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Chapter 16 — The Philosopher's Stone
Christmas was drawing near. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find the grounds blanketed in snow and the lake frozen solid. The Weasley twins had been given detention for charming snowballs to chase Quirrell around and smack into the back of his turban. When Malfoy heard this, he was genuinely stunned. In a way, that was the equivalent of slapping Voldemort in the face.
"No wonder one of them ended up missing an ear and the other ended up dead," Malfoy muttered to himself. "Provoking the Dark Lord is never a wise idea."
Of course, he was only joking. In Voldemort's eyes, anyone who didn't submit deserved death—especially those who stood in his way. Snape had been a good example; it wasn't that his identity as a spy was revealed, but rather that Voldemort wanted to seize the Elder Wand. Voldemort had never hesitated to eliminate even someone competent.
Thinking of this, Malfoy lifted his head and glanced out the window.
Owls were flying through the swirling snow, delivering mail. After the strain of the holiday rush, many of them needed time to recover under Hagrid's care before flying again. With Christmas approaching, they were overwhelmed—endless cards and parcels.
Malfoy received a letter from home as well. Narcissa wanted him to return for Christmas.
Honestly, the Hogwarts library was far more enticing to him than home.
"But I have to go back. There's somewhere I still need to visit."
He thought of a plan he had already laid out.
Sitting in a secluded corner, Malfoy flipped through an ancient tome. The pages were so yellowed it felt as though they might crumble at a touch.
"The Restricted Section isn't just full of Dark magic—it's full of dark history."
He closed the book gently. The gilt lettering on the cover had long since worn away, but he could still make out several faded words: The Hidden History of Dark Magic.
As he silently digested the massive amount of information he'd gathered, a middle-aged woman's voice suddenly cut through the quiet.
"What are you looking for, child?"
Madam Pince—the guardian of the Restricted Section.
"Nothing," came a boy's nervous reply.
Peering through a gap in the shelves, Malfoy spotted Harry looking around suspiciously as Madam Pince interrogated him.
"Then you had better leave. Out—now," she ordered sharply.
Harry cast a helpless glance toward the shelves… and saw Malfoy.
Unfortunately for him, only one of them had permission to be in this section, so the treatment they received was worlds apart.
Harry wished desperately he were clever enough to make up a convincing lie—something like "I'm looking for a classmate." But the only first-year in the Restricted Section right now was Malfoy, and they weren't exactly on friendly terms. If he lied and got caught, Gryffindor would lose points.
He trudged out of the library, imagination running wild. He hoped Ron or Hermione had found new clues, though he didn't hold out much hope.
Everything had started after the Quidditch match. Hermione claimed she'd seen Snape muttering curses at Harry's broom, and Harry had noticed Snape nursing an injured leg. Combined with the three-headed dog guarding the trapdoor, they concluded Snape was up to no good—trying to steal something valuable.
And then there were Hagrid's accidental slips, revealing that everything somehow involved a man named Nicolas Flamel.
But every lead ended there.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione had her head buried in the table, thoroughly frustrated, while Ron tinkered with his battered wizard's chess set. Clearly, they'd found nothing.
"I was thrown out by Madam Pince," Harry said gloomily.
"I'm starting to think he might be a Muggle," Hermione groaned. "Otherwise why can't we find him anywhere?"
"He's not in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Famous Contemporary Magicians. He's not in Great Magical Discoveries, or A Study of Modern Magical Development." She ticked off each book on her fingers.
"I'm going to go mad," she moaned, raking her fingers through her bushy hair.
"I think Madam Pince must know something," Harry added.
"But we can't ask her," Ron cut in. "If we ask, Snape will hear about it. Definitely not safe."
"You two have to keep looking while I'm gone, all right?" Hermione said. "If you find anything, owl me."
"You could ask your parents," Ron suggested. "See if they know who Flamel is. That's safe."
"It's safe because they're both dentists," Hermione sighed.
"I've got an idea," Harry said hesitantly. "Why don't we ask Malfoy? He's allowed in the Restricted Section."
"Harry, have you lost your mind? He's a Slytherin! Snape's his Head of House!" Ron shot to his feet. "And he'd never tell us. Right, Hermione?"
"I… I don't know," Hermione said, looking uneasy. She hadn't told them she got along with Malfoy.
"I don't think he's that bad," Harry said quietly. "We really might've been the ones in the wrong on the train…"
"If you want to ask him, do it yourself. I'm not apologizing to him." Ron slammed a chess piece onto the board.
Hermione and Harry exchanged a look and let the matter drop.
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"So you came to ask me?" Malfoy lowered his book and looked up at Hermione.
"You must know who he is," Hermione said, hope shining in her eyes.
"Is he important to you?" Malfoy asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Very," Hermione said firmly.
"But I don't believe I owe you an explanation," Malfoy replied coolly. "If you came as a friend, in private, I'd be willing to help. But your two friends certainly won't appreciate my kindness. Don't you think that's a bit unfair to me?"
"It's not like that—Harry's the one who suggested asking you," Hermione protested.
"Oh? And where is he, then?"
"Ron wouldn't go. He… he still has a grudge against you. And Harry couldn't insist." Hermione's voice faded.
"Then I can't help you," Malfoy said bluntly. "And even if I did, would they even believe you?"
"No—that's not—" Hermione shook her head.
"Fine. I'll tell you anyway." Malfoy snapped the book shut.
"Nicolas Flamel. The only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone. The greatest alchemist of all time. And a friend of Dumbledore's. Is that enough? Satisfied?"
His tone was dismissive.
"And now, Miss Granger, this is the Restricted Section. You should leave."
Hermione stared at him, stunned. His coldness pierced straight through her. The information she'd just gained didn't bring joy—only a strange, hollow sadness. She walked out of the library mechanically. The biting cold outside didn't reach her flesh; her heart felt colder. She began questioning the nature of her friendships, but her thoughts tangled hopelessly.
Malfoy watched her retreating figure and let out a long breath.
This friendship should never have existed. He'd tried, on the train, to change history and failed. After that he meant to keep to himself—until Hermione had come to apologize. Later, when he found her upset in the library, he'd comforted her and even sneaked her to Hogsmeade. But the tension between their Houses and their friends had always been there, waiting to explode. And when it did, neither of them would escape unscathed.
"Better to rip the bandage off now," Malfoy told himself. "It would've happened eventually. If this friendship is going to survive, this hurdle had to come."
"Whether it ends or starts anew… that's her choice," he thought.
"I'll be the villain this time."
Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower with no expression at all. The warmth of the fireplace helped a little. She spotted Ron and Harry laughing over wizard's chess.
"I know who Nicolas Flamel is," Hermione said evenly.
"Oh—Harry, I'm taking your knight—" Ron froze mid-move.
"What did you say? You know?" Harry shot up in surprise.
"Hermione, that's brilliant!" Ron grinned.
Hermione's voice remained calm and controlled.
"He's the only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone, the greatest alchemist, and a friend of Dumbledore."
"The Philosopher's Stone!" Ron yelped. "No wonder Snape's after him—everyone'd want it!"
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"My brothers told me about it. They said if they had the Stone, they'd have endless gold and never bother with school again. Oh—and it also makes the Elixir of Life. Whoever drinks it never dies."
"Then everything fits," Harry said. "Flamel lent the Stone to Dumbledore. It must be here for safekeeping. The three-headed dog is guarding it. Snape tried to steal it and got himself bitten."
"Hermione, you're amazing," Ron said again.
Hermione gave an awkward little smile.
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