The Best Revenge
Chapter 28The four first years sat out by the lake for some time, thinking through what they had learned at Hagrid's.
"I know I've heard that name," Draco said. "Nicholas Flamel. I know I've heard it."
Harry said, "I have too. He's a famous alchemist. I have this gigantic book in my trunk all about him. It was my mum's. Professor Snape told me she was really interested in Potions."
"Actually," Hermione pointed out primly, "potions and alchemy aren't at all the same thing. Alchemy is the study of metals-sort of like inorganic chemistry, and-"
"Yes, thank you, Granger, I have heard of alchemy," Draco interrupted her. "Anyway, it sounds like Flamel and Dumbledore know each other. Maybe they worked on something together-potions and alchemy do overlap somewhat, even though it's been donkey's years since alchemy was taught at Hogwarts. Father thinks that's a great mistake."
"It's probably in your book, Harry," Neville said. "Maybe they did something together in the war against Grindelwald. A secret weapon, maybe."
Harry grimaced. "I don't know, Neville. It's a really long book. Hundreds of pages. It'll take me forever to find out."
"Not if you look in the index," Hermione informed him. "Look in the index for 'Dumbledore.' If you like, I'll do it."
Harry shook his head, feeling a little jealous of sharing something that had belonged to his mother. "It was my mum's book. I really ought to do it myself. I'll check the index. That doesn't sound too bad. Thanks for the idea!"
"Now that that's settled," Hermione said, "I think we should work on a list of possible club programs. It's not too early to decide. People need time to prepare, after all. Do you suppose some parents would be allowed to come and talk about their careers?"
"You might hear things you don't like," Draco snarked. "My father would come if we asked, but his career is being the head of our family. It's not something you can aspire to be-unless you're born to it!"
Hermione huffed, rather offended.
Harry said, "Probably your father would be too busy, I suppose, but it would be interesting to hear what he does all day."
Draco snorted. "Harry, not even my mother knows what Father does all day."
The Headmaster's office was the locus of the extraordinary at Hogwarts. There were collected the rarest of books, the strangest of artifacts, the oldest of relics. Snape had been there many times through the years, but had never been invited to simply browse at his leisure. He knew that things the Headmaster thought too dangerous for public viewing-or even for the Restricted Section-were kept here, away from the eyes of lesser witches and wizards.
Occasionally it annoyed him, especially when he glimpsed that thin green volume that he had reason to believe was a lost work of Pliny the Elder on the uses of silphium. Yes-there it was, not twelve feet away. Dumbledore had not done a jot of scholarly research since becoming Headmaster decades ago. It was insufferable that he was hoarding all these treasures. Not for the first time, Snape wondered if Dumbledore would notice if Snape were to borrow that one slender book- perhaps at the end of the meeting, when he was distracted-
"Ah, Hagrid!" Dumbledore called out, "Join us, if you will. I believe we can begin now."
Looking around the room, Snape realized that this was the same group that the Headmaster had mentioned when he told Snape that he needed some very special magical protections for a certain precious object. Yes: Minerva, Filius, Pomona, Hagrid, and Quirrell. And himself, of course.
Now that he knew that the object in question was the Philosopher's Stone, he was deeply concerned. Knowing that there was an individual in the room seeking to steal it for the Dark Lord forced him to exert all his occlumency and all his acting skills not to glare at the pasty-faced young man in the purple turban, the one who dared to sit just a little closer to Snape than he ought. Snape longed to push him away, and wondered what would happen if he did.
Quirrell's behavior to Harry in class was deplorable, but Albus would allow no interference. It was all part of the Grand Plan, whatever that was. That the students' education was being sacrificed was of no consequence, it seemed. At least Snape could help Harry catch up on his studies a bit during their Saturday afternoons.
His attention was riveted when the Headmaster produced a curious casket of antique make, inlaid with exotic woods and mother-of-pearl, and set it before him on his desk.
"I thought," said Dumbledore, "that this was the proper moment for you to have a look at the artifact we are all working to protect."
Minerva McGonagall gave the Headmaster a sudden startled look. Uneasily, she glanced at Snape. He felt Minerva's questing gaze, and looked her way, lifting his brows.
Beside him, Quirrell shifted forward eagerly. Snape grimaced at the reek of garlic.
Not even requiring a touch or a word from Dumbledore, the casket slow opened, and flashes of crimson light flooded the room.
"Oh, my!" breathed Pomona Sprout, utterly enchanted with the beauty of the thing. Flitwick squeaked shrilly and clasped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Snape felt his scalp prickle. Only a handful of people could claim to have seen the Philosopher's Stone. That he was now one of them was immensely gratifying.
The Stone itself was irregular in shape, with a glassy, rippling sheen to it, a luminous ruby red-or brighter, really, since most real rubies had something of a pinkish cast. This was a true scarlet, and the vivid, radiant colour reminded Snape of the stained glass he had seen when the Evanses had taken him with them to church one Christmas morning.
This was not glass, however. It sparkled and pulsed with magic. The very air took on a different flavour in the presence of the thing.
They all learned forward, admiring. Some did more than lean. Quirrell's hand stretched out.
"Might I," he murmured, "touch it?"
The box slid away toward Dumbledore. The Headmaster smiled.
"I'm afraid not. Dear Nicholas insisted. We are not to touch it- -not directly at least."
The box clicked shut and everyone in the room sighed with disappointment.
"We really must get to work," Dumbledore declared. "One could spend one's life studying such an object, but our task is to defend it. My good old friend finds it such a burden. With his assistance, I came up with a few ideas that I hope you all found of interest. Hagrid here has already done his part-most thoroughly and creditably."
The half-giant beamed and ducked his head, with a muttered, "T'weren't nothin'."
Albus was having none of it. "On the contrary, an excellent effort. We are all in your debt."
Everyone was longing to ask what exactly Hagrid had done, but Dumbledore had decided that each of their tasks must kept secret between himself and the specific member of staff. Snape could think of all sorts of ways of winkling the information out of Hagrid, but it would be unkind to take advantage of the fellow's good will towards him.
In private meetings, Albus had given each of them the germ of an idea to base their defense upon. He had consulted with them, approving and refining the concepts until they met his requirements. Snape knit his brows, pondering the meaning behind his own challenge. A logic puzzle? It hardly sounded the sort of thing that would delay the Dark Lord for long. It might amuse him, in fact-it might give him a feeling of superiority if he could overcome the best that Hogwarts' best could devise.
Beside him, he saw a crafty smirk twitch the corners of Quirrell's mouth. What had Dumbledore asked of him? What was the purpose of asking the individual most under suspicion to help protect the Stone? Was Dumbledore merely marking time? Was there something else behind all of this?
After a little more discussion, they were dismissed. To Snape's disgust, Dumbledore bade them a twinkling farewell, standing directly in front of a certain little green book. Snape had no time for it anyway. He must get the Headmaster alone and find out all his could about the current situation.
His opportunity came shortly after lunch the next day. He waited impatiently to be admitted, and found Dumbledore writing letters, the window open to a cool, sweet breeze. Fawkes gave him a friendly chirp.
"My dear boy!" Dumbledore greeted him, "What can I do for you on this splendid afternoon? Have you come to have a bird's eye view of the Hufflepuff quidditch practice?"
Snape had forgotten the Hufflepuffs were holding their practice today, instead of waiting for the weekend. He walked to the window, and saw tiny, faraway figures darting about on broomsticks.
A cluster of students were watching, including all the first-year Hufflepuffs. He saw Harry's dark head in the midst of them. Even at this distance, he could see the boy's attention was entirely focused on the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory. Harry had told him that the Diggory boy had been kind to him. Unsurprising. Cedric Diggory was an outstanding student-popular and athletic-and no slouch on the academic side, either.
Snape grimaced. The Diggory lad was, in fact, very much like James Potter in some ways-or perhaps, more precisely, like James Potter would have described himself. Diggory had none of Potter's arrogance-none of his malicious streak, either. A decent lad, in short: one who did not require the humiliation of others to make himself important.
"Harry is wild for a broom of his own," Snape remarked. "I would give him one at Christmas, but then he would be wanting to bring it to school. Perhaps I shall get one for him as a present at the end of the year, if his marks warrant it."
"Yes-I've heard about Harry's budding talent," Dumbledore answered. "Was there something else on your mind?"
Snape turned, and folded him arms in front of him, scowling. "You know there is. A logic puzzle? What kind of protection is that? Why not a ward net? A lethal potions trap? Why not the Fidelius? I daresay Flamel did not want to put a curse on the Stone itself-"
"Certainly not!"
"But you could create foolproof defenses. A logic puzzle sounds like you're playing games!"
"Perhaps I am," Dumbledore replied, in a tone of calm reason.
"Are you serious about keeping the Stone from Quirrell?"
"The Stone is in no danger from him."
"Does he know that?"
Albus actually laughed. "I certainly hope not!" The laughter died away and Dumbledore told Snape, "My dear boy, I know how anxious you are. Try to believe me when I tell you the Stone is perfectly safe. These defenses serve a useful purpose-"
"Rubbish! What purpose, other than to delay-" Snape paused. "You are playing with the Dark Lord, aren't you? Letting him believe himself cleverer than the rest of us-"
"-always his worst failing. He was so terribly vain-"
"-and keeping his servant here, under your eye-"
"-where I know what he is doing."
"Ah." Snape considered that a moment. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."
"Precisely. There are other ways Voldemort could manifest himself-ways that would involve making himself known to his old followers, and building up his support once more-ways that might be more certain than the fabled but elusive Elixir of Life. It seems to me best for Voldemort to hunt after something that he would not wish to share with anyone else. And, as you say, where his activities can be watched."
The formula for the Elixir of Life was fairly well known, and was published in several works. It would not be difficult to brew, save for the initial step, which was the well-known catch-phrase for the impossible: First, create a Philosopher's Stone.
"Very well," Snape agreed grudgingly. "The plan is to keep Quirrell here as long as possible. But what then? What if he wins through the defenses-he is devising one of them after all-and gives the stone to Voldemort?"
"He will not pass my last defense," Dumbledore said with confidence. "It is one of my cleverer ideas, and it is certain to baffle him. I believe it will baffle him until Voldemort decides he has no further use for poor Quirinius."
"The Dark Lord will kill him," Snape said. "You used to show more mercy to His followers."
"Quirinius is doomed," Dumbledore declared sadly. "I wish it were not so, but there is nothing to be done. He is doomed, but others will survive, and Voldemort will never have the Elixir of Life."
"I don't suppose you would tell me what this infallible defense of yours is?"
Dumbledore leaned back and smiled. "I will tell you this: only one who does not want to use the Stone can get at it."
Harry blew out a breath, and looked at the enormous book is despair. There were eight hundred seventy pages of Alchemist Supreme: the Life of Nicholas Flamel, by Junia Kleopha Robbins.
Hermione had told him to look in the index, but there was no index. There was a table of contents to the thirty-eight chapters, but the titles were complicated and full of quotations, and gave the untutored Harry no clue as to what they were actually about. The only way he was going to find out what Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel might have in common would be to actually read the book, page by page.
But it was a ridiculously long book. It made his wrists hurt to hold it for any length of time. He laid it in front of him on the library table, and prepared to plunge into the first chapter, A Distant Mirror: Paris in the Fourteenth Century.
"Psst! Harry!"
Happy to be distracted, Harry looked up and saw Draco in the library doorway, trying to get his attention. There was a card in Draco's hand and he was waving it at Harry.
"Oh, go see what he wants, Harry," said Susan. "It's better than being blown through the window by the force of your sighs."
Hannah and Sally giggled, and Harry made a face at them.
Draco was making tremendous gestures, and Harry hurried over, with an apologetic glance at Madam Pince.
"Well, what-"
Draco grabbed him by his robe and dragged him out into the hall. "I know who Nicholas Flamel is. I know what Fluffy's guarding."
"What? How?"
"My Famous Wizard Cards collection. I owled Mother. I told her I needed it."
"There's a Nicholas Flamel card?"
"Of course! Look!"
Harry took the card and studied it. The wizard in the picture did not look anywhere as old as Dumbledore. He had a clean-shaven, thin, unlined face, with a long nose and piercing grey eyes. Crystal-white hair flowed back from the austere brow and rippled to the man's high, starched collar. He looked back at Harry, and gave him a slight, amused smile.
NICHOLAS FLAMEL
ONLY KNOWN CREATOR OF THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
The premier alchemist and noted opera lover Nicholas Flamel possesses the only Philosopher's Stone currently in existence. This stone's astonishing powers include transforming any metal into pure gold. It is also the essential ingredient in the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal. Grand Master 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).
Harry's jaw dropped. "The Philosopher's Stone? That must be it! That's what Hagrid took out of the vault! That's what Quirrell is after!"
"I told you! This is big, Harry! The Philosopher's Stone-well-it's the rarest, most valuable item in the entire world. People would kill for this-and they have. I knew I'd heard the name. That's why I had Mother owl me my entire card collection."
"I saw you getting a big box at breakfast. Why didn't you ask her to find the Flamel card and just send that?"
Draco gave him a shove, "Because, you wanker, she certainly knows who Nicholas Flamel is, and then she'd want to know what's going on, and then she'd tell Father, and he'd come here, and then we'd have to tell him everything before we're done investigating it ourselves! This is our mystery, and were going to solve it. And then everyone will be so incredibly impressed!"
"If you say so. All right, all right! Let's tell the others!"
"But they've got to swear to keep it a secret, Harry! If more people knew the Stone was at Hogwarts-"
"Yeah, I get it. This Nicholas Flamel must be the richest man in the world. He can turn anything into gold. That would come in handy sometimes."
Draco bit his lip. "It's not just the money, Harry. We have plenty of gold. It's immortality, Harry! The Elixir of Life is so powerful that you can live forever, and be young and healthy and strong the whole time! They say that it can even bring people back from the dead-if you don't wait too long to give it to them. It heals all sickness and wounds. Anybody would want the Philosopher's Stone, Harry. But since it also makes you rich, there's nothing you can really offer someone like Flamel to make you a Stone of your own."
He lowered his voice. "I think my grandfather talked to him once-he wanted Flamel to make him one. Offered him the moon, practically, but it was no go. Nobody has any leverage over Flamel, and his place in Devon must be really well protected, because I know a lot of people have tried to find it."
"Maybe he asked Dumbledore to keep it here because someone was after it!"
"Maybe." Draco looked doubtful. "But someone's always after it. It's the Philosopher's Stone!" He snickered. "Maybe Quirrell thinks it'll cure his stutter!"
"We've got to tell the others, Draco. They've got to know. It's only fair."
"Not the whole club, I hope," said Draco, looking horrified. "We don't know all that lot very well, and if they talked-"
"I've got to tell the other badgers," Harry insisted. "It would be really wrong if I didn't."
"It could be dangerous for them," Draco warned him. "If Quirrell is after the Stone, he might be capable of anything. I wouldn't tell Crabbe and Goyle. Those two couldn't protect themselves against a grown wizard. And those little girls-"
"Well- Hermione and Neville have got to be told. They know half of it now, anyway. Hermione is smart, and she'll eventually figure it out the rest on her own, I reckon. We can tell our other friends when Quirrell's been sorted out."
"I daresay. Very well, let's meet in the club room right after dinner. I'll tell Granger. You tell Longbottom."
Harry thought Draco had the easier task. The Ravenclaws were largely uninterested in where Hermione Granger went after dinner, other than being rather relieved that she would be elsewhere.
Harry, on the other hand, had to listen to Zach Smith muttering about :"the dumping ground of Hogwarts" and "losers."
Giving him a quick, hostile look under his brows, Harry said calmly, "Don't feel so bad about losing all those points, Smith. I'm sure that the Explorers' Club members can make them up for you sometime this year."
Zach looked like he wanted to make something of it, but the older students nearby gave him no encouragement.
Harry asked Neville, "Could you come to the club room after dinner, Neville? We need to go over the plans for next Saturday."
Neville nodded, looking very thoughtful.
Dinner was torture for Harry. He hated deceiving his housemates. They were honest kids, who had been open and above-board with him. He felt ashamed of keeping dangerous secrets from them, but told himself it was safest for them. They knew to stay away from the third-floor corridor, at least.
And at the moment they were too interested in hearing about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend to have time for lesser interests. Cedric was going for the first time, and had promised to bring each of them a souvenir.
Afterwards, Harry had to make up an excuse not to return to the Common Room with them. Ernie was teaching Justin to play wizards' chess, and Sally was going to meet with some older students to practice for Talent Night in October. Hannah and Susan were devising the tea for the next meeting, and would announce it when the plans were firmed up.
"We didn't finish lining up our programs this afternoon. Draco and I got talking with Hagrid and time got away from me. But he promised to come and tell about the Forbidden Forest some time. That should be neat."
"Give me an exact time when you'll be back in the Common Room," Cedric said. "Professor Sprout doesn't like the first years wandering the halls alone near curfew."
"I won't be wandering-"
Cedric's expression told Harry he was perilously close to sounding like a whinger.
Harry surrendered with a rueful smile. "Nine o'clock. Okay?"
"Okay-but if you're not there, I'll come after you."
Neville heard the story from Draco and Harry without interruption. Hermione had remarks enough for two people.
Most of them centered around her main point: they must tell a teacher immediately. The only real question was: who?
This led to some lively debate. Neville had instantly agreed with Hermione. It was ridiculous to imagine that four first years could fight the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, though Draco was not so sure that he and Harry couldn't take on "the stuttering idiot."
Then, too, the students all thought highly of their House Heads. In the end, they agreed that Professor Snape was indeed the best choice: not only because he was Harry's proxy guardian, but because he himself had witnessed something peculiar between Harry and Professor Quirrell.
"Has he said what might have caused you to faint, Harry?"" Hermione asked, fascinated by the subject.
It had taken some time for her to accept that a teacher might be a danger to the students, but Professor Quirrell was such a very bad teacher, Hermione was not sure he deserved any defense. It made sense though, that a teacher planning something so nefarious would undermine his students' education as well.
"I did not faint!" Harry protested. "I only-blacked out-just for a little bit."
Hermione pursed her lips, and Draco grinned knowingly at Harry. Neville was still pondering the awfulness of approaching Professor Snape.
"Will we all have to go, Harry?" he quavered. "I don't think he likes me much."
"Oh, Neville, that's not true," Hermione put in. "He's very concerned that you do well. That's why he's paired the two of us up for the rest of term. You're already doing very much better!"
"He looks at me like I'm some sort of-flobberworm," Neville moaned. "I start working on a potion and he raises his eyebrow at me-yes, just like that, Draco!-and my mind goes blank and I make mistakes!"
"I'll talk to him," Harry promised, a little impatiently, wanting to get back to his sensational news. "Do you think we dare wait until Saturday? I have a regular time to see him in the afternoon."
A silence, as the students tried to work out if Quirrell might make for the Stone at any moment. Finally Hermione said judiciously, "I think you should talk him as soon as you can, Harry. You can talk to him without raising any suspicion. We should see him right away. We don't want Professor Quirrell to try to steal the Stone before we can notify the proper authorities!"
Harry stood waiting outside Professor Snape's quarters, thinking about how they would lay out their discovery to him. Harry wasn't sure it was a good idea. Before this summer, he had never had much luck telling adults about his troubles, and no adult had actually done anything that would help him.
But Professor Snape was different, certainly. He had rescued Harry from the Dursleys. Harry had a beautiful room at Privet Drive now thanks to him. Professor Snape had protected him and helped him, and shown him a brilliant new world. But what if the Professor was angry because Harry had gone where he wasn't supposed to be? Professor Snape had told him that whatever was going on with Professor Quirrell was none of his business, but Professor Snape didn't know the whole story!
Before he had a chance to change his mind, the Professor appeared before them. Harry swallowed nervously under the intense black gaze.
"Mr. Potter-Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger-and Mr Longbottom attempting to skulk behind her. Is there some problem?"
Harry and Draco looked at each other, and Harry shuffled, eyes on the floor. Hermione gave him an impatient little nudge.
"Professor-I know you told me not to worry about things, but we really think you need to know about something-"
Impulsively, Hermione burst out, "Professor-the Philosopher's Stone is here at Hogwarts!"
With this electric pronouncement, the students looked up beseechingly at Snape, who stared back them in shock.
Harry added, "That was what Hagrid took out of the vault that day we were at Diagon Alley. And Professor Quirrell is after it-we think," he faltered, seeing the look on Professor Snape's face.
"One moment," Snape said, and strode away, opening the door to his bedroom and slamming it behind him. He stood there some minutes, not knowing if he would burst out laughing or start tearing his hair. He took a deep breath, drew himself up, and stalked back out to hear what Harry and his companions had gotten themselves into.
Note: Some of you have remarked that Lucius Malfoy works for the Ministry, because after the fight with Arthur Weasley at Flourish & Blotts, he said "Ill see you at work." That is film canon, not in the books. It is clear to me that Lucius Malfoys career is being Lucius Malfoy. We know he has lots of money, but JKR really doesn't tell us enough about the workings of the wizarding economy for us to know where it comes from. All sorts of conjectures are possible.
Silphium, by the way, was a real plant, now extinct, that provided the women of the ancient Mediterranean with a safe and convenient abortifacient.
And no, my computer is not any better. Once again, I'm borrowing time.