Chapter 48: College War

Nicolas Flamel—Harry had met this renowned alchemist during Christmas in his fifth year when he visited Nurmengard Castle.

The Grindelwalds and the Flamels were friends, which is why Veratia had taken him to visit the Flamels that Christmas.

Harry had a deep impression of them—after all, there weren’t many people as fragile and brittle as Nicolas Flamel, who looked almost like a gingerbread cookie.

Just as Harry was lost in his memories, Hermione suddenly stomped her foot.

“I’ve got it!”

“What do you know?” Ron asked.

“Snape is trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!” Hermione whispered urgently. “That’s why he got bitten by Fluffy! Maybe he even let the troll in to cause a distraction. While everyone’s attention was elsewhere, he tried sneaking past Fluffy to get to the Stone and ended up getting bitten!”

Harry followed Hermione’s train of thought and realized that, surprisingly, it did seem plausible.

“But why would he do that?” Ron asked, puzzled. “Isn’t he the Potions Master? Would he even need something like that?”

“Precisely because he’s a Potions Master, he would want the Stone!” Hermione said firmly. “I’ve never seen a recipe for the Elixir of Life in any potions textbook. Trust me, a scientist with such an obsession wouldn’t be able to resist such a temptation.”

“But Snape’s a Potions professor, not a scientist,” Ron argued.

“Snape said on the first day of class that potions are a subtle science,” Hermione shot back.

Ron thought for a moment and recalled that Snape had indeed said something like that.

“Well, I guess it’s possible,” he admitted.

“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry frowned, not answering Hermione directly. Instead, he said, “That brings up the question—where exactly is Fluffy guarding the Stone?”

“Where?” Ron asked, surprised. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to help guard the Stone?”

Of course, Harry intended to help. After all, he still hoped to have a chat with Mr. Flamel to see if he could borrow the Stone himself.

Since learning about the Philosopher’s Stone, Harry’s priorities had shifted.

Perhaps the focus didn’t need to be on the Headmaster after all—this Stone belonged to Mr. Flamel, and Mr. Flamel was a friend of old Grindelwald.

Mr. Flamel, surely you wouldn’t want your old friend’s daughter to...

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“Of course I’ll help! I’m a Hogwarts student, aren’t I?” Harry said righteously.

For kids Ron’s age, this was precisely the time to imagine themselves as superheroes.

Hearing Harry’s resolve, Ron grinned in agreement. “Cool! Count me in!”

After a pause, he added, “And we’ll definitely need to bring Hermione. We can’t do this without her.”

“I’m in,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “To keep you two from getting yourselves killed.”

****

As December arrived, the weather grew colder.

The first snow of 1991 finally fell on the second day of December.

These days, the trio spent all their time outside of class either practicing spells in the Room of Requirement or gathering together to figure out where Fluffy might be located.

Harry didn’t have much of a clue. Even after living in the castle for six years, he couldn’t guarantee he knew all of its secrets.

Even after six years at Hogwarts, Harry couldn’t claim to know all the castle’s secrets. The Chamber of Maps, for example, had been shown to him by Veratia. That incident had further soured Cassandra’s mood—not that she was ever particularly cheerful.

While walking through the halls, Harry was cheerfully discussing dinner options with Ron and Seamus when a shout from behind caught their attention.

“You owe her an apology, Parkinson!”

It was Hermione.

Harry and the others stopped and turned to see Hermione standing like an angry lioness, blocking Slytherin’s Pansy Parkinson.

Not far away, Lavender Brown was frantically picking up her scattered books.

“Why should I?” Pansy asked coldly.

“You knocked Lavender over! You owe her an apology!” Hermione snapped.

“Forget it, Hermione, it’s fine,” Lavender whispered, tugging at Hermione’s sleeve in an attempt to avoid further conflict.

“She did it on purpose!” Hermione hissed. “Just because you pointed out her mistake in class!”

“Let it go,” Lavender said softly.

A crowd quickly gathered, curious to see what was going on.

Pansy curled her lips disdainfully and patted the blonde girl beside her.

“Let’s go, Daphne.”

“Stop right there!” Hermione shouted.

Pansy’s expression turned icy.

“And what do you want? Mudblood?”

“Pansy…” Daphne Greengrass whispered cautiously. “You shouldn’t use that word.”

“Hmph.” Pansy sneered. “Filthy Mudbloods like her don’t deserve to be in the same school as me—”

Hermione pulled out her wand.

“Oh, you want to duel me?” Pansy taunted, smirking. “Don’t think scoring a few points in class makes you my equal. You’ll soon learn the difference between you and a pureblood wizard, Mudblood!”

She pulled out her wand as well.

“Expelliarmus!” Hermione shouted. Pansy’s wand spun through the air, landing in Hermione’s hand.

“Scourgify!” Hermione followed up with another spell.

Pansy collapsed to the ground, choking as pink bubbles poured uncontrollably from her mouth. She tried to curse but could only gag as bubbles spilled out.

“Your mouth is filthy, Parkinson,” Hermione said coldly. “Consider this a lesson.”

“Hermione!” Ron suddenly shouted.

Hermione ducked just in time to avoid Daphne’s spell, retaliating swiftly to disarm her as well.

“Anyone else?” Hermione raised her chin defiantly.

Marcus Flint stepped forward with a malicious grin, flanked by several older students.

The dynamic shifted. When older boys got involved, the situation became far more serious. Harry and Ron stepped in front of Hermione, wands drawn.

Neville and Seamus did the same. Though their hands shook, they stood firmly, ready to defend their friends.

“Potter!” Marcus snarled, aiming a wand at Harry and firing an orange-red spell.

He had been waiting for this. His real target wasn’t Hermione—it was Harry.

Marcus had been stewing over the grudge from the last Quidditch match, where Harry had collided with him.

Now, freshly released from the hospital wing, he’d been plotting his revenge.

Of course, a senior student picking a fight with younger students would look bad. But this? Protecting younger housemates and accidentally hitting the "Boy Who Lived" in the process? That sounded much better.

Just imagine, Marcus thought with glee, the Boy Who Lived covered in boils after my spell...

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