Hermione awoke the next morning with a slight headache. She had had a terrible dream, only it wasn't terrible. Not in the end. There had been a troll, but then Harry and Ron had come and saved her.
She sat up slowly. What time was it? It had to be late; the curtains of her bed glowed from the sunlight shining on them. Hermione had worked out that she could use this fact like a sundial. It had to be about eleven o'clock.
She jumped up in panic, fully awake now. She would be late for classes. Only when she realized that it was the day after Hallowe'en did she calm down again. No classes today. To recover from the feast or something like that.
The feast. She hadn't been there, had she? No, she had been crying in a bathroom. And then...
The troll. It had been real, not a dream. And if the troll had been real, so had the other part. What did that mean?
She kept thinking about Harry and Ron as she slowly got ready for the day and made her way downstairs to the Common Room.
“Finally! We thought you'd never show up.”
It was Ron. He and Harry were about to leave the room through the portrait hole, but had stopped when they saw her.
“Well, come on,” Harry said. “Breakfast is only for a few more minutes, we have to hurry.”
Hermione looked at her watch. There was no way they could still reach the Great Hall in time, and she said so.
Ron chuckled.
“So says the girl who knows everything. Come on,” he said, walking over to her and grabbing her wrist. “We're about to show you something you can't learn in books. Now hurry.”
He hurried back to the exit, dragging her behind him. Harry had already climbed through.
Outside, they turned in the wrong direction. Hermione struggled against Ron's hand, but he had a death grip on her.
“Do I have to carry you?” he asked in annoyance. “Stop struggling and come on.”
He ran after Harry, who was already halfway down the corridor. Hermione had a hard time keeping up.
“Where are you going?” she cried. They didn't answer, but Harry suddenly stopped next to a tapestry. He threw quick glances up and down the corridor, then lifted it up and jumped into a hole in the wall behind it.
They reached the tapestry. Ron lifted it up and pulled her closer.
“Look, you have to jump down here. I'll go first and catch you. Don't worry.”
He jumped. Hermione heard his feet land after a split second. She fervently hoped they knew what they were doing and jumped after them. Her fall was slowed by Ron moments before she touched the ground.
“Great. Come on,” Ron just said and set off again. They ran along a narrow, wrinkled path and emerged through a door into a corridor that Hermione recognized to lead directly to the marble staircase.
“How...” she started but was cut off by Harry, who had been waiting for them.
“Later,” he said. “We don't have enough time now.”
The reached the Great Hall just in time to load their plates before breakfast disappeared. Only then did Hermione notice how many eyes stared at the three of them. But her attention soon returned to the two boys sitting with her.
“How did you discover this way?” she asked. She had read about the secret passages of course. Apparently the castle was full of them, shortcuts between distant places in the castle that could be found by those who knew where to look. Those ways had to be how Harry and Ron managed to be in the hall earlier than her even when she left the Common Room first.
“This one?” Harry asked. “By accident. Ron leaned against the tapestry and nearly fell through. But we only use it in emergencies.”
“Do you mean you know others too?”
“Lots,” Ron said smugly. “Very useful, they are.”
“How come the prefects don't know about them?”
Ron snorted.
“Can you imagine Percy walking the corridors in the evenings, tapping every tapestry, every odd stone in the walls?”
Hermione shook her head. She really couldn't imagine it.
They ate in silence for a while. Then Hermione asked the question that lay on her mind the heaviest.
“Why did you come? Yesterday, I mean?”
The boys looked at each other uncomfortably. It was Harry who spoke first.
“In the middle of the feast, Quirrell suddenly burst into the hall. Screamed something about a troll in the dungeons and collapsed.”
“Calls himself a Defence teacher,” Ron mumbled.
“Anyway, Dumbledore ordered the students back to their houses, so the prefects led us out.”
He hesitated, and Ron's ears went very red.
“Halfway there,” Harry continued, “we remembered that you didn't know about the troll, so we sneaked away and came to warn you. Parvati had told us where you were.”
“Had to evade Snape on the way. No idea why he wasn't searching the dungeons with the others.”
“So, then we came across the troll. We hid and it went into a room, so we decided to lock it in. Only, well, you were in the room.”
Harry now looked very uncomfortable. His face was burning.
“When we heard your scream,” Ron said, “we went back to the room and, well, you know the rest.”
He stared at his empty plate.
“Look,” he said suddenly, “what I said yesterday, well, I was angry. You're not that bad. You're just...” He trailed off.
Hermione said nothing. She hoped he would continue, tell her what she was so that she could change it. He didn't.
“Friends?” he said, holding out his hand.
Hermione broke into a wide smile.
“Friends,” she said, clasping the hand with her own.
“Friends,” Harry added, putting his hand on top of theirs.
“Fizzing Whizbees.”
Hermione watched as the stone gargoyle jumped aside when Professor McGonagall gave the password. The opening revealed a circular staircase that was moving constantly upwards, like an escalator.
“The headmaster will be waiting for you, Miss Granger.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Hermione stepped on a stair and waited as it carried her upwards into a high tower. Reaching the top, she stepped off again and knocked at the door. It opened on its own and she entered the headmaster's office.
It felt very much like entering a museum. The walls were full with portraits of many wizards and witches who all turned to look at her as she scanned them. Countless small tables with very thin but beautifully ornamented legs stood around the room. On the tables were delicate magical instruments Hermione had never heard of before. The floor was made of wood panels, placed to form a maze of unbelievable complexity and enchanting beauty. The ceiling, high up in the air, was painted like some churches she had seen, to make it seem like she was looking at a tower hundreds of feet high and reaching directly into the clouds. Because the paint was magical, though, it looked far more believable. In an edge of the office stood a perch that looked like it was supposed to hold a large parrot, but no bird was anywhere in sight.
“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” as soft voice spoke.
Hermione jumped and blushed heavily. She had completely overlooked the old wizard sitting behind the large, claw-footed desk, who was now looking at her through his half-moon spectacles.
“Professor Dumbledore,” she said, uncertain what else to say.
“Please have a seat.” He pointed to a chair that stood in front of his desk. Hermione sat down slowly, getting slightly anxious.
“Professor McGonagall told me about what happened yesterday,” the headmaster said.
“I was stupid -” Hermione started, determined to hold up her story from the previous evening, but a raised hand forestalled her.
“Miss Granger, I know you weren't at the feast. I also know why. This is not why I asked to see you.”
He paused, looking into her eyes.
“Do you know, Miss Granger, what a Life Debt is?”
There was no way to miss the capitalization in his words. Hermione nodded.
“When a wizard saves another wizard's life under certain circumstances, a bond is created between them. I don't know what the bond exactly means, sir.”
“That's because every bond is different. Every wizard finds a different way of repaying the debt.”
He paused for a moment before continuing.
“I believe that the special circumstances were given yesterday evening, Miss Granger.”
Hermione's eyes widened. Did that mean she had a Life Debt to Harry and Ron?
“It's hard to say what is necessary to repay the debt. In your case I believe that just being a good friend to them will be enough.”
Hermione smiled for the first time since she had entered the office.
“I plan to do that regardless, sir, Life Debt or not.”
The headmaster smiled and she could see his eyes twinkling.
“I was hoping you would say that, Miss Granger. Harry will need every friend he can get. You may go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Hermione stood up, her mind racing. What was that supposed to mean? She had nearly reached the door when the headmaster called again.
“Oh, and Miss Granger.”
She turned.
“Yes, sir?”
“There is no need to tell Mister Potter or Mister Weasley about this conversation.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was nothing else to say.
Having friends was just as wonderful as Hermione had always imagined it. They spent all their time together, in classes and during free time, talking, learning (Hermione had to bully them a bit to make them do it, but for once they gave in every now and then) or playing games like Exploding Snap.
Of course the boys sought to make use of her school work. But while she readily helped them when they didn't know something, she put her foot down when they wanted to copy their homework from her. They had to do it on their own, how else would they learn? She did, however, correct their homework when they were done. Harry needed the help more, with the first Quidditch match coming nearer he was at practice four or five times a week; it was a wonder he managed to get anything done.
Aside from secret shortcuts the boys had another story to share. Harry had been to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, the gamekeeper. When they retrieved the money from Harry's parents' vault at Gringotts, Hagrid had also retrieved some very secret package for Professor Dumbledore. They had also found out that the very same day somebody tried to steal something from Gringotts, probably this very package. They suspected that the package, whatever it was, was now beneath the trapdoor guarded by the three-headed dog.
The weather had turned very cold. The lake had frozen over and the trees and ground were white from frost every morning. It was the last day before Harry's first Quidditch game on Saturday and they were in the courtyard. Hermione had conjured a large Bluebell fire, a magical, waterproof, blue fire that could be carried around in a jar. Harry was reading Quidditch Through the Ages, which she had lent him. He liked the book a lot and had soon memorized most of it. Hermione sighed. If the two boys only applied themselves as much to their school work as to Quidditch, they'd easily be at the top of the class. However, they didn't and she couldn't change it.
“Snape!” whispered Ron suddenly.
Professor Snape was indeed crossing the yard, walking with a very noticeable limp. They immediately moved close together, shielding the fire from view. It wasn't really disallowed, but Professor Snape would find a way to take points from them, probably by applying the school hazard rules. He seemed to absolutely loathe Harry, and Ron and Hermione too, by extension.
Unfortunately their shuffling caught his attention. He turned his stride towards them and came a halt in front of them. He couldn't see the fire, but he spotted the book Harry was holding at his side.
“What's that you've got there, Potter?”
Harry held the book up.
“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” Snape said with satisfaction. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”
His job done, he limped away.
“He's just made that rule up,” Harry muttered darkly. Hermione knew better: library books indeed weren't to be taken outside school, but they weren't outside school. The distinction was pointless though.
“Wonder what's wrong with his leg?”
“Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him,” Ron answered bitterly.
In the evening they sat in the Common Room. Hermione was checking Harry's and Ron's Charms homework, Ron was practising a spell and Harry was staring out of the nearby window. He was nervous, Hermione knew. For a while he had tried the same spell as Ron, but had quickly given up.
“I'm going to ask Snape for the book,” he suddenly announced, standing up.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, then at him.
“Better you than me,” they said at the same time. Harry left.
He wasn't gone long. He almost jumped through the portrait hole coming back in, and his eyes practically screamed that something had unsettled him greatly.
“Did you get it?” Ron asked as soon as Harry was near. “What's the matter?”
Harry kept his voice very quiet.
“I saw Snape in the staff room with Filch. His leg looked really bad, all bloody. He was complaining how hard it was to watch out for all three heads at once. Then he saw me. How he looked at me... well, I just ran back here fast as I could.
“Do you know what this means? He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Hallowe'en! That's where he was going when we saw him – he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to create a diversion!”
Hermione stared at him. A teacher, steal something Professor Dumbledore wanted guarded?
“No – he wouldn't,” she objected. “I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”
“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” Ron snapped at her. “I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?”
Unable to come up with an answer, they went to bed soon after that. Hermione was thinking about what Ron had said. Professor Snape was a teacher. But then, he hated Harry and was generally very unfair and non-supporting, not like a teacher should behave at all. But no, he had to have some decency, otherwise Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let him teach.
With that thought, she fell asleep.
She woke early, the sun being in a seven o'clock-position. It promised to be a beautiful if cold day, perfect for Quidditch, as Parvati was quick to point out.
Hermione went down to find Harry already up and sitting in Hermione's old corner, looking slightly pale. Ron came down the stairs just as she had reached Harry. Together they convinced Harry to go down to breakfast. Yet even the wonderful sausages couldn't tempt Harry, he flatly refused to eat anything, despite Hermione's concerns. Even Seamus encouraged him to eat, if not in a very tactful way.
At nine, Harry left for the changing rooms. Ron, Hermione and the other Gryffindors rushed back upstairs to put the finishing touches on their surprise for Harry. They had taken one of the sheets Scabbers, Ron's rat, had destroyed and made a large banner out of it. Potter for President, it said. Dean, who drew very well, placed the finishing touches to the Gryffindor lion he had drawn. Then it was Hermione's turn. She enchanted the banner so that the colours changed and sparkled.
It was a sign of Harry's popularity that, now that Hermione was friends with him, everyone else was much more friendly with her. Nobody ignored her any more when she spoke to them, or give her annoyed looks. They were all perfectly friendly, not really friends, but for the first time she was happy to have them all in her house.
Together, they walked down to the Quidditch pitch. Many students carried binoculars; since the players often flew very high, it could be hard to see what was going on. They found places in the top row right behind the Gryffindor goalposts, where they raised their banner.
While they were waiting for the match to start, Lee Jordan, a friend of the Weasley twins and Quidditch commentator, introduced the teams.
“Gryffindor fields the youngest team in about two hundred years. With one fifth-year, four third-years, one second-year and even one first-year, people might think the team won't be strong. But you're wrong! Oliver Wood, Keeper and Captain, has put together a very strong side. Fred and George Weasley as Beaters act as if they could constantly read each others thoughts. Oliver himself might as well be a wall that encloses the goal hoops. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell are the strongest and best-looking team of Chasers Hogwarts ever -”
“Jordan!”
Professor McGonagall had the task of watching over Lee and ensuring that he stay on the topic and impartial, a task that seemed impossible.
“And of course there's the new Seeker, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who is a rare phenomenon on the broom. Trust me, people, this boy will not miss many snitches in his life.
“Slytherin has the same team as last year, all of them one year older and one year larger, though certainly no better -”
“Jordan!”
“- which of course is not all that bad at all. Marcus Flint is Captain and Chaser. The other players really aren't that important -”
“JORDAN!” cried Professor McGonagall, accompanied by angry shouts from the Slytherin fans and laughter from the rest of the school.
“- but anyway, here they are.”
He listed all the other players on the team, but Hermione didn't listen. She was too busy cheering for the players who now emerged from the tunnel that led to the changing rooms. There was Harry. He looked very small among the other players.
Madam Hooch awaited the players in the middle of the field. She was refereeing the match. She spoke to them and the captains shook hands. Then they mounted their brooms. On Madam Hooch's whistle they all rose in the air. The Snitch had been released a little earlier to give it time to hide, but now the Bludgers took off to the goalposts from where they would start their attacks, and the Quaffle was released in mid-air by Madam Hooch. Angelina Johnson was the first to reach it.
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -”
“JORDAN!”
“Sorry, Professor.”
Hermione stifled a giggle.
“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, Slytherin 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 Gryffindor take the Quaffle -”
Hermione was amazed at the speed at which they played. The Quaffle was passed back and forth between the Chasers while they were flying at a mad speed, swerving to avoid Bludgers and enemy Chasers. The Beaters zoomed in an out of the other players, hunting after the Bludgers and knocking them toward targets – now one Bludger hit Katie Bell in the back of the head, causing her to drop the Quaffle. But she just flew on, turning her broom around as fast as she could to try and head off Adrian Pucey, who had caught the falling Quaffle and was now speeding towards the Gryffindor goalposts. She never reached him though, because another Bludger by one of the Weasleys – Hermione noted with amusement that not even Ron or Lee could tell them apart at this distance – kicked the Quaffle right out of his hands into the path of Angelina, who caught it and raced towards the Slytherin goalposts. The Beaters tried to stop her, the Keeper tried to stop her, but they failed.
“GRYFFINDOR SCORE!” shouted Lee and the Gryffindors jumped up in their seats, cheering.
“Budge up there, move along.”
“Hagrid!”
Ron and Hermione made some (well, actually much) space so that the gamekeeper, who was a good friend of Harry, could join them.
“Bin watchin' from me hut,” he said, patting his oversized binoculars. “But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”
“Nope,” answered Ron. “Harry hasn't had much to do yet.”
That much was true. Aside from some artistic flying manoeuvres in celebration of their goal, Harry had only been floating above the game, watching out for the Snitch. A stray Bludger had come his way at one point, but he had easily dodged it.
“Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin',” said Hagrid, watching the boy through his binoculars. Hermione could only see a tiny red speck in the sky.
The game continued.
“Slytherin in possession,” came the commentary. “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”
Something golden had flown past Adrian Pucey, who had dropped the Quaffle trying to keep the something in sight. The cheering stopped and was replaced by whispers and murmurs. Both Seekers went into steep dives, gathering speed as they practically fell towards the ground, their paths converging on their target, the tiny golden ball that was now trying to flee. The Seekers levelled out, neck to neck, but Harry's broom was faster. He gained an edge on Terence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, watched not only by the crowd but also by all other players, who were hanging motionlessly in the air. All except one. Marcus Flint had gone into a dive, his path intersecting with Harry, who lay flat on his broom, having eyes for nothing but the Snitch -
WHAM!
The two players collided in mid-air, but Flint, who had anticipated, no, provoked the collision got his balance back in moments, while Harry, having been completely unprepared, clung to his broom in an effort not to fall off.
The Gryffindors roared in rage.
“Foul!” shouted Ron next to Hermione, and dozens of voices echoed him.
“Send him off, ref! Red card!” yelled Dean Thomas.
“This isn't football, Dean,” Ron said. “You can't send people off in Quidditch – and what's a red card?”
“They oughta change the rules,” Hagrid said angrily, “Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.”
Madam Hooch was shouting at Flint too, then order a penalty for Gryffindor. Lee was furious.
“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating -”
“Jordan!”
“I mean, after that open and revolting foul -”
“Jordan, I'm warning you -”
“All right, all right,” Lee conceded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could have happened to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”
Ten points more for Gryffindors, but it was a small remedy for winning the game, because the Snitch had of course disappeared in the confusion. Harry regained height and went back to watching the game.
Adrian Pucey intercepted a pass between the Gryffindor chasers and passed the Quaffle to Flint, who took off, dodging Alicia and Katie, ignored a Bludger hitting him in the face and put the Quaffle past an astonished Oliver Wood.
“What's up with him?” Hagrid mumbled while the Slytherins broke into cheers.
Hermione followed his looks and saw something that made her stomach lurch. Harry was clinging desperately to his broom, which jerked wildly and rose steadily higher.
“Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing,” Hagrid continued. “If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom ... but he can't have ...”
Other people were noticing the problem now, too. Hands pointed at Harry and the players stopped to look up. Harry's broom had started to roll over and over again, then it suddenly gave a big lurch and nearly threw Harry off. He managed to cling onto the broom with only one hand, but he wouldn't be able to hold it for long.
“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.
“Can't have,” Hagrid said. His voice was shaking and he had gone as pale as could be expected from him. “Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark Magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”
Dark Magic. Someone was trying to kill Harry, Hermione realised. And there was only one adult who hated Harry. She couldn't believe it, she didn't want to believe it, but it was the way it was. She snatched the binoculars out of Hagrid's hands and scanned the crowd where the teachers sat. She found Snape.
“What are you doing?” she heard Ron say.
“I knew it,” she gasped. “Snape – look.”
She shoved the binoculars into Ron's hands. She had already seen enough. Snape was whispering an incantation, his eyes fixed on Harry.
“He's doing something – jinxing the broom,” she said.
“What should we do?”
A plan formed in her head. She had to break Snape's eye contact.
“Leave it to me.”
She ran off. Down the stairs she ran, along the front row, up some other stairs. A narrow path led under the seats of one row behind the row where Snape was sitting. Too narrow. She bumped hard into someone, who fell headfirst into the people before him. She had no time to apologize. A look at Harry showed the Weasley twins now circling below him, hoping to catch him when he fell. She ran on, until she reached Snape. She crouched down and pointed her wand at his robes.
“Flamma Albastra Minor!”
Blue flames shot out of her wand and clung to Snape's robes. The robes immediately caught fire. Hermione took a jar out of her pocket and waited.
About half a minute later a yelp told her she had done her job. She scooped the Bluebell flames off the robe into the jar and retreated as fast as she could. Hurrying back she noticed that the man she had knocked over was Professor Quirrell, but she couldn't apologize. They would find out why she was there in the first place and she'd be in deep trouble.
Only when she left the stands did she dare look back on the field. To her relief, she saw Harry remounting the broom. He sat for a moment, then pointed his broom down, eager to reach the ground as soon as quickly as possible. Maybe to quickly – near the ground he suddenly clasped his hand to his mouth. He rolled off his broom, came to a halt on all fours and looked as if he was about to throw up. But what came out of his mouth wasn't green, it was golden. He held it up and shouted, “I've got the Snitch!”
It took a moment before the crowd realised what was going on, then all hell broke loose. The Gryffindors were cheering, the Slytherins were besides themselves in anger, the other houses were laughing at the absurdity of it all. Marcus Flint was shouting at Madam Hooch, who was ignoring him. She blew her whistle and the game was over. Gryffindor had won. Hermione didn't know why Slytherin had sixty points, but it didn't matter. They had won. Harry was alive and had caught the Snitch.
“That was brilliant,” Ron called, running up behind her. “Come on.”
He set off towards the pitch, where Harry was still sitting on the ground, surrounded by his cheering team mates. Ron, Hermione and Hagrid joined them.
“That was beyond cool,” Ron shouted, clapping Harry hard on the shoulder.
“Are you well, Harry? We were so worried,” Hermione said, reaching him. Harry gave her a weak smile.
“I'm fine,” he said.
“Come on, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I'll make yeh a cuppa tea. Come on, get up.”
Ron and Hagrid pulled Harry to his feet and they set off towards Hagrid's hut, leaving the other Gryffindors behind.
In the hut, Ron set to explaining to Harry what had happened during the match.
“It was Snape,” he said. “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you.”
“Rubbish,” interrupted Hagrid. “Why would Snape do somethin' like that?”
The three friends looked at each other. Ron and Hermione gave Harry a nearly imperceptible nod.
“I found out something about him,” Harry told Hagrid. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Hallowe'en. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.”
Hagrid dropped the teapot.
“How do you know about Fluffy?” he growled.
“Fluffy?” they all exclaimed.
“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 -”
“Yes?” said Harry eagerly – too eagerly.
“Now, don't ask me any more. That's top secret, that is.”
“But Snape's trying to steal it.”
“Rubbish,” Hagrid repeated. “Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort.”
“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” Hermione cried. She didn't like being proven wrong, but when she was she didn't hold to wrong beliefs. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!”
“I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid said angrily. “I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh – 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 -”
“Aha!” said Harry. “So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”
Hagrid had gone very red and refused to speak any more of it.