J.K.Rowling. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone
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... this. She hadn't spoken to either of them sincethe day Harry's broomstick had arrived.
"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!"
squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual.
"Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words
properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said
's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his
chest."
It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the
feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.
Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it
— Harry had to put it out with his hat.
Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.
"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's
Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."
"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.
Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said,
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their
heads.
"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see
here, Miss Granger's done it!"
Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no
one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the
crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. "
Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione.
Harry caught a glimpse of her face — and was startled to see that she was
in tears.
"I think she heard you."
"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed
she's got no friends."
Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all
afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast,
Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that
Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron
looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the
Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.
A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a
thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the
candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden
plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.
Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor
Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his
face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped
against the table, and gasped, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought you
ought to know."
He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from
the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories
immediately!"
Percy was in his element.
"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if
you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years
coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"
"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.
"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe
Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."
They passed different groups of people hurrying in different
directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused
Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.
"I've just thought — Hermione."
"What about her?"
"She doesn't know about the troll."
on bit his lip.
"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."
Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped
down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom.
They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.
"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.
Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed
the corridor and disappeared from view.
"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons
with the rest of the teachers?"
"Search me."
Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's
fading footsteps.
"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his
hand.
"Can you smell something?"
Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old
socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.
And then they heard it — a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls
of gigantic feet. Ron pointed — at the end of a passage to the left,
something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and
watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.
It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite
gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched
on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat,
horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge
wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.
The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its
long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.
"The keys in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."
"Good idea," said Ron nervously.
They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't
about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key,
slam the door, and lock it.
'Yes!"
Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage,
but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts
stop — a high, petrified scream — and it was coming from the chamber
they'd just chained up.
"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.
"It's the girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.
"Hermione!" they said together.
It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have?
Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling
in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.
Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if
she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks
off the walls as it went.
"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he
threw it as hard as he could against the wall.
The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around,
blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw
Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.
"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he
threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe
hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its
ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.
"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her
toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall,
her mouth open with terror.
The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It
roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to
escape.
Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He
took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's
neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a
troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's
wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up
one of the troll's nostrils.
Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry
clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or
catch him a terrible blow with the club.
Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand
— not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell
that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into
the air, turned slowly over — and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its
owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face,
with a thud that made the whole room tremble.
Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was
standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.
It was Hermione who spoke first.
"Is it — dead?"
I don't think so," said Harry, I think it's just been knocked out."
He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was
covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.
"Urgh — troll boogers."
He wiped it on the troll's trousers.
A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up.
They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course,
someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A
moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely
followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one
look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a
toilet, clutching his heart.
Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and
Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of
winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.
"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with
cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his
wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your
dormitory?"
Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He
wished Ron would put his wand down.
Then a small voice came out of the shadows.
"Please, Professor McGonagall — they were looking for me."
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.
I went looking for the troll because I — I thought I could deal with
it on my own — you know, because I've read all about them."
Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a
teacher? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wandup
its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to
come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."
Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.
"Well — in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the
three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of
tackling a mountain troll on your own?"
Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last
person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she
had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out
sweets.
"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,"
said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt
at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the
feast in their houses."
Hermione left.
Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.
"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have
taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points.
Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."
They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had
climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the
troll, quite apart from anything else.
"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.
"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."
"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind
you, we did save her."
"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with
her," Harry reminded him.
They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Pig snout," they said and entered.
The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that
had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for
them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each
other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.
But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There
are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and
knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
QUIDDITCH
As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains
around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every
morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the
upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up
in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin
boots.
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in
his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If
Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house
championship.
Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as
their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that
he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which
was worse — people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him
they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.
It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermlone as a friend. He didn't
know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what with
all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also
lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very
interesting read.
Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a
Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in
1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that
most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although
people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and
turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.
Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry
and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for
it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out
in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a
bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were
standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard.
Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved
closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be
allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's
eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking
for a reason to tell them off anyway.
"What's that you've got there, Potter?"
It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.
"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape.
"Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."
"He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped
away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"
"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and
Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will you
learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers
anyway.
Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take
his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape?
Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could
have it.
"Better you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea
thatSnape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.
He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer.
He knocked again. Nothing.
Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed
the door ajar and peered inside — and a horrible scene met his eyes.
Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above
his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape
bandages.
"Blasted thing*," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your
eyes on all three heads at once?"
Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but --
"POTTER!"
Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to
hide his leg. Harry gulped.
"I just wondered if I could have my book back."
"GET OUT! OUT!"
Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He
sprinted back upstairs.
"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"
In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.
"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get
past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we
saw him — he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he
let that troll in, to make a diversion!"
Hermione's eyes were wide.
"No — he wouldn't, she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he
wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."
"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,"
snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's
he after? What's that dog guarding?"
Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville
was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind --
he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few
hours — but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg
wasn't easy to forget.
The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full
of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of
everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.
"You've got to eat some breakfast."
"I don't want anything."
"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.
"I'm not hungry."
Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.
"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are
always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."
"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his
sausages.
By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands
around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be
raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on
sometimes.
Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up
in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on
one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and
Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath.
Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed
different colors.
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were
changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in
green).
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
"Okay, men," he said.
"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.
"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."
"The big one," said Fred Weasley.
"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the
team last year."
"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had
in years. We're going to win. I know it."
He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."
"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his
knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field
waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were
all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking
particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry
thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner
of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for
President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.
"Mount your brooms, please."
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And
the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an
excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the
match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia
Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve — back to
Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain
Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle
up there — he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor
Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that's Chaser Katie Bell
of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH --
that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle
taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal
posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or
George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater,
anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead
and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the
goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives --
misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the
Slytherins.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hagrid!"
Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join
them.
"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of
binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No
sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"
"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."
"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising
his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for
some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.
"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had
said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."
When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to
let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once
he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of
the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his
way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred
Weasley came chasing after it.
"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger
furiously toward Marcus Flint.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks
two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a
moment — was that the Snitch?"
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too
busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left
ear.
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the
streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and
neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have
forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to
watch.
Harry was faster than Higgs — he could see the little round ball,
wings fluttering, darting up ahead - - he put on an extra spurt of speed --
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint
had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry
holding on for dear life.
"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the
goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden
Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red
card!"
"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.
"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card
and you're out of the game!"
"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.
"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the
air."
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating
"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul
'Jordan, I'm warning you --"
"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which
could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by
Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor
still in possession."
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously
past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch.
For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom
tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.
It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him
off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders
off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts — he had
half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out — and then he realized that his
broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't
direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then
making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.
Lee was still commentating.
"Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet --
passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose --
only joking, Professor — Slytherins score - Oh no...
The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that
Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying- him slowly higher,
away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.
"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through
his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his
broom... but he can't have...."
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His
broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold
on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and
Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one
hand.
"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.
"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere
with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a
Nimbus Two Thousand."
At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of
looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.
"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.
"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape — look."
Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands
opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop
under his breath.
"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," said Hermione.
"What should we do?"
"Leave it to me."
Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned
the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost
impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet,
watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely
onto one of their brooms, but it was no good — every time they got near
him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled
beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus
Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.
Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and
was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry
as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching
Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-
chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's
robes.
It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on
fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him
into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row — Snape
would never know what had happened.
It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back
on to his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into
Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.
Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his
hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick — he hit the field on
all fours — coughed — and something gold fell into his hand.
"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the
game ended in complete confusion.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling
twenty minutes later, but it made no difference — Harry hadn't broken any
rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results — Gryffindor
had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of
this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut,
with Ron and Hermione.
"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was
cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on
next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell
him. Harry decided on the truth.
"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get
past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying
to steal whatever it's guarding."
Hagrid dropped the teapot.
"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.
"Fluffy?"
"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub
las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -"
"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.
"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret,
that is."
"But Snape's trying to steal it."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do
nothin' of the sort."
"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.
The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about
Snape.
I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!
You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw
him!"
"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why
Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student!
Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin' in things that don'
concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's
guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel --"
"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved,
is there?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MIRROR OF ERISED
Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to
find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the
Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they
followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls
that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had
to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.
No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor
common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had
become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of
all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath
rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot
cauldrons.
"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all
those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not
wanted at home."
He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.
Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them.
Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match.
Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone
laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker
next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all
so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick.
So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having
no proper family.
It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas.
Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of
students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at
once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the
best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too,
because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.
When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large
fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the
bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.
"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the
branches.
"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."
"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from
behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be
gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of
Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."
Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.
"WEASLEY!"
Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.
"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge
hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."
"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said
Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it
isn't more. Move along, all of you."
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering
needles everywhere and smirking.
"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of
these days, I'll get him --"
"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."
"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh
what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."
So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great
Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the
Christmas decorations.
"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?"
The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all
around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood
around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with
hundreds of candles.
"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.
"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me -Harry, Ron, we've got
half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."
"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor
Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing
them over the branches of the new tree.
"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just
before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"
"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you
mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."
"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here — I've told yeh - drop
it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."
"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said
Hermione.
"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added.
"We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him
anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I've read his name somewhere."
"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.
"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left
Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.
They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since
Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what
Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where
to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a
book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable
Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern
Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And
then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands
of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to
search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off
the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had
been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there.
Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers
to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one.
These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at
Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against
the Dark Arts.
"What are you looking for, boy?"
"Nothing," said Harry.
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.
"You'd better get out, then. Go on — out!"
Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left
the library. He, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask
Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to
tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.
Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found
anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks,
after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't
surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long
search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.
Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads.
They went off to lunch.
"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And
send me an owl if you find anything."
"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said
Ron."It'd be safe to ask them."
"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a
time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and
the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the
good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could
spear on a toasting fork — bread, English muffins, marshmallows — and
plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even
if they wouldn't work.
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like
Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like
directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like
everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family
— in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback
at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what
he wanted.
Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they
didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept
shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send
me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him." On
Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the
food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early
in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages
at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and
pulled on his bathrobe.
"You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some
presents!"
"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile,
which was a lot bigger than Harry's.
Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and
scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut
wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it — it
sounded a bit like an owl.
A second, very small parcel contained a note.
We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle
Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.
"That's friendly," said Harry.
Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.
"Weird!" he said, 'What a shape! This is money?"
"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid
and my aunt and uncle — so who sent these?"
"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and
pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any
presents and — oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."
Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in
emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.
"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and
mine's always maroon."
"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was
very tasty.
His next present also contained candy — a large box of Chocolate Frogs
from Hermione.
This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very
light. He unwrapped it.
Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it
lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.
"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of
Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is
— they're really rare, and really valuable."
"What is it?"
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange
to the touch, like water woven into material.
"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm
sure it is — try it on."
Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.
"It is! Look down!"
Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the
mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head
suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over
his head and his reflection vanished completely.
"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"
Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow,
loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your father
left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to
you. Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.
There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the
cloak.
"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the
matter?"
"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak?
Had it really once belonged to his father?
Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was
flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak
quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look — Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F
on it, the other a G.
"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's
sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."
"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it
on, they're lovely and warm."
"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his
head.
"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she
thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid — we know we're
called Gred and Forge."
"What's all this noise.
Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He
had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too,
carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.
"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even
Harry got one."
"I — don't — want said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater
over his head, knocking his glasses askew.
"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George.
"Christmas is a time for family."
They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by
his sweater.
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred
fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of
chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and
cranberry sauce — and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the
table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones
the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy
paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't
just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a
cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and
several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his
pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a
joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his
teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting
redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing
Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and
blushed, her top hat lopsided.
When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of
things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous
balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The
white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to
end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.
Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious
snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they
returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his
new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have
lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.
After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas
cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and
watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd
stolen his prefect badge.
It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been
nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was
he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.
Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him,
fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster.
Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from
under it.
His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow
over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had
said.
He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak
around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows.
It was a very funny feeling.
Use it well.
Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him
in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the d...
