Chapter 55
Chapter 55
The Ministry of Magic’s warning letter might arrive late, but it would never fail to arrive.
“Dear Mr. Bones,
“We have received intelligence that at three twenty-four this afternoon, you performed a Flame Charm at your place of residence.
“Underage wizards are not permitted to perform magic outside school. Pursuant to Clause Three of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery (1875), a first offence will result only in a warning. A second violation may result in expulsion from your school.
“You are further reminded that, under Article Thirteen of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, any magical activity likely to attract the attention of members of the non-magical community constitutes a serious offence.”
The letter was signed by someone named Eugene Hohen and had been issued by the Improper Use of Magic Office.
Strangely, it was dated 25 December 1991 at three twenty-six in the afternoon. Today was already the day before the holiday ended.
“You missed another letter, Suer,” Mrs. Ellison called.
It was called a letter, but looked more like a hastily scribbled note. Suer unfolded it and found a few lines scrawled in a bold, sweeping hand:
“Someone informed me that a young wizard had violated the regulations governing underage magic. I took over the matter and erased the record, so there is no need to worry. Return to school with an easy mind.
“I have enclosed the original warning so that you understand how strictly the Ministry controls underage magic.
“Reply by owl as soon as you receive this and tell me what happened.
“–Amelia Bones”
Well, that explained it.
So this was what people meant when they said it paid to know someone in government.
“I have received your letter. This is what happened…” Suer always kept a fountain pen in his desk, a present from Mr. Ellison on his tenth birthday.
“Sorry to trouble you, Little Gray.”
“Hoo…” The owl fluttered its wings and rubbed against Suer before flying away with his reply.
Little Gray had returned to Suer’s house the very night Hermione adopted Crookshanks.
Cats could be lethally lazy when they felt indolent and race about without pause when their energy returned. Crookshanks was already a large, experienced cat. Little Gray, barely more than six months old, was naturally no match for the older cat.
The next two days passed beneath fair skies and gentle sunshine.
Angel’s fever had broken, but she remained listless. To be safe, Suer left the extra vials of Pepperup Potion at home.
Hermione appeared only during the first two days. After that, she hid at home until the day they returned to school.
Early that morning, she arrived on Suer’s doorstep wearing the scarf he had given her. A hat covered her head, and the scarf concealed her face until only her eyes remained visible.
Suer was already prepared and waiting. Naturally, Hermione’s scarf was wrapped around his own neck.
Mrs. Ellison handed them the lunch she had risen early to pack. She stepped forward to straighten Suer’s clothes, then turned to Hermione.
“I’m entrusting Suer to you. If he misbehaves, write to me and I’ll deal with him.”
Assist plus one!
Hermione’s face was buried in her scarf, but her eyes plainly did not know where to look.
“We should go, Mum,” Suer said awkwardly.
Beep, beep.
A car horn sounded outside. Mr. Ellison was ready.
“I will,” Hermione said quietly. Then she turned and “fled” the house. Mrs. Ellison watched her retreat with smiling eyes before gently embracing Suer.
“Do your best, son.”
There was little need to describe the journey to the station or the process of boarding the train. With experience behind them, the young wizards managed both with practised ease.
“Whoo, whoo… clackety-clack…”
As the old steam train began to move, the Christmas holiday officially came to an end.
The compartment warmed. Hermione finally consented to remove her scarf and hat, revealing a face flushed as red as a ripe apple.
She took out a book she had prepared that morning, opened it upon the table and began to read, muttering all the while, “Nicolas Flamel… Where are you?”
Nicolas Flamel?
Oh, of course.
“Ahem.” Suer cleared his throat. “If I heard correctly, did you say Nicolas Flamel?”
Hermione’s head snapped up, delight in her voice. “You know who he is?”
Suer nodded. “Nicolas Flamel, the famous French alchemist and forefather of European alchemy.”
“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Hermione shut the book with a snap. “I’ve been searching for ages.”
“You never asked.” Suer blinked innocently.
“Then is there anything special about him?” Hermione asked. “Did he invent something, for example?”
“He did,” Suer replied. “And your parents must know of him and his greatest achievement as well. Oh, yes–his name is sometimes rendered as…”
“Nicholas Flamel.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone!” Hermione answered at once. “The legendary creation that can turn base metal into gold.”
“Exactly.” Suer nodded.
“Then the three-headed dog in the fourth-floor corridor must be guarding the Philosopher’s Stone. But surely a stone that merely turns metal into gold isn’t worth so much trouble?” Hermione’s brow had only just relaxed when it tightened again.
“Who told you that turning metal into gold was all it could do?” Suer shook his head. “In the wizarding world, that very same object is the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone… the Philosopher’s Stone…” Hermione murmured as if bewitched. “Oh, I know. I know!”
She shot out of her seat and hurried to the corner where their trunks were stored.
Thump.
A huge, thick old volume landed on the table.
“I borrowed this from the library several weeks ago. I meant to read it for amusement during the holiday.”
“Of course you did, Hermione.” Suer gave the massive tome an odd look.
Rustle, rustle.
Hermione flicked rapidly through the pages, muttering under her breath.
“Found it! I’ve found it!” She stopped somewhere in the latter half of the book. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone is a legendary substance with astonishing magical properties. It will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal.”
“The only Stone currently in existence belongs to the noted alchemist Mr. Nicolas Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year.”
“No wonder I couldn’t find him. Someone born more than six centuries ago could hardly be called modern…” Hermione’s eyes grew brighter and brighter, like a detective who had finally seized upon the truth. “Immortality. Yes, of course. Who could resist the temptation of eternal life?”
“Who?” Suer asked.
“Professor Snape. Harry and Ron said they saw him trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from the fourth-floor corridor.” Hermione lowered her voice mysteriously.
“Is it possible that… you’re wrong?” Suer looked at her. “Think about–”
Hermione interrupted before he could finish. “Then why did he try to curse Harry during the Quidditch match?”
Those are two entirely different matters…
Suer opened his mouth. One look at Hermione’s absolute certainty told him that she had already travelled much too far down the wrong path.
Never mind. She would learn the truth at the end. He merely had to stop her from going to the fourth floor and putting herself in danger.