Hermione came flying back down the stairs, a massive tome clutched in her arms.
“Beauxbatons, yes,” she said, dropping the book onto the table with a heavy thud.
“I checked this out for a bit of light reading—”
Neville gaped.
“That’s light?” Harry laughed.
Hermione glared.
“Yes. Now look—’Nicolas Flamel—together with his wife Perenelle—is famous as the only known creator of the Philosopher’s Stone.’ Do you realise what that means?”
“Philosopher’s Stone?” Harry echoed.
“Honestly, Harry!” Hermione huffed.
“You remember he helped with Beauxbatons but not that he created the Philosopher’s Stone? It’s an extraordinarily complex alchemical artefact supposed to turn lead into gold and produce the Elixir of Life!”
“Oh.”
“Bit of an understatement,” Neville chuckled.
“I don’t suppose you could make a rune cluster that does the same thing?”
“The lead-to-gold part… probably.” The other two stared as Harry’s eyes unfocused, already testing and discarding interwoven structures in his mind.
“Yes. I could manage that. Not the Elixir, though. I’d need at least four prime runes I don’t believe even exist—something involving direct manipulation of a Soul or a close variant.”
Hermione’s mouth shut with an audible snap.
“Well. Impossible immortality and endless riches aside, at least now we know what—and most likely why—Professor Snape is trying to steal it.”
Harry nodded.
“Now we just need proof.”
“How the bloody hell is anyone supposed to reach him in an emergency if they can’t even knock on the door?” “Language, Harry,” Hermione said absently, tugging his arm to pull him away from the unyielding stone guardian.
“Though I have to agree—magicals do seem rather short on common sense at times. Come on. Neville, you too. There’s no point arguing with this thing. Let’s try Professor McGonagall instead.”
“Good idea,” Neville said, nodding with quiet confidence.
“She’ll help.”
“At least she’ll probably be able to get in to see Dumbledore,” Harry muttered.
He stopped resisting Hermione, cast one last dark look at the gargoyle, and stalked ahead of the other two.
Their hurried pace brought them to McGonagall’s office within minutes.
The Deputy Headmistress blinked in surprise when she opened the door to find the three students standing there.
“Yes? Mr Potter, Mr Longbottom, Miss Granger? It is rather close to curfew. How may I help you at this hour?”
“Professor, we—” Hermione began, only to be cut off as Harry spoke over her.
“Snape is going to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!”
McGonagall blinked again.
She looked from one student to the next before settling on Hermione.
“Miss Granger… you believe this as well?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, Professor,” Hermione said, nodding, “but we are almost certain. Most of our evidence is hearsay and extrapolation, yet it is the only conclusion that makes any sense.”
“I do not know how you three learned of the Stone,” McGonagall sighed.
“I assure you, however, that it is perfectly safe. Several members of staff have added their own unique protections, and no one save the Headmaster knows the entire arrangement. There is no cause for concern.”
Harry gave a low growl.
Ignored again.
How typical.
“Please, Professor,” Neville said quietly, “if we could at least speak with the Headmaster…”
“The Headmaster was summoned to an emergency meeting at the Ministry. He left by broom and will be unreachable for the next several hours.” She frowned, thinking.
Would anyone truly dare attempt a theft in the middle of Hogwarts with dozens of adult witches and wizards present?
No.
No one had been that bold in over a decade.
“But—” “I understand your concerns,” she said firmly, “but once again I assure you the Stone is safe and that Professor Snape has no intention of attempting a theft. If you still feel strongly about the matter, we may discuss it in the morning when the Headmaster returns. For now, please return to your dormitory before curfew.”
“But—” Hermione tried again.
“Hermione, forget it,” Harry muttered.
He took her arm and began pulling her away.
“Let’s just go.” Neville narrowed his eyes at Harry, then nodded and followed.
Once they were far enough down the corridor to speak freely, Neville turned to him.
“All right, Harry—what was that about?”
“It’s not like you to give up so easily,” Hermione added, brow furrowed with worry.
“There’s no way she’s going to believe us. I’m going to Shiva instead. Should have gone to her first.” Harry quickened his pace toward the Ancient Runes classroom.
“You really think she’ll believe us when Professor McGonagall won’t?” Neville asked, a slight quaver in his voice.
McGonagall’s dismissal had clearly shaken some of his earlier confidence.
“Worth a try. And yes—I do.” Harry stopped outside his mentor’s door and knocked sharply.
“One second!” came the muffled reply.
“Just give me a—” The door opened to reveal Shiva in an oversized T-shirt and rumpled pyjama trousers.
“Minute. Harry?” She blinked at the three of them.
“Do you know what time it is? What’s going on?”