Quidditch is not very exciting on its own merits.

But he gets to fly.

And Gryffindor needs him and that's important.

Come on Quidditch is super exciting you get to hit people with evil metal balls! Also did he know that there are seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them happened during a World Cup match in 1473?

"Hitting people with evil metal balls is not at all exciting."

"Is too! They don't even get that hurt, magical people are more physically resilient—"

Snape chooses that point to cross the courtyard where Dayo, Victor, and Ron are, limping. "What's that you've got there?" he asks of the book.

"Quidditch Through the Ages, Professor."

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," he says. "Give it to me. Five—"

"It's my book, Professor," she lies innocently. "And no one ever informed us of this rule, so we could accidentally break it with some other book we did get from the library."

Victor is pretty sure that the reason why no one informed them of that rule is because it doesn't exist. He would know. But it doesn't seem like it would do him any good to tell Professor Snape that.

"Do not lie to me, Miss Iroko."

"It wouldn't be right to lie about school rules! But we can go check at the library if you'd rather make sure I'm not breaking any, Professor."

He glares at her for a second before stalking off.

"I hope that leg's really hurting him," Ron grumbles.

Victor sighs.

The Gryffindor Common Room's abuzz with activity that evening in anticipation of tomorrow's game. People are badgering Wood with tactical suggestions and he's just laughing them off, acting extremely confident. Some people go bother Victor, too.

...Victor is not sure what to do about this!

Well he could tell them to stop bothering him!

Ron seems to be having fun, though, even if he's merely adjacent to the centre of attention.

Well, Ron having fun is good.

The next morning dawns bright and cold. The team will be meeting up for pre-game warmups and last-minute strategy sessions at ten AM sharp.

Victor arrives twenty minutes early.

And runs into Dayo on the way, who winks, waves, and wishes him good luck.

Once in the locker room, Wood clears his throat for silence. "Okay, men," he says.

"And women," says Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agrees. "This is it."

"The big one," says Fred Weasley.

"The one we’ve all been waiting for," says George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred tells Victor, "we were on the team last year."

Victor has no comment on this.

"Shut up, you two," says Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it." He glares at them all as if to say 'Or else.'

They spend the next few minutes going over their strategy while they warm up, but eventually: "Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Fred and George are the first out of the locker room.

Victor is right behind them.

The muffling charm stops affecting him the moment he steps through the threshold and he's greeted by a Quidditch stadium's worth of cheering. The rest of the team follows him and the twins, and their opposite numbers emerge from the locker room across the pitch from them. Dayo grins at him and the twins, who both make exaggerated faces of disgust and horror at him, making him laugh.

Madam Hooch is the referee, and once both captains meet in the middle she says, "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you." She seems to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year big enough that he might have some troll blood in him.

It's not the size so much as the posture that Victor finds worrying. Marcus Flint looks like he would've fit in among Dudley's friends.

"Mount your brooms, please," says Madam Hooch.

Well if she insists.

She blasts loudly on her silver whistle, and up they go.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—" says the commentator Lee Jordan.

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall's amplified voice calls.

"Sorry, Professor."

Sometimes when people really like doing something they say it feels like flying.

Flying feels like itself.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—"

And there comes a Bludger directly at Victor.

He dives, heading for George Weasley as the nearest source of aid.

Who hits the evil metal ball like it's personally offended him. It goes careening off into the distance and he laughs.

"—oh, good one by Weasley! Dunno which. And Bludgers don't usually target Seekers this early—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by the other Weasley—"

Victor ascends again.

"—nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she's really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goal posts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

There's a roar from the audience and just as that happens Victor might be able to spot Hagrid squeezing his way to Ron's side, cheering him on.

Well, that's nice of him.

Another Bludger comes shooting in Victor's vague direction, but it doesn't look like it has Victor as its actual target.

He gets out of its way anyway. Flying is fun.

Fred zooms after the Bludger. "Alright there, Victor?" he yells out as he does that but then he's out of earshot and beating the evil metal ball towards Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan's saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"

A murmur runs through the crowd as Adrian Pucey drops the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that just passed his left ear.

Down goes Victor.

Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs saw it, too. Neck to neck they hurtle towards the Snitch, the Chasers having seemingly forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they stop to watch, Victor's faster than Higgs, there, almost there—

—and there's a Bludger going in both of their directions, aimed straight at Victor's broom—

- he can dodge sideways and lose the race, or dodge up and over and send the Bludger through Higgs, or stay on course and probably catch the Snitch and definitely get hit by a Bludger.

The second choice is obviously strategically optimal. It's just also rather nastier than he wants to be - but Gryffindor needs a good Seeker and a good Seeker doesn't throw the game out of a reluctance to get anyone hurt - up and over it is.

"And Higgs is hit by Iroko's Bludger!" Lee's voice echoes. "Evans managed to dodge it—did either of them get the Snitch, though?—no, it's gone, and Higgs is spinning—no, he's alright and back on track again—Pucey got the Quaffle!"

Muninn, perched at the back of the stands in the Gryffindor section, croaks enthusiastically.

Well that took some of the fun out of this.

He goes high again, surveying the game in progress, watching out for glints of gold.

"Pucey feints and tricks Johnson, goes through Bell—wait, where's Flint going? It looks like he's chewing Iroko out—no, is he giving instructions?—Pucey almost scores! But Wood grabbed the Quaffle, now Spinner has it—"

And Victor's broom gives a sudden, frightening lurch, completely out of his control.

- flying is not like flying anymore.

It happens again. It's as though the broom's trying to buck him off, even though as far as he knows Nimbus Two Thousands do not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. 

...

It is not reasonable to try to stay in the air under these conditions. He descends. Carefully.

He wishes. It's gone completely out of his control, zigzagging this way and that every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseat him. The game continues heedless, "Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—oh no..." The Slytherins cheer their score, and it appears that no one's noticed Victor's broom's slow ascent.

Oh, somebody's noticed it all right.

Muninn takes off and circles, looking for anyone in the crowd who is, say, staring fixedly at Victor's broom.

Well there is this faculty member.

Also this one! Who unlike the other one is moving his lips silently.

And suddenly people notice, and start pointing at Victor. His broom had starts to roll over and over, trying to jerk him off it.

Uh-huh.

He lands on Quirrell's turban.

He startles. "Get off, you stupid bird!" he says, waving his hands at Muninn.

Snape is startled, too, as are the people around them.

And Victor's broom stops moving on its own just as Fred and George reach him to help.

"Victor! Are you alright?"

He takes off again. Mission accomplished.

"Something was -"

He spots Muninn leaving Professor Quirrell's head.

"- happening to my broom," he says. "Now it isn't but I'm afraid it'll start again."

"Should we get Hooch to stop the match?"

Up Dayo appears. "What happened?"

"His broom went crazy, he thinks it'll happen again."

"I think someone was cursing it," he says. "I don't know what to do."

"Who? Why?"

"D'you think you could hold on if it happens again? 'Cause then we'd know it wasn't a fluke or something and be able to tell Hooch..."

"...I can hold on at least a little while."

"We'll hang around. And Flint's giving Dayo the evil eye."

"—yeah, I'd better go, the game's sorta resumed—" Off he goes.

All right. Back to the game, then.

The Weasleys sorta take turns being nearish Victor, but his broom doesn't do anything weird anymore, and Dayo doesn't send any more Bludgers his way. The game proceeds apace, and Slytherin is winning ninety-fifty when Victor spots the Snitch again.

Down he goes.

"And they're at it again, Higgs and Evans—I wonder if Iroko's gonna send a Bludger their way again? Nasty move, that—Evans is getting closer, and flying faster—if any Bludgers are gonna do anything they'd better show up fast—"

And the Snitch is right there—

- in his hand.

"EVANS HAS THE SNITCH! GAME OVER! GRYFFINDOR WINS, TWO HUNDRED TO NINETY! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The stadium erupts into cheers—or just howls of disappointment and anger—almost but not quite drowning out Lee's voice. The Gryffindor team converges on Victor to congratulate him and celebrate.

Flint, on the other hand, is yelling in Dayo's face. Dayo stoically takes it, whatever it is.

...yeah.

Eventually everyone lands and starts making their way back to the Castle. Dayo's being sorta shunned by the rest of the team.

And Ron's waiting for Victor on the ground. "You were awesome! That was awesome! What happened up there?"

"I think someone cursed my broom."

Hagrid walks over to them, too. "Cursed yer broom? That's Dark magic, kids can't do that."

"I don't know who did it, but I don't think it was just the broom. I don't think brooms do that."

"No, not Nimbus Two Thousands anywho. But well, congrats! What do yer say o' havin' a cup o' tea back at my place?" He glances at Dayo. "An' invite the boy, too."

"...all right."

"Erm," says Dayo when invited, "I'm not sure."

"Are yeh gonna care what 'em wastes o' air think of yeh fer hangin' out?" Hagrid asks, uncannily accurately.

"...yes? But I guess that ship's sailed. Let's go."

Muninn chooses this moment to land on Victor's shoulder.

Victor pats his raven.

On they go to Hagrid's hut. Dayo is significantly less talkative than usual.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble."

"—it wasn't your fault."

"It's my fault you ended up hitting your own teammate with a Bludger."

"Oh no that didn't get me in trouble, that was part of the strategy. I told them if the two of you ever got in a race like that you'd win so I had to stop you even if that hurt Higgs. What got me in trouble is that I didn't do it the second time."

"...Slytherins are weird."

"Why didn't you?"

"'Cause you'd been cursed and I didn't think it would be—I don't know, right? And Flint said you probably faked the curse so I'd do just that and I said you weren't a Slytherin and anyway that wasn't you and now I'm benched."

"Well, I'm sorry."

And here's Hagrid's hut. Fang greets them as enthusiastically as ever and Hagrid starts preparing tea.

Victor is not sure whether to bring up his suspicions about Professor Quirrell, given their source.

"Why do you think your broom was cursed, though?"

"...It was behaving in ways that I don't think brooms behave by themselves. And -" he glances at the raven on his shoulder.

—he'll ask later.

"Who'd do somethin' like that?"

"I bet it was Snape."

"Snape? Rubbish. Why would he?"

"He doesn't like me very much. But I don't think that's it."

"But it's not just that! When the troll attacked he was going to the third floor corridor, and yesterday he was limping. I bet he tried to get past that three-headed dog."

Hagrid drops the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"He could just as well have been trying to protect whatever the dog was guarding," says Victor. "There has to be some reason why there is a giant three-headed dog locked up in a corridor in the middle of a school full of children."

"Victor, I fear you may perhaps have failed to understand what Hagrid just said. He called the huge three-headed dog Fluffy."

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—" he cuts himself off.

"- the thing that wasn't stolen from Gringotts, probably," says Victor. "But what's so important that it's worth risking students being eaten by a giant dog?"

"No, don't ask me anymore, that's top secret, that is."

"Well but if it isn't Snape someone's trying to steal it."

"Which stands to reason, if they tried to steal it from Gringotts and managed not to get caught they are probably not scared of Hogwarts—but why would it be here of all places?" he asks Victor.

- he looks unhappily at Hagrid and doesn't say anything.

"They say it's the safest place in Britain. Especially because You-Know-Who was afraid of Dumbledore so not even he could come here."

"Are we trying to protect something from him, then? Isn't he dead?"

"Now, listen ter me—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that’s between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"The dog is not very easy to forget," says Victor.

"I wasn't even there and I can't forget it," he agrees, deciding to stop questioning now that he got something.

"Who's Nicolas Flamel?"

"Let's stop interrogating him, why don't we?"

"But—"

"Not saying anything more about it, and that's final!"

Victor nods.

Dayo successfully changes the subject and eventually Hagrid's comfortable and happy again. There are more rocky rock cakes, and then they start making their way back to the Castle.

Victor is quiet.

"I think I'm gonna go to the library to study," he says, making sure to hold Muninn's gaze meaningfully while Ron's not looking.

Ron makes a face. "Have fun, I guess."

"I might do that too. Books seem like the right amount of unexciting for right now."

"Should both be in Ravenclaw," he mutters.

He smiles slightly.

Eventually they reach a fork where Ron goes right to the Gryffindor Tower and Dayo and Victor go left towards the library.

And in the back of the library by a window where it will be difficult to eavesdrop on them:

"It was Quirrell," says Muninn.

"—what? Quirrell? Why?"

"Don't look at me, I just work here," he says with a hoarse croak of laughter. "Snape was trying to counter the curse, interestingly enough."

"Really? How do you know that?"

"Heard him casting when I was flying in to land on Quirrell's head."

"And how do you know it wasn't the other way around?"

"...because he was casting a countercurse?"

"—right. Okay. Erm. Should we maybe tell Professor McGonagall this."

"Couple of eleven-year-olds and a talking raven want her to believe her coworker just tried to kill a kid? Dicey."

"One of those eleven-year-olds is Victor Evans, though. And Quirrell got in just this year, and apparently Defence Professors just sorta rotate yearly?"

"Maybe. Victor, what do you think?"

"...Professor McGonagall seems all right, but... we can't give her all the evidence we have without explaining that Muninn is a person. And if we explain that Muninn is a person and she decides to do something bad about that, or tells someone else and they do something bad, we can't really stop her."

"But on the other hand we have a faculty member who tried to—at least get you paralysed from the neck down, possibly dead. It doesn't sound like a great idea for the only people who know that to be two eleven-year-olds and a raven."

"Maybe we can tell her but tell her that the person who saw them and overheard Professor Snape casting the countercurse is afraid to be named in case of retaliation."

"Yeah, I was going to suggest something like that.—should I talk to Snape himself about it? If he noticed there was a curse being cast, maybe he knows..."

"That sounds like... it might be a good idea... much better than me trying to talk to him about it, anyway."

"I'm kinda worried that he might in fact know and... not have done anything about it for some reason? Like... okay, if we assume Quirrell was targetting you in particular and not, say, a random player, or Gryffindor's Seeker... There's sort of this one dead person whose followers might really dislike you."

"...yes."

"And if Quirrell is one such follower, then Snape might be trying to bait other followers or something."

"Well. Do you want to ask him about it?"

"Yeah, I'm just not sure it'll be productive at all. But yes, it's still probably a good idea."

Nod.

"We should also probably look into this Nicolas Flamel person."

"Yes."

Thankfully they're in a library. They go looking for the appropriate books.

Victor is extremely thorough in his search for any book which might conceivably tell them who this person is.

The Hogwarts library has tens of thousands of books. Where would he like to start?

Biographies of Albus Dumbledore. In case it's that simple.

Here's one! He seems to be quite an accomplished wizard, being a Transfiguration genius from his youth and accumulating honors and titles as he grew. There is this one huge tome about him—it must have a thousand pages.

Time to read a book.

It is a very long book. Dayo grabs one named Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century and scans the index for Flamel. Not finding him there, he leafs through it anyway.

Victor continues learning things about Dumbledore's life.

He doesn't find anything mentioning Flamel before it's time for dinner, but he can check out the book if he so wishes.

He does so wish.

Dayo checks three books out, and then: dinner!

Dinner.

"Did you have fun studying?"

"Yes."

"Weirdo."

And here come Fred and George with a cake which has a Snitch made of frosting on it.

"Do you want the cake before or after dinner?"

"After."

So they eat dinner first!

And it would appear people are refusing to talk to Dayo.

And then cake. Someone made Victor a cake. That's... a thing that happened.

"Where did you even get this cake," he wonders.

"We asked the House Elves to bake it."

"Hmm?"

"Who d'you think makes all our food? We know the way to the kitchen—"

"—you have to tickle a pear on a painting in the first-floor corridor."

That seems like a strange way to get to the kitchens, but, well, this is Hogwarts.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

"Didn't want you bothering the Elves."

"And besides, you never asked."

Maybe he will look up what house elves are in the library after he finishes that biography of Professor Dumbledore. For now, cake.

The cake is as delicious as anything he's ever eaten. Other students look at it covetously.

There is probably not enough for everyone but there should at least be enough for every first-year Gryffindor and Fred and George. And Percy since all three of his brothers who are present get cake and it seems unfair to leave him out.

There are not in fact seventy slices of cake but there are more than thirteen—they are all happy to eat this delicious cake.

Good.

And then dinner's done and the other students start making their way up to the Tower.

Time to read a book some more.

And how late is he planning to stay up reading?

Not that late.

Then by the time he decides to sleep Albus Dumbledore will be in his late thirties, around the time of World War I.

It's sort of fascinating.

He was a very interesting fellow! The biography mentions Dumbledore's family, and how his father died in Azkaban and his sister was rumoured to be a Squib and died in a duel between him and Grindelwald when they were young. He became a Hogwarts Professor when he was just shy of thirty, and was considered one of the most brilliant people to ever attend Hogwarts, winning the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, becoming the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, receiving a gold medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo, and publishing many papers during his studies.

And the book is there waiting for him the next day, which is a Sunday, so surely he can just continue reading...

He continues reading.

More being a Professor, prize for this and that...

—Nicolas Flamel! Who's Dumbledore's friend and partner in Alchemy research, being the sole known inventor of the Philosopher's Stone.

Is the Philosopher's Stone by any chance a small valuable object.

That book does not elaborate on its dimensions or properties but it is certainly implied to be very valuable.

There is a whole library for him to go look things up in.

Then he will soon find out that

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

It is reportedly small and red and not very remarkable otherwise.

...he opens the window.

"Muninn, please find Dayo and ask him to meet me in the library."

Dayo is: brooding in the dorm room. With a black eye.

Now there's a raven on his shoulder!

He startles, then sighs. "Hi, Muninn."

"Got a book you should read."

"—okay." He gets off the couch and starts making his way outside. A few older Slytherins are in the common room and after gawking at Muninn some make a point of ignoring Dayo.

Muninn is the prettiest.

He sure is.

Up to the library.

And here is Victor. Muninn flies to his shoulder.

Victor has the book about Dumbledore open to the page mentioning Flamel and the book about the Philosopher's Stone open to the page summarizing its appearance and uses.

"What."

"Okay so why do you think this is in Hogwarts?"

"When Hagrid took me to get my school supplies, he took a small object out of a Gringotts vault to bring it to the castle. Then later I heard someone had tried to rob a Gringotts vault but it had been emptied."

"...okay." Pause. "I can see why someone'd want to steal it. What I don't see is why this Flamel person's hoarding it."

"What do you mean?"

"He's over six hundred years old and so's his wife. Why isn't he, like, reproducing this? Multiplying it? Giving it to the world?"

"Maybe he can't."

"Well if that's the case I wanna ask him. He clearly doesn't need it day-to-day, though, or it wouldn't be hidden here."

"Maybe."

"And why didn't he, like, publish the recipe? Is he a Malthusian or something?" He grabs the book to read it.

"I don't know what that means."

"Malthus was some dude who used to say if people lived forever we'd all starve because we reproduce too fast to cope."

"If he said it within the last few centuries I don't think that's Flamel's problem."

"...I dunno when he said it. Seventeen hundreds maybe." He sighs.

"And Flamel's six hundred years old, so he probably wasn't reading Malthus when he decided not to make another Stone."

"Yeah. So I dunno."

He makes a sort of shruglike gesture with his wings.

He shrugs, too. "Alchemy's a sixth-year elective. Although I'm sorely tempted to just find and steal this Stone."

"Yeah, you and everybody else who's ever heard of it, I bet."

"Should figure out why it's so hard to make in the first place." He shakes his head, frowning. "But he could've just made more."

"How do you know?"

"I don't! I just—why wouldn't he be able to, having made it the first time? Ingredients? Time? Does it take seventy years to make? He's had six hundred, if he managed to do it before dying the first time not doing it again's just—"

"I don't know," says Muninn. "But you don't either. Maybe he really can't. Maybe he doesn't agree with you that it'd be a good idea."

"He's six hundred years old!"

"So?"

"So he clearly doesn't think living forever is a bad idea!"

"How do you know?"

"Why else would he be six hundred instead of just dying at, I dunno, one fifty like other magical people do? Or eighty like muggles do?"

"Okay, say you're Nicolas Flamel," he says. "You're seventy years old, sitting in your alchemical laboratory in fifteenth-century France, and you just discovered the Philosopher's Stone. You weren't in it for the money - he's not that rich. You weren't even really in it for the immortality. You just wanted to see if you could. And now you've got the single most sought-after magical object in the world. You've heard the quest for immortality might be fundamentally wrong, and you don't know if it's true - how would you tell? So you try it, carefully, and at least if there's something wrong with it you're only exposing yourself and your wife - maybe you shouldn't have brought her along, but you couldn't stand to lose her, and you're honestly not sure if that's the evil unnatural rejection of death talking - and people just will not stop trying to steal your bloody rock, and it's always the worst ones who get the farthest, and you're really starting to think there might be something to the whole 'evil unnatural rejection of death' thing because no matter how hard you try to have a simple normal happy life it's just not happening, but you don't know when to stop..."

"People wouldn't try to steal the bloody rock if he just made more of these bloody rocks and distributed them to other people! Or published the recipe or something. And it's not his call to just—like, he gets the choice of whether he dies or not and he keeps it to himself? That's like, hey, I'm the only person on Earth who has this thing that makes you incredibly smart and have a better memory and not need to go to the toilet anymore but I'm not giving it to anyone!"

"No, from your perspective it's like that. From his perspective - well, the perspective of my imaginary Nicolas Flamel that I made up to convince you he's got a more sympathetic viewpoint than you think - it's like hey you're the only person on Earth who has the recipe for the most addictive drug imaginable, and lots of people think it gives you unimaginable happiness with no side effects, and they're going to be really hard to convince otherwise, but you have reason to think that what it actually does is make you so obsessed with it you'd do anything for another hit and then destroy your ability to enjoy things - and you've been on it for six hundred years and you sure don't feel very happy -"

He frowns and doesn't immediately reply.

He unfolds and re-folds his wings. "I'm not saying he's right. I think he's wrong. But perspective's a thing."

"Okay. Anyway, what do we do?"

"First of all, what happened to your face?"

"Crabbe happened to my face."

He shrugs uncomfortably. "It was 'cause of the game."

"—it's not your fault!"

"Isn't it?"

"Of course not! Whatever I did or didn't do was my choice, I'd like to at least take credit for that!"

"- all right."

"Thank you. I don't think it's anything to worry about, apparently magical people are way more physically resistant than muggles."

Victor looks like he maybe disagrees on the subject of whether it is anything to worry about.

"And besides it won't actually help if I tell a teacher, Snape would probably say I tripped and fell or something and I want to get them to like me."

"...all right."

"And that's not important, immortality rock is important—why does it even make gold, like, why are the things related—anyway. Should we assume the Hogwarts staff is aware of it?"

"I think so, yes."

"Is everyone on board with this whole dying thing?"

"People don't always - realize they can change things. Even when it might seem obvious."

"I guess. So we have a crazy person who may or may not be Voldemort's fo—sorry, You-Know-Who's follower—"

"I'm not sure why no one uses his name."

"I'm not, either. I guess they figure it might summon him or something, which, who knows, with this kind of magic."

"Yes. Anyway, go on."

"So we got someone who may or may not be his follower posing as Defence Professor to—get access to the Stone, or kill you, or both? Where does Snape figure in this? I expect if he weren't trustworthy he wouldn't have spent as long as he has as Professor but on the other hand they did hire Quirrell."

"And Professor Snape has some sort of grudge against me and I don't know why. But he was protecting me from Professor Quirrell's curse and I don't know why that either."

"Presumably even if he has a grudge he doesn't want you dead. But why was he casting the counter and not, say, Professor McGonagall? And if he knew it was Quirrell why didn't he just stop Quirrell right there and then?"

"He might not have known who it was but that still doesn't explain why he was the only one who noticed it happening at all..."

"Maybe they did but it only occurred to Snape it could be a jinx instead of something else?"

"Why would that be?"

"It could be he knew about Quirrell or about someone so the possibility was close to the surface, or maybe it's just closer to the surface for him in general because he's interested in the subject or maybe it's just very rare and he's much smarter than the other Professors who were watching it."

"Hard to tell which of those - I suppose we could look up jinxes like that and figure out how common they are..."

"And maybe try to figure out whether other Professors know about Quirrell at all, or suspect anything—we said we'd do that yesterday, didn't we, I haven't seen Snape yet since then."

Nod.

"But I think McGonagall will be more forthcoming than Snape, anyway. We should—probably write these things down..."

"Should we?"

"Yeah, so we don't forget, and so we know what we've considered and in what order and to get organised and such. I—was sort of dragged here by a bird," he says, glancing at Muninn, "and I don't have my pen."

Victor hands him a notebook and pencil.

He starts scribbling. "So do we know of anything Quirrell could want around here other than the Stone and you, dead?"

"I can't think of anything else he'd be obviously likely to want here, now - he did try to kill me, and someone did try to steal the Stone, and it would be an awfully big coincidence if it turned out he was actually after Salazar Slytherin's mysterious secret room the whole time."

He snorts. "Mysterious secret room. Yeah, we go for the simplest explanation as our number one hypothesis, first. If he is trying to kill you and is trying to steal the Stone, what can we do, and does that answer change depending on whether he is a Death Eater or not?"

"...we probably can't do very much. Well, not if Professor Dumbledore did a good job hiding the Stone."

"I'm not sure 'the third-floor corridor door he warned everyone about and which has a giant three-headed dog' counts as 'well-hidden' as opposed to 'obvious trap.'"

"And I'm not sure anyone who puts a giant three-headed dog in a school behind a door a first-year could open can be trusted to do a good job protecting something important."

"Yeah, also that. Maybe most students just heed this sort of warning? I somehow can't picture the twins hearing this and not rushing to test it but perhaps Dumbledore's special."

"First-years get lost. And the castle is easy to get lost in. I certainly wouldn't have opened the door if I'd known where I was."

"Yeah. Do we assume that's by design or he's just that thoughtless?"

"It's hard to imagine how he could have arranged that."

"I mean the fact that it's findable by lost first years."

"It's hard to imagine why he would arrange that."

"To make it even more tempting to Quirrell?"

"That seems... silly."

"Might be Quirrell would feel challenged or something, I don't actually know. My point is that if he made it look terribly easy to go through on purpose then things change from if they are in fact easy because he's just that incompetent."

"It is terribly easy to go through as far as it takes to get to the giant student-eating dog," says Muninn. "I'm with Victor here on the degree of faith in Dumbledore's competence that inspires."

"So if he is in fact that incompetent we can probably find and get the Stone."

"Or get eaten by a giant dog or murdered by an animate statue or lit on fire by magical traps or impaled by a pit full of spikes," says Muninn. "The giant dog can't be the only thing in there."

"That was a general 'we,' not necessarily us in particular. What I mean is that this doesn't look designed to prevent anyone clever or powerful from going through. Maybe the Stone isn't there, even, and that's just a distraction."

"If so, it's a really stupid distraction."

He shrugs. "What do you think it is?"

"Either a really stupid distraction or a really stupid way to guard a priceless magical artifact!"

"If it's the former—well, there's nothing we can do about it, particularly, except hope other kids don't get eaten?"

Wing-shrug.

"I think regardless of anything else we might want to spread word around that it's extremely dangerous to go there and even being caught by Filch is better—but that might make other kids curious enough to want to go see what the fuss is all about..."

"Probably will. And then they go get eaten by the dog."

Sigh. "So do we just ignore it?"

"Got a better idea?"

"I dunno, it just feels like letting the crazy attempted murderer run around freely in the school trying to find the most important artefact in the world isn't such a good idea and also I really really want that rock."

"What are you gonna do, steal it yourself?"

"Don't think so, but I'm gonna take alchemy when I'm old enough, and I'm gonna ask Snape about Quirrell, and I'm gonna make Quirrell's life difficult."

"...make his life difficult how."

"Mess around in class, set his robe on fire, I dunno."

"...he has already tried to kill one student, I'm not sure pranking him is a good idea."

He grumbles.

"Please do not do things that will probably get you killed."

He drops his head on the table, his forehead clonking against it. "I want to do something about it."

"Why?"

"Because there is a magic rock that grants people immortality and literally no one on Earth has ever created one other than this guy and I have no reason to expect I'll actually succeed if I try so this might be the single best thing that has ever happened."

"...I think I see what you mean."

"Yeah. So if Quirrell steals it, that's probably bad—but if Flamel or Dumbledore keep it, that's also bad."

"But I think it's probably safe to say Quirrell stealing it would be much worse."

"Well, yeah, probably." Pause. "I mean, maybe? What could he do that Flamel isn't already doing with it? Get real rich? Also live forever?"

"Resurrect Voldemort? It would be the obvious thing to try, and we don't know that it wouldn't work..."

"—oh. Okay yeah that—oh."

Nod.

"Okay so that makes it even more important that—something be done about it."

"But also more important that if we try to do anything about it we don't do anything to make it worse."

"Yes. ...I wonder if we can find out more about Quirrell's past. And about the Philosopher's Stone. And about Voldemort."

"Those are all good ideas."

Luckily they are in a library so at least the last two things can be found.

Although people are really bizarrely reluctant to write about Voldemort.

They are. It seems that no one really knows... where he came from. He sorta just showed up and started talking about muggles and muggleborns and half-bloods and people were like "yeah!"

Victor is sort of perturbed about the whole thing.

The whole thing is very perturbing.

Perhaps they will have better luck with alchemy?

There are some books on alchemy!

Victor is fascinated by this introductory alchemy book, which discusses the history of the practice in several parts of the world, its relationship to potionmaking, and of course Nicolas Flamel, the most famous alchemist in the world. Plus assorted trivia.

"This says the Golden Snitch is made using alchemy, and that's why they're so expensive," he says, peering at the illustrated Snitch as it flits all over the page.

"...really? So they couldn't just enchant a ball of gold to do the same stuff a Snitch does?"

"I don't know, it doesn't say." He turns the page. "And people disagree about whether wandcrafting is alchemy too..."

"Disagree?" He peers at the book.

"It just says there's controversy," he says, showing Dayo the page.

"How can there be controversy? Doesn't alchemy have, like, a definition and either it includes wandmaking or not? ...I really want to learn this."

"I think maybe I want to learn it too."

"Only after O.W.L.s though. Did you find anything on alternative applications of the Philosopher's Stone, Dark Lord resurrection flavoured?"

He shakes his head. "But I think maybe you have to know a lot about alchemy in order to really understand what the Philosopher's Stone does."

Sigh. "Well, let's go get lunch, why don't we, and then we can find Professors to ask things of."

Nod nod.

Lunch!

Snape is not at the Head Table.

But McGonagall is.

Somewhat inconvenient for their purposes.

He does not really want to have this conversation but it seems important.

So he approaches the head table once he finishes eating.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Evans."

"Can I speak to you privately, Professor?"

She peers at him. "Is it quite urgent? You do know my office hours."

"I... I'm not sure exactly how urgent it is, but I do think it's important."

"I shall trust your judgment on this, if you say we should speak now."