J.K.Rowling. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone
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...arkand silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never
know.
Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him
back — his father's cloak — he felt that this time — the first time - he
wanted to use it alone.
He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room,
and climbed through the portrait hole.
"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked
quickly down the corridor.
Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then
it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read
as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set
off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.
The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his
way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in
midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight
gave him the creeps.
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping
carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the
library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled
words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One
book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on
the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but
he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew
someone was there who shouldn't be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the
floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A
large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with
difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it
fall open.
A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence — the book was
screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high,
unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp,
which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the
corridor outside — stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran
for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked
straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and
streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been
so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he
was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at
all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be
five floors above there.
"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was
wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted
Section."
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must
know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to
his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they
can't be far, we'll catch them."
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the
corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor
and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him — the cloak didn't
stop him from being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left.
It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not
to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without
their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against
the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That
had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything
about the room he had hidden in.
It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs
were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket --
but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if
it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there
to keep it out of the way.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate
gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved
around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic
fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to
the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He
stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming.
He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the
book had screamed — for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a
whole crowd of people standing right behind him.
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to
the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there,
reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his
shoulder — but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too?
Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick
was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his
reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the
air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections
were so close together, but he felt only air — she and the others existed
only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - her
eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass.
Bright green — exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was
crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired
man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his
hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching
that of his reflection.
"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the
faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes
like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though
he had Harry's knobbly knees — Harry was looking at his family, for the
first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at
them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to
fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside
him, half joy, half terrible sadness.
How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade
and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his
senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore
his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and
hurried from the room.
"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.
"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.
"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly.
"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to
show me your other brothers and everyone."
"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house
this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not
finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating
anything?"
Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them
again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very
important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What
did it matter if Snape stole it, really?
"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."
What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror
room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more
slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library,
wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.
"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."
"No!" Harry hissed. I know it's here somewhere."
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite
direction, but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet
were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.
"It's here — just here — yes!"
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his
shoulders and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.
"See?" Harry whispered.
"I can't see anything."
"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them...."
"I can only see you."
"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't
see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
"Look at me!" he said.
"Can you see all your family standing around you?"
"No — I'm alone — but I'm different — I look older — and I'm head
boy!"
"What?"
"I am — I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to — and I'm holding the
house cup and the Quidditch cup — I'm Quidditch captain, too.
Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at
Harry.
"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
"How can it? All my family are dead — let me have another look --"
"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."
"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that?
I want to see my parents."
"Don't push me --"
A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion.
They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.
"Quick!"
Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris
came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same
thing — did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned
and left.
"This isn't safe — she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us.
Come on."
And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.
The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.
"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.
"No."
"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"
"No... you go..."
"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back
tonight."
"Why not?"
"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it — and anyway, you've
had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are
wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you?
What if you knock something over?"
"You sound like Hermione."
"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."
But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in
front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.
That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was
walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he
didn't meet anyone.
And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of
his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in
front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all
night with his family. Nothing at all.
Except --
"So — back again, Harry?"
Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind
him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus
Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to
the mirror he hadn't noticed him.
" — I didn't see you, sir."
"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said
Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.
"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with
Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the
Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."
"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"
"It — well — it shows me my family --"
"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."
"How did you know --?"
"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.
"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"
Harry shook his head.
"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the
Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and
see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"
Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want...
whatever we want..."
"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or
less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have
never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who
has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone,
the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge
or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen,
or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.
"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you
not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now
be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember
that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to
bed?"
Harry stood up.
"Sir — Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me
one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared.
"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas
has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on
giving me books."
It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that
Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he
shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NICOLAS FLAMEL
Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of
Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility
cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget
what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having
nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in
a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.
"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said
Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.
Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different
view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out
of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught
you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas
Flamel was.
They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a librarybook,
even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had
started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during
their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch
practice had started again.
Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that
had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained
that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won
their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the
house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from
wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired
out after training.
Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave
the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys,
who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.
"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of
thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be
looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"
George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.
"Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's
he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might
overtake Slytherin."
The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.
"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a
clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for
not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch....
The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the
end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common
room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only
thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good
for her.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to
him, "I need to concen --" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the
matter with you? You look terrible."
Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other
two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," said Hermione at once.
"Say you're ill," said Ron.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," said Ron.
"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out,
Gryffindor can't play at all."
At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed
to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had
been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker
Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.
Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed
the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet,
trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with
Harry and Ron.
"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said
he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."
"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"
Neville shook his head.
"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to
walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him
and make it easier."
"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor,
Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.
Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog,
the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave
it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you
for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.
"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you
collect them, don't you?"
As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.
"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever-"
He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron
and Hermione.
"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read
the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here - listen to
this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard
Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood,
and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"
Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd
gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.
"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls'
dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks
before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.
"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this
out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."
"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked
something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering
to herself.
At last she found what she was looking for.
"I knew it! I knew it!"
"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.
"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker
of the Sorcerer's Stone!"
This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.
"The what?" said Harry and Ron.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look — read that, there."
She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient
study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary
substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into
pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker
immortal.
There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the
centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas
Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his
six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon
with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).
"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be
guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it
safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it,
that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"
"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry.
"No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."
"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent
Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six
hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down
different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still
discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't
until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about
Snape and the coming match.
"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the
Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them...
it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."
"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.
As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous,
whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm,
either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was
wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to,
with such a biased referee?
Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to
keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether
Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons
were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry.
Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry
didn't see how he could — yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that
Snape could read minds.
Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the
next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see
him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry hardly heard
a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up
his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to
Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why
they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that
Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd
gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on
Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.
"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron
slipped his wand up his sleeve.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.
"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early
capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor
Hufflepuff too much."
"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the
door. "Even — blimey — Dumbledore's come to watch!"
Harry's heart did a somersault.
"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was
right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.
Harry could have laughed out loud with relief He was safe. There was
simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was
watching.
Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched
onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're
off Ouch!"
Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.
"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.
"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone
want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"
Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because
George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers
crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the
game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said
Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another
penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's
Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money
— you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not
daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and
that's saying something."
Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety
about Harry.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word
"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"
"What? Where?"
Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and
cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth,
as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the
ground!" said Malfoy.
Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of
him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the
back of his seat to help.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as
Harry sped straight at Snape — she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron
rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the
whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see
something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches — the next second,
Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch
clasped in his hand.
The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember
the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won!
Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her
seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.
Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe
it. He'd done it — the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As
Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby,
white-faced and tight-lipped — then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and
looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.
"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear.
"Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping
busy... excellent..."
Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus
Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling
happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now — no one could say
he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so
sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head,
which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him onto their
shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron
cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and
looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun.
Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape....
And speaking of Snape...
A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle.
Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the
forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He
recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while
everyone else was at dinner — what was going on?
Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding
silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He
followed.
The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew
in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he
heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering
beech tree.
He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his
broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing,
stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't
make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry
strained to catch what they were saying.
"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places,
Severus..."
"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy.
"Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."
Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape
interrupted him.
"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"
"B-b-but Severus, I --"
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step
toward him.
"I-I don't know what you
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He
steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of
hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."
"B-but I d-d-don't --"
"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when
you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."
He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was
almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as
though he was petrified.
"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.
"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back.
"And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and
Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomftey says he'll be all
right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the
common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and
stuff from the kitchens."
"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty
room, you wait 'til you hear this...."
He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them,
then he told them what he'd seen and heard.
"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to
force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past
Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocuss-- I reckon
there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of
enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts
spell that Snape needs to break through --"
"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to
Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NORBERT THE NORWEGIAN RIDGEBACK
Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the
weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it
didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.
Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and
Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still
growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which
surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell
these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started
telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.
Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She
had started drawing up study schedules and colorcoding all her notes. Harry
and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.
"Hermione, the exams are ages away."
"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second
to Nicolas Flamel."
"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what
are you studying for, you already know it all."
"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass
these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should
have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me...."
Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines
as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays
weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with
Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or
practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of
their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their
extra work.
"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down
his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first
really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not
blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.
Harry, who was looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and
Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in
the library?"
Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked
very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.
"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at
once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not
still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?" "Oh, we found out who he is ages
ago," said Ron impressively. "And we know what that dog's
guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St --"
"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening.
"Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"
"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,"
said Harry, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy --"
"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not
promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in
here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh --"
"See you later, then," said Harry.
Hagrid shuffled off.
"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.
"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"
"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough
of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and
slammed them down on the table.
"Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!
Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to
Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever
met him, " said Harry.
"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by
the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop
Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden -
anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns
Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."
"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry.
"Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean
Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our
kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make
them forget."
"So what on earths Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.
When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later,
they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called
"Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind
them.
It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there
was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat
sandwiches, which they refused.
"So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"
"Yes," said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were
wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart
from Fluffy."
Hagrid frowned at him.
"O'course I cant, he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two,
yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's
here fer a good reason. It Was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I s'ppose
yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."
"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know,
you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm,
flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was
smiling. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really." Hermione went
on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from
you."
Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at
Hermione.
"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let's see... he
borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments...
Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall --" he ticked
them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell — an' Dumbledore himself did
somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor
Snape."
"Snape?"
"Yeah — yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped
protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."
Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape
had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how
the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything — except, it
seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.
"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. aren't you,
Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not
even one of the teachers?"
"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.
"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we
have a window open? I'm boiling."
"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the
fire. Harry looked at it, too.
"Hagrid — what's that?"
But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire,
underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.
"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's er..."
"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to
get closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."
"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a
few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite
glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."
"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said
Hermione.
"Well, I've bin doin' some readin' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book
from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library — Dragon Breeding for
Pleasure and Profit — it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in
here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I em, see,
an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood
every half hour. An' see here — how ter recognize diff'rent eggs — what I
got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."
He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.
"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she said.
But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the
fire.
So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to
Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.
"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening
after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were
getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Harry and Ron,
too. It was driving them nuts.
Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from
Hagrid. He had written only two words: It's hatching.
Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione
wouldn't hear of it.
"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon
hatching?"
"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what
Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing --"
"Shut up!" Harry whispered.
Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How
much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.
Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end,
Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning
break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the
three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried
through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them,
looking flushed and excited.
"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.
The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something
was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.
They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated
breath.
All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby
dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it
looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared
to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of
horns and bulging, orange eyes.
It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke
the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.
"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.
"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow,
exactly?"
Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his
face — he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.
"What's the matter?"
"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains — it's a kid --
he's runnin' back up ter the school."
Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was
no mistaking him.
Malfoy had seen the dragon.
Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week
made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their free
time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.
"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."
"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."
They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a
week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his
gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were
empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.
"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon
with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's
Mommy?"
"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.
"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to
be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."
Hagrid bit his lip.
"I — I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I
can't."
Harry suddenly turned to Ron. "Charlie," he said.
"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"
"No — Charlie — your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons.
We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him
back in the wild!"
"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"
And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send -an owl to Charlie
to ask him.
The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry
sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed.
The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst
open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility
cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was
now eating dead rats by the crate.
"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a
bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I
tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way
Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit.
When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was
singing it a lullaby."
There was a tap on the dark window.
"It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have
Charlie's answer!"
The three of them put their heads together to read the note.
Dear Ron,
How are you? Thanks for the letter — I'd be glad to take the Norwegian
Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing
will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit
me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.
Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on
Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.
Send me an answer as soon as possible.
Love,
Charlie
They looked at one another.
"We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too
difficult — I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."
It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two
agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert — and Malfoy.
There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen
to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam
Pomfrey — would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he
had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if
Norbert's fangs were poisonous.
Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day
to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.
"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's
about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my
books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to
tell her what really bit me — I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think
she believes me - I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's
why he's doing this."
Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.
"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this
didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke
into a sweat.
"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no — I've
just remembered — Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going
to know we're getting rid of Norbert."
Harry and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came
over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.
"It's too late to change the plan now," Harry told Hermione. "We
haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only
chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the
invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."
They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail
when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.
"I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage --
nothin' I can't handle....
