The Spiteful Sorting Hat

The Devils Snare

The end of term was approaching faster than any of the first years could have anticipated, and exams were right around the corner. With Norbert safely packed away to Romania, Harry was free to think only of his studies. That is, if he had been a normal student. For Harry, end of term meant not only exams, but the final deadline to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone.

Blaise and Millie were ready to give up on the plan altogether.

"Face it Harry," Blaise said as he suffered through another grueling essay assigned to them by Professor McGonagall, "There's just no way a bunch of first years could master the magic necessary to break through the teachers' enchantments, even if we did know what they all were."

"That's not true," Harry argued, "We figured out what Flitwick was hiding easily enough. And I've been practicing with the snitch, so I think I have a good chance of catching the key."

Blaise grabbed his parchment, now speckled with many ink blots and crossed-out words. He shook it under Harry's face,.

"Well, there's no way McGonagall is going to leave a big fat clue lying around! Not to mention Snape and the rest of them!"

"But we already know about Fluffy! And we've learned loads about dangerous magical plants, so I'm sure that whatever Sprout's used..."

"Drop it, Harry," Blaise said flatly.

Millie paused in the process of classifying different magical herbs by leaf shape in order to weigh in on their conversation, "On the positive side, I think I'm actually going to pass the herbology exam. So all of our work wasn't a total loss."

Harry sighed in frustration and stood up from their table. He couldn't bear his friends' sudden apathy for their long talked-of scheme. Stuffing his unfinished essay into his bag, he stalked away without looking back.

Harry couldn't understand how Blaise and Millie lost interest in a plan they'd been forming all year just because a few exams were approaching. He guessed that Blaise must be under a lot of pressure from his mother to perform well, and lately it seemed that Snape's dislike for Harry was spilling over onto those whom Harry spent the most time with. Blaise was as good at potions as the rest of the Slytherin students, but Snape always had some sneering comment to make about his draughts. Perhaps Blaise was starting to resent his friendship with Harry?

Harry snorted at the thought. He knew he was being ridiculous.

As Harry contemplated a way to reinvigorate the interest his friends once held in the stone, he was stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from a nearby classroom. Slowing his steps, Harry moved closer, wondering who it was.

"No... No... Not again, p-please..."

The voice was unmistakably Professor Quirrell. Harry could tell by the stutter. It sounded as though someone was threatening him, and Harry would bet 100 galleons that it was Snape. He drew closer, but Quirrell suddenly burst through the doorway. He was pale and his hands shook as he quickly adjusted his turban. Harry thought he looked to be on the verge of tears.

The professor was so distracted he didn't notice Harry standing only a few feet away, and in the next moment he fled down the hall. Harry peered into the abandoned classroom and saw nothing but a door at the other end of the room, slightly ajar. Harry was certain Snape must have used it to make his own escape.

The scenario didn't bode well. Quirrell looked as if he had reached the end of his rope. If he hadn't told Snape about whatever enchantment he conjured for Dumbledore before, he certainly had now. And what was worse, if Quirrell knew anything about the other enchantments, Snape would soon have all the information he needed to steal the stone.