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Meaning of One, Part One: Stone and Fire | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Humor Warnings: Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 1026 Summary: If two people are deliberately created to be together, how will the challenges in a world of magic and Dark Lords be dealt with? What would it mean for two people to truly become one? A re-imagination of first year. Hitcount: Story Total: 548284; Chapter Total: 25926 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their kind assistance. |
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In the week before final exams, the Professors all began reviewing the year’s lessons during class time, and Hermione continued to encourage her friends to revise after classes. Having only a few days left was enough to concern even Ron, who could often be found drowsily attempting to read his History of Magic book, which no one had ever seen him open before. They found plenty of quiet time to revise because the vast majority of other Gryffindors still refused to associate with Harry or Ginny. Hermione, Ron, and Neville treated them no differently, and the twins and their friends were equally unconcerned. Everyone else, however, stopped talking and frowned whenever one of them walked by, and no one sat near them in the common room. The final Quidditch practices of the year were a welcome relief from both the revision and the ostracism of their classmates. Angelina and Alicia knew the truth of the story, and they helped Harry and the Weasleys to convince Oliver and Katie of what had really happened. Practices were gruelling in preparation for the final match of the year. Oliver insisted that the team play their best in pursuit of the Quidditch Cup, even if the House Cup was out of reach. There was no chance to talk while concentrating on their flying, but Harry and Ginny were glad that the conversations before and afterwards were about McGonagall’s harshness instead of their own foolishness. The constant physical, emotional, and mental stresses caused Harry and Ginny to fall into their bed each night completely exhausted. Even there, however, they found no real rest, because confused nightmares of the forest hindered their sleep. As the week wore on, they fell into the same half-daze that had clouded their very first week of school. By the third night, they could only seal the curtains on their bed, cling to each other tightly, and hope for a night of respite and rest. Unfortunately, they fell asleep only to find themselves back in the Forbidden Forest. Dark, gnarled trees towered overhead, and twisted branches and roots grasped at Harry and Ginny as they struggled to escape the forest and flee in the direction of the castle. Just as they pulled themselves away from the attacking trees, they heard cruel laughter echoing in the darkness. Ahead of them, a flash of green filtered through the trees, and Lily Potter’s horribly familiar scream ripped through the night air. Terrified, they turned and ran back into the forest, but the laughter and screaming followed them, growing ever louder as they fled. Ahead, they could see a glint of silvery moonlight through the malevolent trees, and they heard familiar voices talking and laughing. They scrambled across a thorn-choked ravine and burst into the same clearing where they had found the unicorn. The poor creature was missing, but its blood was scattered across the forest floor in pools, spots, and rivulets. Set into the middle of the clearing was a large picnic table, around which sat Ginny’s parents and three oldest brothers. James and Lily Potter sat next to Molly and Arthur, and all four adults were watching Hermione and Professor McGonagall discuss one of Hermione’s essays as they stood nearby. At a smaller table, Ron and Neville played Exploding Snap with the twins. None of them seemed to notice the silver blood dripping from the hems of their robes onto their shoes. Panic seized Harry and Ginny as Mrs. Weasley waved them towards the dinner table and began filling two more plates. Behind them, the cruel laughter and wrenching screams reached a crescendo, and they could hardly believe that their pursuer had not yet reached the clearing. “Mum!” Ginny screamed. “We need to leave. He’s behind us!” But no one answered them, and Mrs. Weasley began humming tunelessly as she served more food. Spinning away from her mother, Ginny and Harry darted towards Professor McGonagall. An inky darkness was seeping into the moonlit clearing from the trees, and purple fire erupted in the surrounding underbrush. “Professor! Professor!” Ginny cried. “Please, we need to get out of here. He’ll kill you!” McGonagall did not respond to them and continued to nod as Hermione talked. A moment later, Harry collapsed to the ground, screaming horribly and pressing his hands to his scar. The same pain flared on Ginny’s forehead as she collapsed next to him, and she tried desperately to pull him away from the edge of the clearing. Through the agony, they knew that they had to warn everyone. She had to protect her family. She looked up, trying to find her parents, and saw that the flowing darkness had surrounded the clearing completely. The feeble silver glow of unicorn blood was the only remaining source of light. Out of the blackness crept a tattered shade, taller than a troll and silent as a tomb. It ghosted past Harry and Ginny towards the table, where the Weasleys were still beckoning the two children to join them. Ginny screamed again, trying to warn them, but the towering figure reached the table unnoticed. Ginny watched, paralyzed in fright, as the smiles finally fell from the faces of her loved ones. They stared up at the apparition before them, and many of them began to leap to their feet, but it was too late. A bolt of green light flew from the cloaked figure into James Potter’s chest, and he screamed Harry’s name as he fell. Terrified, Ginny’s family watched as the dark figure stalked around the table, casting the Killing Curse again and again. Some of the victims screamed Harry’s name, and others screamed Ginny’s. When, at last, Hermione had fallen, the same mocking laughter boomed across the empty clearing, and the dark figure turned towards Ginny and Harry. Sobbing in grief, terror, and pain, Ginny pulled at her incapacitated friend, dragging him across the ground as he struggled to function through the splitting pain in his head. It was futile. The creature towered over them a moment later, red eyes glowing in the darkness of its hood, and Ginny could see a rough red stone hanging around its neck and pulsating with a dark light of its own. The walking horror raised a hand, and green light rushed towards Harry where he lay huddled on the ground next to her. Harry bolted upright in his bed, wide awake, but Ginny’s body was still asleep. They watched as Harry fell to the forest floor, his green eyes flat and staring sightlessly at the stars above. Another flash of green filled their vision before they were swallowed by the darkness. Then they were once more running through the dark woods towards a moonlit clearing. Harry! Ginny screamed. You need to wake me up! Wake me up, please wake me up! Quickly and roughly, Harry shook Ginny awake, and the two of them sat up, huddling together and clutching each others’ hands for reassurance. By silent consent, they retrieved their wands from the bedside table and held them ready in their free hands. The dormitory was silent except for their ragged breathing and the various sleeping sounds of their roommates. Wait here. No, Harry, Ginny pled. I need to be with you. We can’t risk you being seen, he insisted. I’ll just take a quick look and be right back. I promise. As quietly as he could, Harry parted the curtains and crept to the dormitory window, reluctantly leaving an anxious Ginny perched on the edge of his bed. To their relief, the grounds and forest were quiet and still. As soon as they were partially reassured that their dream had not been real, Ginny opened her arms and Harry rushed back into his bed. He flung himself into her embrace, and they clutched each other fiercely. After a few minutes of comfort they lay down again, still locked in a tight embrace, but sleep was impossible. At last, Harry verbalized their fear. He could be anywhere. He has to stay in the forest where the unicorns are, though, right? What if he can Apparate? Harry wondered. He could go someplace during the day and come back at night to kill the unicorns. Firenze said he was just barely alive, Ginny said hopefully. Maybe he doesn’t have enough strength to cast the Killing Curse. He sent that purple fire at Fred, Harry argued. I bet that would have done the trick. And if he gets the Philosopher’s Stone . . . We can’t let him get that Stone, Ginny concluded. But what can we do? Snape doesn’t know how to get past Fluffy, right? So as long as Fluffy is there, the Stone is safe. They did not sleep for the remainder of the night. At breakfast they carefully and unobtrusively verified the presence of all four Weasley brothers and Hermione. They left their meal early and went to the Owlery, where they gave Hedwig a note to take to The Burrow. It was carefully worded to only mention their preparation for end-of-year exams, but they hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would reply promptly anyway. The following morning, Hedwig returned with a brief note from Mrs. Weasley which, regardless of its content, told the two students that Ginny’s parents were alive and well. After that one night, the nightmares continued, but their intensity and frequency diminished, never again progressing beyond laughter, screams, and flashes of light. The two tossed and turned at night, but they rested enough to function almost normally. As they had agreed, they kept their experience in the forest to themselves, and they were glad to spend their free time discussing tests and professors instead of pondering monsters and evil wizards, even as their anxiety persisted relentlessly. Shortly after the incident in the forest, the twins had approached them as they worked, and the six students had held a whispered conversation amid the din of the common room. None of them, including Hermione, had ever heard or read about a creature that breathed purple fire, but they agreed that there must be many dark magical creatures whose very existence would be concealed from young Hogwarts students. As Hermione pointed out, it was called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Harry and Ginny pretended to participate in the discussion, but they knew that it was no mere magical creature that had attacked Fred. The two first-years also gradually became obsessive about checking on Fluffy. After each meal and whenever they could manage between classes, Harry and Ginny ran to the third floor and pressed their ears against the forbidden door. The huge dog’s breathing was audible, whatever he was doing, and they always felt relieved to hear proof that he was alive. Ron and Hermione noticed their distraction, but Harry and Ginny refused to tell their friends why they left the group several times each day. As the days passed and Fluffy stayed at his post, Harry and Ginny grew a bit less anxious about the Stone, but they maintained their periodic vigil on the third floor. At two o’clock on Sunday, after a detour to check on Fluffy again, Harry and Ginny knocked on the door of McGonagall’s office and entered to find the room very different from what they were accustomed. All of the furniture was missing except for McGonagall’s chair, a tiny table, and the small sofa on which Harry and Ginny usually sat. These three items were pushed into a cluster in the corner closest to the door. The walls and floor were bare stone, and Ginny idly wondered how McGonagall had removed all of her bookcases without losing track of where each book belonged. They had not been looking forward to this meeting. McGonagall’s anger at them had been nearly as frightening as their encounter in the forest. She greeted them with her usual small smile, and they hoped that perhaps they had been forgiven or at least that the passage of time had led to a more reasonable perspective from their Head of House. “Good afternoon, Ginny and Harry. Please, come in,” McGonagall greeted them as she rose from her chair and set aside her cup of tea, which was the only hint of normality in the odd arrangement. As they met her in the corner, she looked down at them thoughtfully for a moment. Then she nodded slightly, as though deciding on something she had been pondering for some time. “Your encounter with Mr. Malfoy last week was very disturbing,” she said, sitting and gesturing for them to do likewise. “I know that after the winter holidays, you are all too aware that some of your spells have unintended consequences. However, it seems to me that you lack the understanding of which spells will be affected, let alone what possible consequences exist for a spell you have not previously attempted.” Harry and Ginny could feel the nervous twitters of each others’ stomachs as they wondered where their professor was going with the conversation. While they had seen her speak so seriously in class, and briefly in their private conversations, the stern face she presented was not the comforting one she typically offered on Sunday afternoons. “Today, I wish to demonstrate to you precisely what would have happened if I had not intervened in your confrontation with Mr. Malfoy. It is most fortunate, for once, that one side-effect of your mutual anger is excessive heat. Recognising that effect is what allowed me to stop things before they became far too serious.” Harry and Ginny had a hard time meeting her gaze, but she waited patiently until they both nodded their acceptance of her intentions. Apparently satisfied with their response, McGonagall waved her wand in a delicate pattern. A round bale of hay appeared against the far wall of the room, almost twenty feet away. With another wave, she conjured a set of school robes, which were pinned to the side of the bale such that they touched the ground. The robes were approximately the size of a first-year student and trimmed with Slytherin green. “You intended to set Mr. Malfoy’s robes on fire, did you not?” They nodded, intimidated and a bit frightened by their professor’s words. “Very well. I wish you to try it now as you intended to at that exact moment.” Hesitantly, Harry stepped away from the sofa and raised his wand, but McGonagall shook her head. “You were touching, and you were both going to cast the spell together.” Ginny reluctantly stood up and took Harry’s hand, but their professor held up a hand for them to wait. Then she stood for a moment, tapping the tip of her wand into her left palm, before addressing the pair. “You were fairly upset at the time, weren’t you, Ginny?” She nodded slowly. “He might have really hurt Harry,” she said quietly. “Or Ginny,” Harry added without thinking about it. “Your concern was quite valid,” McGonagall reassured them. “But we shall discuss that later. Right now, I would like you both to consider how you felt at that moment.” When she paused in the conversation, Harry and Ginny attempted to recall their emotions from the moments leading up the confrontation. Harry’s pleasure at the strange skipping gallop in the corridor had been coupled with Ginny’s sad but happy feelings. The sudden surprise of Harry’s painful landing had left both of them shocked and slightly scared when it happened. “Try to summon the same feelings now, as though Mr. Malfoy has just attacked you without warning.” The strange emphasis and soft words triggered flashbacks from that day. They felt the anger of the moment, the realisation that they lacked knowledge of how to truly stop him, and the knowledge that Malfoy was going to curse them again. There was nothing they could do to stop him. “You might also recall other incidents when someone has treated you unfairly, unjustly, or perhaps even bullied you.” Images flashed through Ginny’s mind of her mother’s gifts and actions from Christmas. The silent accusations and the lack of compassion had violated the very foundation of how Ginny saw her mother. Harry latched on to memories of Snape - his pettiness, his inexplicable antipathy, his constant derogatory approach to everyone not of his House, and his particular cruelty to anyone near or dear to Harry himself. “When you think you feel something like you did last week, cast the spell at the bale.” They heard McGonagall’s words but did not truly register them as Harry’s thoughts flashed through ten years of pseudo-life with the Dursleys. Nothing Harry had ever done, no matter how hard he had tried, had ever pleased them. They had grudgingly allowed Harry only enough food to keep him from being visibly malnourished. Harry had received only enough attention to prevent the neighbours from noticing his neglect and abuse. His entire life in that house had been an illusion, a lie, and a deliberate restriction of any freedom he might ever desire. Those thoughts, in turn, returned Harry and Ginny to the cruel events of Christmas Day. The fear, the loss, and the terror were still too fresh in their memory. Tearing themselves away from the cycle of their reminiscence, they raised their wands and shouted, “Ignis Caeruleus!” As it had before, the spell started with small flames that shot out from the tips of each of their wands. Without interference, however, the blue fire grew rapidly as it moved further from them. Two yards away, as another pair of flames emerged from their wands, each fireball had grown almost large enough to touch the floor and the ceiling. An unknown draft whipped the edges of their robes around their ankles. A moment later, the first two flames had combined into a moving sheet of fire that filled the room from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The door to the office flew open and slammed loudly into the stone wall as turbulent air rushed through the opening and around the room. Harry and Ginny jerked backwards in surprise, throwing their arms over their faces to block the heat and light. Their loss of focus stopped new fireballs from being created, but a total of six had been launched across the room. The last two were unintentionally aimed at the ceiling due to their sudden sense of self-preservation. After several tense seconds, when they finally felt the heat recede, they lowered their arms and looked towards the bale of hay. There was nothing left. Both the hay and the robes were gone, and only a light dusting of ashes showed that either robes or hay had ever existed at all. Vicious scorch marks covered the stone from a few feet in front of them all the way to the far end of the room, darkening the floor, ceiling, and walls to a dull black. Glancing at the door, they saw that one of the stout wooden beams had cracked, leaving a visible gap in the door. Harry and Ginny were stunned. With a single spell, they had turned most of McGonagall’s office into a scene out of a nightmare. They knew, without a doubt, that any people or objects in that area would have been obliterated just as completely as the hay and cloth had been. Malfoy would be dead. “And now you see,” McGonagall whispered into the shocked silence. Anyone down the corridor or even near it would be dead or horribly burned. What have we done? “Though this spell might be relatively harmless for another witch or wizard under normal circumstances, it is extremely dangerous for you, especially when you are both agitated.” Hermione just barely set Snape’s robes on fire. We would have killed him, and perhaps every student in the stands. All of them. Dead. “Quite aside from the flames themselves, the heat alone might have injured us today if I had not placed multiple layers of protective charms around us.” We might have killed each other. “As it is, I am thankful that I also warded the walls of the room itself, although I wish I had done more for the door. I expected the heat, but not the vacuum.” Look at what we did to the stone. Just the side effects cracked the door! With a few waves of her wand, McGonagall eliminated the traces of ash and removed the scorch marks from the walls. A bit of concentration and a few spells later, the door had been repaired and reinforced with bands of metal and a stout latch. Once whole, it closed gently by itself. Then the professor walked back to the corner of the room and sat in her chair, apparently as calm as she might be if she had just arrived for tea with old friends. We might have killed Professor McGonagall. “Please, sit down,” she said. Woodenly, Harry and Ginny moved to sit together on the sofa, stowing their wands, but their eyes never left the place where the school robes had been. With a flick of her wand, their professor produced a tea tray. She served them before refilling her own cup and settling back into her chair. “Today, if you do not object, I would like to teach you about how power affects different types of spells.” What will we do? We can’t cast spells on people. They’ll die! “You will not be tested on this material, of course, but I think you now understand that it is very important for you to learn.” McGonagall sipped her tea for a moment and then looked at them sternly over the rim of her cup. “Harry! Ginny!” The two students blinked once or twice before looking at their professor dazedly. “Focus, please. I trust that you are already well prepared for the tests you will be taking this week?” Ginny jerked her eyes from the other end of the room back to McGonagall and blinked again. “Yes, Professor,” she said softly. “Hermione has been making sure we covered everything.” We might have hurt Hermione when she came around the corner. And Fred. And George. “Miss Granger is most skilled in many ways,” the older woman responded. “I am glad to hear it.” We could kill them all just by making a mistake. “What I would like to teach you today, as I said, is how magical power affects different types of spells. Your understanding of this concept is vital, and you must have it in your mind before you commence your second year here.” Their professor paused, but neither of them really noticed. Their thoughts were still spiralling around how dangerous even the simplest of spells had become and the horrible things that could happen to the people they cared most about. After a long moment, McGonagall flicked her wand and a loud bang echoed through the room. Startled, both students jumped in their seats and looked about in owlish surprise. “I take it that you are surprised at the effects of your spell?” Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, Professor. It’s . . . we’re . . . err . . .” “You find yourselves afraid of what has just happened, is that it?” Without realising it, both Harry and Ginny had clasped hands so tightly that it was becoming slightly painful, and the physical stimulus provided a much-needed grounding sensation. Ginny looked up at her professor, nodding her head in acceptance of the woman’s frank assessment. McGonagall leaned forward and held Ginny’s gaze with an expression of tender sympathy. “Please, listen to me. Your fear and these consequences are why we are here today. In your defence class next year, you will be casting spells that are considered minor for most wizards and witches against your fellow students, and we must ensure that you do not harm your classmates due to a lack of control.” McGonagall stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the sofa in a pattern that was familiar from a year of her Transfiguration lessons. The familiar scenario allowed them to begin regaining their mental balance and finally focus on her words, slowing the dark litany in their minds. “Now, in terms of the effect of power, there are three different categories of spells. First . . .” Ginny raised her hand tentatively, and at the professor’s nod, she asked, “I’m sorry, Professor, but should we write this down? We don’t want to get it wrong later.” The tall woman tilted her head slightly to one side, a flicker of surprise on her face. “Tell me, Ginny . . . do you write down much of what I say in class?” Harry and Ginny knew from her expression that their teacher already knew the answer to her question. “Err . . . no, Professor, not really,” Ginny admitted. “You need not be so concerned,” McGonagall replied. “You have both produced excellent results in Transfiguration without taking extensive notes, so I see no reason to ask you to do so now. I will always be available to review this material with you if necessary.” They nodded, and she resumed her pacing. “As I said, there are three categories. First, there are those spells which always have a fixed effect and which require very little power. Any witch or wizard may perform these spells and produce exactly the same result. Common household charms, such as those used to mend clothing or wash dishes, fall into this category, as does the Lumos charm. “As I think on it, the most basic charms used to change the exterior colour of an object also qualify. Have you, perchance, encountered such spells?” She stopped to face them, visibly fighting and losing a battle not to smile. Not quite meeting McGonagall’s eyes, Harry and Ginny nodded. “Good. The next category of spells is those which require more or less power depending on how they are used. To cast the spell on one object may require more magical energy than to cast it on another, even when the end result is the same. The most common example of such a spell is the levitation charm. On your feet, wands out. I’ll show you.” They rose and hesitantly pulled their wands out of their robe pockets, glancing nervously at their professor for confirmation. Their recent brush with catastrophe had left them hesitant about using their wands at all. McGonagall nodded briefly at the students in encouragement, and then she floated her chair out into the middle of the room before returning to stand next to them. With a flick of her wand, she conjured a feather on the ground next to the chair. “Here we have two objects of very different size and weight. Observe.” Their Professor swished and flicked her wand, saying the charm aloud for their benefit, and the wooden chair rose sedately into the air. She returned it to the ground, and then she levitated the feather in the same way. “You will notice that the effect of the spell was essentially identical in either case. I raised each object to the same level and held it there for the same length of time. However, levitating the chair in that way required more power than levitating the feather. If you try it, you will feel the difference.” McGonagall waved encouragingly at Harry, and he obediently levitated the chair. He held it for a moment, as instructed, and then repeated the process with the feather. “Did you feel the difference, Harry?” They furrowed their brows. Did you notice anything different? He asked Ginny. She shook her head. “Err . . . I’m sorry, Professor, but they felt the same to us,” Harry said. “Did we do it wrong?” “No. Clearly you levitated the objects as I instructed you to do.” McGonagall tapped the end of her wand into her other hand again. Then she turned and looked at Harry. “Were you touching Ginny when you cast those spells, Harry?” “No, Professor,” he answered honestly. She sighed. “Very well. I should not be surprised. Wait a moment.” McGonagall crossed to her window and opened it to the early summer breeze. Then she went back to the chair and tapped it with her wand, transfiguring it into a heavy metal barrel the size of a school trunk with a pop. Next, she held her wand over the barrel and muttered, “Aguamenti.” A stream of clear water poured out of her wand and began filling the barrel. We should really . . . As the barrel began to slowly fill, Ginny stepped forward. “Professor, would you mind teaching us the water spell? We could help you fill the barrel if you’d like, and we . . . well, you know, we . . .” she stammered to a halt and looked down at the carpet at her professor’s feet. “We start fires,” she muttered anxiously, visions of burning tables and devastated rooms flashing through their minds. “An excellent idea, Ginny,” McGonagall said after only the slightest hesitation. “It is a sixth-year charm, but under the circumstances you may attempt it if you wish.” Water stopped pouring from her wand, and she beckoned them over to stand next to her. “You heard the incantation. It is ‘Aguamenti.’ Be certain that both the ‘a’ and the ‘n’ are pronounced softly. There is no wand motion for this spell, as it is intended to pour water in whichever direction you point your wand.” After a few minutes under their professor’s tutelage, Ginny and Harry were both able to produce respectable streams of water. They did not flow as smoothly as McGonagall’s did, and they occasionally sent droplets of water spraying across the room, but they did put water into the barrel rapidly. Soon, the large container was full. With another tap, McGonagall conjured a tight lid for the barrel, and then she directed the first-years to stand near the sofa once again. “Now, back to the levitation charm. First the feather, Harry, and then the barrel.” Harry lifted the feather as he had before and then set it back on the carpet. He turned to the barrel of water and repeated the spell. It rose into the air just as the chair had, but this time they could both feel a difference. Lifting the heavy vessel made the tingling sensation they associated with magic more noticeable, and the pattern shifted slightly, as though it were moving through Harry’s body. After examining the feeling for a moment, Harry gently lowered the barrel to the ground. “You felt the difference that time, did you not?” McGonagall asked. “Yes, Professor,” Harry said. “It was . . . more, somehow. The difference was like when Ginny and I are touching compared to when we’re not, only this time it was . . . err . . . moving.” “Your analogy is as good as any, Harry,” the professor said with a small, kind smile. Turning back to the barrel, she scowled slightly and flicked her wand. The heavy metal container rose into the air and hovered for a moment before settling back to the floor. McGonagall sighed and shook her head. Then she moved back to the barrel and eliminated the lid with a tap of her wand. A moment later, after removing the water as well, she transfigured the barrel back into her chair. Finally, she waved her wand at the window, and it closed itself gently. “What you felt when you levitated the barrel of water was the magical energy flowing from you, Harry,” she said, standing in front of them once again. “You produced the same effect on both objects, yes, but you required more power to lift the barrel compared to the feather. Many transfigurations function in the same way, though there are other factors. For instance, you would need more power to levitate anything if you were standing further away from your target. What you need to understand at this point, however, is that different amounts of power may be involved when doing even the simplest of things. Applying more power to the levitation spell would not cause the feather to do anything other than hover as it just did. Do you understand?” “I think so, Professor,” Harry said. “It would require more power to make the barrel go farther away or higher in the air, but having more power wouldn’t change anything if we just wanted it to hover like that.” She nodded. “Yes, Harry, very good. That is the second type of spell.” “So,” Ginny replied after a moment’s consideration, “the first type won’t change at all no matter what we do, and the second type may require more effort, but the final result won’t change?” “Precisely. And the third category, then, is the one most relevant to us here today. Spells of this type have effects which vary greatly based on how much power is applied to them. For example, Ginny, that very . . . creative . . . hex of yours is a quite interesting. Anyone could cast it, theoretically, but the effects are more drastic when more power is applied to the spell. From what I have heard about the 'Bat Bogey Hex,' it would seem that higher power levels cause the bats to become larger and to grow to their full size more quickly.” Ginny flushed slightly and nodded as images from Christmas Day flashed through their minds. A discoloured patch of snow. A horrified and sad expression on Mr. Weasley’s face. A scattering of rusty stains on filthy blue pyjamas. Ginny focused on her professor’s shoes as Harry reached out a comforting hand to clasp hers. “I did not intend to upset you, Ginny,” McGonagall said softly, “but you do need to know why your spell is so dangerous.” “I understand, Professor,” Ginny said quietly, raising her head again slowly. “It didn’t matter much when there wasn’t a lot of power behind the spell, but now . . .” She shrugged in resignation. “Exactly. And the bluebell flames are much the same. The more power you apply to the spell, the larger the flames grow. What I am going to teach you is how to consciously control the amount of power you use when working magic. This may take some time, or it may not. We shall explore it together, but I promise you . . . you will learn to control this power of yours. Once you master it, you will be able to cast your hex or summon fire without unduly endangering anyone’s life.” McGonagall closed her eyes, sighed, and then looked at them with a slightly pained expression. “However. In the meantime, I realise that you have no spells you can use safely when faced with a . . . confrontation.” Her gaze sharpened, and Harry and Ginny felt that they might well be eviscerated if they reacted improperly to this part of their conversation. “Understand that I do not condone fighting or duelling of any kind between students. I am aware that such things do happen on a somewhat regular basis, but I will continue to punish any student I find engaged in spellwork against a classmate outside of class.” With a soft sigh, McGonagall’s stern look faded back to an almost sad expression which they had never before seen. “At the same time, given that some students insist on finding the worst things to say to everyone they see, I would rather deal with your hexing someone than your disfiguring or killing them. Therefore, I will teach you a few spells of the first type, for which the effect is fixed regardless of your strength.” McGonagall made a complicated motion with her wand, and thick, plush carpeting appeared across most of the floor. “Stand apart, facing each other. Please, for your own safety, stay away from the walls and the bare stone.” They moved nervously to face each other with a few yards between them. It was very hard for them to imagine practicing spells on each other, even under McGonagall’s watchful eye, given the earlier demonstration of how horribly their magic could go wrong. But they had to admit that their professor had clearly planned for this and obviously knew what she was talking about. “What you need,” their professor said, “are spells which prevent your opponent from attacking you without harming them. The spell that Mr. Malfoy used on you earlier in the week is an excellent example, so we will begin with that.” Within a few minutes, they mastered the simple Leg-Locker Curse by casting it on each other and then removing it. They each fell once or twice, but the plush carpeting successfully kept them from any injury other than a few minor bruises. When McGonagall was satisfied with their performance, she taught them the Full Body Bind, which had the same petrifying effect on the whole body. While some people thought that it prevented any movement at all, it really just forced the arms, legs, and head to reach their neutral position and froze the voluntary muscles that allowed for movement of the limbs, neck, and jaw. All the involuntary muscles continued to function normally, so the target of the curse could breathe, blink, and even move their eyes. Over the next half hour, they learned and practiced the Jelly-legs Jinx and the Stuttering Hex. McGonagall tried to teach them the Tickling Hex, and they did in fact learn the incantation, but after one attempt they decided not to practice it since it caused them both to collapse from laughter every time one of them cast it on the other. They could not imagine casting it on the professor, and she did not offer her assistance in that regard. At last satisfied with their rudimentary skills in self defence, McGonagall waved them back to the sofa, and she resumed her seat in the chair. “I must stress to both of you that I do not wish to see or hear of you using any of these spells on your fellow students. Most students learn these spells either in second-year defence or outside of the classroom, and I’ve taught them to you today so that you may have them available in place of more damaging spells. Next year, we will endeavour to teach you the control necessary to cast any spell safely, although if you keep practicing the levitation charm on heavy objects it will make that task much easier.” “Thank you for teaching us, Professor,” Harry said. Ginny nodded emphatically. “Thank you. We won’t use any of these spells unless we absolutely have to.” “Good. Now, I suggest that you return to your common room. I am quite sure that Miss Granger knows of something you should be reviewing before this week’s examinations.” I never thought I’d be glad to have got caught by a professor, but I am, Ginny said as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. If she hadn’t come along . . . I don’t want to think about it, Harry replied. I had no idea that we could . . . I mean, it was just a little flame spell! We don’t have many little spells, I suppose. Not until we figure out how to make them that way. They shuddered slightly. I can’t imagine that it’s going to be easy, he offered. Probably not. But she was great about explaining everything to us, so I think she’ll be able to teach us that, too. And we have to learn it. We just have to. Harry nodded. At least she taught us some other spells to use for now. Yeah, Ginny said. Next time Malfoy tries to curse us — We’ll try the Full Body Bind first, because it stops him completely. I think we should cast the tickling hex on him at the same time. It’d be awful to be tickled and not be able to move at all. They continued climbing the stairs, trying to think of creative ways to combine the few ‘safe’ spells they had available. Strangely, their spirits had been lifted somewhat by the meeting with McGonagall and the lessons they had received. If Crabbe and Goyle were with him, Harry suggested, we could put them all in the body bind and then stack them like cordwood. With Malfoy on the bottom, Ginny agreed. Grinning, she glanced over at Harry as they reached the seventh floor, and the bouncing of his two pendants caught her eye. Their stomachs sank. How could we be so stupid? Harry wondered. If we’d just used one of the pendants she gave us, she could have heard everything! The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, and Harry and Ginny joined Hermione at one of the tables along the wall. They pulled out their books and prepared to continue revising, but they had a hard time focusing on their studies. I wonder why she didn’t say anything about that today? Ginny asked. A moment’s thought gave them one possible answer. Maybe she just didn’t want to make it any worse for us than it already was. There wasn’t much time, either, he added. If she hadn’t been in the library and felt the heat, Malfoy would have had plenty of time to curse us a few more times before she got there. They were relieved that they had not succeeded in setting Malfoy’s robes on fire, but they were also glad that the arrogant boy had not been able to curse them again. Still, we should remember those pendants. One of us could cast spells while the other tries to call McGonagall. “Harry, Ginny!” Hermione whispered sharply. “You’re staring at each other again.” “Oh, right,” Harry said. “Thanks.” “We all need to work on our Herbology, anyway. Keep your mind on that.” As all of the professors had promised, the end-of-year examinations were gruelling, and Harry and Ginny were very glad of the extra revision they had done with Hermione’s help. For the first three days, they had written and practical exams in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. Fortunately, one whole morning was dedicated to each written exam, so Harry and Ginny had plenty of time to write two different essays without causing suspicion. Ginny had practiced enough with her wand to be able to do the spells as well as Harry did, but he stood by with his wand in case she felt like she needed it, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were prepared to allow a substitution if necessary. Snape, of course, merely scowled at all of the students attempting to brew Forgetfulness potions. Ron forgot to add dried Billywig stings to his cauldron, which produced quite memorable results. On the fourth and final day of exams, the first-years hurried down to breakfast. Hermione pulled out one of her textbooks and laid it open on the table even before she served herself from a platter of eggs. “Now, does everyone remember what order the exams are in today? We’ve got three different ones,” she said. I know it’s her way of managing the pressure, or whatever, but couldn’t she at least use different words each day? Harry complained. At least she’s consistent. “Come on, Hermione. It’s Defence, then Herbology, and then History,” Ron said. Then he lowered his voice to a disgruntled mutter. “Just like it was last night when you asked us.” Hermione glared at him but continued with her plans for the morning. “Right, Ron. So make sure you look over the chapter notes from your Defence book before breakfast is over. Do you suppose I should look at the notes I made from other sources? You never know what he might ask.” “Really, Hermione,” Ginny said. “When has Quirrell ever cared about anything that wasn’t in the book? All he does is read it to us, for goodness’ sake, and toss bits of garlic around.” “But what about the stories he’s told? He might ask a question about one of those.” “There’s only one thing you have to remember from those stories,” Ginny said. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Harry, what’s the best way to repel vampires?” “Well, Ginny, I think it’s bathing in garlic every few seconds.” “There you are, then,” Ginny said with a grin. Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, but some of the nervousness left her face. “Oh, alright, I can’t argue with you about that. Garlic. Honestly.” As the post owls flew into the hall, Harry spotted Hedwig gliding gracefully towards their table. Unsurprisingly, the snowy owl landed in front of Ginny and dropped a battered letter next to her plate. Then Hedwig hopped in place to turn around, picked up a whole banger from Harry’s plate, and launched herself back into the air. Ginny opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in blocky letters with black ink. Ginny and Harry,Spell-o-taped to the back of the letter were two photos. In them, a black dragon with bronze-coloured horns slept curled into a tight ball on a sunny patch of grass. The tip of Norbert’s tail twitched constantly, and occasionally a puff of smoke would emerge from his nostrils and dissipate into the air. A few feet away from the dragon, Charlie stood smiling and waving. Ginny passed the letter and pictures to Ron. “It’s bloody huge,” he said. Then he handed the bundle to Hermione, who tutted softly at his language. “This is a much better picture than the ones I found in those books Hagrid borrowed,” she said. “Look, you can even see the tiny scales on its neck.” Neville took one look at the photo and handed it back to Ginny. “Now I’m even happier that it’s gone.” “We should take that down to Hagrid at lunch,” Ron suggested hopefully. “Ron!” Hermione said, exasperated. “We need to spend lunch re-reading our History of Magic notes. We can visit Hagrid after the exam is over.” The red-haired boy’s fork plunged sharply into his eggs. “Yeah, alright,” he grumbled. I’m not sure he even has History notes, Harry said. He’s got loads of Quidditch doodles, though. He can look at those and keep Hermione from asking questions. Maybe he can find a Ridgeback playing Keeper. The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam was just as simple as they had predicted. Ginny and Harry felt much less confident about the Herbology test, which combined written responses with practical work at a series of tables in the greenhouse. During the History of Magic exam, Harry found himself very appreciative of Ginny’s ability to remember the gist of Binns’ droning. They did not do as well as they might have, but they were sure they had at least passed. At the end of the day’s exams, the five first-years burst out onto the sunny grounds. Neville left the group to find Professor Sprout, saying that he thought there had been two possible correct answers to one of her questions. Hermione’s eyes widened fearfully at that possibility, and she shifted anxiously from foot to foot for a moment, but she stayed with the group as they moved across the lawn towards Hagrid’s house. “’Ello, then. All done with yer exams?” Hagrid greeted them from his seat on the front steps. “Yeah, finally,” Ron said. “Now we can relax and watch some Quidditch without worrying about all that rubbish.” “Rubbish!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s not rubbish, it’s very important. And we’ll get our scores next week. How can you not worry about that?” “That’s easy,” Ron replied. “Watch.” Smirking, he dropped to the grass and leaned back on his elbows, stretching his lanky frame and closing his eyes as he tilted his head up towards the sun. “See? Not worrying. Try it sometime.” Ginny lightly kicked the side of her brother’s foot. “You’re a prat, Ron.” He shrugged without opening his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Give him the picture.” Harry lowered his bag to the ground and pulled Hagrid’s copy of the photo from between the pages of his History book. “Here you are, Hagrid,” he said. “Charlie asked us to give this to you.” Hagrid took the photo gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. “Blimey! Look a’ tha’. I thought it’d be a li’l boy. And now ‘e’s half-grown!” He snuffled loudly. “Seems jus’ las’ week I brought ‘im ‘ome in ‘is l’il shell.” “Where did you get the egg, anyway, Hagrid?” Hermione wondered. “Won it off a bloke down th’ pub, playin’ cards.” “Someone was gambling with a dragon’s egg?” “Well, yeah,” Hagrid said. “Seemed a bi’ keen to be rid o’ it, actually, but tha’s no surprise. How it is a’ th’ pub some nights. You drink a few pints, play a few games . . . win an’ lose all sorts o’ things. Fer a while tha’ night, I ha’ meself a set o’ pan-pipes and a matchin’ collection of King George II Thruppenny Bits. Th’ pipes were much too small fer me, o’ course, but mos’ things are.” He scratched his beard. “Come t’ think on it, the same bloke won the pipes off me a while after I got ‘is egg. Said it were a good trade for ‘im. Didn’ wan’ to be aroun’ when th’ egg hatched, ‘e said.” “I can’t imagine why not,” Ron muttered. “Me either!” Hagrid boomed. “I told this bloke I’d ‘ave no problem wi’ a dragon. Said it couldn’ be no harder to raise than a three-headed dog.” Harry straightened in his chair as some of the information started to fit together. “You told him about Fluffy?” “Sure I did. Fluffy’s a righ’ ol’ softie when you ge’ down to it. All ‘e really wants is someone to . . . err . . .” Hagrid shook his head, and Ginny thought she saw his eyes widen momentarily. “Never min’ tha’.” “You told him, didn’t you, Hagrid?” Ginny asked, anxiety leaping out of the background of their consciousness. “You told him how to handle Fluffy without getting hurt?” He seemed to have realised his error. “Well . . . I mighta. ‘Ad more than a few pints tha’ nigh’, like I said. Bu’ there’s no ‘arm done, righ’? ‘E was jus’ some bloke in th’ pub.” Ginny and Harry’s stomachs sank as their fears increased. “Hagrid . . . what did this bloke look like?” she asked. “I don’ righ’ly know,” Hagrid said with a shrug. “Ha’ this ol’ black cloak on, y’ see, and ‘e kept ‘is ‘ood up th’ whole time ‘e was there. Sounded a bit funny, but ‘e said ‘e ‘ad a cold or summat.” The image of the creature in the forest, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled up, still haunted Harry and Ginny’s thoughts and dreams. They unthinkingly leapt to their feet from their seats on the grass and looked across the grounds, almost expecting something dark to come stalking across the lawn towards their friends. “’Ere, it’s nothin’ to be worried abou’. All kinds o’ strange folk in tha’ pub. I’ weren’t so odd to see one in a cloak all nigh’.” We have to get out of here! Harry said. We have to tell Dumbledore! “Oh, err . . . yes, Hagrid, I suppose you’re right,” Ginny said as she fidgeted and tried to fabricate a suitable excuse. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just that I remembered we’re supposed to meet the twins in the common room this afternoon. They’re going to bring some pumpkin juice and biscuits for us.” Ron and Hermione looked puzzled, but Hagrid just waved his hand towards the castle. “Run along, then. I wouldn’ wan’ you to miss tha’. Come back an’ see me before you get on th’ train, eh?” “Sure, Hagrid, definitely,” Harry said with obvious urgency. “C’mon, Ron, Hermione. Don’t you want a biscuit?” Ron shrugged and climbed to his feet. Hermione scowled at Harry, but she also stood up and brushed her uniform clean. After waving hastily to Hagrid, Harry and Ginny led their friends back towards the castle at a brisk walk. When they were well away from Hagrid’s cabin, Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve. “Harry, what’s going on?” Ginny glanced around the grounds and spotted a secluded bench. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and tugging her in that direction. Harry and Ron followed them, though Ron now looked just as confused as Hermione. When they reached the bench, Ginny and Hermione sat down while Ron and Harry stood facing them. Harry and Ginny could see in all directions, and they kept a close eye out for anyone who might approach. As quickly as humanly possible, Ginny told her brother and friend what had happened in the Forbidden Forest as she and Harry fought their shared feeling of unease and fear. Hermione gasped when Ginny described the creature that had attacked the unicorn. “You get it, right Hermione?” Ginny asked when she finished the story. Mutely, the older girl nodded, her eyes wide. “Get what?” Ron asked. “If you guys really saw You-Know-Who, that’s bloody scary. But what is it we’re supposed to get?” “Snape has been trying to get to the Stone, but he didn’t know how to get past Fluffy,” Harry tried to explain. “Firenze told us that Snape wants to give the Stone to Voldemort. Voldemort himself is hiding in the forest and attacking unicorns while he waits. When he came after Ginny and me, he was wearing an old black cloak. The man Hagrid won the egg from was also wearing an old black cloak, and Hagrid told that man how to get past Fluffy. What if they were the same man?” “Bloody hell,” Ron breathed with a shudder. “Stop saying that name! And if they’re the same man, then You-Know-Who and Snape know how to get past Fluffy, and that’s all he needed to know to get to the Stone!” “Right, and if he gets the Stone, then Voldemort can live again,” Harry said, nodding and ignoring his friend’s reaction. “But we’re the only ones who know it.” Scenes from their nightmares flickered through their minds. “But if Professor Snape found out how to get past Fluffy back when Hagrid won the egg, why hasn’t he tried to get the Stone before now?” Hermione asked. “Because Dumbledore’s here,” Ginny replied. “Hagrid told Harry that Dumbledore’s the only wizard Voldemort was ever afraid of.” “We need to tell him, then,” Hermione said “He’s the best one to stop Snape anyway,” Harry added. “Let’s go.” They went back into the castle and ran up the stairs towards the seventh floor, cursing the moving staircases and the sheer size of the castle. When they reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office, Harry and Ginny realised their mistake. “We don’t know the password,” Ginny said between gasps. “Hermione, do you remember what it was when we were here last term?” Harry asked. Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.” “We don’t either,” Ginny said. “So what do we do?” “If we wait for him, we’re just giving Snape more time,” Harry said. “Where else could he be?” Ron asked. “It’s not a mealtime, so he’s not in the hall. Is there anywhere else he goes?” “We’ve only ever seen him here or there.” “Maybe he’s in the lav,” Ron suggested. “We could . . . “ The gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside to reveal the spiral staircase already in motion. A moment later, it stopped and Professor McGonagall stepped into the corridor carrying a sheaf of papers under one arm. “Good afternoon, students. What are you doing here?” she asked. “We, ahh . . . we wanted to see the Headmaster,” Ginny said somewhat evasively. “Professor Dumbledore is not here,” the older woman replied with an arched eyebrow. “He was called away to London on urgent business just this morning. Is there something I can help you with?” Harry shook his head slightly as their feeling of dread increased. “Well, no, Professor. We were . . . we wanted to talk to the Headmaster.” “There is something you wish to tell him that you do not wish to tell me?” Harry and Ginny nodded reluctantly. “I must admit that I am quite surprised. I had hoped you knew that you could speak to me about anything you cared to. I hope you do not feel that I have treated you poorly.” “No, Professor, not at all!” Ginny said. “It’s been really nice talking to you and learning things from you. It’s just . . .” We’re going to have to tell her, Harry said. There’s no one else. It’s worth a try. Ginny took a deep breath. “Could we talk to you someplace, err, more private, Professor?” McGonagall nodded, her expression baffled, as she turned to lead them back to her office. When they arrived, Ginny and Harry automatically sat on the sofa, leaving Ron and Hermione to sit in chairs that McGonagall conjured for them. “What is it, Ginny?” McGonagall asked cautiously. Hermione’s eyebrows went up at the familiar form of address, but she said nothing, while Ron was oblivious to the byplay. “We . . . we know about the Philosopher’s Stone,” Ginny began. “We know it’s reached through the trapdoor that Fluffy guards, and we know what it does.” The professor’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “That’s very interesting.” “We think that Snape is trying to get it. He tried to get past Fluffy on Halloween, but he got bitten. Then he tried to get Professor Quirrell to tell him how to do it. But . . .” They did not want to reveal Hagrid’s part in helping Voldemort. “But we think he knows how, now.” McGonagall sighed. “Professor Snape is a member of the staff here at Hogwarts, selected by the Headmaster himself. Why would he want to steal something the Headmaster is guarding?” Harry swallowed. He had hoped to avoid that question. “Voldemort’s hiding in the forest,” he said. “We saw him during our detention that night. If Snape gets the Stone, then Voldemort can use it to stay alive.” “That’s preposterous!” McGonagall said, straightening her neck and back abruptly. “You-Know-Who is dead. You, of all people, should know that.” Ginny cocked her head at the odd look in the professor’s eyes. “Do you really believe that, Professor?” she asked. McGonagall paled visibly. “That is immaterial,” she insisted. “All you need to know is that Professor Snape is a trusted member of the staff. Regardless of what you have heard or surmised, he is not attempting to steal anything. No one is. The Philosopher’s Stone is perfectly safe, and it will remain that way as long as the Headmaster is guarding it.” “But the Headmaster isn’t here,” Harry protested feebly. “If Sn . . . if someone knows how to get past the dog, he might know how to get past everything else, and Professor Dumbledore won’t be here to stop, err . . . them.” McGonagall simply shook her head and maintained her disapproving expression. “I repeat: no one is attempting to steal the Stone. I am shocked that you place so little faith in the rest of the staff.” McGonagall stood and loomed over the four students. “Now, I think it is time for all of you to leave. Return to your common room, or go outside to enjoy this beautiful day. Do not mention this to anyone else. Is that clear?” With a frustrated sigh, Harry and Ginny nodded. Based on their prior conversations, they knew that McGonagall had a huge blind spot about the potions professor. “Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, do you agree also?” Ginny turned her head to see her brother and friend both nodding. Hermione’s eyes were wide and fearful, while Ron looked almost thoughtful. McGonagall dismissed them, and the four friends walked slowly back towards Gryffindor tower. After a minute of silence, Hermione’s expression cleared somewhat. “What you told us fits together nicely, Ginny. But at the same time, Professor McGonagall is right. What if we’re wrong somehow? What if we don’t know everything, and the Stone is safe, even if it appears to us to be in danger?” “Which do you think it is, then?” Ginny asked. “I really don’t know.” “So what do we do?” Harry asked. “Do we believe McGonagall, even if there’s a chance she’s wrong and really, really bad things could happen?” Hermione put her hand on Harry’s arm and pulled him into an empty classroom whose door was open. Ron and Ginny followed and then watched as Hermione faced Harry with her hand still resting lightly on his elbow. “Harry, I don’t want those things to happen any more than you do,” Hermione said earnestly. “But . . . well, the Professors are a lot older than we are, and they do know a lot more about magic. If Professor McGonagall thinks the Stone is safe, don’t you think she’s probably right? If she is, and we go telling someone else, then we’ll have gotten into loads of trouble over nothing.” “But what if she’s wrong?” Harry asked urgently. “How would we feel if we didn’t say anything, and Voldemort got the Stone?” Hermione sighed and dropped her hand to her side. “Awful, I suppose.” “Hermione,” Ginny said softly, drawing her friend’s attention. “Voldemort killed Harry’s parents. If he gets the Stone, who’s to say he might not kill ours, too?” It was the closest she could come to revealing the root of their worst nightmare. The four students stood silently for a long moment before Hermione sniffed and blinked watery eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. Ron cleared his throat. “Well, I was thinking . . .” “Ron?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his sense of impending doom. “McGonagall said we couldn’t tell anyone about the Stone, right?” The others nodded. “And we’re not absolutely sure that someone is trying to get it, right?” They nodded again. “Well, why don’t we keep an eye on it ourselves, then? If no one goes after it, then at least we know for sure, and we won’t be in any trouble if we don’t get caught. And if someone does try to get it, we’ll know who it is, and we can send McGonagall to just the right place.” It’s a brilliant idea. That’s my brother, Ginny crowed. Sometimes, anyway. Harry turned to Hermione. “What do you think? We could use my cloak and just see if anyone goes through that door on the third floor.” “We’d really only need to do it while Dumbledore’s away,” Ginny added. “With him here, I’m sure the Stone will be safe.” Hermione bit her lip and stared at the floor. Harry and Ginny knew she was deep in thought. A minute later, she looked up again. “It would be better to know for sure, wouldn’t it?” “If we do get caught somehow, we’ll say it wasn’t your idea,” Ron offered. She shot him an angry look. “That’s not the point.” Turning back to Harry, she nodded firmly. “So when do we start?” “Tonight, I’d say,” Harry replied. “Snape wouldn’t try anything during the day, with students everywhere.” “Harry and I can take it in shifts, at least at first,” Ginny suggested. “That way, if someone does go through the door, we can get back to the Tower quickly before we all go looking for Professor McGonagall. Even if we’re there watching all night, no one will think it’s odd if we have a lie-in tomorrow morning.” “What about us?” Ron asked. Harry shrugged. “Be ready, I suppose. If it goes on too long, one of you can take a turn at the door and just run back here if Snape shows up.” “I don’t think he would arrive too long after curfew, though,” Hermione mused. “He’d want to have plenty of time to get to the Stone and back out again before anyone wakes up.” They returned to Gryffindor Tower and spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to relax. They did not want to tire themselves out, but they were all restless. Fortunately, many of their fellow students also appeared nervous, though Ginny suspected that they were just concerned about their exam scores. At dinner, Harry kept a close eye on Professor Snape, but the sallow man ate his meal and glared at the students as he always did. I guess you’ve got to be pretty good at faking things if you’re going to help Voldemort right under Dumbledore’s nose, Harry said while trying to subtly keep his attention on the dreaded professor. Yeah. That, or he’s so mean he doesn’t care at all. Do you remember how to get to McGonagall’s private quarters if he does go after the Stone? I think so, Ginny replied. We couldn’t just arrive there, but one of us could run. The hours between dinner and curfew crept by. The rest of the Gryffindors had conquered most of their post-exam tensions and were playing games or talking loudly, though they still avoided Ginny, Harry, and anyone in their company. More than once, Harry and Ginny watched as Percy roundly scolded younger students for being too noisy but never said anything to fifth-, sixth-, or seventh-years who were shouting or laughing. After curfew, the four friends waited nervously in the common room as their housemates drifted out up the dormitory stairs. When the last few sixth-year boys left, Harry looked around the room and then pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, where he had hidden it that afternoon. “I’ll go first,” Ginny said for Ron and Hermione’s benefit. Harry held the cloak open for her, and moments later she crept silently out of the portrait hole. “Don’t let me fall asleep, okay?” Harry asked. “If I do, Ginny will . . .” They shuddered. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.” Ron and Hermione nodded, their faces serious. And if I do fall asleep . . . Ginny began. I’ll get there and wake you up as fast as I can. I promise. |
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