Greetings, Reddit! It is I, lemondropenthusiast, back with another thrilling update about my work as headmaster of Warthogs and how I am not the arsehole and how everyone who disagrees with me is, in fact, the arsehole.

Things have become rather topsy turvy since my last update. I'm pleased to announce that my scheme to have RW become HP's "friend" and spy on him has borne fruit. Demonstrating disgusting levels of cunning, RW has become rather attached to HP at the hip and readily acquiesced to my bribery in order to spy on HP. And it's a good thing he's there serving my will, because matters have significantly devolved. My worst fears have been realized.

There are four houses at Warthogs and one of them – let us call it Zmijozel – is entirely peopled with evil people. And if they are not evil now as children, they will become evil later in life. It is practically pulsating with darkness. No good can ever derive from that house. HP, lamentably, was sorted into that house and not, shall we say, Nebelvír like his parents. Ah, JP and LP, what a tragic loss your deaths were. Well, mostly JP. LP was a pest and it was for the best she died before she could infect the world with her stupid philosophies which went against the GREATER GOOD.

HP now is making waves by trying to whitewash the sins of Zmijozel, but I am not fooled! I know who is behind these actions, and it is not HP, but rather Lord V himself! You see, Lord V created items called Horcruxes to tie himself to the mortal realm and prevent himself from dying. But his soul became so unstable that when he went to kill poor HP, he left behind a Horcrux in the boy himself. And since HP no longer follows the path of the GREATER GOOD, I can only conclude that it is because Lord V's Horcrux now has consumed him entirely.

Fortunately, the first war against Lord V taught me the path of cunning, which, of course, is evil when Zmijozelové do it, but not when it is done by worthy Nebelvírští such as myself. Many people at Warthogs have accused me of losing my marbles recently, but what they do not realize is that I am deliberately pretending to be senile to get my enemies to underestimate me. Take my first meeting with HP. I played up the act, pretending to mistake him for his father and offering him a tray of nonexistent lemon drops. This made him overconfident, enough to lead a rebellion against me for taking perfectly sensible safety precautions, like sending students to return to dungeons that just happened to have been where a troll was recently sighted.

Ah, but unfortunately, I underestimated the base cunning of Lord V. His main soul had possessed QQ in a completely unexpected turn of events and then "tried to kill" HP in an artfully dramatic production designed to make me think he had been defeated. After being attacked, HP, completely unprovoked, attacked poor Lord V and tried to kill him! An attempted murder in my school! Disgusting! The boy burned QQ to death with his bare hands! And then after the shade of Lord V emerged from QQ's rotting, putrid carcass, his no doubt ally Professor AS, head of Zmijozel, sucked the wraith into a portal and actually is telling people Lord V is dead! Was Professor AS the subject of a prophecy? I rather think not!

And to make matters worse, HP has been defying me repeatedly by not breaking the rules I explicitly laid out for him not to go to the third floor corridor and investigate the Philosopher's Stone! He doesn't even seem to care! Let me tell you about a conversation I recently had with the boy.

"My boy!" I said, detaching from the shadows in a colorful burst of pink and yellow glitter.

"MY EYES!" HP screamed as the stupid, melodramatic child rolled back and forth on the floor as if he was hurt.

I rolled my eyes and cast a petrifying spell on him to get him to at least stand still for a while. "HP, HP, this sort of behavior is hardly becoming in a heroic young man such as yourself," I chided him. "Now did you know that I am quite well renowned, if I may be so bold as to brag, for my studies in alchemy? Didn't see that coming, now did you?"

"I can't see anything! IT BURNS!"

I ignored his silly complaints and charged forward. "My good friend Nicholas and I worked together to discover quite a few uses for dragon's blood over the years."

HP managed to free himself from my spell and wipe his eyes with a tissue. "Oh, thank God, that's better. Headmaster, seriously, don't do that! I could have gone blind."

"Of course you well recall that Nicholas is famous for creating the Philosopher's Stone."

HP blinked. "I'm pretty sure it's called the Sorcerer's Stone."

"God, no, that's a terrible name," I said. Who came up with that anyway, some American? "No, the Philosopher's Stone turns base metals into gold and can create the Elixir of Life, giving one immortality and healing any illness."

He just stared at me. And you know what? He never met my eyes. I always read my students' minds, because how else am I going to catch up on youth slang and look hip? And I have to be looking at their eyes to do it! He must have known! He must be plotting against me! He's probably planning mass murder right now!

"So what does he do with it?" HP asked.

"Do?" I asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, does he make elixir for children dying of cancer? Or use the gold he makes to fund research for curing children dying of cancer?"

"Oh, well, I haven't actually the foggiest," I said airily. "The point is, H, my boy, such an object would have to be well protected. In, for example, a very deadly chamber beneath the third floor corridor." The very deadly part was the most important part. By luring him to that chamber with all its deadly traps, I could engineer an "accident" for the boy and not be blamed for it. After all, he was breaking the rules, was he not? I've already moved the Mirror of Erised, in which I put the Philosopher's Stone, there for just that reason.

HP blinked. "You're telling me you're keeping the Philosopher's Stone in a school? An actual school with students who could be put in grave danger if someone tries to steal it? Like Lord V, who was already here!"

"Yes, I'm so pleased you're keeping up, H!" I said, genuinely relieved. HP has a very mixed track record in understanding things that most of us take for granted. He's quite scatterbrained at the best of times. "So doesn't that intrigue you? The idea of infinite wealth, immortality?"

"No," HP no doubt lied. "It really, really doesn't. I've got homework to do, auditions to hold, and I've really got to find out just what ON is up to. Infinite money's not going to help me with any of it, and immortality certainly won't either!" Professor ON is our new potions teacher, a pleasant enough man, but without the joie de vivre of his predecessor, my close friend SS. "The man is pure evil!"

I scoffed. Try to turn me against one of my most trusted teachers. It won't work. "Professor ON is not evil, H. Why, he was one of the ones who created the defenses for guarding the Philosopher's Stone."

At this, HP finally looked intrigued. "Did he really? How interesting."

"HP, my boy, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot," I told him. "You caught me on a very bad day when you first came to see me. I'm normally much more on the ball." He nodded cautiously. "This school is the safest place in Britain and if you have any concerns, you can come to me."

"Of course it is," HP said no doubt entirely sincerely and I was very relieved to see he was now coming around. "That's why I've gotten attacked by a murderous teacher and a troll got into the place."

"Exactly!" I said, clapping my hands in delight. I really feel like I'm getting through to HP. It's such a shame he's going to have to die to serve the greater good. But you know what? I'm going to miss him when he's gone.

As if trying to contradict me, HP's next gambit to avoid my Legilimancy probe was to place his hand over his face. "You're just the worst," he muttered. "Have the cops found anything about how Q got involved with V? Does he have more accomplices out there?"

I laughed. "Oh, H, dear boy, you're such a jokester, just like your father. As if I would call the Aurors over a silly trifle such as that which occurred at Halloween."

He looked at me like I'd lost my marbles. I recognized that look because I keep getting it for some unaccountable reason. "Professor, a troll got into the school. A professor tried to murder me. An older student got hurt in the crossfire. I ended up in the hospital wing. I was dead for two minutes. If that's a trifle, I'm a little scared of what you think of as serious."

I sighed. It was hard work being entirely surrounded by idiots. "Harry, there was no troll. It was just a ruse. RH assured me he searched the school from top to bottom and found nothing." Harry nodded slowly. He believed me, which was good news because I was telling the truth. "Now as for that student, it was just a flesh wound."

"He was impaled!"

"You'll find that in the magical world, we don't take minor injuries as seriously as Muggles do because they can be healed in minutes."

"And yet I ended up in the hospital wing for a day," HP complained.

"Because you had a head injury," I said patiently. "That's extremely difficult to fix magically without causing brain damage. Hardly minor."

HP opened his mouth and then closed it. "You may actually have a point, even if you said it in the worst way possible."

"Besides, it's official Ministry policy Lord V is dead and people who have tried to claim otherwise have been persecuted," I added. "I certainly don't want to end up in St. Mungo's mental ward, especially since I have no proof."

"I can think of worse ideas," HP muttered. "Can I go now? I have homework!" The insolence! As if homework is more important than the GREATER GOOD.

I nodded in a sage fashion. "Just remember, H, whatever you do, don't go in the third floor corridor." Reverse psychology was one of the best tools in a headmaster's arsenal. "You may be tempted by the fabulous rewards therein – just think, enough money to achieve whatever ambition you want and enough time to enjoy it forever – but do restrain yourself."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," HP said, no doubt salivating internally at the thought of the immortality and riches that awaited him.

So what do you think, noble Redditors? Am I an arsehole? Or am I just a humble, brilliant headmaster trying to do what is best for magical Britain and the GREATER GOOD?

COMMENTS

the_thinking_mallard (moderator): This is your final warning. One more shitpost and your account will be blocked. It's for the greater good. I'm sure you understand. Oh, and YTA, because you and all the other shitposters on this sub are making my job so much more complicated than it has to be. READ THE RULES, PEOPLE. It's not rocket science!

curryer6: Okay, look, I used to think it was YTA because, you know, you're a deeply disturbing individual with an unhealthy obsession with one of your "students." And I put that in quotation marks because I thought we both knew this was just a story you were telling. But I'm starting to suspect you actually believe what you're saying, in which case, please, please seek professional mental help, so therefore technically NAH by reason of insanity.

themanbeforethemanbeforemacbeth: YTA? I mean, duh? Look, I'm assuming you're not insane IRL, because if you were, I don't think you'd be so seamlessly riffing onto Into the Potter Zone, so I'm going to answer in character, then. You're YTA, but more than that, you're a shit headmaster. You hate a quarter of your students for little to no reason, you try to hide the fact that you hired Q knowing he was possessed by Lord V now that he's been exposed, you're plotting to get HP killed. Why do you think you're not the asshole?

greatergoodenthusiast1: As if I even need to say anything by now! NTA, naturally! As I always said, you can't make an omelet without ruthlessly crushing dozens of eggs beneath your steel boot and then publicly disemboweling the chickens that laid them as a warning to others.

Thank you, my friend! You know, you remind me of an old ex-boyfriend of mine. Shame what happened to him. He had such potential!

Dear Mum and Dad,

Thanks for your letter asking if I was okay after Halloween. And your Howler to Dumbledore, although I think my eardrums would have preferred it if he'd opened it in his office instead of the Great Hall. Harry, being Harry, bounced back because that's what he does. He doesn't believe he was dead at all, for starters. I can't say I blame him. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't seen it. And he seems to think Quirrell was small time compared to the "nefarious malefactor" that is Professor O'Neill.

Hermione, on the other hand, is completely beside herself. I really think she didn't take most of Harry's whole deal very seriously. Since he's so silly all the time, it never occurred to her that she would be in actual danger alongside him. The most danger we've faced so far was Harry's tendency to engross himself in history books causing him to nearly fall down a staircase on almost twenty separate occasions. But now we've faced down a Dark Lord who tried to kill us all and she's really freaking out about it.

Of course since Hermione is, well, Hermione, also known as the most Ravenclaw person to ever be in Slytherin, her idea of freaking out mostly involves studying a lot of defense spells and following Madam Pomfrey wherever she went until she finally gave in and taught her a healing spell. The spell she taught Hermione is something called a…hang on, I have it written down. A coagulation spell. God, I hope I spelled that right. It helps stop a wound from bleeding and, Madam Pomfrey made this very clear, is only meant as a delaying measure to keep someone from bleeding out before a healer can get to them.

Fortunately for her (and us because Hermione, as great as she is, can be a bit of a nightmare when she's become obsessed with something), Hermione's had a lot to keep her distracted. Like her practicing for the upcoming Quidditch match. While we're on that subject, Hermione asked me if you would come to the game and cheer her on since her parents can't be there. I know it's a lot to ask, especially since Fred and George are on the Gryffindor team. But she's not doing well, even though she tries to hide it. I think it'd mean a lot to her.

Our new Defense teacher is a man named Remus Lupin. He was a friend of Harry's dad and he's a really, really good teacher! I mean, most people are good next to Quirrell, but he really has a way of making the stuff we're learning actually interesting. Harry gets along well with him too. Things were a little tense at the beginning – Harry wasn't happy Professor Lupin never got into contact with him when he was younger – but Harry confronted him in private and seems to be satisfied with the answer he got. He won't tell me what it is, but I think Hermione knows. But then again, Hermione always seems to know everything, so that's no surprise.

But the real news is that I've actually managed to corner Percy and confront him about how he's been avoiding me since my sorting (and also to convince him to ask the Gryffindors to audition for the Tempest) and the answer did not turn out to be what I expected. I'm not sure I should be telling you, but he wants me to, so I'm going to do it anyway. But if it upsets you, it's his fault, not mine.

Fred and George were the ones who helped me find him. I don't know how they did it. Percy doesn't know either. But somehow they managed to find him in that room with all those coats of armor on the third floor. And he was not looking well. He seemed to be a lot thinner than the last time I saw him and his meticulously combed hair was askew and wild.

"Percy?" I said gently. "What's going on?"

Percy jumped into the air, looking like he'd seen a banshee. "Ronald. Don't scare me like that."

"How should he scare you, then?" Fred said with a wink.

"Okay, thanks, goodbye," I got out of my mouth in one quick breath and then shoved the twins out of the room. I think it only worked because they were so surprised. I knew having the twins around would not be helpful. At all. All they'd do would be to make things worse. "Percy, what's up with you? You look like you've been missing meals – to avoid me?"

Percy's ears flushed scarlet. "No! I just…have revisions to do. That's all. Sometimes less important things fall by the wayside."

"Like food?" I said skeptically. "Percy, come on, mate. We didn't use to have secrets."

"That was before…before you…"

I sighed. "Before I got sorted into Slytherin?" He started pacing wildly around the room. I wished Charlie was here. Right now, Percy seemed to have more in common with a dragon than the brother I used to know. "Percy, I'm still me. I haven't been hiding anything from you. I don't think I'd have been sorted into Slytherin if Harry hadn't told me it was okay, but I've always wanted more out of life than the others. I'd have thought you know what that's like."

Percy started tearing out his hair. Seriously. It was coming out in clumps. Super alarming. "Yes!" he screamed. "Yes, I do know what it's like!"

"Please talk to me," I begged Percy. I've never said this to anyone – and I'll deny it if anyone asks – but Percy's always been my favorite brother. Fred and George are chaos personified, Charlie's off in his own happy little world, and Bill, well, he just doesn't understand me like Percy does. Percy's always understood me before. He knows how I feel. He knows why I do what I do. It hurts to think he doesn't understand me anymore.

"You didn't hesitate," Percy stammered. I think he wasn't sure how to approach this conversation any more than me. "You weren't…were you afraid, Ron? When you put the hat on?"

It was all starting to make sense to me. Percy wasn't scared of me. He was scared for me. He thought I was in real danger in Slytherin from the kids of the Death Eaters. I'm not, don't worry. Half of the kids think their parents are psychopaths and want nothing to do with them and the other half talks a big deal but doesn't have the guts to do anything. Except Malfoy, who's been very quiet recently. Too quiet.

"I was scared," I told him. "But I knew had Harry and Hermione to protect me from the bad kids there."

"That's not what I meant!" Percy said frantically. "Weren't you scared about what Mum and Dad would think?"

I didn't understand what he was talking about. Why on Earth would I be scared of you two? Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon were both Slytherins, after all. And I know some of Dad's work friends are Slytherins too. "No? They love me. And they're totally fine with it, Percy!"

Percy looked at me with horror. "They're FINE?! They didn't even take time to come around to the idea?!"

"No! Percy, what is this about?"

He put his head in his hands. "But then it was all meaningless," he muttered.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Perce, what's going on? You can tell me. Do the brave thing, right?"

He raised his head and seemed much more composed now. "You don't understand, Ron. I'm not upset you're in Slytherin. I'm upset that I'm not." He sank to the floor, as if saying those words had taken up so much energy he couldn't even stand up anymore. "I was terrified during the Sorting Ceremony. The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It told me I was making a mistake by wanting to be in Gryffindor."

"But what does that have to do with me?" I wondered.

"Ron, don't you see?" he begged. "I'm in Gryffindor because I thought Mum and Dad would hate me if I was a Slytherin and I was wrong! The last five years, I've been living a lie! And for no reason at all! All those months terrified of what they'd say, how they'd hate me, and they didn't even give a damn. All that pain, all that suffering, it was completely meaningless."

He started crying. Percy, crying. Let that sink in for you. I had thought it was impossible for him to cry. It was not. "Ron, I'm so, so sorry. I should have been there for you. But every time I even looked at you, I just couldn't stop the bad thoughts from coming." He tried his best to stand up and he failed. Then I offered my hand and he took it and I pulled him up. "Thank you," he said and I knew he was thanking me for more than just the help getting up.

"Percy, isn't there something we can do?" I asked. "Is there a way you can get resorted?"

"I've never heard of anyone getting resorted before," Percy said. "Mind you, that doesn't mean it hasn't happened." He looked much more thoughtful now. I rolled my eyes. He and Hermione were like two peas in a pod – research was their answer to anything. "But if I was in Slytherin, I wouldn't be a prefect anymore, and how would that look to the Ministry when I apply?"

"There's only so many prefects, Perce," I pointed out. "There's got to be more jobs than that."

He pulled himself together, looking very much like – though not entirely – his old self. "Yes. You're right. It's about time I started to embrace who I am and not who I think my parents want me to be." I gave him a thumbs up, a Muggle gesture. He stared at me in bewilderment. Maybe I've been spending time with Harry and Hermione too much. "You're the best, Ron."

"I'll keep this secret from Mum and Dad, I promise."

Percy shook his head. "No. I want them to know."

"So you won't avoid me anymore?" I said hopefully.

"Not anymore," he said with a grin.

"And you'll ask the Gryffindors to audition for the Tempest?"

Percy nodded. "Yes, absolutely I will – HEY!" I ran for the exit with a cheeky wave. "Definitely in the right house," I thought I heard him mutter.

So that's the solution to the Percy conundrum. Try to go easy on him, Mum and Dad. He was just a scared kid. You didn't do anything wrong.

Love,

Ron

Dear Ron,

It's your father writing and thank you so much for telling me about Percy. I can't believe we've missed that all these years. We've reached out to him, but I think we'll have to settle things in person during winter break. Speaking of winter break, I was wondering if Harry would like to spend the break with us. (Hermione's parents told us the whole family is going on vacation, but they're hoping they can sneak in a day or two for you all to spend together near the end of the break.) I know he wasn't planning on going back to those relatives of his, so it might be a good opportunity for him. But if he wants to spend the break at Hogwarts, we won't be offended!

I'm afraid we're not going to be able to cheer for Hermione at the game, son. You did the right thing asking, but with Fred and George on the Gryffindor team, our loyalties must be with our children's team. If you were on the Slytherin team, it'd be a different story, of course. But we have something even better! My friend Reggie Shafiq, as you recall, has an uncle on the Board of Governors, and after much begging, I convinced him to let Hermione's parents attend the match! They'll be given a special enchanted medallion to allow them to see through the anti-Muggle protections.

Your mother and I always love you very much, Ron.

Love,

Dad

I'm back in the house and blogging up a storm once more! All the thanks to Hermione for telling you all about the events of Halloween night. For the record, I was not distraught by the events of Halloween. I was just concussed and appeared to be distraught. I have a reputation to maintain!

Look, I'm not going to lie to you and pretend Halloween wasn't a total surprise. More than that, it was disturbing how it came completely out of left field. I was so focused on O'Neill being evil that I didn't even consider the possibility of more professors being evil! Professor Sinistra says she banished Voldemort to the infinite void of space. He's not dead, but he's in a distant galaxy, floating through the void, and the chances of him ever reaching a planet within any of our lifetimes are near nonexistent, let alone finding a way to return here.

Fortunately, with Voldemort dealt with, I can focus on the sole remaining threat, O'Neill. I'm now convinced more than ever that O'Neill intends to steal the Philosopher's Stone. (And, yes, I know quite well what it is. I do pay attention in Professor Binns' class after all. Sometimes I pretend to be flightier than I really am to make people underestimate me – and to hide my genuine moments of flight.)

"And that's why we need to steal the Philosopher's Stone before O'Neill can get to it!" I finished explaining to my friends in the middle of the Slytherin common room. Unfortunately, I neglected to realize my impassioned speech had attracted an audience.

"Is he like this all the time?" Daphne Greengrass demanded.

Ron sighed. "Yes. Yes, he is."

"If like this, you mean awesome, then yes, yes, I am!" I said and made finger guns at her.

"I was never here," Daphne decided and hid behind a curtain.

Everyone else seemed to follow her example and pretend we didn't exist. I was just glad Malfoy wasn't there. It would have been awkward if we'd had to kick his arse again. Fortunately, Malfoy had been quiet lately. Though instead of looking at Hermione like she was dirt under his shoe, he was now looking at her like she strangled puppies in her spare time. I knew that look very well. Most of my neighbors look at me like that. Thanks, Aunt Petunia.

"Look, we're not going to keep the stone," I said placatingly and honestly. I really have no interest in the Philosopher's Stone. Any magic that powerful has to come with an equal price and I do not want to pay it, thank you very much! The damn thing probably gives the Midas touch and doesn't halt aging. "We're just going to send it back to its rightful owner. If he wants to send it back to Dumbledore, knowing that his security was bad enough that three children could get to it, then if O'Neill gets to it later, Flamel deserved to have it stolen."

"It is sort of hard to argue with logic like that," Hermione muttered. She was on the fence and just looking for the right excuse to shove herself over it. She wanted to be persuaded. I could tell.

"Look, what happens if O'Neill gets his hands on it?" I pointed out. "Who is he? What does he want? I don't know. All I know is that he was suspiciously eager to hide when Voldemort was out there shooting spells at people. What if he's a…what was it you called them, Ron? A Death Eater. And remember what Ms. Cheatham said!"

I figured having a barrister like Cheatham on my side would be useful, so I reached out to her and asked her to have her firm's investigators look into O'Neill. And sure enough, they can't find any record of him. The American magical college he supposedly got his potions degree in? No records. The Irish magical government? No records. The International Potions Guild? You guessed it. No records. When I told this to Hermione and Ron, they finally started to believe me.

"I suppose you have a point," Hermione said. "With how…erratic Professor Dumbledore has been, it wouldn't surprise me if he let another Death Eater into the school."

Ron, for some strange reason, actually looked like he thought this was a bad idea. "You really think we could pull it off? Just us…three first years?"

"Anything is possible," I said firmly. "People thought it was impossible for a Potter, a Weasley, and a Muggleborn to be in Slytherin and here we are, right? Look, we're just borrowing the thing. It'll be fine!"

It did not turn out to be all that fine. Our first reconnaissance mission to the forbidden corridor came to a sudden halt when we discovered that Dumbledore had a bloody Cerberus guarding what Hermione said was a trapdoor. What sort of a maniac would keep a humungous, three-headed guard dog in a school full of children? The sort of maniac who definitely didn't deserve to even be borrowing the Philosopher's Stone, that's who! But I don't give up. Ever. We were going to get that stone and we were going to outwit Dumbledore and O'Neill.

According to Hermione's research, Cerberuses tended to fall asleep when music was played, as in the story of Orpheus. I have to admit, I've never been particularly interested in mythology before. I'm a history buff. But maybe I should start paying more attention to those things. Besides, I'm in a magical world now. For all I know, Odysseus and Arkantos and all those other people were real, along with the gods and whatnot.

Our heist plans, however, sort of fell to the wayside over the next few days, because Hermione's first game of Quidditch was approaching and Marcus Flint, Slytherin team captain, was a harsh taskmaster obsessed with training. He was also kind of an idiot and a vicious arsehole. But, to be fair to him, he was like that to everyone, regardless of blood status. Say what you like about Flint, though, while he's a horrible person, he wins games. And I wasn't about to get in the way of Slytherin achieving a glorious victory. Well, more to the point, Hermione achieving a glorious victory.

Ron was over with the Gryffindors when the game started. Since his brothers were on the Gryffindor team and Hermione on the Slytherin team, Ron had freaked out about who to root for. Eventually, I brokered a compromise: Ron would alternate between the teams each time Slytherin and Gryffindor played each other. So I was alone and nearly jumped out of my skin when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hello there, Harry, old chap!" a jovial and very posh male voice said. "I'm Dr. Emmet Granger and this is my wife Danielle. A pleasure to meet you."

I turned around slowly to see Hermione's parents giving me wide smiles. True to their profession, their teeth were quite impressive. They were almost stereotypically British in their demeanor and clothing, almost as if they were compensating for something, and I had the strangest feeling I'd seen them before, but I couldn't quite place them. They were both wearing large medallions inscribed with ruins which were glowing, emitting the enchantment which allowed them to see Hogwarts.

"Oh, hi!" I said. "Hermione talks a lot about you. I'm Harry Potter. You probably know that already, though." I gave a nervous laugh. For some strange reason, I was finding the two of them very intimidating. "Hermione's been doing great at school! Great grades, great hair, great everything!" Why couldn't I stop talking?!

Hermione's mum gave a laugh. "Oh, Harry, you're so funny, just like Hermione says in her letters."

"She talks about me, ma'am?" I asked eagerly.

Hermione's mum and dad gave a knowing glance. What was up with that? "Oh, very much so," Emmet said. "And please do call us by our first names. We're not too formal in our house." This very much went against the fact they were dressed as if they were ready to meet with the king, but, hey, that worked for me.

I'm embarrassed to say I missed a lot of the Quidditch game. Apparently, Quidditch isn't good for my focus. But I did get a lot of dirt from the Drs. Granger about Hermione's childhood (which she'd kill me if I told you, so you're not going to get it) and I really think I made a good impression on them. It was important for me to make a good impression on them for some reason.

But HERMIONE CAUGHT THE SNITCH!

SLYTHERIN WON!

And it's all thanks to our resident bookworm! My dad would probably be rolling in his grave right now, but I don't care. We did it. Slytherin had a moment of triumph and Hermione was able to prove Muggleborns could do just as well as purebloods and Hermione's parents like me and everything is wonderful.

COMMENTS

gredandforge2: Hmm, we-thinks Mr. Potter over here may have some feelings for the star Slytherin seeker! What do you think about that, Harry? Anything come to mind when you were watching her fly? Maybe you were thinking about how pretty she was?

I don't know what you two hooligans are talking about. Hermione's always pretty. It's like thinking about the laws of gravity. Kind of obvious; really not much point in doing it. Although granted, Quidditch is played on gravity defying broomsticks, so maybe that's not the best metaphor.

gredandforge2: [thinking face emoji] We rest the rest of our case.

1sabelcheatham: Harry, I'm just spit balling here, but maybe you shouldn't talk about your heist plans on a public blog. Also, you shouldn't have a public blog at all.

You worry too much, Ms. Cheatham! But on that note, we need to meet over the winter break. I'll send an owl to you with more details.

It's been a few weeks since the Quidditch match and we've been furiously preparing to steal…er, borrow the Philosopher's Stone. We don't know what to expect beyond the Cerberus, but we've been preparing for the worst. Hermione's wonderful parents sent her a taser (apparently, it's very useful in stopping unruly patients from running away) and a harpoon gun and honestly aren't the Grangers just the coolest?! Percy, of all people, decided he would give us an alibi, which was absolutely perfect, because everyone thinks he hates Ron, so who would suspect him of covering for us? No one, that's who!

Finally, the time came. It was the weekend and several feet of snow had been dumped onto Hogwarts, so practically everyone would be outside playing in it. Which meant the teachers would also be there to look after them, including O'Neill. Hogwarts was practically deserted, which served our purposes just fine.

"You ready to do this?" I asked Hermione and Ron as we stood outside the door to the forbidden room.

"No!" Ron shouted. "This is the stupidest idea we've ever had!"

I nodded solemnly at him. "Thank you for the support, Ron."

"Look, if you're going to do this incredibly dumb thing, I've got to be with you so you don't get killed," Hermione said. "Or, worse, expelled."

The three of us charged into the room as I started singing my favorite song. "I threw a wish in the well!" I shouted as I played the instrumental version of Call Me Maybe from my mobile. "Don't ask me, I'll never tell. I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way." I cast a glance at Hermione, who looked like a deer in the headlights.

I grabbed her hand to reassure her there was no problem – I didn't care if she had a bad singing voice – and she let out a squeak. "I trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss." She looked at my face and took a step forward, then quickly stepped back. "I wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way."

"Come on, Hermione, sing!" I begged her. "Your stare was holding, ripped jeans, skin was showing, hot night wind was blowing!"

"I really shouldn't be here," Hermione said and started to back away to the door. "This was a stupid idea."

I winked at her. "Where you think you're going, baby?"

Hermione took a deep breath and then she started dancing! And she was good at it! "Hey, I just met you and this is crazy!"

"But here's my number!"

"So call me maybe!"

Ron looked between the two of us as if we'd lost our minds. I grabbed Hermione's hands and pulled her close, giving her a wide smile. "It's hard to look right at you, baby!"

"But here's my number, so call me maybe!"

Ron cleared his throat. "Uh, guys, I think the dog's asleep?"

It seemed like an eternity before I felt as if I could let go of Hermione, and I only did it reluctantly. Something had happened during our little song and dance number, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. It was probably something that needed to be addressed later, I decided. Right now, we had a Philosopher's Stone to steal – borrow – and I couldn't waste time wondering why my heart was thundering in a way it never had before.

We went down through the trapdoor and landed on a plant. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Devil's Snare, which is just as bad as you think it is. The bloody plant started squeezing the life out of us. Fortunately, Hermione remembered the plant's one weakness: fire. She cast a spell and a jet of blue flame erupted from her wand. I think I'm going to remember that determined, calm look on her face for the rest of my life. Hermione can be scary sometimes.

The next challenge must have been Flitwick's, because it was a bunch of keys that were flying in the air. Very conveniently, there were broomsticks just casually leaning against a wall. Hermione groaned. Even after the Quidditch match, she still hated flying with a burning passion. She would have withdrawn from the team, but everyone would think she was a coward and she couldn't handle that. But we still managed to find the right key despite all that!

"Does anyone think these challenges are maybe a bit too easy?" I wondered.

Ron looked at me askance. "Harry, if all these challenges are so easy, why hasn't Professor O'Neill gotten through them?"

That was a very good question. "Maybe he's just not good at flying?" I said weakly. "Or maybe there's just tougher ones ahead."

"That's not impossible," Hermione warned us. "This could just be lulling us into a false sense of security. The next test could be tougher than all the ones combined!"

We went into the next room and there was a giant chessboard. Ron crossed his arms. "Seriously? Okay, maybe Harry has a point." I beamed. "I mean, chessboard…flying…it's all kind of up our alley, isn't it?" Ron, in case I haven't mentioned, is a champion chess player. I have seen him trounce sixth years.

We managed to win the game. Ron very nearly was forced to sacrifice himself, though, but he managed to get out of that position barely. In the end, we won. I don't think we would have succeeded if Ron hadn't challenged every single person who ever called him a blood traitor to a game of chess.

The next room was empty. Hermione thinks it used to contain Quirrell's protection, but it was removed after he was found to be possessed by Voldemort. That sounded plausible enough. The next room seemed empty at first. But then I heard a hissing sound just at the very edge of my hearing. "Gas masks, now!"

We managed to slip on the gas masks Hermione's parents had given us just seconds before a red mist flowed into the room. It took several minutes for it to dissipate. My heart was thudding in my chest the whole time, hoping against hope the very old looking gas masks would be enough to stand against whatever potion O'Neill must have pumped into the room.

"Are you ready?" I asked the two of them.

"Oh, yes, because I'm going to turn back now after going through all that," Ron said scornfully. "Enough with the drama, let's just get the bloody stone and get out before someone catches us."

I opened the door to the next room, fully expecting to see the stone on a platform like in Indiana Jones (and then we'd probably have to dodge a boulder, also like in Indiana Jones), but there was no stone at all. Instead, there was a mirror. I walked up to it and I didn't see myself. I saw something much, much better.

I saw Potter's Platters.

It was right in front of me and I could almost, almost touch it. A beautifully modest fish and chips shop in Bloomsbury, just blocks away from the British Museum. It was filled with customers and I was behind the counter and making people's orders and no one was telling me what to do and I was happy. And Hermione was beside me and so was Ron and the customers were students from Hogwarts. Slytherins and Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, all united in the service of the most noble cause ever: fish and chips. It was heaven. Nirvana. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen!

"NO!" Hermione shrieked and I was finally able to snap my eyes away from the vision in front of me to see Hermione firing random spells at the mirror, her face a rictus of horror. "No, no, you're lying! I'm not like that!"

I looked over at Ron, who was just as bewildered as me. "Hermione, it's not real."

"I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN!" Hermione shrieked, her frizzy hair waving in the wind as if electricity was being conducted through it. "I'm a good person! YOU'RE NOT REAL! I don't want that!"

I didn't know what to do. I was terrified one of the spells, none of which even came close to breaking the mirror, might ricochet and hit her. In that moment, I begged the mirror to give us the Stone, not to use, but just to get Hermione to stop.

And then there was a sudden weight in my pocket and I reached into it and pulled out a smooth red rock. The Philosopher's Stone was mine. We did it.

Potter's Platters vanished from sight and my heart cracked a little now that I couldn't see it anymore, but I knew I'd make it real in time. It mattered far more than Hermione wasn't in the middle of a psychotic breakdown anymore. She leaned against the mirror as if she had just finished running a marathon.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron whispered. "What did you see in there?"

"I…I don't," Hermione stammered. "I can't…I won't!"

I squeezed her hand. "It's okay, Hermione. You don't need to tell us. We did it! We've got the stone. Let's get out of here. I'm going to nap for the rest of the weekend."

And so we managed to make our way out of the obstacle course and we opened the door to the third floor corridor and Hagrid was standing in front of us.

"Hi!" I said with a nervous wave.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. "Where did you get those?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. I didn't know what he was talking about. He pointed at the gas masks. "Where?"

"My parents gave me them," Hermione said, her voice wavering. "Hagrid, what's going on?"

Hagrid crossed his arms. "What were you doing here?"

Oh. Right. We weren't supposed to be here. "We were having a dance party," I blurted.

"With gas masks," Hagrid said flatly.

"It's hip," I lied stubbornly.

He looked at Hermione with concern. I couldn't blame him. She was a mess. "Give me those masks and we can pretend none of this happened." I wasn't sure why he wanted them, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. We all gave him our masks and he looked at them and his face got very, very grim.

"It's just as I thought," he said. He looked up and down the corridor and summoned his umbrella wand again. But before he could cast a spell, O'Neill jogged down the corridor, dressed in a sweatsuit. "Hagrid? What's going on here?"

"Just caught these miscreants sneaking around the forbidden corridor, Professor O'Neill," he said in a much more solicitous tone than before.

O'Neill sighed. "I see. I'll handle their punishment, Hagrid." He didn't move. "Hagrid, I've got the matter handled. Please leave."

Hagrid walked off, leaving us at the mercies of the imposter and probably deeply evil man who'd infiltrated our school for some sinister purpose. "Where's the stone?" he asked quietly.

"We'll never tell you!" Ron said bravely.

"You have it on your person, don't you?" O'Neill realized. "If you hadn't gotten it yet, you'd have said as much, and you just came out of the chamber, so it must be there."

We all pulled out our wands and pointed them at him. "You can't have it!" I shouted. "We won't let your evil plot succeed!"

O'Neill looked startled. "My what? What are you talking about?"

"We know you're an imposter," Hermione blurted. "We know you're out to steal the Philosopher's Stone. We know you hate Slytherins. You wouldn't cast a spell when Goyle got hurt or when Voldemort attacked us."

O'Neill sighed. He suddenly looked very weary. "Not quite as good a performance as I expected from you, Hermione. One out of four. I should have known this couldn't last forever, but I wasn't expecting first years to realize there was something wrong."

"Why do you want the Stone?" Ron demanded.

He blinked. "I don't. But you're right about me being an imposter. And there was a very good reason I didn't cast a spell against Voldemort or to heal Goyle. It was because I couldn't." He gave a crooked grin. "You see…I'm a Muggle."

"That's impossible," Hermione said immediately. "You need special medallions to see the campus."

"Most everyone does," O'Neill agreed. "But sometimes, very rarely, Muggles are born with the ability to see through the charms. Most people like that are identified young and have their brains altered so they can't see it. I never was for some reason. I didn't stumble on Dublin's magical district until I was in college. From then on, learning about the magical world became something of a hobby of mine."

I lowered my wand a little, but I didn't put it away. This could have been a very clever ruse. Though it definitely did seem to make sense. "I became a chemistry teacher. Got married, had kids. Last year, Rose divorced me and took the kids and I was all alone in the house. I decided I might as well try for a job in the magical world. My predecessor was fond of saying there was no foolish wand waving in potions. The ingredients may come from magical plants and animals, but there's no magic actually involved in brewing them."

He sighed. "So that's my secret. I'll make you a deal. I'll write Flamel and tell him to expect the Stone. You send the Stone to him, he gets it, everyone wins. I don't get you in trouble, you don't get me in trouble. Deal?"

I put away my wand. "Deal."

So it just goes to show, readers, you should never judge a book by its cover. Professor O'Neill isn't evil at all. He's just a criminal guilty of fraud and probably child endangerment by taking a job which needs someone magical to be able to heal wounds at a moment's notice. We got the Stone, we saved Hermione from a nervous breakdown, and now I can focus on what's important: holding auditions for the Tempest. Bye for now!