I will not talk during class.

I will not talk during class.

I will not talk during class.

Harry exhaled, setting down his quill and flexing his aching hand. The hour had passed quickly, and somehow he’d managed to fill the two feet of parchment he’d been given.  

 “P-problem P-potter?” Professor Quirrell asked, looking up from his desk.

Harry shook his head. “No sir.  I think I’m done.”

 “Very well, bring it here,” Quirrell gestured him over.

Standing up, Harry took the parchment over to the professor’s desk.

Quirrell cast his eyes over it before looking back at the boy.

 “Everything al-alright Potter? N-not like you to t-talk in class,” he said.

For a second, Harry wanted to point out that it was Ron doing most of the talking, but instead he shrugged his shoulders.

 “W-what was s-so urgent that y-you needed to d-discuss it during D-Defence?” Quirrell probed. “Is P-professor Sn-Sn-Snape treating you w-well?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 “So th-then what, p-pray, was so important?”

 “I asked Professor Snape if I could stay with him during the summer holidays,” he said glumly – it didn’t really matter who he told now, anyway.

 “Oh? Is that p-preferable t-to your relative’s home?” Quirrell asked.

A nod.

 “Th-then why s-so glum, P-potter?”

 “He asked Professor Dumbledore, and he said no,” Harry said quietly.

 “Wh-why?” the professor asked, curiously.

 “He says I have to stay with my aunt and uncle. There’s some kind of magic that protects me whilst I’m there,” he said, fiddling with the sleeves of his robe.

 “M-magic?”

 “Some sort of… blood thing, I don’t know,” he said without thinking.

 “Blood wards…” Quirrell murmured, more to himself than to Harry.

But Harry nodded. “That was it.”

A silence followed, during which Quirrell studied the boy’s face closely.

 “T-terrible b-business about that dr-dragon,” the professor said suddenly, as if out of nowhere.

 “Norbert?” Harry frowned – it had been a while since that whole escapade.

 “Is th-that what he called it?” Quirrell chuckled nervously.

 “Hagrid loved that dragon,” Harry said, testily. He knew that Hagrid had been crazy to take the egg from a stranger, let alone hatch it. But that was Hagrid, and Harry suddenly felt fiercely protective of his friend.

 “I’m s-sure he d-did. Wh-what h-happened to it?” the professor asked him.

 “Went to live in Romania, in a colony,” he said.

Another pause.

 “Well, I better get back to my dorm…” Harry said eventually, feeling a little uncomfortable. His scar had started to prickle, much like it had that first day in the Great Hall, and he didn’t like it at all.

Quirrell nodded, as if snapping out of a trance. “R-right you are, P-potter. St-straight back and no dawdling.”

Harry left the DADA classroom and did exactly that – he had a Charms exam in the morning and Herbology in the afternoon, so he wanted to get an early night.

OOOOOOO

 “I’d always heard Hogwarts end of year exams were frightful, but I’ve found they’re rather enjoyable,” Hermione said, as the three of them walked through the courtyard the following afternoon, free of Charms and Herbology for the next six weeks.

 “Speak for yourself,” Ron grumbled, glancing across at his friend, who was noticeably rubbing his forehead. “Alright there, Harry?”

 “My scar… it keeps burning,” Harry told them truthfully.

 “It’s happened before…” Hermione pointed out – and she was right. But…

 “Not like this.”

 “Perhaps you should see the nurse?” Ron suggested.

 “I think it’s a warning. It means danger’s coming,” Harry said. “It happened last night too – during detention. I was talking to Professor Quirrell about… Oh! Of course!”

With that, he started to walk at pace, in the direction of Hagrid’s hut.

 “What is it?” Hermione asked, as she and Run hurried to catch him up.

 “Don’t you think it’s a  bid odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything I a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have one? I mean, how many people wander around with dragon eggs in their pocket? Why didn’t I see it before?” Harry asked, as the three of them jogged across the grass towards the half-giant, who was sitting in the sunshine playing his flute.

 “Hagrid!” he called.

Hagrid stopped playing, looking up at the three breathless children with surprise.

 “Hagrid, who gave you the dragon egg? What did he look like?”

 “I dunno. I never saw his face. He kept his hood up,” Hagrid shrugged.

 “This stranger though… you and he must’ve talked,” Harry pointed out.

Hagrid thought for a moment. “Well he… he wanted to know what sort of creatures I looked after. I told him, I said, after Fluffy a dragon’s gonna be no problem!”

 “Did he seem interested in Fluffy?”

 “Well of course he was interested in Fluffy! How often do you come across a three-headed dog, even if you’re in the trade? But I told him, I said… I said ‘the trick with any beast is to know how to calm him. Take Fluffy, for example, just play him a bit of music and he falls straight to sleep.’”

The three of them stared at Hagrid, horrified.

 “I shouldn’t have told you that…” Hagrid muttered.

 “Come on!” Harry cried, taking off back in the direction of the castle.

 “Where are you going?!” Hagrid called after them.

 Harry didn’t stop running until they were back in the corridors of the castle then, at which point he paused for breath as he waited for his two friends to catch him up.

 “Bloody hell mate. What’s going on?” Ron panted.

 “Harry, you don’t think that the person who gave Hagrid that dragon egg is the same person that’s trying to steal the stone, do you?” Hermione asked.

 “That’s exactly what I think,” Harry nodded. “And I think it’s Professor Quirrell.”

 “I don’t know Harry… we’ve been here before…” she said, unsurely.

 “Aside from us and Malfoy, the only other people who knew about Norbert were Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall,” Harry told them. “I didn’t even tell my– Professor Snape.”

 “So?” Ron asked, yet to catch on.

 “So Quirrell brought it up with me  last night,” he explained. “It didn’t even occur to me at the time! How do you think he found out if he wasn’t the one to give Hagrid the egg in the first place?”

 “What should we do?” Hermione asked, looking horrified.

Glancing at the nearby Transfiguration classroom, Harry set off at a run again.

Moments later, the three of them skidded to a halt in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk.

 “What is the meaning of this?!” the older witch cried, surprised.

 “We have to see Professor Dumbledore!” Harry told her. “Immediately!”

 “I’m afraid Professor Dumbledore is not here. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and left immediately for London,” she told them.

 “He’s gone? Now? But this is important! It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone!” he cried.

Professor McGonagall looked between the three of them, shocked. “How do you know…?”

 “Someone’s going to try and steal it,” Harry told her. Beside him, Ron and Hermione nodded furiously.

 “I don’t know how you three found about the Stone, but I assure you that it is perfectly well protected. Now, would you go back to your dormitories? Quietly.”

Realising that they were fighting a losing battle, the three of them headed back onto the corridor.

 “What are we going to do?” Ron asked, as they huddled together.

 “Harry, I think you should tell Professor Snape,” Hermione said.

But Harry shook his head. “No. I can’t.”

 “Why not?”

 “We’re not… we had a row last night,” he admitted. Although that wasn’t entirely true, he knew, given that all the shouting had been very much one-sided.

 “A row? But yesterday, during Defence, you were telling me you wanted to stay with him over summer,” Ron frowned, confused.

Harry shook his head. “He doesn’t want me to.”

Hermione looked doubtful. “Is that what you’ve fallen out over? Harry, you have to put that to one side. This is more important… it’s… You-Know-Who.”

 “Good afternoon,” a silky voice from behind them.

The three children jumped, startled, and turned to look up at Professor Snape. 

“Now, what would three young Gryffindors such as yourselves be doing inside of a day like this?” Snape asked.

 “Ah… w-we… we were just…” Hermione began.

 “You ought to be careful. People will think you’re… up to something,” he said.

For a moment, his eyes found Harry’s and he paused, as if waiting for the boy to say something. But Harry remained stony-faced and eventually, the potions master turned and stalked away, his robes billowing behind him.

 “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him. Harry, we need his help!” Hermione hissed.

 “No we don’t. We can handle this,” he insisted.

 “You reckon? How?” Ron asked, sceptically.

 “We go down the trapdoor,” Harry told them. “Tonight.”

OOOOOOO