The Stone II

Previous chapter: Harry struggles with the fallout from his successful duel. McConnell reveals Hartin's motivations. Hagrid hatches a dragon, and Harry makes a connection between Gabriel, SLEIPH, SLEF and The Faction. SLEIPH might be SLEF; and SLEF is — perhaps — a radical organisation.

The book remained locked at the bottom of Harry's trunk for the next two days, and his inner turmoil festered with it. He didn't want to confront what he'd discovered… if he'd discovered anything at all. What if he was wrong? What if he was connecting dots that didn't exist? All the suspicion was making him feel ill.

Gabriel and he had, on occasion, disagreed; but when it came down to it, she'd backed him up. Now he was suspecting her of what? Involvement with a terrorist group? Based on a possibly accidental spelling error and a Scottish accent? But Hartin seemed to believe she was involved.

Harry's gaze flicked over to Alan who, totally innocent of Harry's wretched thoughts, was trying to turn a small pebble into a button. He wasn't having much luck — but then again, Transfiguration wasn't his strength.

Alan must have sensed something because he looked up, caught Harry's eye, and smiled. Harry smiled back awkwardly. His guts felt like they'd turned to stone. He looked down at his own pebble, briefly considering its weight, solidity and shape. He tapped it with his wand. "Trasmutans," he said.

The pebble became a dark brown, twin-holed, perfectly concave button. If only I could wave a wand and do that to my stomach, he thought wryly… though then my stomach would be made of buttons, so maybe not.

Harry already knew he couldn't tell Alan. He was having enough trouble, torn between his Muggle family and his magical one. How could he say such a thing about his cousin? Especially as the club had brought them so much closer.

But he had to tell someone. The secret felt like something escaping his control, as though it wanted to burst free — not dissimilar to Amanda Soothe's hairpin back at Halt End. Or what he thought was Amanda's hairpin. That had been stupid of him; to make that mistake again, he'd have to confront Gabriel directly. That would be foolish.

Professor McGonagall swept by just then, leaned over his desk to peer at his button, then gave him a short nod. No one else had even approached a complete transformation… but he hadn't expected more praise. After a year of success in Charms, DADA, and Transfiguration, the professors had begun to expect excellence from him. Completing a task first became unworthy of praise.

It rankled sometimes, but he'd grown used to it. Praise or no praise, he couldn't tell a teacher either. Even if some might be more inclined to believe him than others, there simply wasn't enough evidence.

That left Susan. Telling Susan without telling Alan felt like a betrayal of their friendship. They had been inseparable through the year, and Susan would then have to withhold the secret from Alan too. Telling her would be unfair. It would blow up in their faces like one of Longbottom's infamous potions.

He was still going to tell her.

Because you don't have any other friends, said an unwelcome thought in his head. It sounded uncomfortably like Lother McConnell, with that careless voice of his.

Harry ground his teeth together and turned his button back into a pebble.

…

…

He waited until the end of the day, as he and Susan were making their way to the Hufflepuff common room, and Alan was returning to Ravenclaw Tower. It had been an agonising day. The imminent conversation loomed over him like a darkening cloud. But now, as he led Susan into an abandoned classroom, he felt… remarkably little. Wooden, almost; as though he wasn't inhabiting his own body.

Harry locked the door while Susan found a clean desk and sat. She was nervous, he could tell. Why wouldn't she be? No one sequestered themselves in one of Hogwarts' many abandoned classrooms to discuss the weather, or their favourite colour, or the new Bumbling Wizard's song.

"W–what's this about?" she asked, when Harry had pulled a chair opposite her. It wasn't very clean, but he sat anyway.

"Susan," Harry said slowly. SLEF was on the tip of his tongue - he just wanted to let it all out in one go, all in one breath. He knew he could not. He took a long breath instead, ordered his thoughts, and began to explain. He started with the Invisibility Cloak, which only Wayne previously knew of, because how could he explain how he discovered The Faction otherwise? He carried on to The Faction in what he thought was good time, then explained his realisation about the poster, and what he'd found in The Faction's book.

Susan sat still throughout, slowly going paler as he arrived at his conclusion.

"Harry," she eventually said. There was no stutter this time, only determination. "Have you told a teacher?"

"About Gabriel?" he said. "I can't. About The Faction? … Not yet."

"Tell a teacher," she told him. "Tell a teacher about Hartin's group. That sort of thing is… that sort of thing is dangerous. To Hogwarts and to everyone."

A vindictive part of Harry wanted to hear that. Another part knew he was just going to deepen Hartin's misery. Would they be expelled?

Harry wiped a layer of dust off the leg of his chair. "What about Gabriel? Am I imagining things?"

"I don't think so," Susan sighed. She looked to the ceiling, deep in thought. She seemed a lot less certain about Gabriel. "I think… I think I've heard of SLEF somewhere… perhaps my aunt… that doesn't bode well, does it? I'll take a look in the library - I think I know where it'll be. We shouldn't do anything in the meantime."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "You mean, I shouldn't tell Alan, and I shouldn't go off looking for SLEF under my Cloak?"

Susan returned his smile with a grimace. "No. Gabriel isn't Hartin's 'faction'; her friends are talented. Any classroom they're using will be well protected. And Alan… we… we shouldn't make Alan worry about something that might… something that might be nothing."

On that they both agreed. Harry returned to the common room alone. Susan left straight for the library.

Harry was enjoying a game of push-pull with Wayne (he was now fifteen without loss, and Wayne was looking into ways of handicapping him) when Susan hurried through the portal. She went straight to him, struggling with a cumbersome tome under one arm. Harry excused himself and darted down the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Susan followed.

The beds were empty. "Well," he whispered, "what've you found?"

Susan looked stricken. She silently handed him the book. Harry's stomach sank. It must have weighed six pounds - at least. Magical Movements of the 20th Century, it read, by Malcom Mudridge Wisdom. The leather binding creaked as he pried it open. He read with an unenthusiastic eye. The introduction was laborious, and mentioned a Muggle edition of the book.

"Twice the joy," he muttered to himself. He turned to Susan's bookmark, a yellow silk slip tucked away at the rear of the glossary.

Tucked away above the letter S.

Harry grimaced. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

It was.

S.L.E.F, and entry read, the Sorcerer's League for Equality and Fraternity. A defunct organisation originating from the Blishwick-Campbellite split. Briefly claimed responsibility for a series of attacks against various organs of the Ministry, which caused great damage but claimed no lives.

Harry sighed, turning his gaze toward the canopy of his four-poster bed. "Could be worse," he said. At least they didn't kill anyone, went unsaid.

"Blishwick," Susan said. "It's too much of a coincidence."

Harry pushed the name around his mind. His curtains really needed cleaning. "Hmm," he said. "Maybe not. Wizards have large families, lots of branches…"

Susan didn't reply. Harry turned his eyes back to her. She was looking at him with those eyes of hers. Those eyes.

"I'm not convincing anyone, am I?"

Susan shook her head. "But we don't know anything about Gabriel's SLEF," she pointed out reassuringly, "if it's even hers."

Harry gladly latched onto the thought. What if it was Blishwick's group? … What if the two organisations just shared a name, but not methods?

He said as much to Susan.

"Hartin probably doesn't know that," she said. "We still… we still need to tell the teachers about the Faction."

After what they had learned about SLEF, who The Faction seemed to idolise, Harry could not disagree. "How about Snape?" he said, imagining the glowering look on the Potion's professor's face when he was told about The Faction.

Then he immediately felt guilty.

"Professor McGonagall," Susan advised. "Hartin's the leader, and he's a Gryffindor."

"Proper procedure?"

Susan nodded.

Now the decision had been taken off his hands, Harry felt a strange calm come over him; his feelings felt like the surface of a frozen lake. "We'll leave a note, then. What about SLEF?"

"We don't know anything about SLEF. And you shouldn't go looking for them, Harry," she warned. "Gabriel's friends are older, cleverer students than Hartin's. If they have a hideaway, I don't think an invisibility cloak will hide you."

The slight against his Cloak singed, but her logic was undeniable. Practical, he thought, as always. "You're right, I suppose all we can do is watch."

"They're probably just overeager," she said.

"Yeah," Harry replied. Something rang a little hollow in her apparent certainty. "Yeah - just overeager."

…

…

Alan seemed distracted the next day. He was unusually quiet; more than once he'd lapsed into silence at lunch, staring, brows furrowed, into the distance. When pressed, he claimed nothing was wrong… until he disappeared as they were walking through the maze of Hogwarts' winding gothic corridors. Harry and Susan searched for a while, but to no avail. Had he stumbled upon one of Hogwart's secrets while they weren't looking? Had he been diverted by his own troubled thoughts, and found himself lost? They could do nothing but continue to their favourite spot by the Black Lake and hope he'd appear - so that was what they did.

Thankfully, Alan arrived little more than half an hour later; and he was smiling widely. He had, he proclaimed, found a solution to the Norbert problem - which was certainly a growing issue, judging by his increasingly alarming size. He'd been to see, of all people, Hermione Granger. She confirmed what he had suspected; Anthony Goldstein had been moaning about Ronald Weasley's boasting about his older brother. Charlie Weasley - said older brother - was a dragon-keeper in Romania. He would surely know what to do with an infant Norwegian Ridgeback.

The only issue was convincing Weasley to contact his brother without informing the teachers. Alan was confident that wouldn't be a problem; Harry wasn't so sure. Worse, asking for his help would unavoidably reveal Norbert's existence.

But they had no other option. Together it was decided that Alan would approach Weasley after class, as he knew him best. Harry couldn't remember saying a word to him. The thought sparked the unpleasant image of Lother McConnell's cold, pale eyes staring at him, as the older boy recounted the reasons for Hartin's hatred.

Harry grimaced as he practised his stone-skimming technique before the Black Lake. He didn't let go of the pebble in his hand; rather, he moved his arm back and forth, wondering if the angle of release should be totally flat or slightly upwards.

Deciding on the latter, he let fly. The stone skipped thrice on the dark, still waters, pinging each time before-plop: into the water.

That was still two fewer than Alan managed at his worst. Harry frowned. How could he out duel a third year bu-

-Susan stood with a rustle of fabric. "Alan's here!"

Alan was making his way around the lakeshore. Harry couldn't tell if he was pleased or not. "What did he say?" he asked when the Ravenclaw came within earshot.

"Good news," Alan said, "and bad news."

The cryptic reply sent tremors of unease through Harry's gut. Susan looked like she was going to be sick.

"Well?"

Have we found a way out, the word implied, or landed Hagrid in big trouble?

Alan winked (and Harry could've punched him then) "He'll do it."

Susan sighed a long, happy sigh and flopped back down onto the grass.

But Harry hadn't forgotten the promise of bad news. "And?"

"Weasley will contact his brother… in return for seeing Norbert first."

There was a particular glint in Alan's eye - the same glint his cousin developed when she really wanted to push the club. He hadn't finished: "And if we do his homework for him… for the rest of the year."

Harry felt his shoulders droop. Great, he thought morosely, and we can't say no, can we? He almost wanted to lay the extra homework on Alan; he made the bargain, after all.

"Fine," said Susan, in her most prim, Pureblooded voice. That, he knew from experience, meant she was very, very mad. "We'll split it between the three of us. If Weasley wants to fail his exams, that's on him."

A week later, Norbert was gone, and Hagrid was inconsolable. Charlie Weasley and his dragon-keeping friends had arrived one night during the witching hour, flying modified broomsticks. They'd flown there in a tight square formation; and between them, suspended on steel-linked chains, was a box big enough for a juvenile Norwegian Ridgeback.

They touched down atop the Astronomy Tower, where Hagrid was waiting for them. He'd hefted an anaesthetised Norbert over one vast shoulder and carried him all the way from his hut, over the grounds, through the silent hallways, and up the hundreds of steps of the tower. He left a - literal - trail of tears in his wake, as he quietly wept along his journey. His and Norbert's final, only, journey together.

Harry watched under his Cloak, his heart clenching all the while. Hagrid's gentle, fatherly love for Norbert - indeed, for all animals, had never been more achingly evident. Harry wished he could reach out and comfort him, but he was breaking curfew as it was and Hagrid didn't know about the Cloak.

He watched Hagrid and Charlie Weasley (a tall, dashing man whose hair was as red as all his brothers) exchange a few words. Weasley reached up and patted the older man on the shoulder. Soon after, Hagrid tenderly placed Norbert in the box, and Charlie and his colleagues ascended gracefully into the star-strewn night.

Hagrid wept openly as they vanished into the night. Suddenly Harry remembered something Hagrid had said, as vividly as if he was hearing it right then; "But what if he don't like it there? What if the other dragons are mean to him? He's only a baby, to a big'un he'd be like a mouse to an elephant.*" Even at his most ridiculous, Hagrid cared. He really did. It was a parental love, the kind that seemed to make fathers dote and mothers turn anxious.

And as Harry watched Hagrid weep - kind, gentle Hagrid - on that balmy spring night atop the Astronomy Tower, Harry wondered what love really felt like. He'd never felt familial love, nor, as far as he could remember, had any been directed towards him.

Lily, his mind conjured, Potter. James Potter. His parents. Had they loved him? No one had a bad word to say about them, so he supposed they did. He left Hagrid to his mourning, and returned to his bed. There he dreamed, for the first time in months, of a flash of green light and high, cold laughter.

…

…

They visited Hagrid the next evening. Alan was feeling especially guilty, having organised Norbert's removal himself. He'd asked the house elves for extra sticky toffee pudding, and was smuggling half a dozen small trays in his satchel.

But when Hagrid opened the door and beckoned them in, Harry knew the groundskeeper wouldn't be very interested in dessert. The hut stank of drink. Strong drink, the kind most people would use to remove stains rather than… drink.

From his seat at the table, he eyed Hagrid's massive stomach. He wasn't fat… he just was. How much could he put away? Uncle Vernon had always said that big men could hold their ale - and Uncle Vernon had never met anyone as large as Hagrid… well, until he had. Sometimes, Harry still broke into laughter at the memory of his uncle's face as his shotgun was twisted like a pretzel.

Susan was glancing at him meaningfully, and Harry realised he was smiling. He managed to smother it just as Hagrid returned with tea.

As Harry struggled to fit his hands around the massive pewter mug, Hagrid fiddled with his robes. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink. Harry bit his lip. Norbert's absence had really hit him. What could he even say?

Whatever it would've been, Alan beat him to the punch. "How're you feeling, Hagrid?"

"Sore 'bout it, yer know? Norbert was - well, he's been a big part'a my life these past few weeks, he has." Hagrid shook his head. "Still, thanks for comin' t'see me. I've been wantin' some company. Now tell me, is Hartin givin' you any more trouble?"

"No," Harry replied, "he's kept his distance."

As they'd begun to visit Hagrid frequently, Harry couldn't help but notice how keen the groundskeeper was to listen to them talk about Hogwarts, about their teachers and their classes… His kind, dark eyes shone with a sort of wistfulness as Susan related Professor Sprout's demonstration of the dittany plant, or how Gregory Goyle somehow managed to untie his own shoes with a spell (he proceeded to fall over).

Hagrid was looking better as she finished, so Alan picked up where Susan left-off. He talked about Professor Quirrell's latest ineptitude; he'd managed to drop a crystal ball mid-lecture, as he discussed the object's special uses to detect danger. It'd smashed to a thousand pieces, from its remains had emanated a sinister waft of white, curling smoke.

That made Hagrid chuckle, which sounded to Harry rather like two large rocks grinding together. But Alan's second topic soured the mood; the last Quidditch game of the school year.

"Norbert never got'ta fly at Hogwarts," Hagrid cried, and almost burst into tears.

Harry shared a long look with Alan and Susan. The man was clearly on his way to intoxication. What on earth could they do?

Eventually, Susan reached across the table and patted him awkwardly on the hand. "T-here t-there Hagrid, h-he's better off in Romania," she said soothingly, gaining confidence as she spoke. "Perhaps he can come back once they've trained him up a bit - he can help protect the third floor corridor with Fluffy."

Considering how large a Norwegian Ridgeback was liable to grow, Harry didn't think that was very likely. Still, he wisely kept silent.

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah," he slurred. "Flamel wouldn't like that," he said. "What if he ate it?."

Harry's heart seemed to skip a beat. Flamel!? … It? In his brief attempts at learning wizarding history, (just before he'd given up, in fact), the name Flamel had appeared more than once… Nicholas Flamel, he recalled, a legendary alchemist… The only creator of the Philosopher's Stone.

Harry and Susan shared another look, while Alan just looked confused.

Meanwhile, Hagrid was very annoyed with himself. He drew a massive hand across his face. "Oh, Merlin," he groaned. "I should not have said that - I should not have said that…"

Alan and Susan started talking - probably about the identity of Flamel - but Harry wasn't listening. He was busy piecing together all that he'd learned about the third-floor corridor, driven to new understanding by the presence of the Stone. The Philosopher's Stone, which could produce the Elixir of Life, the font of immortality, and gold without end…

The breakin-in at Gringotts. Fluffy. SLEF. Gabriel's questions about Hartin's ambush - an ambush that ended with him stumbling over the corridor. Was it a coincidence?

For his friendship with Gabriel, Harry wanted to say yes. His heart told him he was making a mountain from a molehill. But his head, and his gut, told him otherwise. It wasn't a coincidence. SLEF - whoever SLEF really were - were after the Philosopher's Stone.

That brought him to the incident with the troll. At the time he thought it was an attempt to kill him. Now he wasn't sure. Was the troll's presence some sort of distraction? Had his likely death just been a… a bonus to obtaining immortality and infinite wealth?

The thought made Harry feel sick. But beyond his emotions, new questions arose. SLEF, surely, wouldn't let a troll loose in Hogwarts? Sure, the original SLEF were extreme, but they were gone. This SLEF was probably just a group of students taking up the name… One of whom was Gabriel. She wouldn't try to kill him, would she?

No. His train of thought moved to only one conclusion; Gabriel was after the Philosopher's Stone.

But so was someone else.

He returned to the conversation just in time for Alan to turn to him. "So that was the package you mentioned Harry, that one from the Prophet! It was-" his voice dropped to an awed whisper, "the Philosopher's Stone."

Hagrid coughed loudly. "I'd, er, appreciate if you kids didn't tell anyone about this… by all rights, I shouldn't let anyone know…'

"Of course, Hagrid," Harry promised. "But you do know someone is trying to steal it?"

Hagrid looked, somehow, even more uncomfortable. "Yes, well, you know how it is. Dumbledore has it in hand."

That was almost certainly true. Harry couldn't imagine Dumbledore being wrong-footed by anything. But did he know about SLEF? Would he let Gabriel run the Self Defence Club if he did? Maybe he didn't… or maybe SLEF was nothing to worry about. They hadn't actually done anything, after all.

Harry felt another headache developing, draining thought by draining thought.

Either way, he did need to inform the professors about Hartin's faction - just as Susan had advised him. She knew more about the wizarding world than him; if the book was that worrying, he had no other choice.

But, whispering in the very terrible corners of his mind, deep and dark, was the thought that Hartin and his group hadn't done anything either… No less or more than Gabriel's SLEF.

His headache only grew worse as he gave his final commiserations to Hagrid and left the hut, Alan and Susan in tow.

The sun was still shining outside; Harry grimaced as the light met his eyes. "Let's get it over with," he muttered to himself.

His voice carried. "Get what over with?" said Alan.

"Oh - nothing."

But Harry couldn't bear to tell the professors that day. Only after a troubled sleep did he put together a note, unsigned, and written in printed letters. It described only the location of Hartin's hideout; the teachers could judge the books therein for themselves. Harry left it beneath the door to Professor McGonagall's office (he wasn't going to give Snape the pleasure) and walked away feeling quite bad about it.

As he hurried back to the Hufflepuff common room he had to remind himself, more than once, of Hartin's prank and subsequent cowardice. But that only directed his mind to Lother McConnell and his troublesome explanation.

He was glad to reach the common room, where Susan was reading a book on Alchemy. She peered over the edging of Alchemy: Mysteries within the Minerals (and Other Assorted Materials), and said: "It's fascinating, you know, Alchemy? Like Potions, but more - and we know so little about it!"

Susan blushed red, and peered around the common room. No one seemed to notice the way she'd raised her voice. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've been thinking," she whispered, "What if SLEF go for the Stone? They can't have it, Harry, but none of the teachers would believe us if we told them what's happening."

It was an inevitable conclusion. Harry had arrived at the same place. "But they are guarding the Stone," he countered. "They expect someone to try and steal it."

Susan gripped her book so tightly her knuckles whitened. "Yes," she said fearfully. "And if- if whoever else is after the Stone tries to steal it, they might run into SLEF… Probably Gabriel - she's their best member as far as we know. They'll only try on the final days of school. What if they try o-on the same night?"

Harry paused. He hadn't really thought about the identity of the other group… or person trying to steal the Stone. Why did she think they'd only tr- "You think it's a teacher!?"

He ducked his head. That'd been too loud.

Susan nodded, biting her lip. "Or a prodigious seventh year - there are a couple of Slytherins and a Ravenclaw who might be capable, perhaps. One of them is even interested in Alchemy."

That changed things. Harry leaned back into his squishy yellow armchair and let himself think. "So… it's a trap, then? Set up after the vault was raided."

"Yes," Susan agreed. "And I think I have a way of knowing when it's sprung… or, at least, preventing Gabriel from doing anything stupid."

The catalyst of Susan's idea arrived three days later. She'd mail ordered it… from the child-rearing section of Smithson's Contrivances for All Occasions, one of a legion of popular wizarding catalogues. Harry couldn't even imagine how difficult it would be to explain why Susan was ordering nursery items to Hogwarts… or at all, really.

The mere thought made him blush tomato-red.

But they weren't caught, and that afternoon, when they were alone again by the Black Lake (Alan had managed to land himself in detention - the first of his Hogwarts career), Susan handed him a small, thin cylinder about the size of his thumb. Harry peered at it, trying to feel the enchantments. Disappointingly, if not unexpectedly, he felt nothing. He weighed it in his hand. It was light. "So this is it?"

Susan fished something else out of her robe pocket. "That-" she held up a delicately sculpted bronze device, which resembled a meridian ring - the circle within which a model globe might be kept, "-and this."

Harry observed the second object. It was shaped like a pair of grasping hands - one sizable and masculine, the other dainty and feminine. They were holding the ring, which was just about - ah!

Harry placed the cylinder in the ring… There was a strange pulling sensation. He let go; and the cylinder floated in the meridian, only rotating on its axis.

"That's how it's stored when it's not being used," Susan said.

"So all we've got to do is find a way to stick the puck-thing in the heel of one of Gabriel's shoes, and whenever she moves the hands will vibrate?"

"And the vibration will get stronger and stronger unless the hands are touched. My auntie's house elf had one for me."

Not, Harry noted dimly, her aunt herself… but he filed that information away for later. "Will the, er, battery last long enough? Hopefully we'll figure out a way to install it this week. We need it to work until at least the end of the year."

"I bought the most expensive one. It should last six months."

Harry nodded, feeling rather strange. It was all rather strange. They were plotting against their own mentor, on the assumption she was part of a reformed terrorist group… that perhaps weren't so extreme anymore - if they existed. And - if - they were interested in the Philosopher's Stone… which, if it fell into the wrong hands, could cause untold chaos. And they couldn't tell Alan without threatening their friendship.

Harry sighed. The last few months of the school year were going to be long, especially with that thing by his bedside, ever threatening to go off in the the night.

Even so… even so… they had to be there. They'd discovered all this; it was too late to back out now. If that alarm did sound, if Gabriel made her move, they'd be ready. For her sake, as much as anyone's.

A/N:

*This is obviously not the same quote as in the films or books, because in that context Norbert(a) is already gone, and he's talking to Filch.

So, Harry discovers the nature of SLEF! Or, the old SLEF. Obviously, this is modelled on a number of Muggle radical groups from a similar period - most of them German, strangely enough. Anyone aware of them?

No need for a glossary this time - though there is a large one in the next chapter, which is the last chapter of the Stone arc, and runs to about 10,000 words. It's already available on the Discord associated with this story and, as you can imagine, brings everything to a close.

That'll be posted here in about two weeks.

Until then, enjoy summer!

JoustingAlchemy