Chapter 15: Marauders
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger was a bundle of nerves, excitement, and curiosity all rolled into one.
It was the weekend, and Harry Potter had just informed her that she was invited to a "Marauder's meeting" at the Room of Requirement. The way he had said it, with that mischievous glint in his eye, sent her heart racing. Until now, she didn't fully understand what being a "Marauder" entailed, but she was thrilled to be a part of it. More than anything, she was happy that she and Harry were on great terms again after their recent spat. That was enough to put her in a good mood.
Hermione stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dorm room, trying to compose herself, but the sight that met her reflection made her groan. She was grinning like a fool. No matter how hard she tried to school her features into a look of seriousness—something she prided herself on—her lips kept twitching upward into a smile.
"Ugh, get it together, Hermione!" she muttered to herself, furiously smoothing down her robes. She took one last deep breath and gave herself a stern nod before leaving the dormitory. But as she reached the door, a smile crept back onto her face.
'This is ridiculous,' she thought, but it was no use. She was far too excited.
Once she arrived in the hallway where the Room of Requirement was hidden, Hermione took a moment to compose herself again. The corridor was eerily quiet, the only sound the distant crackling of torches along the stone walls. Thankfully, no one was around to see her pacing back and forth in front of the wall, her mind racing with all sorts of wild imaginings about what this "Marauder's meeting" could be.
The door finally appeared, and with a small, shaky exhale, she stepped inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her breath hitched in her throat. The Room of Requirement had transformed into something out of a dark, mysterious ceremony. The room was dimly lit, with only a few candles floating in midair, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The atmosphere was thick with suspense, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine.
In the middle of the room was a large circular table, and seated around it were three figures cloaked in black, their hoods drawn low over their faces. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and for a brief moment, she wasn't entirely sure if it was Harry, Ron, and Draco under those hoods or… someone else entirely. But then, as if sensing her apprehension, all three figures slowly looked up, revealing familiar, mischievous grins.
"Welcome to your first Marauder's meeting, Hermione Granger," Harry said, his voice deep and dramatic, the shadows of the hood hiding most of his face, but she could still see the playful spark in his eyes.
Hermione blinked, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to process what was happening. "Harry, what—"
Before she could ask the question that was burning on the tip of her tongue, Ron and Draco interrupted her in perfect unison, their voices comically over-the-top:
"Welcome, Hermione Granger!" they chorused, each of them raising a hand in a grand, theatrical gesture.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but laugh, though it came out as more of an incredulous scoff. "What the bloody hell is going on here?" she muttered to herself, her eyes darting between the three boys, utterly baffled by the bizarre scene unfolding before her.
Harry, still standing directly across from her, gestured for her to join them at the table. He was trying—and failing miserably—to keep a straight face. "Please, Miss Granger, take your place among the Marauders," he said in a mock-serious tone, his lips twitching as he fought back a grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her chest that made her step forward. She found herself standing at the table with Harry directly across from her, Ron to her left, and Draco to her right. They all still had their hoods up, and the entire situation felt like some sort of strange initiation ceremony. The candlelight flickered ominously, and Hermione was torn between amusement and genuine curiosity.
"So," Hermione began, her voice laced with playful sarcasm, "what exactly is the purpose of this… meeting? Are we plotting to take over the school, or is this just some elaborate joke?"
Draco leaned in slightly, his hood casting a shadow over his face, but his smirk was unmistakable. "All in due time, Granger," he drawled, his tone filled with mock mystery. "The Marauders don't reveal their secrets so easily."
Ron snickered beside her. "Yeah, especially to someone who's only just been invited." He gave her a wink, clearly enjoying the theatrics.
Hermione crossed her arms, a smile playing on her lips despite herself. "Oh, really? So you mean to tell me there's some big, top-secret agenda I need to know about?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at Harry, trying to keep her voice casual but feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. This whole Marauder thing felt bigger than she could grasp, and the idea of being part of it with Harry made her stomach flip.
Harry, finally breaking character, pulled down his hood, his messy black hair sticking up in all directions, and his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Maybe. Or maybe we just wanted to mess with you," he admitted, laughing softly, his green eyes shining with amusement. "But I promise there's more to it than that."
Hermione sighed, though it was more out of amusement than frustration. "Of course there is," she muttered, shaking her head lightly, though her heart was still racing. She tried to play it cool, but the truth was, being included in whatever this strange little club was, made her feel like she was truly part of something special—something that connected her even deeper with Harry, Ron, and Draco.
Ron's laugh echoed in the darkened room as he pulled out his wand, the light from the floating candles casting a warm glow across his freckled face. "I'll go first," he said confidently, stepping closer to the center of the table.
Hermione looked at him curiously as he cleared his throat, his expression unusually serious. Ron wasn't one for theatrics, but tonight there was something more sincere in his movements. She watched, trying to hide her curiosity, but unable to stop the feeling that something big was about to happen.
Ron raised his wand, and in a voice both firm and full of conviction, he began. "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, a Marauder, hereby swear on my magic that I will consider Hermione Granger, a fellow Marauder, as an ally for life. Her enemies will be my enemies, and I will protect her to the best of my abilities. So mote it be."
Before Hermione could even react to the formality of it all, she felt the shift in the room. A flare of magic swirled around her, warm and buzzing, like a protective embrace. Her eyes widened in shock as Ron's words settled into the air, binding them together in a way she hadn't expected. Her heart raced, but she didn't have time to process it before Draco took his turn.
"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, a Marauder, hereby swear on my magic that I will consider Hermione Granger, a fellow Marauder, as an ally for life. Her enemies will be my enemies, and I will protect her to the best of my abilities. So mote it be."
Draco's voice was smooth, almost too calm, and his silver eyes flickered with something unreadable as the same magic surrounded them again, swirling briefly around Hermione and then fading. Draco was more nonchalant about it, as if this was just another formality in his life. He glanced at her, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. She wanted to ask him if he was serious, but the sincerity of his oath settled deep within her bones, a strange warmth in her chest.
The room felt different now. The flickering candlelight added a sense of intensity, and Hermione felt the weight of what was happening begin to sink in.
And then Harry stepped forward, his eyes locking with hers, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. There was something more between them, something unspoken yet understood in the depths of his green gaze.
He winked at her, that cheeky grin making her feel a mix of amusement and something else—something fluttery and nervous in her stomach.
"I, Harry James Potter, a Marauder, hereby swear on my magic that I will consider Hermione Granger, a fellow Marauder, as an ally for life. The House of Potter and the House of Black will protect her in our world. Her enemies will be our enemies. I will protect her to the best of my abilities. So mote it be."
This time, the magic wasn't just a flare. It was wild, untamed, and it wrapped around the room like a gust of wind, causing the floating candles to flicker dangerously before settling into a steady glow. The air crackled with raw energy, and Hermione could feel it deep within her, like a part of her magic had responded to his.
Hermione just blinked, stunned, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. The words 'The House of Potter and the House of Black will protect her' echoed in her mind. She hadn't even realized how serious this whole thing was.
"What… what just happened?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Harry stepped closer, his grin softening into something gentler, more serious. "You're one of us now, Hermione. A Marauder. And that means you're stuck with us—whether you like it or not."
Ron chuckled from her left. "Not that we're giving you a choice," he added, elbowing her lightly in the ribs.
Draco leaned in from her right, his voice smooth as silk. "And trust me, Granger, this is a lifelong contract. You won't be able to get rid of us that easily."
Hermione's eyes darted between the three of them, her mind racing to catch up with what had just unfolded. Her lips twitched into a smile, though. As overwhelming as it was, she couldn't deny the warmth spreading through her chest. She felt… accepted, in a way she hadn't realized she'd been longing for.
"So, this isn't just about messing with me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Harry, her tone teasing but her heart lighter than it had been in days.
Harry laughed, reaching out to lightly tap her shoulder. "Maybe a little. But we wouldn't have it any other way."
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. "Alright then," she said, lifting her chin. "I'm ready. What's next, Marauders?"
xxxxx
Hermione's brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, her usual air of curiosity replaced by a tinge of wariness. "Should I... I mean, shouldn't I swear the same oath as you three?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of uncertainty and quiet determination.
Ron, Draco, and Harry exchanged quick glances, almost as if they'd already anticipated her question. Ron spoke first, his tone softer than usual, almost reassuring. "Nah, you should think about it some more, Hermione. It's a pretty big deal. We're just giving you a head start, letting you know how serious this all is."
Harry nodded in agreement, his expression more serious now. "Yeah, the oath we swore... It's not just about friendship anymore. We're making it clear—when we're all grown up, the world's going to know that Hermione Granger is protected by us. The House of Potter. The House of Black. The Weasley family. Even Malfoy."
Draco, who had been mostly silent, smirked faintly, his cool, aristocratic demeanor slipping into play.
Hermione didn't respond right away. A part of her felt overwhelmed by the sudden seriousness of it all, but another part—the part that often whispered that maybe, just maybe, she belonged in this world—felt... reassured. Protected.
"So what happens next? What does this 'Marauders' thing actually mean?" she finally asked, trying to mask her nervousness with a tone of curiosity.
Harry waved his hand dismissively, a mischievous gleam returning to his green eyes. "You'll find out when you need to know. For now, we've got something more important to handle."
Before she could press further, Ron, who had been unusually quiet, waved his wand with a flick of his wrist. The room around them shifted, the walls of the Room of Requirement responding to Ron's will. In moments, the space around them morphed into something far more comfortable.
They all sat down, the air around them growing heavier as the seriousness of the situation set in. Harry leaned forward, his face shadowed by the flickering torchlight.
"I've been talking with Aunt Minnie and something big is happening next week." Harry's voice was low, almost conspiratorial, drawing all of their attention in an instant. "Dumbledore's been called out. An emergency meeting with the Wizengamot."
"Why?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the curiosity from slipping into her voice.
"Sirius confirmed it. There's a case that's coming up—a serious one—that requires the Headmaster's presence." Harry paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping the group. "But that's not what concerns me. The real problem is what happens when Dumbledore's not here."
Draco's eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "You're talking about the Philosopher's Stone, aren't you?"
"Exactly," Harry confirmed, his expression darkening. "With Dumbledore away, the Stone will be left vulnerable. Someone might try to steal it."
Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. The Philosopher's Stone—the very idea of it seemed too wild, too dangerous. And yet here they were, discussing it like it was another mystery to solve. She couldn't help but shiver slightly, a cold dread curling at the edges of her thoughts.
"But who would be foolish enough to go after it?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"That's the problem," Harry continued, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "I'm suspicious of three people. I have reason to believe they were injured when the mountain troll broke into the castle. Whoever it was, they didn't get past Fluffy—the three-headed dog—but they're definitely not giving up."
Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And who, exactly, are we talking about?"
"Snape, Proudfoot, and Quirrell," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione's gasp was audible, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "But... that can't be right," she protested, shaking her head. "Snape? Proudfoot? Quirrell? Surely they wouldn't—"
Ron cut her off, his voice uncharacteristically firm. "Snape might be a git, but he's a good guy. He's been tutoring Harry. And Proudfoot's an Auror—Sirius trusts him. He wouldn't betray us."
Draco frowned, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Quirrell, though... he's always been a bit off, hasn't he? That stammering, nervous wreck of a professor? He's too weak to try something like this."
Harry's expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and thoughtful. "That's what we need to figure out. It's possible... they could be under the Imperius Curse."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat at those words. She had read about the Imperius Curse—one of the Unforgivable Curses. The very thought of it made her blood run cold. Her voice was shaky when she spoke. "The Imperius Curse? That would mean... they're being controlled, right?"
Draco, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up, his voice laced with tension. "Yes. When cast successfully, the Imperius Curse places the victim completely under the caster's control. They become nothing more than a puppet—completely obedient, without question."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Draco's words settling over them like a thick fog. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, both of them shuddering at the thought. The idea that their professors—people they trusted—could be manipulated so easily was terrifying.
"So, what's the plan?" Draco finally asked, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.
xxxxx
The plan was simple enough on paper, but the weight of what they were about to do hung heavily in the air. Each of them knew the risks, the potential consequences. Yet, the thrill of what lay ahead sparked a fire in their chests—one that neither rules nor common sense could extinguish.
Harry and Draco had the easiest task—or at least, that's what they claimed. Their job? Pay a visit to Hagrid. The half-giant was known for his big heart, but even more for his loose lips when he got to talking. All they needed was to steer the conversation in the right direction, and Hagrid would likely spill something useful about Fluffy, the three-headed dog guarding the Philosopher's Stone. It wasn't going to be easy, though. For all his naivety, Hagrid was fiercely loyal to Dumbledore. Harry and Draco would have to tread carefully.
"I still think it's mad, trying to trick Hagrid," Ron muttered, pacing restlessly near the fireplace. "He loves that bloody dog."
Draco, lounging in one of the oversized armchairs as if he had no care in the world, smirked. "Please, Weasley. Hagrid's a good-natured giant. He won't even realize he's given us what we need until we're long gone."
Harry, standing by the window and gazing out at the darkening grounds, gave a small nod. "We're the best at lying, so we'll handle it. He trusts me, and I've gotten him talking about his creatures before. We just need to push him in the right direction. He might not even realize he's given us the key to get past Fluffy."
Ron shot Harry a glance, his nervous energy betraying the excitement bubbling underneath. "Still, wish we could all go together. Invisibility Cloak or not, getting caught in the Restricted Section with her…" He nodded towards Hermione, who sat at the table, reading something furiously as if preparing for a final exam. "Let's just say, I'm not looking forward to the lecture if something goes wrong."
Hermione didn't even look up from the book she was skimming. "Maybe if you listened to me more often, Ron, we wouldn't get caught in the first place," she said, her tone sharp but without malice.
Harry chuckled lightly, breaking the tension. "You'll be fine. The Cloak's never let us down before."
Ron sighed, shaking his head, though a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Despite his complaints, the idea of sneaking into the Restricted Section under the Cloak had stirred something in him. Excitement. The thrill of rule-breaking. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but being invisible, walking past teachers and prefects undetected—it was a rush.
"I mean, it's not every day I get to break rules for something important," Ron admitted, rubbing his hands together. "Might as well make it count."
"Try not to get too excited, Ron," Draco drawled from his chair, inspecting his nails. "You might forget to be useful."
Hermione shot Draco a withering look before standing up from the table, the book in her hand snapping shut with a firm thud. "This isn't just about sneaking around for fun. We have to be serious about this. If we're caught, it's more than just detentions. We could be expelled." Her gaze hardened, falling on each of them in turn. "And I'm not about to let that happen."
Harry turned from the window, his expression serious now. "She's right. We can't afford to make mistakes. The Cloak will help you stay hidden, but you need to be careful. You're looking for anything on Nicholas Flamel or the Philosopher's Stone—any information that might help us figure out what we're really dealing with."
Ron's ears perked up at Harry's next words. "Also, if you come across anything on Animagus rituals, take it. We'll need it for the summer."
Ron's eyes lit up at the mention of the Animagus ritual, and he nodded eagerly. "We'll find something, don't worry. But why wait till summer?"
Harry sighed, his voice dropping lower as if sharing a dangerous secret. "Because we can't risk doing it here. The Mandrake leaves we'll need to use—they have side effects. Hallucinations, grogginess. Professor McGonagall would have our heads if we were caught wandering the halls in a daze."
Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking as he leaned back lazily. "I'd pay to see McGonagall's face if she caught you, Weasley, stumbling around, hallucinating about dancing hippogriffs."
Ron scowled at Draco, his usual competitive spark flaring up. "Yeah, well, I'd love to see you explain to her why you were hallucinating, Malfoy. Bet you'd just squeal and run off to your mommy."
Draco's smirk faded, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension. Harry intervened quickly, stepping between them. "All right, enough of that," he said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "We don't have time for this. We have a mission."
The room fell silent, each of them feeling the gravity of what they were about to undertake. Even Draco, for all his usual snide remarks, seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation now.
Harry's gaze swept over the group once more. "Okay, everyone good?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with an intensity that made it clear they couldn't afford any mistakes.
Ron, Hermione, and Draco all nodded in unison. "Yeah," they answered, their voices echoing softly in the suddenly still room.
Harry's lips quirked into a small, confident smirk. "Good. Good luck, everyone. Hopefully, no detentions involved." His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as he said it, though they all knew how high the stakes were.
For a moment, Hermione hesitated, her fingers tightening around the spine of the book she still held. Her mind raced with the weight of responsibility. Rule-breaking was not something she took lightly, but for this—protecting her friends, uncovering the truth—she'd do what needed to be done. She'd be perfect, even at breaking the rules. That's just who she was. Always perfect, even when the stakes were impossibly high.
"Let's meet back here once we're done," Harry instructed. "We'll regroup and figure out our next move."
"Right," Ron agreed, though he couldn't suppress the thrill of getting to use the Invisibility Cloak for something important. Rule-breaking with a purpose. That was something he could get behind.
With one final look exchanged between them all, they split up, knowing the next hours could change everything.
xxxxx
The Marauders met up a few hours later.
The Room of Requirement was quiet, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Harry and Draco sat together by the hearth, the flicker of flames dancing in their eyes as they waited. Draco had meticulously prepared tea, handing Harry a cup, the steam rising in delicate swirls. They sipped in silence, contemplating their next move.
Draco leaned back, crossing his legs as he stared into the fire. "I'm just saying," he mused, "Hagrid's affection for dangerous creatures might just get us all killed one day."
Harry smirked, swirling the tea in his cup. "We'll manage. We always do."
Just then, the door creaked open, and Hermione and Ron entered, both sighing heavily. Ron's red hair was slightly disheveled, and Hermione clutched the Invisibility Cloak tightly in her hands, her face etched with frustration.
"Well?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he set his cup down.
Ron flopped onto one of the armchairs, grinning sheepishly. "Besides a book that screamed at the top of its lungs when Hermione opened it, we didn't find anything useful," he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, nothing we could grab without getting caught, anyway."
Hermione's face turned pink, clearly still embarrassed. "Sorry…" she muttered, her hands clutching the Cloak tighter. "It was just sitting there, looking normal, and then… it shrieked. The whole library probably heard it."
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's alright. You didn't get caught, did you? Grab a cup and have some tea. You look like you need it."
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances before they moved to the table, where Draco had set out the tea and a few biscuits. They grabbed cups, and Hermione carefully poured herself some tea while Ron immediately devoured two biscuits at once.
Once everyone was seated, they all turned expectantly towards Harry and Draco. Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement.
"So, the way to get past the dog—Fluffy—is actually simpler than we thought," Draco started, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly proud of their discovery. "It's basically just... a musical instrument."
Hermione blinked. "A musical instrument?"
Draco nodded. "Any music will make the dog fall asleep. Apparently, it's enchanted that way. Hagrid let it slip."
"Any music?" Ron's face lit up. "Even loud rock music? My brothers Bill and Charlie love that stuff. They play it constantly at home. We could bring some records!"
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "I don't think Fluffy would appreciate the noise. Probably something more mellow. Like a lullaby."
Ron deflated slightly. "Figures. Hagrid wouldn't have something as cool as rock music to keep it asleep."
Harry glanced at Draco, a more serious look crossing his face now. "Anyway, that's that. But… we discovered something else."
Hermione, always perceptive, narrowed her eyes. "What is it?"
"Well…" Draco trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's about Hagrid."
"Hagrid?" Ron asked, mid-bite into another biscuit. "What now?"
"Hagrid," Harry sighed, rubbing his temples, "decided it would be a brilliant idea to… start raising a dragon."
The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of wind outside the castle. Ron stared at Harry, his face scrunched in confusion. "Sorry… what?"
"A dragon," Draco repeated, as though it were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "An actual dragon."
Ron's mouth fell open, the biscuit half-eaten in his hand. "You're serious? A real dragon?"
Harry nodded, his expression grim. "We saw the egg. We were even there when it hatched. Hagrid's got a baby dragon now."
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief and immediate irritation. "That's… that's so irresponsible!" she burst out, looking outraged. "A dragon? Here? Does he have any idea what he's doing?"
Harry shrugged, clearly as frustrated as she was. "Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, and as much as I like the bloke, I'm not sure if he understands how dangerous this is. It might be small now, but in a few months, who knows? It could be massive by the time we're back next term."
"I say we kill it," Draco said bluntly, his voice cold and practical.
Ron, horrified, nearly choked on his tea. "What?! Are you mad? We can't kill it! My brother Charlie works with dragons! He's a dragonologist! He'd know what to do with it. We could send a letter and—"
"Ron," Draco cut him off sharply, "we've got bigger problems right now. School's over in a month. There's a thief eyeing the Philosopher's Stone, and we don't have time to babysit a fire-breathing menace. Unless your brother can fly here by tomorrow and take that dragon away, I say we kill it before it grows too big to handle."
Ron looked appalled, glancing at Harry for support. "Harry, you can't seriously agree with him."
Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't fond of the idea, but Draco had a point. A dragon was dangerous, uncontrollable, and it could end up hurting someone—maybe even Hagrid himself. He looked to Hermione for her thoughts, but she was still deep in thought, frowning at the situation.
"I… I vote we kill it," Hermione finally muttered, her voice quiet but firm. Ron whipped around to stare at her in shock.
"Hermione? You too?"
She nodded, her expression serious. "Ron, think about it. Dragons are dangerous, and if something happens, Hogwarts won't be safe next year. Your sister Ginny is starting school then. Would you really want her near a growing dragon?"
Ron looked torn, his face scrunched in frustration. He opened his mouth to argue, but the logic was undeniable. With a groan, he slumped back in his chair. "Alright, fine. But Hagrid's going to be devastated."
Harry, sensing the finality of the decision, leaned back in his chair. "We'll figure out how to deal with it. Ron, you won't have to lift a finger. We'll handle it."
Hermione, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly spoke up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Can I come? I've never seen a dragon before. It might be dangerous, but I'd love to see one."
Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, it's not all that impressive. It's like a chicken that breathes fire. No feathers. Just scales."
"Still," Hermione insisted, leaning forward eagerly, "I want to see it."
Harry chuckled, exchanging a glance with Draco. "Alright, Hermione. You can come. We'll probably need all the help we can get."
Ron made a face at her. "You're weird, you know that? Wanting to see a dragon and then helping us kill it."
Hermione grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder with mock dramatics. "What can I say? I'm not like most witches."
The boys laughed, the tension in the room easing slightly, but the reality of their plan hung in the air like a weight. Harry glanced at the fire, his mind racing. They had a lot to figure out before they could act on their plan—how to handle Hagrid's dragon, how to stop whoever was after the Philosopher's Stone, and how to make sure they didn't get caught.
xxxxx
The Marauders had split up, Draco and Ron disappearing through the door of the Room of Requirement. They had a mission, a rather odd one at that: to find a musical instrument that could lull a three-headed beast into slumber. Draco, confident as ever, believed he could charm one of the purebloods in Slytherin into lending them a violin. If not, he'll just steal it. Ron, on the other hand, swore he had seen an old record player gathering dust in a classroom somewhere. It would be a frantic scavenger hunt, but one filled with excitement and adrenaline.
As the door clicked shut, the air in the room shifted. Harry and Hermione were left alone, the silence between them filling with an almost palpable energy. Harry's usual tense posture softened as he let out a long breath and leaned over, resting his head on Hermione's lap without warning. She blinked in surprise, her book slipping from her hand as she looked down at him. A small groan escaped Harry, a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
"You okay, Harry?" Hermione asked softly, her voice carrying both concern and familiarity. She had seen him push himself far beyond his limits before, but something about this seemed different.
"Yeah," Harry sighed deeply, eyes closed. "Just overwhelmed. There's so much going on all of a sudden. It's like everything's hitting us at once." His voice held a weariness that tugged at Hermione's heart, making her want to soothe him.
Hermione let out a small, amused laugh, her fingers instinctively brushing through his messy black hair. The gesture was gentle, almost subconscious. She had been following along, helping where she could, but she knew Harry was shouldering the weight of everything far more than she was. Still, amidst the chaos, she couldn't help but feel a sense of thrill, a strange excitement at the adventure they had been thrown into.
"We'll get by," she said reassuringly, continuing to thread her fingers through his hair. "Take a nap if you want. I'm just going to read. We still have a few days left before we… kill a dragon and protect the Stone." Her words trailed off into a playful smile.
Harry let out a laugh, his green eyes flickering open to meet hers. "You make it sound so simple. But this is going to be dangerous. Really dangerous," he said, his voice serious now. "Are you sure you're up for this?"
Hermione's fingers stilled in his hair, her brow furrowing slightly at the sudden shift in his tone. "Why do you ask me that like I'm some helpless damsel in distress?" she said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. "I'm great at spells, I'm smart, I'm—"
"Hey, hey, calm down," Harry interrupted, sitting up slightly to look at her properly. "I'm not saying you're not capable, but I don't want you to think this is just a game. We're about to kill a dragon, Hermione. An innocent creature's life, gone. Are you really ready for that?"
His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, pulling at something deep inside Hermione. She stared at him, her hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air before it fell back into her lap. The idea of taking a life, even a dragon's, wasn't something she had given much thought to until now. But it was necessary, wasn't it?
"I don't have a problem with killing," Hermione whispered, her voice so soft Harry barely heard her. He frowned, his gaze locking with hers, waiting for her to elaborate. She sighed, running a hand through her own bushy hair this time. "Look, I know what you're thinking, and I get it. I'm just little Hermione, right? But since I found out about this world, about how medieval some things are… I've realized it's not all rainbows and fairy tales. There's a lot of danger. And if it comes down to it, if it means surviving in this world, I'd rather be prepared. If it starts with killing a dragon, then so be it."
Harry sat up fully now, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he just looked at her, absorbing her words. Then, much to her surprise, a slow smile spread across his face, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. "How… totally barbaric," he teased, his tone half-admiring, half-amused.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though a slight blush crept up her cheeks. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, her fingers twitching as if she were tempted to shove him.
"A girl who wouldn't hesitate to resort to violence," Harry continued with a dramatic sigh, leaning closer as if to scrutinize her. "I love it. A witch after my own heart."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Harry reached out, gently tilting her chin up and planting a quick, soft kiss on her cheek. The action was so unexpected that Hermione froze, her entire face flushing pink. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as Harry pulled away, an innocent grin spreading across his face as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary.
"I'll grab some potions from my trunk," Harry said casually, as though he hadn't just kissed her, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. "Wait for me here. You still got your dagger, right?"
Hermione blinked, still processing what had just happened, and nodded mutely. Her hand automatically drifted to the hidden pocket where she kept the small dagger Draco had given her.
"Awesome," Harry said, shooting her a wink as he turned to leave the room. "I'll be back in a few."
And just like that, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Hermione sat there for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where Harry had been. Slowly, she reached up, touching her cheek where his lips had brushed. Her heart was still pounding, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Harry Potter. He really was something else.
The adventure ahead was dangerous, no doubt, but in that moment, it didn't seem so daunting. Not with Harry by her side.
Hermione picked up her book again, though her thoughts were far from the words on the page.
Chapter 16: Dragon
Chapter Text
The dim glow of the Room of Requirement cast eerie shadows across the stone walls, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding within. The dragon's guttural growls echoed ominously, and Ron Weasley stood frozen, wide-eyed, watching the madness before him. He couldn't even wrap his head around how Harry and Draco had managed to smuggle a live Norwegian Ridgeback from Hagrid's hut, through the castle, and into this hidden chamber. The whole thing was ludicrous—and terrifying.
The dragon thrashed, its scaly body twisting violently as Harry and Draco desperately tried to secure a rope around its wings. Ron's stomach churned at the sight of its fiery eyes and the venomous fumes curling from its nostrils.
"This is bloody insane," Ron muttered under his breath, watching the dragon snap at Harry with its razor-sharp teeth. He winced as sparks of fire singed Harry's robes. "Nope. No way. I'm out. I can't handle this," he announced, throwing his hands up in defeat. Without a second glance, he bolted from the scene, his footsteps echoing in the distance as the door slammed shut behind him.
Hermione stood a few feet away, clutching a dagger, her grip so tight that her knuckles had turned white. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm almost painful. This was it—the moment she had dreaded and prepared for in equal measure. They were really doing it. They were killing a dragon.
Draco's frustrated voice tore through her thoughts. "Bloody bastard's too strong! Hermione, stab it! Quick!" he growled, his knee digging into the dragon's wing as he struggled to keep the writhing creature pinned. His face was a mixture of fear and determination, the latter barely holding on.
Hermione took a hesitant step forward, her pulse racing. The sight of the massive creature, its scales shimmering in the dim light, sent a wave of panic through her. She had read about dragons, studied them in books, but this... this was something else entirely.
"Oh no," she whispered to herself, the fear rising in her throat. Her eyes darted to the dragon's menacing gaze, then to Harry and Draco, who were desperately trying to hold it down. Her chest felt tight, her breaths coming in short gasps. "Calm down, Hermione. You can do this. It's just a dragon," she told herself, though her shaking hands betrayed her false confidence.
Harry, kneeling on the dragon's other wing, grunted in frustration. His face was streaked with sweat, and his eyes were filled with exhaustion. "Come on, we're so close!" he muttered through gritted teeth. His hands were gripping a cloth tightly over the dragon's head, trying to keep it from snapping at them. Every move it made seemed to sap more of his strength.
Hermione watched as Harry's robes, already singed from the dragon's fiery breath, clung to his sweat-drenched frame. He was pushing himself too hard again. They all were.
"Hermione, you can do it, come on now," Harry whispered, a mixture of determination and fatigue coloring his voice. His hands trembled as he struggled to keep the dragon under control, its scales slick with sweat and blood. They had barely managed to get the creature up here, flying under the Invisibility Cloak on broomsticks, hidden from the castle's watchful eyes.
Hermione swallowed hard. She took a few steps closer, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. Her hands shook violently as she knelt down beside the dragon's massive body. The heat radiating from the creature's scales felt like it was searing her skin. Her mind was racing, heart hammering against her ribcage.
"Either stab it between its wings or cut its neck," Harry instructed, his voice tense.
"Just cut its neck," Draco hissed, his voice cold and resolute. "Kill it immediately."
"Stop talking!" Hermione snapped, her voice trembling but firm. Her nerves were fraying, and she could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. This wasn't just another task, this wasn't just another problem to solve with logic and reason—this was real, raw, and terrifying.
Both boys fell silent, focusing their strength on holding the dragon down, its violent struggles shaking the floor beneath them.
Hermione's breath quickened as she stared at the dragon's neck, the vulnerable spot between its scales beckoning her to strike. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the dagger. Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest. This was it. This was the moment she would cross a line she never imagined crossing.
Steeling her nerves, she closed her eyes for a brief second, then plunged the dagger deep into the dragon's neck with all the force she could muster.
The room fell into an eerie silence as the dragon's body jerked once, then tensed violently. Blood sprayed across her hands, warm and thick, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Hermione's eyes widened, the weight of what she had just done crashing down on her. The dragon let out one last shudder before its body went limp, the life draining from its frame.
The silence was deafening.
Draco and Harry immediately let go, collapsing onto the cold stone floor, panting and drenched in sweat. Their faces were pale, their chests heaving from the effort. They didn't move, didn't speak, just stared at the now-lifeless dragon sprawled before them.
Harry's gaze shifted to Hermione. She was still kneeling, her hands stained with the dragon's blood, her face pale and expressionless. Her wide eyes were fixed on the creature's body, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.
"You okay?" Harry's voice was soft, barely a whisper. He wasn't sure she could hear him over the pounding of his own heart.
Hermione didn't respond. Her hands were still trembling, her breath shallow as she stared at the dagger still embedded in the dragon's neck. The blood... the blood was everywhere.
Without a word, Draco reached out and gently took the dagger from her shaking hands, setting it aside. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something far more solemn. He collapsed back, resting his head against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
Harry pushed himself up, his arms still trembling from the effort, and pulled Hermione into his arms. She didn't resist, didn't even move, just let him wrap her in his embrace. Her whole body shook as the weight of what they had just done settled over her like a heavy blanket.
"You did good, Hermione," Harry whispered against her hair, his voice low and soothing. He rubbed her back gently, trying to offer her some sense of comfort. "You did good."
For a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself fall into his warmth. But it wasn't enough to chase away the coldness that had settled deep inside her. She had just killed a dragon. They had all crossed a line today.
Hermione's breath hitched, and the tears came unbidden, silent and heavy. She buried her face in Harry's shoulder, her body shaking with the sobs she couldn't hold back any longer.
Harry held her tighter, rocking her gently, whispering soft reassurances, though he wasn't sure if they were meant more for her or for himself.
xxxxx
If there was anyone who could calm Hermione down after the intensity of what had just happened, it was Draco Malfoy. His casual, almost indifferent demeanor as he knelt near the dragon's still-warm body was unsettling, yet oddly reassuring. He was calm, like this was a regular Tuesday for him. And somehow, that made Hermione feel like she wasn't losing her mind for what she'd done.
Draco spent the better half of the afternoon convincing Hermione that killing a dragon wasn't much different from stepping on a bug. His words were steady, as if this was something she simply had to learn to accept. "You did great," he kept repeating, in that low, matter-of-fact tone of his. "It's good practice for when you're out there, in the field, fighting creatures that can't just be killed with magic."
Hermione wasn't sure if his words were meant to be comforting or chilling. The way he said it made it sound like this wouldn't be the last time she'd have to face something like this.
As Draco continued, he started to talk about his childhood, about the hunts he used to go on with his late father. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy had a habit of taking young Draco out to hunt small creatures—foxes and rabbits mostly. Hermione's stomach twisted at the thought. Draco explained with unnerving nonchalance how his father would order him to kill them as part of the ritual of the hunt, a test of his ability to handle the weight of life and death.
Hermione's eyes widened, feeling a knot form in her throat. Dragons, maybe. She could wrap her mind around that. They were dangerous, after all. But rabbits? Foxes? The idea of ending the life of something so innocent, so defenseless, made her feel ill. How could he speak about it like it was nothing?
While Draco shared his story, Harry worked in the background, silent but focused. His hands moved efficiently as he prepared the dragon's body. He muttered incantations under his breath, carefully packing the dragon's limp form into a bag that seemed far too small to hold such a creature. Then, as if the whole ordeal hadn't just happened, Harry stuffed the bag into another one, shrinking it down until it could fit comfortably in his pocket.
Watching him work, Hermione felt an odd mix of awe and discomfort. This was just another day for Harry. He mentioned he'd have to ask Sirius what to do with the body, whether to dispose of it or sell it off for potion ingredients.
"Wait," Hermione suddenly said, her voice breaking the tension. "Your father… he's gone too?"
Harry paused, his hand still lingering on the dragon-filled bag, glancing at Draco with a mixture of surprise and caution. Draco, for his part, stopped mid-sentence. He hadn't realized Hermione didn't know.
"I thought you knew," Draco responded with a shrug, as if it were common knowledge.
Hermione's brow furrowed. "I didn't… we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she added quickly, her voice soft and awkward.
Draco let out a sigh, waving his hand dismissively, though his eyes darkened for just a second. "It's fine. My father was… well, he was a good parent, but he wasn't a good person. He was a Death Eater. Voldemort's servant," Draco said the words plainly, but there was an edge to his voice that Hermione hadn't heard before. "Sirius killed him. When he tried to run from the Aurors."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She didn't know. How could she? This part of Draco's life had always been shrouded in silence, a heavy shadow that lingered just out of reach.
"It's fine," Draco repeated, but this time his tone was lighter, more casual. "I'm not that caught up about it. Honestly, if Sirius hadn't killed him, we'd all be in more trouble. When people found out my father was a Death Eater, I was outcast by half of my friends. Except Harry, of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "Ron hated me at first. But Harry sorted that out with a good punch or two."
Harry chuckled at the memory, sliding onto the couch next to Hermione. He draped his arm casually around her shoulders, giving her a small squeeze as if to reassure her that this was all just part of their strange reality.
"Believe it or not," Harry whispered, leaning in closer to Hermione, "Ron and Draco once pulled each other's hair in a fight. Thought Draco would end up bald."
Hermione let out a soft laugh despite herself, the mental image lightening the mood. Draco rolled his eyes again but smirked. The tension between them eased a little, the weight of their earlier actions still lingering but no longer crushing.
Draco shifted the conversation, his smirk turning a bit mischievous. "So, how was it?" he asked, glancing at Hermione with an eyebrow raised. "Killing your first creature. Disgusting, isn't it? But… a bit thrilling, don't you think?"
Hermione sighed deeply, her gaze drifting back to the spot where the dragon had been, where its blood had spilled onto the stone floor. Her fingers absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of her robe, stained with the dragon's blood. She could still feel the pulse of the moment—the sheer intensity of it—the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she drove the dagger into its flesh.
"I just feel bad about the dragon," she admitted quietly. "I know it had to be done, but…"
Draco immediately shook his head. "You shouldn't. There are creatures worth saving, and there are creatures that need to be dealt with. Dragons are… they're wild. Untamable. If we hadn't taken care of it, it could have grown into something much worse. It's a shame we didn't have the time to send it to a reserve, but… given the circumstances, we didn't have much choice."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Don't feel guilty, Hermione. We'll make it up to Hagrid. How about we get him a book on dragons or… maybe a stuffed toy dragon?"
Hermione smiled weakly at the suggestion, though her mind was still swimming with the weight of what they'd done. She glanced down at her bloodstained sleeves again, trying to shake the feeling that was creeping up inside her. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. It was something else—something darker, something she didn't want to admit.
There was a thrill to it. As much as she hated to acknowledge it, there was a part of her that felt… powerful. When Harry and Draco had pinned the dragon down, it had been her who delivered the final blow. She had been the one to end its life, to wield that kind of control. And as terrible as it was, as awful as it made her feel, there was a part of her that couldn't deny the rush.
She pushed the thought away quickly, burying it deep inside her mind. It wasn't right. It wasn't her.
With a sigh, Hermione leaned closer into Harry's warmth, letting her head rest against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the lingering sense of unease as Harry and Draco started to joke about Ron's cowardice. For now, she'd let herself be comforted by their presence, their laughter. But deep down, she knew this feeling wasn't going away anytime soon.
xxxxx
The four of them—Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione—had silently agreed that the incident with the dragon was best left in the shadows of the Room of Requirement. It wasn't a moment to be shared or boasted about, not even whispered among friends. No, this was a Marauder's secret, one they swore to never repeat. Even now, days later, Hermione could still feel the weight of that oath. It had thrilled her in a way she hadn't expected, making her feel included, essential, like she was part of something much bigger than herself.
The thought of it brought a small smirk to her lips. The absurdity of the idea that she, an 11-year-old, had slain a dragon. Not fully grown, of course, but still—a dragon. She could barely wrap her mind around it. The image of the dragon's lifeless body had been seared into her memory. The finality of the act, the rush of power she'd felt in that moment, it lingered in her thoughts longer than she wanted to admit. It made her feel both guilty and… empowered.
The adrenaline, the sense of control over such a dangerous creature—it was terrifying but also intoxicating.
She let the thought go, leaning back against one of the cushions scattered around the room as the others busied themselves with other tasks. Harry was meticulously checking over his wand, as if he could somehow erase the memory of the dragon's defeat by ensuring every detail of their plan was perfect. Draco was, as usual, finding some way to mock Ron, who was doing his best to ignore him. It almost felt like an ordinary afternoon.
But it wasn't. None of this was ordinary.
Their plan to confront Fluffy was looming over them like a storm cloud. Despite the banter and the casual conversation, there was a palpable tension in the room. They knew what they were up against, and it was far more dangerous than any of them wanted to admit. It wasn't the act of sneaking past a three-headed dog that unnerved Hermione; it was the knowledge that they were putting themselves in real danger again, all for the Philosopher's Stone.
She tried to push down her unease, focusing instead on the fact that they wouldn't have to kill Fluffy. They had agreed on that much. The goal was to make the beast sleep, to slip past him unnoticed and prevent the theft of the Stone. The alternative was unthinkable, and they'd probably seen enough death for a lifetime already.
Harry, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from her, was quieter than usual, his mind clearly preoccupied with something else. Hermione could feel it, the weight of his thoughts. Ever since they had discovered that the Philosopher's Stone was hidden within Hogwarts, something had shifted in him. He was more serious, more determined. She admired that about him—his ability to take charge in the face of danger. But at the same time, it worried her. She didn't want him to bear the burden alone, and yet, he often did.
Ron's voice broke her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. He and Harry were still convinced it was Professor Quirrell behind everything. His nervous, stammering persona was clearly a facade, they reasoned. Why else would he be so close to the Stone? Hermione wasn't so sure. Snape seemed the more likely suspect to her—there was just something about him that didn't sit right. But Draco had a different theory altogether.
"Proudfoot," Draco muttered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If anyone's bold enough to go after the Stone, it'd be him. He's always acting like he's above everyone else. Has the connections too, I bet."
Hermione shook her head slightly. It didn't really matter who was after the Stone at this point. What mattered was that they were going to face something far more dangerous than any professor or dark wizard: Fluffy. Even with all their training over the last few months, she couldn't help but feel a small knot of fear tighten in her chest. Basic Protego spells and harmless jinxes could only do so much. They were 11-year-olds trying to outmaneuver forces that were far beyond their years.
And yet, here they were, determined to protect something so powerful that even adults feared it. It felt surreal, as if they had stumbled into a life that didn't belong to them. Hermione thought back to when she first received her letter to Hogwarts, the excitement and curiosity that had bubbled inside her. If she had known then what her first year would hold, would she have hesitated? Maybe. But then she would have seen Harry's face, his earnest plea for her to join him, and her decision would have been made.
She could never say no to him, after all. There was something about Harry's unwavering determination that made her feel like anything was possible, like they could do this—even if it terrified her.
Hermione glanced at the boys again, a wave of emotion washing over her. Draco, with his usual bravado, was trying to lighten the mood, making jokes about Ron's cowardice when faced with the dragon. It worked, to some degree—Ron rolled his eyes but didn't seem too upset. Harry laughed quietly, though his eyes still carried that shadow of seriousness.
But as much as they joked and teased, Hermione could see the tension in their movements, the way they fidgeted with their wands or sat a little too rigid. They were all scared, even if they didn't admit it. And why wouldn't they be? They were about to break every rule in the book, go up against a monstrous creature, and face the very real possibility of getting hurt—or worse.
Despite the tension, there was an undeniable bond between them, a sense of shared purpose. They were the Marauders now, bound by secrets and loyalty, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead. Even if it meant facing down a three-headed dog or risking their lives for a stone that promised immortality.
Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of her robe, still stained faintly with the dragon's blood. She'd have to clean it again later, but for now, it served as a reminder. A reminder of what they were capable of, and what they were about to face next.
Fluffy awaited them, and there was no turning back now.
xxxxx
Hermione couldn't believe their luck.
Everything had fallen into place far too quickly, too perfectly. The tension that had been building in her chest since they had first set foot in the forbidden corridor still lingered, but now it was overlaid with an uneasy feeling that something wasn't right. Nothing had ever been this easy at Hogwarts—not breaking the rules, and certainly not facing magical creatures and enchanted traps meant to guard something as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone.
Yet here they were.
Draco had been the one to spot the harp. The strings were old and dusty, the instrument forgotten in the corner of the room, but it was more than enough to keep the monstrous, three-headed dog at bay. One simple charm later, and the harp played a soft, haunting melody that lulled Fluffy into an immediate slumber. It almost felt anticlimactic, watching the giant beast's heads droop and its terrifying growls subside into gentle snores.
They had approached the trapdoor cautiously, hearts racing but feet steady. The moment they opened it, a rush of dank, earthy air hit them, and one by one, they dropped into the darkness below.
The instant they landed, they were tangled in the suffocating tendrils of Devil's Snare. Hermione's mind had raced with panic as the cold, snake-like vines began to coil tighter around her legs and arms, but she quickly forced herself to remember what she had read about the plant in "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."
"Calm down! Don't fight it!" she had yelled through gritted teeth, her own breath hitching with fear as the vines crept closer to her neck. It had taken a second for the boys to process her command, but once they did, the plant loosened its grip and dropped them unceremoniously onto the stone floor below.
Hermione's pulse had barely slowed before they were on their feet again, moving deeper into the next chamber.
It was filled with glittering, winged keys. The sight had momentarily stunned her—thousands of them, flitting around like oversized insects, their metallic wings casting shimmering reflections all around. She barely had time to take it all in before Harry, ever prepared, pulled out his broom. Of course, he had his broom. It had become second nature for him to carry it wherever he went, just in case, as if rule-breaking adventures required a Nimbus 2000 escape plan.
With an enlargement spell, Harry shot into the air, zigzagging between the flying keys, his eyes sharp and focused. It had taken only minutes before he spotted the right one—a key with a wing that was just out of sync with the others. His hand shot out, snatching it mid-flight, and they were through the door before Hermione could even properly catch her breath.
The Chessboard Chamber had felt more like an illusion than a challenge. The massive pieces loomed before them, casting shadows across the floor like silent sentinels, and for a brief moment, Hermione had felt the cold grip of dread twist in her stomach. But Ron had stepped forward with a grin on his face, his usual nerves replaced with confidence. He directed the game with the ease of a seasoned chess master, moving them across the board with precision, one victory after another. By the time he uttered "Checkmate," Hermione's knuckles had gone white from gripping her wand so tightly, but Ron had simply shrugged it off, as if winning against a deadly chess set was all in a day's work.
Then came the Potions Riddle. Hermione had been quick to solve it, the logical structure of the puzzle calming her nerves in a way the previous challenges hadn't. But the realization that only two of them could move forward struck her like a punch to the gut. The decision was made quickly, too quickly, through an impromptu game of rock-paper-scissors. Harry won, of course, and with a nod from Draco and Ron, who had decided to stay behind under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak, she and Harry pushed forward into the final chamber.
Now, standing in the silent, echoing room, the air felt thick with anticipation. Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest as her eyes roamed the walls, searching for any clue, any sign of what they were supposed to do next. The room was empty except for a single object—a mirror. It stood tall and imposing in the center, casting a faint reflection of the two of them as they approached.
"Is it me, or is this all just a little too easy?" Harry muttered, glancing around warily, one of his spare wands gripped tightly in his hand. Hermione looked at him, a quiet admiration settling in her chest despite the tension. His attention to detail, the way he always had a spare wand for rule-breaking moments like this—he always thought ahead, even in the face of danger.
She nodded, agreeing with him. "I think so too. We're just first-years, and we cleared it all in barely an hour."
The ease of it all gnawed at her. There was no way something as important as the Philosopher's Stone could be guarded by such simple tasks. Sure, they had faced magical creatures and puzzles, but none of it had felt impossible. It was almost as if the traps had been designed to be beatable… by children.
"What's with this mirror—" Harry's voice trailed off as he stepped in front of it, his eyes widening in shock. "Whoa."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she rushed to his side, her breath catching in her throat. There was something about Harry's voice, the way it cracked with surprise, that filled her with dread. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the stiff way he stood in front of the tall, looming mirror. Whatever he was seeing wasn't just their reflections. Something more sinister, more captivating, was hidden beneath the glassy surface of the mirror's silvery depths.
"That fucking bastard," Harry whispered angrily, his voice thick with emotion.
Hermione's eyes widened at the uncharacteristic words. Harry rarely cursed like that—certainly not with this kind of venom. Her gaze darted to the mirror, but all she saw was their own reflections, two small figures in the vast, echoing chamber. She looked back at Harry, and her stomach dropped.
Harry's face was twisted with pain, his green eyes glassy as tears streaked down his cheeks. He looked broken, shattered in a way that made Hermione's chest ache. She had never seen him like this. This was something deeper, something tearing at him from the inside.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked softly, her voice trembling as she reached out, pulling him away from the mirror. She could feel the heat radiating off him, his body tense and shaking with the force of his emotions. "What did you see?"
Harry let out a choked groan, his knees buckling as he sank to the cold stone floor. His hands gripped his face, and he wept—deep, angry sobs that seemed to echo in the empty chamber. Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, her own hands hovering uselessly as she watched her best friend crumble.
"I saw my parents, Hermione," Harry whispered through his tears. His voice was so broken, so small, that it made Hermione's heart twist painfully in her chest. "I saw me... smiling... happily while my parents held my shoulders, smiling at me."
Hermione's eyes shot up in surprise, her heart hammering in her chest. Her gaze flicked back to the mirror, her mind racing. Harry had seen his parents. The parents he had never known, never remembered, and yet... the mirror had shown him their faces, their smiles.
A sick sort of hope fluttered in her chest. If Harry had seen his parents, then maybe, just maybe, the mirror could show her what she longed to see. Her dad. Her dead father. She hadn't even realized she was moving until Harry's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, his grip firm but desperate.
"No, Hermione, you can't," Harry whispered, his voice filled with urgency. His eyes were wide and fearful, and Hermione could feel the tremble in his hands as he held her back. "This... this feels like a trap. You know what you'll see when you step in front of it."
Her heart clenched painfully, and she tried to shake his hand away. She needed to see him. Just one look, one last glimpse of the man she had lost. It couldn't hurt, could it? If Harry had seen his parents, then maybe she could see her dad, standing tall and proud like he always had. Just one look.
"J-Just one quick look," she pleaded, her voice hitching with raw emotion. Her throat felt tight, her chest constricted with the weight of her grief. "I just want to see him again, one last time, Harry. Please..."
"No, Hermione," Harry insisted, his grip tightening on her wrist as if he were holding on for dear life. His voice cracked with emotion, but his gaze remained firm. "It's not him. It's not the same. Whatever this mirror is doing, it's not real. I know those are my parents... but I've never seen them. I don't know if that's really how they smiled, or if that's what they'd look like if they were alive. It's not them, Hermione. It's just a trick."
Hermione's breath hitched, and she shook his hand off, the desire to see her father almost unbearable. But something in Harry's voice, the sheer desperation and sadness in his tone, made her hesitate. She glanced back at the mirror, her fingers trembling, but she couldn't bring herself to step forward.
"Please, Hermione," Harry whispered, his voice soft and broken. "Just stay here... next to me."
Hermione's body tensed, her heart warring with her mind, but after a moment, she nodded. Slowly, she moved back beside Harry, her chest aching as she crouched down beside him. The temptation was still there, gnawing at her insides, but she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Not now. Not when he needed her.
The silence between them was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the faint sound of Harry's ragged breathing. For a moment, it felt like the weight of the mirror's magic had settled over them, suffocating and oppressive, as if it were feeding on their emotions. Hermione was just about to speak, to say something, anything to break the suffocating quiet, when a sudden chill ran down her spine.
Harry's head snapped up, and in an instant, he cast the strongest Protego charm he could muster. The shimmering shield erupted in front of them just as a spell came hurtling toward them, shattering the barrier with a loud crack.
Hermione let out a startled gasp as Harry pushed her behind him, his stance shifting to shield her with his body. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the attack.
Standing at the far end of the chamber, his wand drawn and eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, was Proudfoot. His face was contorted with madness, his eyes wild and unfocused as he sneered at them.
"Where's the Stone?!" Proudfoot bellowed, his voice filled with rage as he brandished his wand. He was muttering under his breath, his words incoherent as he raised his wand once more, sending another spell hurtling toward them.
Harry grabbed Hermione's hand, yanking her to her feet as they scrambled to dodge the incoming curse. They barely made it behind one of the stone pillars before the spell hit, sending shards of stone flying through the air. Hermione's heart was racing, her mind spinning as she tried to process what was happening.
Proudfoot was clearly out of his mind, his actions erratic and dangerous. His spells, though powerful, seemed unfocused, as if he wasn't fully in control of his own magic. Each time he cast, his aim wavered, the spells veering off course at the last second. But that didn't make him any less dangerous.
"We need to run!" Hermione gasped, clutching her wand tightly as she peeked around the pillar. Harry nodded, his face pale but determined. He was breathing hard, his eyes scanning the room for any possible escape.
They darted from behind the pillar, weaving between the columns as Proudfoot's curses slammed into the walls around them. Harry fired off a quick Stupefy in Proudfoot's direction, but the spell barely slowed him down.
"Where's the Stone?!" Proudfoot roared again, his voice echoing through the chamber as he continued to hurl spells at them. His wand movements were erratic, his magic crackling in the air as if he were barely holding it together.
They couldn't keep running forever. Hermione's legs were burning, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, and Harry didn't look much better. They needed a plan, some way to stop Proudfoot before he managed to corner them.
The chamber felt smaller and smaller with each passing moment, the walls closing in as Proudfoot's relentless pursuit continued.
xxxxx
Draco and Ron didn't even realize Proudfoot had entered the room. Their whispered argument, fueled by the anxiety of the situation, kept them distracted. Ron had been clutching his wand nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot, while Draco's eyes darted between the flames and the door. They were so caught up in their conversation that they barely noticed when the vial Proudfoot drank from shattered on the stone floor with an eerie, echoing crash.
A moment of tense silence passed, the clinking sound of the broken glass settling like an ominous whisper. They froze, then exchanged a look of panic as reality set in. Proudfoot had made it past the Potions chamber.
Scrambling forward in a rush of clumsy steps, they halted at the edge of the black flames. The magical fire flickered ominously before them, casting long shadows on the damp stone walls, its heat palpable even from a distance. The dark flames seemed almost sentient, licking at the air, daring anyone to attempt crossing them.
"How did he get through?" Ron exclaimed, his voice shaking as he stared at the fiery barrier. "I thought only two people could go in!"
Draco, frustration mounting, was about to snap back with some sharp retort when his gaze landed on the table where the potion vial lay. It had miraculously been restored, as if the shattered glass had rewound time itself. The vial stood upright, newly filled with the very same potion that had allowed their friends to pass through the flames.
"Shit!" Draco cursed under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as the realization hit him. Without hesitation, he snatched the vial, downing its contents in a single gulp, the bitter liquid burning his throat as it went down. He barely had time to register the taste before the magic took hold, allowing him to step through the flames unscathed.
"I'm going ahead!" Draco called over his shoulder, his voice muffled by the roar of the flames. "Wait for the potion to refill, Ron!" His words sounded more like a command than a suggestion, but there was no time for pleasantries.
Ron nodded, his eyes wide with concern but trusting Draco's judgment. He watched helplessly as Draco disappeared into the black fire, the last flickers of the flames swallowing him whole.
The moment Draco stepped out on the other side, his senses were hit with chaos. The air was thick with the smell of burning, acrid and stifling, and the sounds of hurried footsteps and shouted incantations echoed off the walls, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere. His heart raced as he took in the scene before him.
Hermione's shrieks of fear echoed through the chamber, and the sharp bursts of spells ricocheting off stone filled the air. Draco crouched behind a nearby wall, his pulse hammering in his ears as he pulled out his spare wand, hands trembling slightly. His mind raced.
Harry was dodging and weaving, trying to avoid Proudfoot's spells, but Draco noticed something immediately—Harry seemed to be holding back whenever Proudfoot came near the mirror in the center of the room. The mirror gleamed ominously, its silvery surface reflecting the chaos of the fight, but it remained unscathed. Whatever that mirror was, it was important enough that Harry was avoiding damaging it, and that was enough of a clue for Draco. A Bombarda spell was out of the question—it would cause too much destruction, and Harry clearly didn't want that.
Draco clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his wand. He needed to think fast, get their attention without alerting Proudfoot, who seemed consumed by some wild, frantic obsession. The man's eyes were glazed, his movements jerky, as if he were operating on pure desperation. Proudfoot's shouts, half-mad and slurred, were barely coherent, but one word rang out over and over again—"Stone." He was hunting for something, driven by some twisted purpose.
In that moment, Proudfoot's back was turned, and Draco saw his chance. His heart pounded in his throat as he aimed his wand, ready to send a cutting curse toward Proudfoot. If he could just slow him down, give Harry and Hermione a chance to regroup—
"HARRY! HERMIONE! DRACO!"
Ron's voice thundered into the chamber like a bolt of lightning, shattering Draco's focus. Time seemed to slow as Draco's eyes widened in horror. Proudfoot froze, mid-cast, his wild eyes snapping toward the entrance where Ron had come charging in, completely oblivious to the danger. Proudfoot's wand flicked toward him, a deadly spell forming at the tip.
Draco's instincts kicked in. He acted without thinking, his body moving before his brain caught up. "Ron, move!" he shouted, diving forward just in time to shove Ron out of the way. The spell hit the stone stairs where Ron had been standing, obliterating a chunk of the ancient staircase. Dust and debris rained down on them, the ground shaking under the force of the blast.
"You stupid goddamn idiot!" Draco hissed through gritted teeth, dragging Ron down and shielding his head as chunks of rubble crashed around them. "Why did you shout?!" His voice was a mix of fury and fear, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Ron blinked, stunned and clearly shaken, but before he could answer, Hermione's voice cut through the chaos. She yelled a spell, her voice strained but determined, trying to pull Proudfoot's attention away from the boys. She was standing her ground, her eyes wide with panic but her grip steady on her wand, even as flames flickered dangerously close to her.
Proudfoot's deranged gaze snapped back to Hermione, his movements twitchy, as if he was fighting some internal battle. His wand rose again, and the room seemed to hold its breath.