𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 || 𝐇𝐏/𝐏𝐉𝐎

𝐗𝐈𝐈 • 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥

❝ Who? ❞

         Everyone returned to Hogwarts for the term to start classes again and of course, I aced all my tests. One day after the charms lesson, I decided to hang out with Hermione at the Gryffindor table. They were looking devastated.

"Hey, what happened? Why the long face?" I asked.

"We are hopeless Aquila, we still can't find him," said Ron tiredly. Him?

"Find who?"

"Wait you don't know?" asked Harry.

"No, I don't. Who you did not find?"

"Nicolas Flamel. We are trying to find out about him, but there are no books about him in the library," said Harry.

"Wait! You—? Oh, you were raised in the muggle world, but what about you, Ron, you should know who he is." I said.

"I don't read books," he mumbled.

"What were you doing in the wizarding world for eleven years?" I expressed. Seriously, he doesn't even know Nicolas Flamel?

"Who is it anyway, you know him?" asked Hermione.

"Of course! Nicolas Flamel was a famous alchemist and the only known maker of the sorcerer's stone he worked with Dumbledore on alchemy too." I said.

"Yes! I told you Hermione I have read his name somewhere" said Harry. He pulled out a few cards from his robe pocket and searched through it he finally pulled out a card and read.

"'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'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since we'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. At last, she found what she was looking for.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!" This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer'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.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer'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, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry.

"No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

"All the reading was wasted, all we should've done is ask Aquila about it," Ron said sighing.

"I thought you knew..." Harry said.

"How am I magically supposed to know who you are looking for?" I narrowed my eyes.

"I have to play let's meet later," Harry said and sprinted into a run.

~~~

The day of Quidditch came and Snape was refereeing that the match was going too hard for Gryffindors, especially Harry.

The game started and Snape was looking mean as ever Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all.

"It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains." Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

"If brains were gold wouldn't you be the poorest, Malfoy?" I said without even bothering to look back where he was seated. I heard Ron cracking up.

"I'm warning you, Scott — one more word—"

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry —"

"What? Where?"

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, she crossed her fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape — she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches — the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand. The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. I couldn't believe it. He'd done it — the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, I saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped — he deserve it I thought Malfoy and his goons groaned I smirked.

"It's a shame that even with an advantage Slytherins couldn't win" I cooed, Ron laughed.

"You are one hundred percent correct, Aquila."

I was studying in the Ravenclaw common room when an owl came through the window, it was Hermione who wrote it. It may have a big paragraph, but the only thing that caught my eye is the sorcerer's stone it'll be gone soon. We had to do something.