*Always Under Editing, but I'm sure I won't have to do anything to the text, just for the attractiveness*
BOOK ONE
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for another death," said Harry, looking nastily at Snape.
*rewind and then stop*
*Up at the Staff Tabl...
"I hate two-faced people, it makes it harder for me to decide which side to slap first,"
𝒰𝓃𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃
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~ Harry did not know how he managed to get through his exams when he half-expected Lord Voldemort to burst through the door. But he was quite sure that the Stone was still safe because Severus Snape was still teaching Potions - though in a much normal (hilarious) manner, which scared Harry through and through - and Fred and George had emerged from their last Divination class laughing theirs heads off and had only managed to croak "Severina," when asked what was the matter.
That sureness ended, though, when Harry, basking in the sun with Ron and Hermione after the History of Magic exam, felt his scar hurt. After a hurried conversation about Hagrid not letting Dumbledore down, Harry realised something. Something terribly important. He jumped to his feet, white to roots of his black hair, announcing a visit to Hagrid.
"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"
Reaching Hagrid, and quickly declining his offer for a drink, Harry asked, "Hagrid, that stranger you played cards with, the one you won Norbert from, what did he look like?"
"I wouldn' know," said Hagrid casually. "Wouldn' take 'is cloak off, that one,"
He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.
"Hey, i's no' unusual, yeh get a lotta funny folk in the Hog's Head - tha's one o' the pubs down in da village. Mighta bin a dragon-dealer. Never saw 'is face. Kept 'is hood up,"
Harry sat down on the ground. Sunk might be a better word. A little more persuasion made Hagrid admit he'd told the stranger about Fluffy and how to get past him.
In the Entrance Hall, when Harry had, for once, decided to do the sensible thing and inform Dumbledore, McGonagall told them he'd left. Now Harry decided to go by himself. Why did fate always entrust him with the reckless and insensible missions?
"It's tonight," said Harry, once McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going to go through the trapdoor tonight. I bet he sent the note, to get Dumbledore out of the way,"
"But what can we possibl--" Hermione gasped. Ron and Harry wheeled around.
Severus Snape was standing there, his hair down, a look of exasperation on his face, but otherwise smirking.
"Good afternoon," he said, smooth as silk. "You shouldn't be outside on such a pleasant day, you know," he gestured toward the windows.
"We - er, we were--" Harry tried, but no excuse whatsoever came to him.
"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around ("hanging around") like this, and people will think you're ... up to something," he emphasized the last three words, as though wanting to squeeze honey out of them. "And Gryffindor can't afford to lose points nowadays, now, can they?" he smiled once more and said, "Good day to you," and turned and walked away in the direction of the staff room.
"Neville, I'm really, really sorry about this,"
Hermione raised her wand.
"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing it at Neville.
Neville fell to the ground, his arms and legs snapped together, his mouth stuck in an unmoving expression of surprise.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?! ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"
Hermione shook herself and produced the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the Quidditch match. The Devil's Snare started crawling madly off of Harry so that he could finally breathe.
With a nasty crunching noise, Harry pinned the big key to the wall. They tried the door, and it opened to reveal--
Ron stepped forward and the White Queen pounced. She hit Ron hard round the head with her stone arm and he collapsed - Hermione screamed - the White Queen dragged Ron toward the other side of the chessboard.
Harry, still gazing subconsciously at Ron, moved three spaces to the left. The White King took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet.
Quirrell's troll had been knocked out and Hermione had figured out Snape's riddle. Now only the last chamber was left, and the Philosopher's Stone with it.
Harry darted through the flames - he felt them licking him, but they weren't hot. Sort of like cold water, really. Once he was successfully out of the flames, Harry opened his eyes.
But it wasn't Snape.
It wasn't even Voldemort.
It was Quirrell.
Quirrell was unravelling his turban. Harry watched, non-plussed, as it fell off completely, leaving Quirrell's head looking rather small. But then he turned around.
A face - a deathly pale, weak-looking face - was protruding from the back of his head. It had strangely diagonal, slit-pupilled, scarlet eyes. Its mouth was lipless, and his nose was ... well, he didn't have a nose. It was flat and had slits for nostrils. Harry was revolted.
It must have shown on his face, because Lord Voldemort's aristocratic (even in these conditions) look vanished and he wrinkled his - nose - snapping, "Don't look at me like that, brat! I'm not on my dream holiday here!"
Harry thought he heard Quirrell say, "Nor am I,'
"But Quirrell said that Professor Snape hated my dad," said Harry.
"Yes, he did. And so did your father, come to that. Not unlike Mr Malfoy and yourself, I'd say ..." said Dumbledore. "Both mischief-makers at their time at school. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, yet again, but I must admit, they both gave each a - to use the common phrase - run for their money," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
(¬‿¬)
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonde--
Oh, sorry. Child instincts. Find the other books on my profile. If I've written them.
