The Great Hall buzzed with laughter and chatter as students gathered for lunch. Today, the conversation at nearly every table revolved around Fred and George Weasley's latest round of pranks, and Harry couldn't help but smirk as he listened in. The twins had outdone themselves again. This time, Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had been the unfortunate targets—again.

"Did you see their faces?" one of the Ravenclaw students whispered, giggling as she nudged her friend. "I thought Malfoy was going to explode!"

Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, Draco sat with his arms crossed, face red with fury, while Crabbe and Goyle were both hunched over, embarrassed and trying to avoid attention. A set of enchanted plates had followed them all through the halls earlier, each one loudly proclaiming their greatest blunders of the week. Harry didn't catch all the details, but from what he overheard, it had involved some rather humiliating incidents in Potions.

Harry allowed himself a small, amused smile. They still hadn't given up trying to follow him, as if they ever had a chance. They probably fancied themselves great sleuths, but their efforts were laughable. He could stalk a jaguar through the Amazon. He had, in fact. And none of them looked like they'd set foot on anything wilder than a perfectly manicured lawn.

His eyes shifted to Fred and George, who were basking in the attention of their classmates, faces filled with that trademark Weasley mischief. Harry had to give it to them—they were more than they appeared. Behind their prankster persona, they were sharp, clever, and more resourceful than most gave them credit for. Their loyalty, too, was something Harry had come to appreciate. The twins didn't ask too many questions, and when it came down to it, they could keep up with him—at least where it counted.

Fred caught his eye and gave a subtle nod, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Harry raised an eyebrow in return but said nothing. They'd talk later, when the hall wasn't filled with curious eyes. For now, it was enough to know the twins had his back.

Harry's gaze flickered to the Slytherin table once more. Draco's frustration was almost palpable, even from across the hall. Crabbe and Goyle were still sulking, no doubt mortified after being made the laughing stock of the school yet again. For all their bravado, they'd never posed a real threat to him. Malfoy might be cunning, but he wasn't careful—and his henchmen were little more than blunt instruments.

Harry's thoughts drifted briefly. In another life, maybe he would've taken the opportunity to humiliate Draco himself, but that was unnecessary now. The twins were more than happy to handle that front. Besides, there were bigger things to focus on.

The Great Hall continued its lively hum around him, but Harry's mind was already elsewhere, turning over the next moves he'd need to make.

—

Draco stalked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, his hands balled into fists, fury coursing through his veins. The laughter from lunch still rang in his ears, mocking him. He could still feel the stares, the pointed whispers as he and his cronies had been humiliated—again—by the Weasley twins. Those blood traitors had made him a joke, and it was all Potter's fault. He was sure of it.

Crabbe and Goyle trailed behind him, their heavy footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. They didn't speak—what could they say? They were as embarrassed as he was, but neither of them seemed to grasp the importance of the situation. It wasn't just the pranks, or even the humiliation. No, there was something much deeper at play here.

Potter was up to something. He had to be. Draco had seen the way Potter moved through the castle, slipping away when no one was looking, disappearing for hours at a time. Always so calm, so collected. Like he knew something no one else did. Draco's fingers twitched, his frustration building. It wasn't just his bruised pride at stake anymore. Potter had secrets, and Draco was going to find out what they were.

"I've had enough of this," Draco growled, more to himself than to Crabbe or Goyle. "I'm done being made a fool of."

Crabbe grunted in agreement, though it was clear he didn't quite understand the depth of Draco's anger. Goyle just shrugged, his eyes darting nervously as if half-expecting another enchanted plate to appear out of thin air. Draco shot them both a glare, annoyed at their lack of initiative.

"We need a new plan," Draco muttered, more determined than ever. He wouldn't let the Weasleys—or Potter—get the better of him again. "We're missing something, I know it. Potter's hiding something big."

He clenched his jaw, replaying the events of the last few weeks in his mind. Every time he thought he had Potter figured out, the boy slipped through his fingers. And those blasted Weasleys… they were always there, always one step ahead, running interference before he could get anywhere close to Potter. How did they always know where he was? It didn't make sense.

Draco's mind worked furiously, trying to piece together what he knew. Potter was good, too good. He wasn't just lucky—he was calculated, deliberate. The way he avoided Draco's traps, the way he always seemed to know when and where to vanish. And the Weasleys… there was something going on there. How were those two morons always ahead of him?

He stopped abruptly, turning to face Crabbe and Goyle. "We're going to change tactics," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Forget following Potter. We're going to keep our eyes on the Weasleys."

Crabbe frowned, clearly confused. "The Weasleys?"

"Yes, the Weasleys," Draco snapped, his patience wearing thin. "They're always around him, always causing distractions. They know something. And if we follow them, they'll lead us straight to Potter's secrets."

He smirked at the thought. The Weasleys might think they were clever, but they weren't nearly as slippery as Potter. Draco could outmaneuver them. He would watch them, wait for them to slip up. And when they did, he'd be there, ready to finally expose whatever it was that Potter was hiding.

"We'll wait until tonight," Draco said, his voice a low hiss. "When they least expect it. They'll slip up eventually, and when they do… we'll be ready."

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance but nodded obediently. They didn't need to understand the details, as long as they followed Draco's lead. And Draco—Draco would make sure they didn't fail again. He'd had enough of playing games. It was time to get serious.

With a final determined glance at his followers, Draco turned back toward the Slytherin common room, his steps quickening. Tonight would be different. Tonight, he would be the one to get the upper hand.

—

The library was unusually quiet that evening, with only a few students scattered among the towering shelves. Hermione sat across from Harry, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across the stack of books between them. In her hands was the letter from Nicholas Flamel. She had been studying it intently for several minutes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I can't believe he actually wrote back," Hermione said quietly, almost to herself. "Nicholas Flamel—writing to me! I wasn't sure if he'd even bother."

Harry gave her a calm nod, though his mind was focused elsewhere. Flamel's words held more weight than Hermione could realize. She hadn't yet read the passage aloud, but Harry already suspected what was hidden within the cryptic message.

Hermione cleared her throat and began to read: "'The Stone is many things, but above all, it is a symbol—one that draws seekers, as it always has. Albus has always known that the most valuable prize is not the Stone itself, but what it reveals about those who seek it. In the right hands, its true purpose is fulfilled not through use, but through understanding.'"

She lowered the letter, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "I... I'm not sure what he means by that. The most valuable prize isn't the Stone itself?"

Harry kept his expression neutral, though inwardly, the pieces were falling into place. Flamel's cryptic message was clear to him. Dumbledore wasn't merely guarding the Stone—he was using it to draw out his enemies. The Stone was bait, and Hogwarts was the trap. It made perfect sense. This was the kind of strategy Harry understood deeply: you lured your opponent into your territory, where you had the greatest advantage.

But Hermione wouldn't see it that way. It wasn't in her nature. She still believed Dumbledore was a protector above all else, someone who wouldn't use such a risky tactic. Harry doubted she'd even consider the possibility that Dumbledore might deliberately draw Voldemort into Hogwarts.

Hermione frowned, reading the passage again. "Maybe Flamel means that the Stone isn't just about immortality. Maybe Dumbledore thinks it's important for what it represents... like the pursuit of knowledge or something."

Harry remained silent, letting her explanation hang in the air. She was reaching for a conclusion that fit her worldview—one where Dumbledore's actions were always for the greater good, and Hogwarts was a place of safety, not a battlefield. Her interpretation was logical for someone like her, who saw the world in ideals rather than power plays.

"I think you're right," Harry said finally, offering her a small nod. "The Stone could represent more than its power. Dumbledore must have his reasons for keeping it safe here."

Hermione's face brightened slightly, as though she were satisfied with that conclusion. "Exactly! Dumbledore wouldn't risk the school. He's probably trying to keep it hidden from anyone who might want to use it for evil purposes. He wouldn't... wouldn't let anyone dangerous get near it."

Harry looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. She didn't see it, couldn't see it. She didn't understand the deeper game being played—but Harry did.

"Dumbledore's always one step ahead," Harry said, his voice deliberately even. "We just don't have all the information."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "I'm sure you're right. It's just... the way Flamel wrote about the Stone being more symbolic made me think there's more to it than we know."

"There usually is," Harry replied.

As Hermione started jotting down notes, Harry leaned back in his chair, his mind already working through the implications. Dumbledore had set a trap, and the Stone was the bait. To Harry, it was a brilliant move—a move he could respect. Dumbledore wasn't just playing defense. He was drawing his enemy in, right into the heart of his power.

—

The castle was quiet, the usual hum of activity reduced to the faint creaks and whispers of an ancient building settling in the night. But in the shadowed corridors near the Gryffindor common room, three figures moved stealthily—or at least, they tried to.

Draco led the way, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his face set in grim determination. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle lumbered along, trying their best to stay quiet but failing miserably. The three had been tracking Fred and George Weasley all evening, hoping to catch them in the act of whatever trick they were planning.

"This time, we're not going to let them slip away," Draco muttered under his breath, casting a glance back at his two companions. They nodded, though it was clear neither had any idea what the plan really was beyond following orders.

They had followed the Weasleys as far as the third floor, where the twins had mysteriously disappeared. Now, as Draco prowled through the dimly lit corridor, he was sure he could still hear the occasional snicker echoing from ahead.

"They've got to be around here somewhere," Draco whispered, his voice dripping with frustration. "Stay sharp."

As if on cue, Crabbe tripped over something—an invisible wire that snapped taut with a sudden twang. A second later, a burst of confetti erupted from the ceiling, showering the trio in a flurry of glittering paper. Draco froze, blinking in disbelief as the confetti rained down around them. Crabbe stood frozen, his face completely obscured by a mess of sparkling confetti. Goyle just looked confused.

"Bloody hell," Draco hissed, brushing off his robes furiously. "It's a distraction. Keep moving!"

But before they could take another step, the floor beneath them gave a low groan. Draco barely had time to react before the stones shifted, tilting beneath their feet. The entire section of the corridor tilted just enough to send all three of them skidding backward into a conveniently placed pile of old cushions. Draco's face burned with anger as he struggled to his feet, brushing dust and more confetti from his hair.

"They've rigged the whole place," Draco growled, teeth clenched in frustration. "We can't let them make fools of us!"

Crabbe and Goyle hauled themselves upright, but just as they did, another trap activated—a series of brightly colored banners unfurled from the ceiling, each emblazoned with a cartoonish image of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, complete with exaggerated sneers and clueless expressions. Beneath them, a magically amplified voice echoed through the corridor.

"Introducing the Slytherin Sleuths! Always one step behind!"

Laughter, muffled but unmistakable, echoed from further down the hallway. Draco's eyes blazed with fury. The twins were mocking him—publicly, once again. He could hear them snickering, their voices barely audible over the racket of the prank. The banners fluttered in the air, and Draco's patience snapped.

"That's it!" he shouted, grabbing his wand and pointing it toward the ceiling. "Reducto!"

The spell blasted one of the banners into pieces, sending scraps of fabric fluttering to the floor. But the destruction only seemed to spur another round of laughter from the shadows. Fred and George were clearly enjoying this far too much.

Crabbe and Goyle just stood there, looking bewildered and utterly useless, as always.

"Come on," Draco spat, "we need to—"

But before he could finish, a series of enchanted firecrackers exploded from the walls, sending colorful sparks and loud pops through the corridor. The noise was deafening, and Draco instinctively ducked as the air filled with smoke and flashing lights. Through the chaos, he could hear Fred and George laughing uncontrollably, their voices trailing off as they disappeared deeper into the castle.

Draco stood in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by the wreckage of their latest humiliation. His face burned with rage and embarrassment, but there was little he could do now. The Weasleys had outmaneuvered him again.

Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle had both hit the floor, trying to avoid the firecrackers. As usual, neither had managed to maintain any sense of dignity.

Draco's hands clenched into fists, and he glared into the smoke-filled corridor ahead. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

—

The library was quieter than usual, its usual hushed murmur reduced to the faint rustle of pages being turned. Harry sat in a secluded corner, his back to the towering bookshelves, having set aside the tome on advanced magical theory that he had been reading earlier. His thoughts wandered, far from the printed words in front of him.

The school year was drawing to a close. The final confrontation was drawing closer, and he could feel the weight of it pressing in on him. He thought of Grindelwald's lessons—how every move, every piece on the board, must serve the ultimate strategy. Power was nothing without control.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the events that had led him here. Quirrell had been moving more erratically, the signs were obvious to someone trained to notice them. Harry was now convinced his nemesis was pulling Quirrell's strings. The unicorn blood would have been necessary for Voldemort, letting his shade gather strength for a final play.

The Stone had to be a trap, a carefully laid snare designed to draw Voldemort into the open. The Headmaster thought like a general, always three steps ahead. Harry admired that. Still, if someone was going to acquire the Stone today, it would be him, not Quirrell or Voldemort.

A soft footstep broke his thoughts. Hermione approached, clutching a thick book to her chest, her expression tense. She glanced around, clearly mindful of Madame Pince, before taking the seat across from him.

"Harry," she whispered, her brow furrowed. "I've been thinking… about the Stone."

He met her gaze calmly, saying nothing at first, letting the silence stretch. He knew why she was here—Hermione never did like being left out of the loop.

"You've been quiet lately," she continued, lowering her voice even further. "And I can tell you're planning something. Don't you think we should… be working together on this?"

Harry tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words. In truth, he had already decided what to tell her before she even sat down. She didn't need to know the full picture—he would keep her close, just enough to satisfy her, but he couldn't let her interfere.

"You're right," he said softly, his voice low enough to avoid drawing attention. "I've been thinking about the Stone too. But we have to be careful, Hermione. There are things we don't fully understand yet."

Hermione's eyes lit up, as though she had finally found an opening. "Exactly! That's why we need to be prepared. What if someone's already trying to steal it? Quirrell's been acting strange—"

"Quirrell's just a distraction," Harry interrupted smoothly, leaning forward slightly. "There are bigger things at play here. We need to trust that Dumbledore has a plan."

Hermione blinked, clearly caught off-guard. "But… you think Dumbledore knows?"

"Of course," Harry said, his voice even. "He wouldn't leave something like the Stone unprotected. He's Dumbledore." Harry tried to imitate Hermione's reverent awe when uttering the Headmaster's name.

Hermione nodded, but her brow remained furrowed. "Still, we should do something. If someone is after the Stone…"

Harry leaned back, letting her thoughts hang in the air. She was grasping for a conclusion that fit her worldview, where Dumbledore was the protector, always on guard. He wouldn't challenge that—there was no need. She was smart, but she didn't see the game the way he did. To her, the world was still divided into right and wrong, protector and villain, and he could use that.

"Dumbledore's protecting it," he said calmly. "And we should let him handle it. We don't need to act unless it's necessary."

Hermione relaxed slightly, as though his reassurances had lifted a weight from her shoulders. "I suppose… you're right. Dumbledore wouldn't let anyone dangerous get close to the Stone."

Harry allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. "Exactly."

She seemed content with that answer, her mind already moving on to something else. She glanced down at the book in her hands, starting to flip through the pages. Harry picked up his own book and pretended to read alongside her, but was too preoccupied with his thoughts. The pieces were moving into place. Hermione was satisfied for now, but she didn't see the full picture, and that was how it needed to stay.