rock.
They talked for a while about a number of things, from how Hogwarts was going for Harry to the recent tragedy to befall Argus Filch ("the old git", according to Hagrid), with the man nearly being burnt alive.
"Yeh'd best be careful around that foreign boy," Hagrid warned, shaking his head. "It's true, Filch is a git, but burned alive? I'd not wish that on any man."
"Shinji's my friend," Harry said mildly.
"Heh, an' yer in Slytherin yerself. You-know-Who's house," the half-giant said unhappily. "They be calling you the Heir since yeh speak to snakes, just like You-Know-Who."
Hagrid scowled for a moment at the mere thought of the Dark Wizard whose ambition had plunged the Wizarding World into war for over a decade.
Harry blinked. If Voldemort had been a Parselmouth himself, he could see why people would assume the worst if they heard him speak the language of snakes. But there was something hidden in Hagrid's tone – something…
"There's something else, isn't there."
Hagrid grunted again, not quite able to meet Harry's eyes. So Harry decided to change the topic. He didn't want to bring up the topic of the troll at Halloween, so…
"Say, Hagrid – the Gringotts break-in," he asked, remembering his long-passed birthday, when he had first gone to Diagon Alley. "That happened on my birthday, right? Do you think it might have happened while we were there?"
He remembered that Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, taking out a grubby little package from it. Was that what whoever had gotten into the bank been looking for?
Hagrid grunted.
"Hogwarts business, that," the man said brusquely, offering Harry another cake and some tea.
It struck him then, what Hagrid had said about Gringotts being 'the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – 'cept maybe Hogwarts.'
And then he knew.
"…that's what's on the Third Floor, isn't it?" Harry said almost to himself. It fit – fit almost too well. "Guarded by that three-headed dog…"
Hagrid dropped the teapot.
"How do you know about Fluffy?" he all but demanded.
"Fluffy?" Harry echoed, thinking the name sounded much too innocuous for something as fierce and powerful as a three headed Cerberus. Shinji had mentioned that such a beast had guarded that corridor, though he hadn't said how he knew, even if he could guess. "That's its name?"
"Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"
But Hagrid cut himself off abruptly.
"Yes?" Harry asked eagerly.
"No, it's better yeh don' ask," Hagrid said gruffly. "It don' concern yeh none an' 'sides, it's dangerous. The dog and what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel."
"Dumbledore…and Nicolas Flamel," Harry repeated, as the half-giant's eyes bulged comically wide, his face reddening.
"I shouldn'ta told yeh that," the gameskeeper grumbled, looking furious at himself. "What yeh be wanting to know fer anyway?"
"I'm just worried," Harry said, shivering slightly at the reminder that the very large man was indeed very large and possibly threatening if something went wrong. "I mean, something got into Gringotts for whatever you moved, right? I hope there's more guarding it here than just Fluffy."
"Now see here, nothin' can get past Fluffy!" Hagrid replied indignantly. "Not unless they know the secret of how to calm him down, when not a soul knows except an' Dumbledore. Jus' play a bit o' music and he'll go straight off to sl—forget I said that!"
The groundskeeper seemed almost panicked, then sulked.
"Even if s'meone got past him, though," the half-giant said gruffly. "The teachers all did enchantments. Professor Sprout - Professor Flitwick - Professor McGonagall -" he ticked them off on his fingers, one by one "Professor Quirrell – Professor Snape - an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. No one's getting' past all o' that. Not that I know meself what exactly they did. "
But…hadn't Quirrell gone off to the Forbidden Corridor on Halloween, after letting in the Troll as a distraction?
He didn't think Hagrid would appreciate him voicing his concerns though, so he kept quiet about them, just nodding.
"I'm glad it's well protected," Harry said. "But then I know you're good at keeping things safe."
Hagrid beamed in pride.
"Just…don' meddle in things that don' concern yeh none, Harry. It's dangerous."
"Thanks, Hagrid. Don't worry, I won't."
…but that turned out to be a lie.
When he left Hagrid's hut, the Quidditch game was in full swing, and Harry wanted to talk about this with someone. Under normal circumstances, the fact that there were so many protections around whatever had nearly been stolen from Gringotts would have been a boon – but in this case, Harry was worried.
After all, if Quirrell had been involved in protecting whatever the package was, then it probably would have been easy for him to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything – except maybe how to get past Fluffy – and even that was probably only a matter of time, given how easily Hagrid let information slip.
'…the only one who can stop him is another Professor - and that's only if they catch him in the act.'
But would they? Did they even suspect? No, it was unlikely, since Dumbledore had set up this trap…
'So the only one who can stop him is Dumbledore.'
Which meant whatever it was that was hidden was probably safe enough while Dumbledore was in the castle – but if he ever left…
Harry was interrupted from his train of thought by the growling of a very hungry stomach. Fortunately, his feet had carried him to the passage to the kitchens, which he used now, tickling the pear to reveal the doorknob.
"Good afternoon, Harry Potter," the voice of Sokaris greeted him as he entered. The purple-haired Egyptian girl was already inside, drinking something that looked like pea soup with hearty chunks of sausage, onion and potato.
"S-Sokaris!" Harry exclaimed. He hadn't really expected to run into her – or into anyone, really, given how cold and empty the castle had been – and how everyone seemed to be mad about Quidditch. Still, he'd been wanting to talk to someone, and Sokaris seemed the type who wouldn't judge him for his abilities, even if she had called him the Descendent of Slytherin. "…can I join you?"
"If you wish," the Ravenclaw said, her voice a study in detachment.
Harry asked the house elves for a large bowl of chicken soup with fish and chips on the side, and quickly received his order, which he dug into with zest.
"…can I talk to you about something?" he asked of the enigmatic Sokaris. He realized that he didn't know much about her, but then, no one did – except maybe Shinji, and even the Boy from the East wasn't talking.
"If you desire," Sokaris answered, looking at Harry evenly. "Something is troubling you?"
"Yes, well…there's the Heir of Slytherin business," he said quietly, thinking that it would probably be safe to talk to her about it. "The way people look at me, the things they say."
"Yes…rumors have a power all of their own," the girl replied, her expression unreadable. "In some ways, fear, rumor, and echoes are like a curse. People believe them, and so are changed by them."
"…it's true. I just want people to see me as Harry, not to think I have to be a Dark Wizard or a Hero just because I can talk to snakes or helped to defeat a troll."
'Even if I want to be a hero to live up to what people expect…'
"You are the Boy-Who-Lived," Sokaris noted. "It is only logical that your peers would regard you as a existence on another level, given what you represent to them."
"…and what is that?"
"Hope," she replied. "Hope, fear, and uncertainty. Your defeat of the Dark Arts user known as Voldemort marked the end of an eleven-year war that shook Magical Britain to its foundations. In the wake of the terror he inspired, the populace needed something to believe in. And so Harry Potter became the legendary Boy-Who-Lived."
"…you don't seem to share their point of view though," Potter observed, noting that neither she nor Shinji had given him any special sort of deference. Perhaps that was why he and the Boy from the East got along so well – because they treated each other as equals, showed each other trust.
"I am not from Magical Britain," Sokaris noted wryly, the edges of her lips quirking up ever so slightly – though perhaps he had imagined it, for it was gone moments later. "I was not raised on the legend of Harry Potter."
"...then can you tell me why…after they found out I could speak to snakes…most of them…?"
'…feared me. Saw me as a monster', he left unspoken.
"Because people also fear what is above them," she replied. "And what they fear most is the hero who falls."
"…that I will end up betraying them, you mean?" Harry asked, frowning. "But…if I was evil, wouldn't what Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are doing be…really…really dull?"
'Meaning that what Slytherin is doing is actually very clever...?'
"Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are not Houses known for wisdom or cunning," the Ravenclaw remarked, which made Harry smile despite himself. "They tend to be characterized by defiance and groupthink, respectively."
"I thought Gryffindor was known for Bravery, and Hufflepuff for Unity?" Harry questioned.
"One is often mistaken for the other," Sokaris commented, though she did not say which one was more accurate.
"I see," Harry said quietly. Then he thought of something. "But Sokaris…why aren't you at the Quidditch game with the rest of the castle?"
The answer didn't particularly surprise him.
"I dislike crowds," the purple-haired girl replied simply. This Harry could understand full well, as he had no love of vast number of people – and the attention they gave him – either, even if he was determined to live up to their faith in him. "And yourself?"
"…I don't like them much either," Harry admitted, shaking his head. Anyway, this was a fortunate encounter, as Sokaris was in Ravenclaw – she probably knew a little bit about the names Hagrid had mentioned. "Anyway, you mentioned Quirrell was after whatever was in the Third Floor Corridor, that he let the troll into Hogwarts, correct?"
"Indeed. You have relevant information on the matter?" Sokaris inquired, her gaze probing, almost intense.
"Well…I was talking to Hagrid…"
"The Groundskeeper, yes? I surmise he was responsible for the Cerberus' presence in the school."
"—right. He also said that Quirrell was one of the teachers who had put up protections for whatever was there. Along with the Heads of the Houses and Dumbledore."
"That is troubling," Sokaris noted, frowning at this piece of information. "If he is indeed the thief, he would likely have knowledge of what the other protections were."
"That worries me too," Harry admitted, remembering the nightmare that was the encounter with the troll – and how he'd fought even though he was terrified. "But what could mean so much to him that he'd release a troll in Hogwarts?"
"Do you have any knowledge of what is hidden, Harry Potter?" the Egyptian girl asked, as Harry thought.
"Well, maybe, actually," he said weakly. "I was at Gringotts the day it happened. Hagrid cleared out the vault on 'Hogwarts Business.' He said he was asked to do so by Professor Dumbledore, and that whatever the package was, the matter was between the Headmaster and Nicolas Flamel."
Sokaris seemed to stiffen a little at his words - her eyes narrowing, mouth tightening.
"You recognize the name, Sokaris?"
"Flamel is said to be an Alchemist more talented than any other alive today, as he created a Philosopher's Stone," she said, a tad stiffly. "Though some dispute this and claim he came into the knowledge of how to do so from a…wandering sage."
"…a Philosopher's Stone?" Harry echoed, deciding the hows were unimportant. "That sounds important."
It sounded like it, but Harry really didn't have any idea if it was or not. There was so much he was still learning - though he didn't think he had to put up a front around Sokaris, since she wouldn't judge him. She had secrets enough, he wagered.
"It is the final goal of Alchemy, the secrets of its creation being the greatest of all the arts of At-Alchemists," she related, closing her eyes. "Turning metal into gold is merely one of its minor powers. Among Alchemists, it is best known for conferring immortality upon its bearer through the Water – Elixir of Life it produces, which can cure any illness - even prevent death itself."
"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly understanding why such an artifact would be so sought after. "So no one has managed to create one besides this Flamel?"
"So it is said," Sokaris replied, though she seemed somehow unhappy with this line of inquiry. "So…we know what Quirrell's goal then."
For the Stone was a lofty thing indeed. A treasure to make some men desperate, and more envious - though what would drive a man to be ambitious to face Dumbledore, who, after the fall of Voldemort, was considered the most powerful wizard alive?
That bothered him - and greatly.
"…but who would be powerful enough to want to take the Stone while it's at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, giving voice to what was troubling him. As he spoke though, an old memory beginning to surface, words he had heard when he first learned about magic. "I mean, even if Quirrell does manage to steal it, wouldn't one of the teachers stop him – or at least Dumbledore, if the others don't suspect him? How does he expect to get away with it if even Flitwick could stop him?"
"Can you think of none he might serve who might have both power and motive?" Sokaris replied, trading a question for a question. "After all, Harry Potter, why was it you became known as the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Because I defeated—"
And then he fell silent, eyes widening as an iron fist clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. In the back of his mind, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."
…of course. The one person no one would suspect, because they all thought him dead.
Voldemort.
"Merlin. Then Quirrell is...or is working for…"
"It is a distinct possibility," Sokaris noted grimly. "If he did in fact survive that night, such an artifact might allow his full revival."
Harry sat there, all but frozen.
"But then what can we do? What can we possibly do to stop him from stealing the Stone? We can't possibly fight Quirrell, and the teachers won't believe us."
This much he knew – they would have no reason to suspect the Defense professor was up to anything nefarious, and even then would have perfect faith in Dumbledore – a faith he himself did not share.
"This is true," Sokaris admitted. "Which just means we have do the last thing he'll expect."
"And what's that?"
For a second Harry almost thought Sokaris smiled. Almost.
"Steal it first."