Party Police.

Chapter Seventeen.

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten the marks for their very first piece of homework.
"Stay here!" 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?" Ron repeated, 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 th only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!" This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected. (Y/n) was the only one who realized.

"The what?" said Harry and Ron.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look— read that, there." She pushed the book toward Ron and Harry and they read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with mak-
ing the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with as-
tonishing 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 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 cele-
brated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last
year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife,
Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"Outdated, I assume. Even if it's a little bit," (Y/n) commented.

"See?" said Hermione, ignoring (Y/n)'s comment, 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?"

(Y/n), Ron, and Hermione 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 and (Y/n) know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practising 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, Oliver 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 favour Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred, 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 nape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.