The Philosopher's Stone
Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry hoped he could easily forget what he had seen in the mirror, but he couldn’t. Nightmares began to haunt him: his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a shrill laugh echoed in his ears.
“See? Dumbledore was right— that mirror can drive you mad,” Ron said when Harry told him about his dreams.
Hermione, however, had stopped talking about the Mirror altogether. She had only one thought in her mind: Nicolas Flamel. The disappointment of not discovering who he was, despite all their efforts, weighed heavily on her.
The first-year Gryffindors, who had long been involved in the search, reorganized their efforts after Christmas. Lavender and Parvati tackled the oldest tomes, Neville rummaged through herbology texts, and Seamus and Dean amused themselves with books with strange titles, sometimes uncovering interesting details. Although Flamel’s name remained elusive, everyone was determined to find it.
Meanwhile, Harry had less and less time to participate in the search because Wood’s Quidditch practices had become grueling. Not even the incessant rain dampened the captain’s enthusiasm as he dreamed of defeating Hufflepuff and leading Gryffindor to the top of the league for the first time in seven years.
During a particularly muddy practice, Wood delivered news that froze the team.
“This time, the referee will be Snape,” he announced, exasperated.
George Weasley nearly fell off his broom.
“Snape?” he asked incredulously, his mouth full of mud. “Since when does he referee Quidditch matches? He’ll never be fair!”
“It’s not my fault,” Wood retorted. “We just have to play clean so he won’t have any excuses.”
Back in the common room, Harry found Ron and Parvati playing chess, with Parvati looking particularly focused. Around them, the rest of the first-year Gryffindors were scattered across the sofas and chairs: Dean and Hermione were leafing through a book, presumably still searching for Flamel, Seamus and Lavender were giggling over illustrations in a book of magical legends, and Neville was sitting by the fire, working on a Herbology essay.
“Hang on, I need to focus,” said Ron, not even glancing at Harry as he moved his rook. “I’m about to beat Parvati.”
Parvati raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it.”
But Harry didn’t sit down. He stood, his expression so grim that Seamus and Lavender stopped laughing, while Neville looked up from his parchment.
“Harry, are you all right?” Neville asked, concerned.
Ron finally looked up, irritated at being interrupted. “What’s wrong with you? You look scared!”
With a quick glance around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, Harry lowered his voice and explained, “Snape will be refereeing the match against Hufflepuff.”
There was a moment of silence before Seamus exploded. “What? Snape? Refereeing? That’s ridiculous!”
“That can’t be true,” added Dean, exchanging a stunned look with Parvati. “Snape hates Gryffindor. He’ll do nothing but call fouls on us!”
“Don’t play,” Hermione said immediately, abandoning the game. “Say you’re sick.”
“Say you’re sick?” Ron repeated, almost amused. “Harry, break your arm. At least that’s a believable excuse!”
“I can’t,” Harry said nervously. “There’s no backup Seeker. If I don’t play, Gryffindor loses automatically.”
Lavender, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward from the nearby couch. “Write to your godfather. If anyone can fix this, it’s him.”
“Yes, Sirius wouldn’t let Snape get away with anything,” Hermione added, nodding firmly.
“But… what could Sirius do?” Neville asked hesitantly. “It’s not like he can come here and confront Snape, right?”
Seamus chuckled. “Well, he could send him a message. A very loud one. And we could all watch Snape lose his temper.”
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Dean said, leaning back on the sofa. “Harry, write to him immediately.”
Harry hesitated. “What if he thinks I’m overreacting?”
“He won’t,” Hermione said firmly. “Sirius cares about you. If something’s bothering you, he’ll want to know.”
Ron nodded enthusiastically. “And besides, if nothing else, it’ll be fun to see Snape put in his place. We can’t miss this opportunity.”
Harry looked at his friends and smiled despite his worry. “All right, I’ll do it.”
Frustrated and worried, Harry went up to the dormitory and wrote a letter to Sirius, explaining everything. “I don’t know why they chose him as the referee, but I have a bad feeling,” he wrote, asking for advice from his godfather.
The next day, during lunch in the Great Hall, Harry heard a familiar flurry of wings. Hedwig swooped down the hall, catching the attention of the students. Harry sat up straight, thinking the letter was for him, but Hedwig veered sharply and landed in front of Dumbledore.
“That’s odd,” Ron murmured. “Hedwig delivers letters to Dumbledore now?”
Calmly, Dumbledore opened a bright red envelope. The Great Hall held its breath: it was a Howler.
From the envelope exploded the booming voice of Sirius Black:
“DUMBLEDORE! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, LETTING SNAPE REFEREE A GRYFFINDOR MATCH? IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HARRY, I SWEAR THERE WON’T BE ANY TIME FOR YOUR WISE DECISIONS!”
The letter turned towards the staff table.
“AND YOU, SNIVELLUS!” Sirius’s voice grew louder. “IF YOU TRY ANYTHING AGAINST MY GODSON, CONSIDER YOURSELF ON BORROWED TIME!”
The letter self-destructed with a deafening bang.
An eerie silence fell over the hall, followed by stifled laughter and excited murmurs. Ron was doubled over with laughter, Seamus was pounding the table with his fists, and even Parvati and Lavender were trying to hide their giggles, while Hermione shook her head in amused disbelief.
“Well,” Dean said, laughing, “it’s bold to publicly threaten a teacher.”
Harry covered his face with his hands, red to the ears.
Later, in the common room, Harry and Ron were working on their Astronomy essay with Lavender and Parvati, while Hermione was explaining something about their last Charms lesson to Dean and Seamus.
At that moment, Neville stumbled into the common room. It was hard to tell how he’d made it through the portrait hole, as his legs were bound together by the Leg-Locker Curse they had just studied in Charms. He had likely hopped all the way to the Gryffindor Tower like a rabbit.
Dean and Seamus exchanged a look and burst out laughing, followed by Ron and some older students, as Neville awkwardly made his way to the center of the room.
“Stop it!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping up and running to Neville. With a quick spell, she unbound his legs, and he collapsed into a chair by the fire, trembling.
“What happened?” Hermione asked worriedly as Parvati put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Malfoy,” Neville said shakily. “I ran into him outside the library. He said he was looking for someone to try a new trick on.”
“Go to Professor McGonagall!” Hermione urged. “Tell her everything!”
Neville shook his head. “I don’t want any more trouble,” he muttered, looking down.
“You can’t keep letting this happen,” Seamus said, crossing his arms. “Malfoy needs to learn he can’t treat you like this.”
“Exactly!” Ron agreed. “We can’t always fight your battles, Neville. You have to stand up to him! Otherwise, he’ll keep picking on you every time you’re alone.”
Neville looked even more dejected. “You don’t need to tell me,” he muttered. “I already know I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. Even Malfoy said so.”
Lavender approached and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t say that, Neville. He has no right to talk to you that way.”
Harry, seeing Neville on the verge of tears, dug into his pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the last one left from the box Sirius had sent him after the holidays. He handed it to Neville with an encouraging smile.
“You’re worth twelve Malfoys,” Harry said. “The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor, didn’t it? And Malfoy? He ended up in the sewer of Slytherin.”
Neville gave a faint smile as he unwrapped the Chocolate Frog. “Thanks, Harry,” he said. Then, hesitating, he added, “Do you want the card? I know you collect them.”
“No, keep it,” Harry replied.
Neville glanced distractedly at the Chocolate Frog card, but then his eyes widened. The shy smile on his face disappeared, replaced by an expression of incredulity and excitement.
“Hey… hey! Wait a second!” he stammered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve found… something… I think I’ve found something important!”
Everyone turned to him, puzzled.
“What did you find?” Ron asked as Hermione leaned closer, looking curious.
Neville held up the card with trembling hands, as if he were afraid of damaging it. “It’s here… on the card… the Dumbledore card!” he began to read frantically and a bit confused. “‘Albus Dumbledore is known for defeating Grindelwald… um… the twelve uses of dragon’s blood… and… and… for his alchemy work with… Nicolas Flamel!’”
There was a moment of silence before Hermione’s jaw dropped, and she snatched the card from Neville’s hands, rereading the words with sparkling eyes.
“We found him!” Harry exclaimed, almost jumping to his feet. “Flamel! I knew the name sounded familiar!”
Neville, still trembling with excitement, could hardly believe it. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was important… I mean… we’ve been searching and searching without finding anything, and then I find it on a Chocolate Frog card? It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Neville!” Hermione said excitedly. “You’ve done an amazing job!”
Neville blushed, his face lit up with an unsure but proud smile.
“Stay here!” Hermione shouted suddenly, dashing to the girls’ dormitory. She returned shortly, carrying a massive book with flushed cheeks from excitement. “Look here! I hadn’t thought of it, but this book has everything!”
She flipped through the pages feverishly, muttering to herself until she found the passage she was looking for. “Here! Listen: ‘Nicolas Flamel is the only known wizard to have created the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone can turn any metal into pure gold and produces the Elixir of Life…’”
“That’s it!” Harry said, looking around at the others with wide eyes. “The Philosopher’s Stone… that’s what the dog is guarding! That’s why Snape wants it!”
Neville, his heart still pounding, stammered, “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was that important… I just thought it was an interesting detail…”
Ron patted him on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how you found it, Neville. You nailed it. Now we finally know what it is.”
Everyone’s eyes widened as Hermione continued reading. “‘Flamel, who recently celebrated his 665th birthday, lives quietly in Devon with his wife, Perenelle.’”
“So the dog on the third floor is guarding this Stone!” Parvati said, looking impressed.
“That’s why Snape wants to steal it,” Seamus added.
“Or maybe not,” Lavender interjected, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s Snape. I don’t know—I just have this feeling.”
Dean nodded. “Lavender might be right. Think about it: it seems too easy to blame Snape. In Muggle mystery novels, the culprit is always the one you least suspect…”
Ron shook his head with a laugh. “But we’re not in a Muggle mystery, Dean. This is real life. And Snape already tried to knock Harry off his broom once!”
Hermione crossed her arms, her expression firm. “Most of the evidence points to Snape. He was there when the troll got in, he was seen near the third-floor corridor, and we know he was injured. We can’t ignore that.”
Dean remained thoughtful. “Maybe… but we can’t rule out other possibilities.”
The debate slowly faded, but Harry had no doubts: Snape was involved. And, no matter what happened, he would find a way to protect the Stone.
The next morning, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, as they copied various remedies for werewolf bites, Harry and Ron continued to talk about what they would do with a Philosopher’s Stone if they had one. Only when Ron said he’d buy an entire Quidditch team did Harry remember Snape and the upcoming match.
"I’ll take to the field," Harry told his friends. "Otherwise, all the Slytherins will think I’m too scared to face Snape. I’ll show them… if we win, I’ll wipe that smirk off his face."
"Assuming they don’t wipe you off the pitch first," Hermione commented worriedly.
As the day of the match approached, Harry’s nerves grew. Despite his defiant words, the idea of having Snape as the referee kept him awake at night. The other team members weren’t calm either. The dream of surpassing Slytherin in the House Cup standings for the first time in seven years felt real… but with such an unfair referee?
Harry felt like he was running into Snape everywhere. He would see him in the corridors, feel his presence behind him in narrow passageways, and catch him watching with those cold, probing eyes during Potions class. It was as though Snape were stalking him, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Potions lessons, already challenging, had become unbearable. Snape seemed to have taken Sirius’s Howler as a personal insult, and if possible, his attitude toward Harry had worsened. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Snape was trying to provoke him. He even wondered if Snape had guessed they had uncovered the truth about the Philosopher’s Stone. Sometimes, he had the chilling sensation that Snape could read minds.
The afternoon of the match, Harry was a bundle of nerves. The other first-year Gryffindors were waiting for him in the common room, ready to accompany him to the stadium. Ron and Hermione led the group, but Neville, Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender had also joined, all determined to show their support.
"We can’t let you go alone," declared Ron, with Parvati nodding firmly in agreement.
"Exactly," added Seamus. "If you have to face Snape, at least you’ll have an escort worthy of a Seeker."
Harry laughed nervously, appreciating his friends’ effort to lift his spirits. As they walked through Hogwarts’ corridors, Harry’s anxiety seemed to grow, but the warmth of their company gave him strength.
Neville, clutching a red-and-gold scarf as though it were a good luck charm, said timidly, "You’ve trained so hard, Harry. You’re the best Seeker we’ve had in years. You can do this."
Lavender smiled sweetly at him. "Don’t think about Snape. Focus on the game. We’ll show him who’s the best."
When they reached the locker room entrance, the group paused. Ron and Hermione approached Harry last.
"Good luck," said Ron, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Be careful," Hermione added, shaking his hand firmly.
"Yeah, Harry, don’t overthink it," Dean chimed in. "Snape or no Snape, you’re the one who flies like a thunderbolt."
Harry tried to smile, but it was clear his nerves were frayed. Just as he was about to enter the locker room, a familiar figure appeared out of nowhere.
"You didn’t think I’d miss this match, especially after you told me about Snape as referee, did you?" It was Sirius, smiling reassuringly as he walked toward them.
"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, his face lighting up with relief.
The Gryffindors stepped aside slightly, making room for Harry’s godfather. Sirius approached, his eyes shining with warmth and determination. "Harry," he said, placing a hand on his godson’s shoulder, "you don’t need to worry. I’ll be watching from the stands. If that greasy idiot tries anything, well… let’s see how bold he is with me around."
"Sirius, can you really do something?" Harry asked, lowering his voice.
Sirius gave him a conspiratorial smile. "I’ve got my wand ready, Harry. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything that could get you in trouble… but I won’t let Snivellus pull any tricks either."
Neville, listening intently, asked in a small voice, "So… so Harry will be safe, right?"
"Absolutely," Sirius replied, looking at the group with an expression that inspired confidence. Then he turned back to Harry. "Now go out there and show them what you’re made of. You’re a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors don’t back down."
"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, finally feeling a bit calmer.
The others watched Harry enter the locker room, each with an encouraging smile.
Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione had found seats in the stands near Neville, who seemed puzzled as to why they both had such grim expressions or why they had brought their wands to the match. He had no idea that Ron and Hermione, in secret, had been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. Inspired by Malfoy’s use of the spell against Neville, they were ready to cast it on Snape if he showed any signs of harming Harry.
"Remember the incantation: Locomotor Mortis," Hermione whispered to Ron as he hid his wand up his sleeve.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Stop nagging me."
Back in the locker room, Wood pulled Harry aside.
"Not to pressure you, Potter, but more than ever, we need to catch that Snitch quickly today. End the game before Snape can give Hufflepuff too much of an advantage."
"Hey, the whole school’s out there!" Fred Weasley exclaimed after peeking outside the door. "Even—blow me down! Dumbledore’s come to watch us!"
Harry’s heart flipped.
"Dumbledore?" he said, rushing out to see for himself. Fred was right—there was no mistaking that silver beard.
Harry almost laughed in relief. He was safe; Sirius’s Howler had done the trick. There was no way Snape would dare try anything with Dumbledore in the audience.
Perhaps that was why Snape looked so furious when the two teams entered the field. Ron noticed it too.
"I’ve never seen him look so fierce," he confided to Hermione. "Hey, look, they’re starting. Ow!"
Someone had hit him on the back of the head. It was Malfoy.
"Oops, sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there," Malfoy said with a wide, malicious grin, turning to Crabbe and Goyle.
"I wonder how long Potter will stay on his broom this time. Taking bets! What do you say, Weasley?"
Ron didn’t reply; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had accidentally sent a Bludger toward him. Hermione, with her fingers tightly crossed in her lap, had her eyes narrowed as she watched Harry, who was circling the field like a hawk, searching for the Golden Snitch.
"You know how I think they pick the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy said loudly as Snape handed Hufflepuff another penalty without reason. "They choose the ones they feel sorry for. That’s why Potter’s on the team—no parents. The Weasleys—no money. You should join, Longbottom; you’ve got no brains."
Neville turned crimson, but this time he didn’t back down. Turning to Malfoy, he stammered in a trembling but determined voice, "I—I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy!"
Crabbe and Goyle burst out laughing, but Malfoy, noticing some Gryffindors listening, pressed on.
"If brains were worth their weight in gold, Longbottom, you’d be poorer than Weasley— and that’s saying something!"
Ron’s nerves were stretched as tight as violin strings. "One more word, Malfoy, and—"
"Ron!" Hermione suddenly shouted. "Harry…!"
Harry had just executed a spectacular dive, greeted by applause from the audience, who held their breath. Hermione jumped to her feet, fingers crossed and pressed to her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground.
"You’re lucky, Weasley—Potter must’ve spotted a coin on the ground!" Malfoy sneered.
At that moment, Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron tackled him to the ground. Neville hesitated for a moment but then climbed over his seat to join the fray, throwing a punch that sent Malfoy reeling backward with wide eyes.
"Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Malfoy?" Neville burst out, his face red but resolute.
Crabbe and Goyle dove into the brawl but were met by Dean and Seamus, who leaped to defend Ron and Neville. Seamus squared off with Crabbe, only to end up with a black eye when the other punched him brutally. Dean, however, with a spectacular karate move he had learned from his Muggle friends, sent Goyle sprawling, his arm slamming into a step with a sickening thud.
Sirius, seated not far away, leaped to his feet at the first sign of movement. "What’s happening down there?" he asked, his tone both alarmed and slightly amused as he watched the chaos unfold.
Meanwhile, high in the air, Snape swerved his broomstick just in time to see something red whiz past him, missing him by inches. A moment later, Harry emerged from his dive, arms raised in triumph, clutching the Snitch tightly.
The stands erupted in cheers: it was a record. No one could remember the Golden Snitch being caught so quickly.
"He won!" Sirius shouted, clapping enthusiastically. He jumped to his feet, his face beaming. "I knew he’d do it! That kid is incredible!"
The Gryffindors poured onto the stands, screaming and applauding. Hermione hugged Parvati Patil and did an impromptu victory dance on her seat, while Ron, his nose still bleeding from Crabbe’s punch, cheered at the top of his lungs.
Harry jumped off his broom when he was only a foot from the ground. He couldn’t believe it. He had done it: the game was over in just five minutes.
As the Gryffindor players paraded across the field, he spotted Snape landing nearby, livid and tight-lipped. Before he could say anything, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Dumbledore’s smiling face.
"Excellent work," Dumbledore said softly, so only Harry could hear. "I’m glad to see you haven’t been dwelling too much on that mirror… instead, you’ve been taking action. Splendid!"
Snape spat on the ground, seething with rage, and stormed off, his expression enough to wilt a rose garden.
Sirius joined Harry just outside the locker room, his eyes shining with pride. "Harry! You were fantastic!" he exclaimed, pulling him into an affectionate hug.
"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, smiling as his face turned red with embarrassment.
Sirius pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. "Did you see it? Snivellus’s face as he landed? He’s never wanted to disappear so badly!"
Harry laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days.
"Come on, I’ll walk you to the broom shed," Sirius said. "A triumph like this deserves an honorary escort."
As they walked to the shed, Sirius regaled him with stories of his Quidditch days at Hogwarts. "I wasn’t as good as you," he admitted with a laugh. "But I can say no one enjoyed humiliating the Slytherins more than I did."
Harry smiled, savoring the moment. When they reached the shed, he paused for a moment to look at Hogwarts, its windows gleaming in the red light of the setting sun. Then Sirius said goodbye and headed toward Hogsmeade.
Gryffindor was at the top of the standings. They had won, and the day couldn’t have been more perfect. He had done it; he had shown Snape…
Speaking of Snape…
A hooded figure was quickly descending the steps at the castle entrance, walking as fast as possible, heading toward the Forbidden Forest with clear intent not to be seen. At that sight, the euphoria of victory vanished from Harry’s mind. He recognized the furtive stride. It was Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was dining. What was he up to? Harry mounted his Nimbus 2000 again and took off. Gliding silently over the castle, he spotted Snape running into the dense forest below. He followed him from above.
The trees were so thick that Harry couldn’t see where Snape had gone. He flew in increasingly lower circles, brushing the tops of the highest branches, until he heard voices. He headed toward them and landed quietly in the boughs of a tall beech tree. Carefully parting the branches, clutching his broom tightly, he tried to peer through the leaves.
Below him, in a clearing already immersed in shadow, Snape was standing, but he wasn’t alone. Quirrell was there too. Harry couldn’t make out his expression, but he was stammering worse than ever. Harry strained to hear what the two were saying.
"...I—I don’t understand w-why you wanted to m-meet here, S-Severus, with so m-many other places you could have chosen..."
"Oh, well, I didn’t want anyone else to know," Snape replied icily. "After all, it’s best the students don’t learn about the Philosopher’s Stone."
Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was muttering something when Snape interrupted him. "Have you figured out how to subdue that beast Hagrid put in there?"
"B-but Severus, I..."
"Look, it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy of me, Quirrell," Snape said, stepping closer.
"I—I d-don’t know w-what you’re ta-talking about," Quirrell stammered.
"You know exactly what I’m talking about."
Just then, an owl hooted loudly, and Harry almost fell out of the tree.
He recovered in time to hear Snape say, "...your pathetic little spells. I’ll be waiting."
"B-but I—I don’t know..."
"Fine," Snape cut him off. "We’ll have another little chat soon, once you’ve had time to think it over and decide where your loyalties lie."
With that, Snape threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was nearly dark, but Harry could make out Quirrell, standing there as though petrified.
After the unsettling encounter with Snape and Quirrell, Harry, breathing heavily, returned to the castle. Before heading to the common room, he took a deep breath. He needed to gather his thoughts before recounting what he had discovered.
When he entered the common room, he found a festive scene. The Gryffindors had transformed the room into a proper celebration. Fred and George were handing out sweets and pastries that had evidently been "borrowed" from the kitchens. Ron, with a bandage on his still-bleeding nose, was at the center of the room, regaling anyone who would listen with the story of the fight with Malfoy.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted, running to him and hugging him. "Where have you been? We won! You won!"
"Harry, you can’t miss a party in your honor!" Fred added, handing him a goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Thanks, but… I need to talk to you," Harry said, lowering his voice and pulling Ron and Hermione aside. "All of you," he added, addressing the other first-year Gryffindors.
Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville came closer, curious. The noise of the party was deafening, but Harry made sure no one was listening before beginning.
"Okay, listen," Harry started, his tone urgent. "I saw Snape. He was in the Forbidden Forest with Quirrell."
Everyone’s eyes widened, and Seamus let out a low whistle.
"What were they doing there?" Parvati asked, her eyes wide.
Harry recounted everything he had seen and heard. He spoke of Snape and Quirrell’s confrontation, the "pathetic little spells," and how Snape had been trying to force Quirrell to cooperate.
"So it’s true," Neville murmured, his voice trembling. "He’s trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone."
"I told you!" Seamus exclaimed, looking triumphantly at Lavender and Dean. "It’s been obvious it was Snape from the start!"
Lavender crossed her arms, still skeptical. "But it could also be Quirrell, right? I mean, he’s always so nervous. Maybe he’s trying to trick Snape."
Dean shook his head slowly. "I don’t know, Lav. If I had any doubts before, now it really seems like Snape, although I still think it’s too obvious..."
"Oh, please!" Ron snapped. "It’s not always the least suspicious person, Dean. Snape is a Slytherin, he hates Harry, and now he’s trying to force Quirrell to help him. It’s not that hard to figure out. And who else could it be if not him?"
"Well, I don’t know, but why did Quirrell look so nervous and stammer more than usual?" Dean countered.
"Because he’s clearly scared of Snape!" Seamus interjected. "Can you imagine Quirrell trying to steal something? He can barely manage himself..."
"You’re right, Seamus… Quirrell’s a total mess," Parvati said. "He couldn’t do anything without someone guiding him."
"We can’t rely on assumptions," Hermione said firmly, trying to maintain order. "Most of the evidence points to Snape. Even if Quirrell is involved, it’s clear Snape is the mastermind behind it all."
Neville, still pale but determined, nodded. "What do we do then?"
"For now, nothing," Harry said, looking at the others seriously. "If Quirrell holds his ground and doesn’t cooperate, the Stone should be safe. But we need to stay alert. We can’t let Snape get the Stone..."
"Exactly," Ron agreed, crossing his arms. "For now, we have enough information. We’ll act only if necessary."
Lavender still looked unsure, but Dean smiled at Harry. "Okay, Harry. If you need us, you know where to find us."
"Yeah," Seamus added enthusiastically. "We’re Gryffindors. We’re not letting that greasy bat win."
Shortly after, the group rejoined the party. While the tension about the Philosopher’s Stone lingered in the air, Harry was relieved not to be facing everything alone. Smiling, he let himself enjoy the party, though part of his mind kept drifting back to the Forbidden Forest and the Philosopher’s Stone.