|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|
Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, was the person to catch Harry Potter on one of his after-hour rendezvous to the Mirror of Erised. When the raven-haired boy first informed Ron and I of this fact, it was easy to see that I was unnerved.
I believed that it was too simple for the problematic Gryffindor to be released with no punishment, especially seeing as Professor Dumbledore was aware of the Invisibility Cloak (which could in itself be used as a weapon); however, I soon realized that little could be said when the troublemaker in question was the 'Boy Who Lived'.
The only good to come from the occurrence is the stowing away of such a Cloak, for it was hidden at the bottom of the Potter's trunk - where it stayed untouched.
Although Professor Dumbledore informed Ron's dear mate of the Mirror's relocating, he couldn't stop the bespectacled first year's mind from constantly re-picturing the new sight of his unfamiliar family members.
The images began to haunt Harry Potter - or so it seemed - plaguing him with nightmares of what could have been, every time his emerald eyes shut.
"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Potter told us about these dreams.
Hermione, who arrived back the day before term started, had a view of the holiday's events that was much similar to my own. She was torn between horror at the idea of Potter 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.
We had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a History book, even though Potter swore that he had read the name somewhere before.
I, personally, disregarded anything and everything Harry Potter said as the truth - never mind the possibility of me trusting one of his promises.
And so, once term began, the four of us returned to skimming through books for the full ten minutes during our breaks. Quidditch, much like our lessons, had started again - and this therefore resulted in Potter and I having less time to search, compared to Hermione and Ronald.
Oliver Wood was working the Gryffindor team harder than ever, despite the seemingly endless rain that had begun to fall in place of what was once snow.
Fred and George complained that Oliver was becoming a fanatic, but I myself was too distracted by the captain's appearance to be mindful of the increasing practices; I was rather thankful of the added time, for this meant I had longer to stare at the Keeper.
Besides, if we won our next match (against Hufflepuff), Gryffindor would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years.
But then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Oliver Wood dampened our team with a bit of bad news that was more powerful than the pounding rainfall.
"Will you stop messing around?!" He had angrily yelled at Fred and George, who kept dive-bombing one another and pretending to fall off of their broomsticks. "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 really did tumble from his broom upon hearing the words.
"Snape's refereeing?" He spluttered though a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."
"When is Snape ever fair?" I scoffed, to the agreement of Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell - the team's other two Chasers.
"It's not my fault," Wood said. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."
Come the end of the practice, Harry Potter was quick to take hold of my upper arm so that he could lead me up to the castle before I could join the rest of the team in conversation.
"Don't touch me!" I smacked his hand away, wiping at the skin his fingertips had touched in disgust.
"You say that like I would want to," The Potter's emerald eyes rolled behind the rain-splattered lenses of his circular glasses as he scoffed, whilst the palm of the hand he had used to seize my arm was wiped across the bottom of his red-and-gold Quidditch robes. "We need to tell Hermione and Ron about Snape — what if he tries to kill me again?"
"He'd be doing us all a favor."
"I said if he tried to kill me, not you."
After what felt like ages of walking in an aura of discomfort, we reached Gryffindor Tower and entered the common room through the portrait of the blubbering Fat Lady. Inside was where we found Ron and Hermione, who were playing chess in front of the blazing fire.
"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron spoke the moment Potter and I had joined them, "I need to concen—" Upon noticing Potter's frightened demeanor, my brother somehow managed to remove his attention from the chessboard in front of him. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."
"You're just noticing?" I raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two males across from Hermione and I. "He's always looked like that."
"Thanks, Ria."
"You're welcome."
And, being sure to keep his obnoxious voice quiet as to not attract the attention of eavesdroppers in the large room around us, Harry informed our friends of Professor Snape's sudden appointing as the Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," Hermione said at once.
"Say you're ill," Ron suggested.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione shrugged, to which I suddenly found interest in the conversation enough to lean towards the Potter boy with a facial expression of utmost seriousness.
"Really break your leg," I nodded quickly in attempt of convincing him, but my idea only caused his bright eyes to roll.
"I can't," He said. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."
At that moment, before I could further my proposition of Harry Potter purposely falling down the boys' staircase, Neville Longbottom (one Potter and Ron's dormmates) toppled into the common room.
I was almost in awe, for the plump boy's legs had somehow been stuck together — Hermione was quick to whisper, "Leg-Locker Curse" upon sight and diminish any confusion. However, this meant that he must have had to hop his way up to Gryffindor Tower, from wherever he had been left.
Everyone in the common room, aside from Hermione and myself, fell over in laughter despite Neville's blatant struggling. Before I could even fumble through the pockets of my Quidditch robes for my wand, Hermione had already leapt to her feet and performed the countercurse. Mumbling his gratitude, the terrified boy trembled as his legs finally sprang apart from what seemed to have been a very uncomfortable position.
"What happened?" I asked as Hermione led him over, speaking only once he had reached where Harry, Ron, and I were seated on the carpet. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," His voice was shaking just as much as his body, but he still managed to take what was previously Hermione's seat beside me. "Malfoy — I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."
"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged, only for Neville to shake his head admantably. "Report him!"
"I don't want more trouble."
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville," Ron agree with my mate, a rare and unusual occurrence for the two. "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, his large brown eyes welling with tears.
"Hey," I placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, which continued to shake even beneath my gentle touch, "if anyone in this Tower truly belongs here, it is you. You are brave, Neville — brave and kind."
"Thank — thank you."
Potter suddenly pulled a Chocolate Frog from the pocket of his brightly-coloured Quidditch robes, a sight that I couldn't help but judge with an involuntary roll of my eyes. However, the harsh emotion slowly began to dissipate from my demeanor when the messy-haired male gave the candy to Neville.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said, and his words forced a small smile to tug at my lips. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
A weak smile threatened to break through Neville's terrified facial expression as he unwrapped the chocolate, "Thanks, Harry . . . I think I'll go to bed. . . . D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"
"You collect Chocolate Frog cards?" I snorted, grabbing the attention of the four people grouped around me as I placed a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. "Loser."
"You are the one that doesn't belong in Gryffindor," The bespectacled Potter narrowed his emerald eyes at me, disgrace swimming within the deep pools. "Slither back into the dungeons, snake."
"At least I don't actually look like a snake."
"Guys!" Hermione interrupted, slamming the Chocolate Frog card into my competitor's chest. "You scared Neville away, he's gone up to bed."
"I didn't scare Neville away," I shook my head in disagreement. "Potter's face scared Neville away."
"Dumbledore again," was all that the boy in question said, rather than biting back with another fiery comment as he studied the card Hermione had given him. "He was the first one I ever —"
He suddenly gasped, his stare scrutinizing as it burned holes into the back of the card before it moved upwards to shift from Hermione and Ron to me.
"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, the look of pure excitement stretched across her face one that I hadn't seen since we'd gotten back the marks for our very first piece of homework.
"Stay there!" She barked her command, and then sprinted up the girls' staircases.
The boys both turned to me with mystified expressions, as if I was supposed to reason for Hermione Granger's personality simply because she was my best mate. I barely had the chance to shrug in response before the bushy-haired girl in question was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.
"I never thought to look in here!" She whispered, her voice nearly trembling in anticipation. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."
"Light?" Ron repeated the word in disbelief, but he was shushed into silence as Hermione began flicking frantically through the worn pages, muttering quietly to herself.
"I knew it! I knew it!"
"Are we allowed to speak yet?" My brother grumbled, only to be ignored.
"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispered dramatically, after she had finally settled upon a paragraph, "is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"
Potter, Ron, and I mustn't have responded with what the bookworm had been expecting, for our confused "What's?" were not accepted kindly.
"Oh, honestly, don't you three read? Look - read that, there."
She pushed the book toward us, and my silent reading was disrupted by Harry Potter's obnoxious voice, "The ancient study of alchemy -"
"Read it in your head, twat."
Aside from the sound of momentary anger-fueled mumbling, my words thankfully seemed to quiet the Potter for enough time for me to do as I had intended:
The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher'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 Philosopher'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?" Hermione questioned, once it was clear that the three of us had finished reading. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher'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," Ron added. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
—————
The next morning in our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, while the rest of the class was copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Ron and his scarred best mate were discussing (quite loudly) what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one.
Over the continuous noise of my quill scrapping against the roll of parchment on the table before me, I listened carefully to what the boys in the seats ahead of Hermione and I were saying.
I restrained from interrupting — that is until my brother mentioned purchasing his own Quidditch team, an idea that somehow urged the Potter beside him to turn in his seat to face me.
"How can I help you?" I raised an eyebrow, my piercing blue gaze shifting from the loopy writing that my hand was twisting to the bespectacled male.
"I'm going to play," He stated, and his words almost made me sigh — a sigh both from relief that Gryffindor wouldn't have to forfeit and lose our chance at the Quidditch Cup, and from the slight fear that someone could potentially be injured during the game (even if that someone was Harry Potter). "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."
—————
"Stop worrying," I rolled my eyes at Hermione and Ron, who bid Potter farewell with blatant fear as we stood outside the locker rooms — it was as if the next time they'd see him would be lifeless on a stretcher. "Little Potter here will be fine, so long as he's not an idiot like he normally is . . . . Yeah, you two better say your goodbyes now."
"Alex!" The bushy-haired girl stood beside my unusually quiet twin brother leaned forward to slap at my arm, to which I pulled away from the incoming impact as laughs bubbled from between my parted my lips.
"Good luck," Ron finally spoke, but his words were directed to both myself and his frightened dorm-mate.
With that, the 'Chosen One' and I parted from our friends when entering the locker rooms to join the rest of the Gryffindor team.
I noticed, while pulling on my Quidditch robes, that Harry Potter was indeed afraid. The boy that was always tormenting me, who could easily wander the castle in the dark hours of the night, was afraid.
And so, I picked up my Nimbus Two Thousand (a broom identical to his) and slowly made my way over to where he stood. With Oliver Wood's familiar speech filling the air around us, I tapped the taller Gryffindor's shoulder in search of his attention.
"Snape won't try to knock you off your broom, Potter," I spoke, only once his emerald gaze connected with my contrasting blue. "He is a professor, and too many people will be round to watch — it wouldn't be sensible."
"You know, Ria, my name is Harry."
"I know."
"Harry —" Someone, in that moment, did use Harry Potter's first name - but I wasn't the one to do it. Instead it was Oliver Wood, who must have finished his speech without either of our noticing. The fit captain was approaching us, a sight that caused my eyes to widen and my posture to automatically straighten itself. I could feel the Potter boy beside me looking, and it felt as though his sharp eyes were burning a hole through the side of my head. "Can I have a word?"
"Sure."
And, only taking a brief moment to nod once in my direction, Oliver led Harry Potter aside. I let out a heavy sigh, silently wishing that (for the first time ever before) I was in Harry's place — just so I could feel Oliver Wood's hand on my shoulder, for I would only need a second to memorize that boy's touch.
"The whole school's out there!" Fred, one of Ron and I's many older brothers, called from where he was peering out of the door. "Even — blimey — Dumbledore's come to watch!"
"Dumbledore?" Harry repeated in disbelief, dashing away from Oliver and to the door to assure Fred was correct.
I could almost hear the bespectacled boy's sigh of relief, even though there was a considerable amount of distance between him and myself. I hurried to his side, with the rest of the team to soon follow as it was almost time to go onto the field.
When we marched out, I was distracted by the sight of Professor Snape in Madame Hooch's usual place rather than the Hufflepuff team in front of me. The game began, and the teams rose into the air. I steadied the Nimbus beneath me, hovering in place as I watched Angelina Johnson tail the Hufflepuff Chaser in possession of the dark red Quaffle.
Suddenly, barely avoiding a collision, Harry Potter soared passed me. A harsh wind was the result of his movements, and the blow was powerful enough to send my loose ginger hair off my shoulders and into my face. I sucked in a sharp breath, allowing one of my hands to release the tight grip I had on the handle of my broomstick to roughly run a hand through the newly-created mess.
"Do that again and I will be the one to throw you off of that broom!" I yelled at the problematic first year, who had clearly done the act on purpose for he was floating nearby and watching with a mischievous grin.
"Alex!" Angelina, with the Quaffle in her arms and two Hufflepuffs behind her, called as she sped towards me.
I moved slightly to the right, allowing access for her to fly by and toss me the ball during her passing. The Hufflepuffs did not seem to notice the exchange, for they continued after the empty-handed girl while she circled the pitch.
I leant forward over the handle of the broomstick, the Quaffle pushing into my stomach and hopefully being kept hidden from prying views. I raced for the goal-posts, darting between the yellow-adorned beaters to their blatant confusion.
Moments later I was hovering in front of the destination, the upper half of my body still covering the ball that half of the Hufflepuff team was searching for. The badger House's Keeper eyed me oddly, but I merely smiled before — in one fluid motion — I had sat up straight and hurled the previously-withheld Quaffle through the center hoop.
The game continued, and Professor Snape was not showing Gryffindor mercy — which quickly began to anger our team. George was an example, for he couldn't seem to help but hit a Bludger at the Potions teacher (which consequently awarded Hufflepuff with a penalty).
Just as my nerves felt as though stretched to a point of breaking, a result of Professor Snape giving Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all, gasps and cheers suddenly filled the pitch. I glanced around to find the source, only to witness Harry Potter suddenly going into a spectacular dive.
Rather than excitement, I was filled with disbelief — the idiotic boy was speeding straight at the school's grumble of a potions-master. The older man turned his broomstick just in time to avoid a catastrophe; the next moment, Harry had pulled out of the dive with his arm raised high in triumph and the Golden Snitch clasped between his fingers.
"Thank, Merlin," I mumbled, lowering myself onto the grass below to join the rest of my team as they crowded around our successful Seeker.
—————
Some time later, Harry Potter and I were left as the last two on the Quidditch Pitch while returning our Nimbus Two Thousands to the broomshed — the rest of the team, the people previously filling the stadium, and even our two mates had already made the journey back up to the castle.
"Aren't you going to thank me?" The Potter questioned as we reached the shed and I placed my broom inside, breaking the somewhat-comfortable silence that had weighed over us. "I ended the game quickly, and therefore got us out of the whole Snape situation."
"Don't be a . . ." My speech drifted off, for my bright eyes had suddenly zoned in on a hooded figure swiftly descending the front steps of the darkening school — which I had been watching, as it appeared to glow in the red light of the setting sun.
"Ha!" Potter exclaimed, ceasing his actions before his broom could be placed inside and turning to face me. "I win! You don't have anything to say!"
"No, you git," I barely spared him a glance, and instead kept my attention focused on the unrecognisable figure as it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. "Look — over there."
I prodded a finger into his cheek, pushing hard enough to turn his head slightly to the left so that he could also see what I had been staring at.
"It's Snape," He concluded immediately, mounting his Nimbus. "I can tell by his walk."
"What are you doing?" I questioned, grabbing his shoulder to keep him from flying off.
"What does it look like?" He made a face, but his emerald eyes quickly returned to the figure as it entered the depths of trees. "I'm going after him."
"Not without me you aren't."
The bespectacled male let out a deep sigh, one heavy enough to make his chest rise and fall visibly, "Get on."
"Excuse me?"
"He has already gone into the forest, and we are going to lose track of him!" He hastily grabbed my arm, using the hold to tug me onto the broomstick behind him. "Hang on."
Before I could protest or step off, he had pushed off the grass and taken off into the air. My eyes widened in fear and distrust, but I was quick to wrap my arms around his thin stomach.
It would have to be a drastic situation for me to willingly touch, never-mind hold, Harry Potter. I suppose that between the choices of having to take two showers that night and falling a great height (possibly to my death with the speed the broomstick was moving at), I chose the extra scrubbing.
Upon entering the forest, Harry slowed to a glide in need of easily maneuvering through the thick trees. We silently flew in circles, dropping lower and lower, brushing the top branches of the trees until voices could be heard. We drifted toward the source, landing noiselessly in a towering beech tree.
Harry climbed carefully off of the broom, easily escaping the tight grip I had around his middle. I stayed where I was in fear, until the raven-haired boy rolled his emerald eyes and forcefully pulled me off.
He then picked up the broomstick, clutching it tight in one hand while using the other to gesture for me to follow him. We eased along one of the branches, and I pushed an opening through the leaves so that the two of us could witness whatever was happening on the ground below.
Stood in a shadowy clearing was Professor Snape, as Harry had predicted, but he wasn't alone. Professor Quirrell, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was also present — trembling in fear.
". . . d-don't know why you wanted t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus . . ." Professor Quirrell's stutter was worse than I had ever heard it before, and that is hard to say as it was always bad.
"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Professor Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."
Harry leaned forward from his place behind me, his head craning over my shoulder in what I assumed was an attempt to hear better.
"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," Professor Snape took a step toward his colleague.
"I-I don't know what you -"
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
An owl hooted loudly all of a sudden, nearly causing Harry and I to fall out of the tree as we jumped in fright. We steadied ourselves in time to hear Professor Snape say, "— your little bit of hocus-pocus, I'm waiting."
"B-but I d-d-don't —"
"Very well," Professor 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."
With that, his cloak was thrown over his head while he strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, diminishing some of the light that had previously illuminated the scene — but, Quirrell could still be seen standing as though he had been petrified.
—————
"Where have you two been?" Hermione squeaked as Harry Potter and I entered the castle's entrance hall, stunned into silence.
"We won! You guys won! We won!" shouted my twin brother, who then rubbed a hand over my head to mess up my hair before thumping his raven-haired mate 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 Pomfrey says he'll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you both in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."
"Never mind that now," Harry was breathless, as if we had ran the path to school although we had walked it. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this. . . ."
Assuring that Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the deserted classroom's door behind the four of us, the 'Chosen One' explained what the two of us had seen and heard.
"So we were right, it is the Philosopher'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-pocus' — 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?" Hermione repeated in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron concluded.
Editing Complete: 6/10/19