Wake of War

5. What's It Like To Be Slytherin

It was months into the school year, closer to the end of it, than to the beginning, and sometime during the last month or so, people had stopped staring at her all the time as if she had not one, but at least three different looking heads, all of them disgusting and foul. This suited Hermione perfectly; no more running around the school looking for quiet places to study or do her homework, no more wand at the ready at all times and especially no more restricted access to the library -- that one had been the hardest on her.

So, being left to her own devices for the first time since school started didn’t just suit her, it was heaven on earth and she was taking advantage of her new found freedom to the fullest by going to the library. Deep into the library that she loved, Hermione heard Harry Potter talking from somewhere behind the Potions shelve she was currently pursuing -- Professor Snape’s latest assignment was more of a headache than she’d expected it to be, and still she enjoyed every minute of it.

“Dumbledore again,” the brat’s voice whined, “he was the first one I ever --” he gasped and she stilled, her hand half way towards the book she’d been looking for, fingers reaching to grasp it, when his next words drifted to her, “I’ve found him!” Potter was whispering and it stuck her odd that it wasn’t the normal library type of whispering, but more of the secret keeping kind. Curiosity getting the bettor of her, Hermione forgot all about her book and her pending essay on the Antidote to Common Poisons, instead focusing on the sound of the voice alone.  

“I’ve found Flamel!” said Potter again after a second, the excitement crystal-clear in his voice even if he seemed to speak quieter and quieter with each word.

I’d kill for a Hearing Enhancement Potion, right about now, Hermione thought remembering the last Potions essay on Enhancement Potions, she turned in just the day before. But with no actual Hearing Enhancement Potion available she moved closer to the shelves, pressing her ear to the books on it.

“I told you I’d read the name somewhere before,” Potter went on, “I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this: ‘Professor 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, one of the known makers of the Philosopher’s Stone’!”

Well, everybody knows that, Hermione thought and shifted a little closer, in the process almost knocking down one of the books. She took it out for safe keeping -- it wouldn’t do to alert them that someone was indeed listening, they could speak even quieter or stop completely, and she was curious enough to want to hear the whole thing -- when she realised that through the slot she just vacated by removing the book she could see a portion of one of the study tables and someone’s hand drumming his -- seemed like a boy’s hand -- fingers nervously.

“What are you… “ Hermione heard Weasley’s voice starting to say, just as she saw a book being dumped onto the table, just a few inches away from the drumming fingers that stilled at the soft thud. The book was about four or five inches long, five inches wide, and half an inch, maybe an inch thick, bound in light grey canvas and in fairer shape than most of the books here were. She couldn’t read the title -- the writing was too small, the gap she was spying through just as small and she was a little too far away for reading -- but she did see the picture it had on the front cover. It was that of a vial, a crystal shaped vial, half full with a red blood substance that now and then puffed green and yellow smoke.

Wizarding pictures, don’t you just love them, she smiled, her eyes traveling to her right, where on the cover of a book called ‘Treaty on the Wolfsbane Potion -- From Monkshood to a Cure’, a man was throwing his head back and howling -- she could only guess that that’s what he was doing -- at a full moon, before vanishing and being replace by a wolf.

“I never thought of this!” Potter whispered excitedly. Hermione turned her gaze back to the little gap just as someone -- Has to be Potter, Hermione decided -- opened the book and started flipping through it, “I stumbled upon this by mistake -- thought it had something on Potions. It didn’t,” he said dejectedly and then added with what could have only been a grin on his face -- his voice seemed the right tone for a grin -- “but it had this…” he shoved the book towards the drumming fingers -- Weasley for sure.

Weasley took it, cleared his throat and started reading, “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,” he stopped reading and Hermione saw him cover the page with his hands. “Blimey, I want one of those!”

“Get a number,” said Potter that grin still in his voice, “and get in line. It’s only you and the rest of the world that want’s it.”

“Yeah, thanks for the encouragement…” whined Weasley, lifting the book once again.

“Any time mate!”

“Yeah, yeah… whatever -- So, where was -- Ah… here it is: There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to,” he paused, gasped loudly and then said, “Mr Nicolas Flamel… You git! You gigantic git! You knew about this all along?” growled Weasley throwing the book onto the table.

“About the book, yeah; about the Stone, kind of; but not about Flamel. I never read the damn thing, now did I? It just now clicked -- alchemy -- which it’s not potions by the way -- Philosopher’s Stone…” He trailed off, snapped the book from table and continued reading in Weasley’s stead, “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 - six hundred and sixty-fifth, Ron, -- enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).”

“So now we know that this guy -- who no wonders we couldn’t find in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, he’s not exactly recent, is he? Anyway, he has a stone…”

“The Stone” said Potter as he closed the book over his finger, keeping the page still marked, “and I don’t think he has it anymore. He’s friends with Dumbledore and I bet he asked him to keep it safe, because he knew someone was after it. That’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts and that’s what the dog must be guarding - Nicholas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone!”

“A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!” said Weasley. “No wonder Snape’s after it! Anyone would want it.”

Professor Snape? What?

“Yeah, but I’m not interested in just anyone, but who Snape wants it for,” growled Potter a threatening edge in his voice.

“Himself,” laughed Weasley all the whispering forgotten, “Just imagine six-hundred years of student torture -- a nightmare, I tell you! Oh, speaking of the git, what’s it gonna be?”

“I don’t … What? What what’s gonna be?”

“You know the match against Slytherin… Snape refereeing…Need me to break your leg after all?”

“No, but thanks,” Potter got up from the table and soon Weasley followed, “I’m going to play. If I don’t, all the Slytherins’ll think I’m 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 pitch, mate” said Weasley.

“So,” Professor Jhones voice broke through the mist of her memory, forcing Hermione back to the present, “can anyone tell me Samuel Norton’s steps?”

She had to smile a little as the memory faded to just another of the many swimming through her head. How she’d loved the ending to that particular year: Potter taking on Voldemort and still breathing, Weasley absent the last two weeks of Slytherin-Gryffindors classes and finding out her Potions extra work with professor Snape had actually been one of the Stone’s protections -- heaven on earth for her at least. Well, it would have been heaven, if not for the old nutcase Dumbledore, screwing the Slytherins over at the last possible minute and giving his beloved Gryffindors the House Cup. That she most definitely hadn’t loved.