Discoveries
A/N
Here is a quick drop of chapters for you, and I will be reverting to updating once a week (Saturday or Sunday) from now on.
Enjoy,
TBR
A hot shower after Quidditch practice was one of the simple joys in life Harry had come to appreciate. Despite being atop a broom for the duration, it was a physically demanding sport, one that required conditioned muscles.
Having only been playing for a few short months, Harry's body was still growing accustomed to the toll it took on him, and it certainly didn't help that Oliver Wood insisted they transform themselves into what he deemed to be 'true athletes'.
The workouts he put them through were hellish to say the least.
Fred and George were right, the older boy was something of a lunatic.
Still, Harry had made it through another of the gruelling sessions, and he allowed himself to relax as the scorching water soothed him.
"Come on, Potter, we haven't got all night to wait for you," Angelina called.
"I've only just got in!" Harry protested.
He'd quickly learned to wait until Fred and George had departed the changing rooms before putting himself in such a vulnerable position.
Wood may be unhinged when it came to Quidditch preparations, but the twins were demons all of the time and any in the shower they saw as fair game for one of their pranks.
"You have two minutes," Alicia replied.
Harry huffed irritably.
"You don't have to wait for me."
They always did.
The twins and Oliver had no qualms in doing so, but the trio of girls did not believe a first year should be left to wander the grounds at night.
As such, they would not leave without him, insisting on escorting him back to the common room after each training session.
"You have one minute or we are coming to get you," Angelina cooed.
"Bloody hell," Harry grumbled as he shut off the water.
He had no doubt the girl would make good on that promise and bodily drag him from the shower if necessary.
Muttering under his breath, Harry dried himself quickly and dressed, just in time before the three girls burst into the changing room.
"You're not supposed to be in here," Harry pointed out.
"Oh, he's dressed," Alicia sighed, pouting disappointedly. "What a shame."
Harry could only shake his head.
They always teased him, and it didn't help that he never knew what to say to them when they did it.
He'd never had much to do with girls.
Any that had taken any interest in him at primary school were quickly scared off by Dudley, just like any other that may have wanted to befriend him.
"There's always next time," Angelina replied with a grin. "Come on, Harry. We have to walk you back. Who knows what trouble you would get yourself into without us?"
"You three are the troublemakers," Harry muttered.
"Did you say something?" Alicia returned, quirking an eyebrow.
"No," Harry denied.
He hadn't meant to speak, but the words had escaped him before he could stop himself.
"He accused us of being troublemakers," Angelina pointed out.
"He did," Katie piped up, grinning triumphantly.
Harry swallowed deeply as they turned towards him.
"Do you have something to say to us, little Harry?" Angelina asked sweetly.
He may not have known much about girls, but Harry knew when he was in trouble.
He'd been in enough of it over the years living with the Dursleys.
As he always did when he sensed Dudley and his gang were coming for him, Harry took to his heels, bursting out of the changing rooms and sprinting towards the castle in the distance.
Harry was good at running.
He'd spent much of his life doing it, and the years of practice had certainly paid off.
Whooping gleefully as he put more and more distance between himself and the pursuing girls, he eventually made it to the castle without being caught, his pace not slowing as he made his way up the various staircases to the seventh floor.
"Fortuna Major!" he gasped as he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
The woman allowed him to enter and Harry did so, pausing as he reached the centre of the common room.
"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking up from the book she was reading by the fireplace.
"Hide me!"
Hermione frowned, and when Harry realised she would be no help, he scrambled behind a pair of curtains, immediately knowing it had been a foolish move.
Had anyone ever hidden successfully like this?
"Come out, Potter!" the breathless voice of Angelina demanded a few moments later.
Harry remained where he was, closing his eyes tightly in the foolish belief that if he could not see them, the girls would not be able to see him either.
The notion proved to be an amateur one as only a few seconds after he'd realised his error, the curtains were torn open and Harry was dragged before the trio of girls.
"Hello," he said innocently.
"'Hello,' he says," Alicia scoffed. "You made us chase you all the way here just to say hello?"
"I didn't make you chase me," Harry pointed out, immediately chastising himself as he spoke without thought once more.
"He's getting cheeky," Angelina sighed. "What are we going to do with him?"
"I say we let Katie at him," Alicia suggested.
Katie grinned as she offered him a wave and Harry shook his head.
Angelina and Alicia would just get his punishment over with, but Katie would prolong the suffering.
She was twisted in that way, and though she was only a year older than him, Katie was the one Harry was most cautious of.
Katie tapped her chin thoughtfully as she pondered a suitable punishment.
"You are going to write a letter of apology to each of us for running away," she decided.
Harry scowled at the girl petulantly, but he knew better than to argue with her.
"And your shower time will be reduced by one minute for a week," Angelina added. "It's not healthy for an impressionable boy to spend too much time in the shower when there are ladies waiting for you."
Harry opened his mouth to speak but managed to stop himself.
"Something you want to say?" Alicia asked amusedly.
Harry shook his head, and the girl nodded satisfactorily.
"We expect our letters before breakfast tomorrow."
With that, they moved to the other side of the common room and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Shut up," he muttered to the laughing twins and Ron.
Even Hermione was smirking but had the decency to not mock him too much.
"We did warn you, Harrikins," one of the twins sighed. "Never get on the wrong side of the chasers. They will make your life hell."
"I only wanted a shower," Harry protested.
"And now you have letters to write," the other twin japed. "I'd get on with it if I was you. They won't accept a half-hearted attempted.
Harry spent a moment bemoaning the existence of the three girls before removing a quill and some parchment, ignoring Fred and George as they created the sound of a whip cracking from the tips of their wands.
"There," he declared when he had finished around fifteen minutes later, yawning before looking towards the clock.
It was close to ten pm and Harry was exhausted.
He had Charms first in the morning and needed to be sharp for the lesson with Professor Flitwick.
"I think I'm going to turn in," he sighed, throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading up to the dormitory.
Neville was already snoring, and Dean and Seamus had drawn their curtains too.
Ron always went to bed later than the rest, which explained why he found it so difficult to function in the mornings until after he'd had his fill at the breakfast table.
Changing into his pyjamas, Harry climbed into bed, frowning as his hand grazed over something cold beneath his pillow.
The cloak.
"I could have used you earlier," he murmured, shuddering as the cold grew in intensity.
Since the night he had seen the vision of the Peverell brothers, he'd been shown nothing else, despite even sleeping within the magnificent garment from time to time.
Still, the more time he spent holding or wearing it, the more it became familiar to him.
It was as though they were getting to know one another and bonding more throughout each exchange.
Harry would not pretend to understand it, but it seemed important to him that he continued doing so.
Sometimes, it felt like the cloak was reading him, judging his worth before it would relax around him, warming slightly to his touch.
Often, he questioned if the vision he had seen had been real, and whenever the doubt surfaced, he consulted the plethora of notes he had taken immediately after returning from what he had seen.
The symbols.
He could make no sense of them as he had been able to that night, but he had drawn them exactly as they had appeared, and Harry was determined to decipher them.
With his resolve once again steeled, he placed the cloak around his shoulders and waited for the magic to settle.
Tonight, however, it didn't, and only a few months after the first incident, Harry felt himself being pulled into a blackened void before he could even comprehend preventing it.
It was astounding to see how Antioch defeated Svend the Bloody with such apparent ease. 'The Immortal Dane' they called him, and yet, Antioch cut him down with the Elder Wand, named for what it is hewn from, as though he was a mere whelp.
For moons the Danish reavers had raided the small towns and villages along the west coast, and then they landed in Cymru where their violence continued.
Using the gifts of Death, we had pushed them back time and again, only for them to return more vicious than when they had been repelled.
At the helm of their forces had been Svend, a large, pale and heavily scarred man from the many battles he had fought.
Many begged and pleaded with Antioch to not challenge him, but alas, he did so and the hulking Dane accepted readily.
It was only this morn they met at the foot of the mountain, and Svend swore to his false gods that he would gut Antioch with haste.
False gods indeed.
I name them such as there is only one god I now recognise.
Death came and provided to us, as he will inevitably take away, but he came in our hour of need all the same.
As the duel began Svend proved why he had gained his reputation by attempting to do just as he promised, only Antioch took it upon himself to become what the locals now call him 'The Monster Slayer'.
With a deftness and power I never thought I would witness, Svend was torn limb from limb, as though Death himself had hacked at him with his scythe.
Come Death, Come.
The Dane fell into a heap of flesh and bone, and his men fled to the sea where the ghosts of their pasts were there to greet them, compliments of Cadmus.
Both the stone and wand truly are exceptional relics to possess.
So frightened the Danes were by the sight of their misdeeds that they chose to swim home in lieu of sailing, only for the waves to consume them as they left the harbour.
I doubt any of their kind will darken our shores again with their savagery.
I find myself as impressed as I remain sceptical.
The gifts bestowed upon us truly are remarkable, and yet, they were not given generously.
No, they give and they take in equal measure as I have become wont to believe.
Nonetheless, today was a victory to be celebrated, and between the bouts of heavy merriment being had by Antioch as he declared his victory for all to hear, I was able to speak at length with my brother as to his experience with his chosen endowment.
I have grown to become a believer that the bond forged between a wizard and his wand is of paramount importance if one wishes for it to perform at its very best, a sentiment shared by every wandcrafter I have broached the subject with.
The wand does indeed choose the wizard, but it is the wizard's responsibility to deepen that bond. It must become as much of you as your heart, your mind, and your soul.
Care for it, and your wand will do things for you that you will not believe when called upon.
Antioch had forged an exquisite bond with his own over the decades he'd owned it.
He cared for it as though it were a child, tended to it regularly, and came to understand it. His dedication to it paid dividends over the years, however, by his own admission, the Elder Wand truly felt like it was part of him as he fought Svend.
Indeed it is.
I have come to believe in the moons past since we were visited by Death that each of our relics contain a piece of us; blood and soul I expect.
They key to them only lies in the former.
A soul can be destroyed and manipulated under the right conditions, but blood is an imprint that cannot be compromised.
The key to the Hallows, as I have come to call them, is in the blood of the Peverells.
They may pass from our hands and be used by others, but their loyalty will always be to us and only a Peverell will truly be able to wield them.
That is my firm belief, but my work will continue.
Death is a shrewd one.
If the key lies in our blood, then he has already prepared the one he mentioned who may need them more than they could hope for.
Nonetheless, I do not believe they are infallible.
Our requests were granted to a literal end, and were I to have my time again, perhaps I would choose more wisely.
That is not to say the cloak is not an incredible creation that will serve me until my time is done, but hindsight would make me consider other options.
I can only hope the cloak, the wand, and the stone will be enough.
Fate is a fickle mistress, and not knowing her intention for the days ahead pertaining to the son of my son several times over, or even my nephew or niece thrice and thrice born some time from now fills me with doubt.
Death must be whom they turn to when Fate seeks them out, for it is Death who answered our pleas.
We have paid the price so that they may see success in the trying times they will face.
Come Death, Come.
Harry blew the ink dry on the page before closing the large book, his eyes widening as he looked up and caught a glimpse of himself in the looking glass on the desk.
The reflection staring back at him was eerily similar to his own; the jet-black hair, the bright green eyes, and even the cheekbones were reminiscent of his own features, though these were considerably more aged.
He opened his mouth to speak, only to be forcefully pulled back through the void and onto his bed.
Harry's breathing was laboured and he took a moment to ponder what it was he had seen.
He'd been writing in a book, a diary of sorts perhaps.
Much of what he'd written, he would need to investigate himself to clarify, something he would do when he visited the library.
The other thing he had taken away was the thoughts on the Hallows Ignotus Peverellhad shared, but more so than that was musings on wands.
With a frown, Harry picked his up from the bedside table.
In truth, he'd paid little attention to it since he'd obtained it from Mr Ollivander back in August. He'd used it in his lessons, of course, and for other simple pieces of magic from time to time, but he'd not truly thought of it.
He'd spent his entire life living as a muggle, and habitually reverted to doing things without the use of magic.
Had that been a mistake?
He was a wizard, after all.
As his thoughts progressed, the wand grew warmer in his hand approvingly, and Harry took a moment to revel in it.
Ignotus Peverell had evidently been on to something, but how did Harry take care of his wand?
Remembering the kit that he had purchased from Ollivander, he fished through his trunk until he found the small box and opened it.
Within was a cloth made of a material he didn't recognise, some cleaning solution, and a polish specifically designed for holly.
Nodding to himself, Harry began the process of cleaning the wand, removing the stubborn fingerprints on it until the wood was gleaming.
Again, his wand grew warm when he was done, and even more so when he applied the polish.
With the task complete some moments later and his wand as good as new, Harry placed it back on his bedside table, only to frown at the thought of leaving it there.
"What am I doing?" he murmured as he retrieved it once more and placed inside the sleeve of his pyjamas before settling into bed.
It was an odd sensation of contentedness that washed over him, but it was not his own.
No, it was emanating from the wand, and Harry decided that from now on, he would take the time to bond with it, and spend each night sleeping with it close to him.
(Break)
"Do you think he wrote the letters?" Alicia asked as she helped herself to some porridge and honey.
"If he knows what's good for him he has," Angelina replied, following suit.
"Aww, he's so cute," Alicia giggled, "but nothing like I thought he would be."
"What do you mean?" Katie asked curiously.
"Well, my mother went to school with Harry's dad," Alicia revealed. "According to her, he was always getting into trouble with the professors. He was a brilliant Quidditch player too, and very popular with the girls. My mum had a crush on him."
Angelina snorted amusedly.
"When did she tell you that?"
"I wrote to her when Harry made the team," Alicia explained.
"So, did she ever…"
Katie looked at the older girls confusedly as Alicia almost spat out her breakfast at the question before she shook her head.
"No. James Potter was only ever interested in one girl, and he ended up marrying her."
"Harry's mum," Angelina said sadly. "It's horrible what happened to them."
Alicia nodded her agreement.
"I wonder who looks after Harry?"
"He doesn't speak about it," Katie broke in. "I heard the younger Weasley asking about it, but Harry wouldn't say anything."
"It's probably a secret," Angelina mused aloud.
Katie frowned thoughtfully as she ate her own breakfast.
She and Harry had been on the team for several months now, and though he was an incredibly talented Seeker, she realised that she knew almost nothing about him other than what had happened on Halloween in 1981.
"Here he comes now," Angelina declared, nodding to where Harry was entering the Great Hall with Granger and the younger Weasley.
Alicia cleared her throat as he walked by and held her hand out expectantly.
With a sigh, Harry produced three pieces of parchment, and Katie took the one handed to her.
Reading it, she nodded her approval.
"Apology accepted, little Harry," she confirmed.
"I'm only a year younger than you," the pointed out.
"You are, but you're so titchy," Angelina giggled, pinching his cheek and ruffling his hair.
Harry blushed a bright red and muttered his excuse to leave, only to be stopped by the older girl.
"I did not say I have accepted your apology for your cheek," she said airily.
"Bloody hell, what else do you want?" Harry groaned.
Angelina hummed before opening her arms.
"I want a hug, and I want you to mean it."
Harry's blush only deepened and Katie laughed along with Alicia as he awkwardly did so, all but running from their presence when Angelina released him.
"Oh, he's too easy," the girl declared, waving at Harry who did his utmost to ignore her.
Katie smirked in amusement.
There was no harm intended from Angelina.
Both her and Alicia were nice, not like the ones in Katie's year who she barely spoke to.
They were all very much into make-up and wearing dresses on the weekend.
Katie had never been that way, and barely a week would pass that her mother was not displeased by Katie ruining an item of clothing from her choice of activities.
Where most girls would play with dolls or do other girly things, Katie had always preferred to be outside playing in the dirt with her two brothers.
Not that her mother was in a position to pass judgement.
She was a Herbologist and more often than not had mud or a fertiliser of some kind under her fingernails.
Her dorm mates did not approve, and as such, Katie had found herself drawn more towards the other chasers, even before she'd earned her place on the team.
"Come on, we'd best get to Potions before Snape does," Alicia huffed. "He'd love nothing more than to give us a detention on a Saturday we have a match. See you later, Katie."
Katie smiled as the other girls departed, and she quickly finished her own breakfast before heading towards the Transfiguration classroom.
It would not do her well to be late either.
Professor McGonagall may be the head of Gryffindor, but she was certainly not above docking points or handing out detentions to those in her own house.
Someone only needed to look at Fred and George to see how willing the Deputy Headmistress was to punish those garbed in robes trimmed in red and gold.
(Break)
"Now, the same rule applies for Colour Changing Charm as all the other spells we have worked on so far this year," Professor Flitwick explained. "You must maintain your focus or you will fall short of the mark. You may begin when you are ready."
Harry shifted his attention to the small block of brown wood in front of him as he drew his wand.
Immediately, he could feel the eagerness to begin pulsing gently through it.
"Colovaria," Hermione said fluently.
Her block of wood flashed a bright yellow colour before shifting back to the original brown and the girl scowled in response.
"Focus, Miss Granger."
"I did."
"Focus until the magic fully takes hold," Flitwick urged with a smile.
Hermione nodded and Harry turned his attention back to his own piece of wood.
What colour did he want it to be?
Red, he decided, levelling his wand and focusing on what it was he wanted to achieve.
"Colovaria," he murmured, reciting the incantation Flitwick and Hermione had used.
His wand responded immediately, bucking slightly as it carried out his will.
The block of wood turned red, and just when Harry thought he was going to lose focus from the surprise of his success, his hand grew warmer, pulling him back into the moment.
The entire exchange could only have lasted a few seconds at most, but so much seemed to have happened in that fleeting moment.
"Well done, Mr Potter!" Professor Flitwick said approvingly. "Excellent work. Was red your intended colour?"
Harry nodded dumbly and the diminutive man hummed.
"I'd like you to turn it green this time," he requested.
Releasing a deep breath, Harry did so.
"How about blue?"
Again, Harry replicated his feat, and Flitwick positively beamed at him.
"Take five points for Gryffindor."
The man left and Harry could only shake his head in disbelief as he stared at his wand.
For the first time, he did not look at it as though it was a mere tool for him to use for magic.
It was something akin to another being, but one that he could make a part of him if Ignotus Peverell was indeed correct with his thoughts on the matter.
"That was really good, Harry," Hermione praised when they were dismissed a few moments later. "The Colour Changing Charm is a pathway to lots more difficult ones."
"Pathway?" Harry asked confusedly.
Hermione tutted good-naturedly.
"Honestly, you should read more," she suggested. "A pathway in Charms is one spell that prepares you to be able to cast more difficult ones. The theory and practice is the same, you just need to be able to focus harder and envision things in more detail."
"Oh," Harry replied. "So, mastering a basic Charm will make learning others easier?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
"Exactly!" she declared.
"Bloody hell, now you've started her off," Ron muttered. "I never thought I'd say this, but let's get to History of Magic quickly."
Harry followed the redhead as he did his best to take in what Hermione said, something made much more difficult with how quickly she spoke, not even taking a breath as she lectured him on the progression of studying Charms.
By the time they'd reached Professor Binns' classroom, the girl was quite red in the face, and Harry felt as though he'd just returned from the very first vision the cloak had given him.
His brain was awash with new information he'd managed to pick up, yet, he had no idea what he was going to do with it.
Thankfully, History of Magic was not a taxing class, and as ever, Professor Binns simply droned on for an entire hour about a war that occurred between wizards and goblins some four centuries prior.
Ron quickly fell asleep whilst Hermione took page upon page of notes.
Harry could only speculate what it was she was writing down.
Binns only read from the textbook, and all the information he was providing was already in front of them.
Still, when the class was dismissed, a sudden inspiration hit Harry.
"I'll catch up, I just want to ask Binns a few questions about something," he assured the others.
Hermione shot him a questioning look, but Ron all but dragged her from the classroom.
"Is there something I can help you with, Donnelly?" the ghost asked as Harry approached.
Professor Binns called everyone Donnelly.
Nobody knew why. It was just one of many quirks the long-dead professor had.
"Sir, I was wondering if you could help me with something," Harry said carefully. "Have you heard of Svend the Bloody?"
Binns nodded.
"It has been some time since that name has been mentioned," he replied. "Svend the Bloody was a Dane who came to Britain many centuries ago. He earned a reputation for being rather vicious and leading a powerful group of witches and wizards on raiding missions. Why do you ask?"
"I was just curious, Professor," Harry replied. "What happened to him?"
"Well, that is where it gets interesting," Binns said cryptically. "Although it was never documented, it is said that he arrived in what we now know as Wales where he was challenged to a duel by a local wizard. The story passed on through the generations likely became exaggerated or changed, but it goes that the local man killed Svend, forced his followers to swim out to sea, and paraded the head of his foe across the country, drinking ale from the skull when the flesh fell off."
Harry's eyebrows rose.
Although that last part had indeed been exaggerated, the rest of it was accurate to what Ignotus Peverell had written.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry offered sincerely before taking his leave of the classroom.
Of course, he had questioned the veracity of what it as the cloak had shown him, but Professor Binns had all but confirmed that some of these things happened at the very least.
Maybe it was difficult to accept that the Peverells had indeed summoned Death to convene with them and they had been gifted unique items.
The cloak did exist however, and Antioch Peverell had evidently rid Britain of Svend the Bloody.
More than ever, Harry was intrigued to see how the rest of the story of the Peverells would unfold.
"What did you need to ask Professor Binns about?" Hermione questioned as he joined them in the Great Hall for lunch.
"I just wanted to know if there was any other books about the goblin rebellions I could get," Harry lied. "Bagshot is just so boring."
"I think she is fascinating," Hermione replied, slightly offended by his summary of the famed Historian.
"You would," Ron snorted, shoving a sausage into his mouth.
Hermione grimaced at the redhead before turning her attention back to her book.
She had seemingly given up trying to get Ron to improve his table manners and chose to read during mealtimes instead.
"Oi, I wasn't finished!" Ron huffed when they plates cleared a few moments later.
"Honestly Ronald, are you ever finished?" Hermione sighed.
Ron scowled and Hermione took pity on the boy, handing him a chocolate frog from within her robes.
The boy brightened immediately, tearing open the packet and shoving the confection into his mouth, eliciting another look of distaste from the girl.
"I got Dumbledore again," Ron groaned as he checked the card.
Harry had seen the collection he possessed.
It was one of the few things Ron had dedicated himself to, along with his support of the lacklustre Chudley Cannons.
"Here," he offered, handing Harry the card.
"I've already got Dumbledore."
"Now you have him twice," Ron replied with a grin.
Harry shook his head as he watched the revered headmaster vanish from the card before he turned it over.
"Flamel," he whispered. "I found him."
The trio had been looking for any reference to the man since Hagrid had let slip that whatever was being kept on the third floor involved him.
Harry had been certain he'd read the name somewhere, but the chocolate frog card had not even come to mind, something he chastised himself for now.
Hermione all but snatched the card from his hand, her lips moving soundlessly as she read the information on the back.
"Alchemy," she murmured thoughtfully. "I need to go to the library."
"Wait, what will we tell Sprout?" Ron called after her. "Hermione?"
She was gone and Ron looked at Harry dumbly before shrugging.
"I told you she was mental."
"She's determined," Harry chuckled. "Come on, we'd best get to the greenhouse."
They left the castle and made their way through the grounds with Harry pondering just who Nicholas Flamel was.
He didn't even know what Alchemy was, so he knew he was unlikely to draw any conclusions to whom the celebrated practitioner was.
Maybe Hermione would have more luck?
Shaking his head of his thoughts, he entered the greenhouse with Ron in tow, his thoughts still wandering from time to time to what he had learned of Svend the Bloody and now the latest name that had piqued his curiosity.
(Break)
It was the knock on the door that pulled Albus Dumbledore from his musings. With much of the school year having come and gone, he'd now shifted his attention to the upcoming OWL and NEWT exams.
As ever, they would be held in June, but as was the way with these things, that time would be upon Hogwarts soon enough.
"Come in, Hagrid," he called.
The hulking man entered, garbed in his favourite brown coat.
"Sorry to disturb you, Professor Dumbledore, but I thought I should tell you about what I found in the forest."
Albus frowned.
It wasn't like Hagrid to bring anything to his attention unless it was either something of an oddity or of concern.
"What did you find?"
"A dead unicorn, Professor. Killed by a human. Bane says there is something there that shouldn't be."
Albus's frown deepened.
"What is it?"
"He says it is a wizard, that he saw something drinking the unicorn's blood."
"That is concerning," Albus murmured worryingly.
To slaughter something so pure to drink its blood... Only someone with nothing to lose or desperate would do something that would curse them horribly.
There was only one person that came to mind when he pondered just who fit that very criteria, and the thought of his former student lurking anywhere near the castle filled Albus with dread.
He had held onto a shred of hope that Tom had indeed perished a decade ago, but Albus thought not.
No.
The prophecy had yet to be fulfilled, something he had checked several times over the years with Croaker in the Department of Mysteries.
That meant Tom was still out there somewhere, or seemingly much closer than Albus was comfortable with.
"I want you to be careful in the forest, Hagrid," he urged. "I will look into the matter personally."
"Of course, Professor," Hagrid replied, relieved that Albus was taking it seriously.
How could he not when such suspicions were immediately aroused?
With the stone within the castle, it only added to his worries, and Albus all but forgot about the upcoming exams.
No, his attention had very much shifted toward this most unwelcome development.
(Break)
"Do you think we should look for her?" Harry asked, looking towards the door of the Great Hall.
Hermione had been gone since lunchtime, missing the rest of the lessons for the day.
Before Ron could answer, the girl appeared and took a seat between the two, looking to be rather pleased with herself.
"Well?" the redhead demanded.
Hermione shook her head.
"Not here," she whispered, helping herself to some food and tucking into her meal ravenously.
She must be keen to tell them of her findings to throw all of her usual decorum out of the window in such a way.
Harry looked on fascination as she devoured it in a matter of only a few minutes before beckoning for him and Ron to follow.
Hermione said nothing until they reached a quiet corner of the common room.
"Now will you tell us?" Ron huffed impatiently.
"Nicholas Flamel," Hermione began, shooting a glance around them to ensure no one was listening. "No wonder I couldn't find anything on him in the recent history books I checked."
"What do you mean?" Harry pressed.
"He is the creator of the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione whispered excitedly.
"You've lost me," Ron grumbled.
Hermione tutted irritably.
"It is a stone that creates the elixir of life," she explained. "It means that he is immortal, well, he won't die a natural death."
Ron whistled appreciatively.
"Is that what is here?"
Hermione bit her bottom lip uncertainly.
"It must be," Harry broke in. "The package Hagrid took from Gringotts was small, and he did say Hogwarts is probably the safest place in Britain. What I don't know is why Flamel would let anyone near it."
"He trusts Dumbledore," Hermione pointed out. "They must have worked together for years on figuring out the twelve uses of dragon's blood."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
"Well, it's not as safe as he thinks. Snape already tried to take it."
"Maybe we should go to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione suggested.
Harry wasn't sure.
The man would likely not be pleased they had been snooping around.
"Not yet, not until we are sure," he urged. "Snape hasn't even managed to get past the dog yet."
"But it is only a matter of time before he does," Hermione returned.
It was, and though Harry did not like it, what three first years could do was beyond him.
It wouldn't just be Fluffy guarding something so valuable.
No, there was much more to it than that, and before Harry would be comfortable with making a decision on what they should do next, he was determined to discover what other things were in place to prevent Snape from taking the stone.
His gaze shifted to the ceiling above to where his cloak rested beneath his pillow.
Perhaps now was the time to put it to use.