"Well…" Ron and Harry exchanged a glance, then spoke in unison, "Do you know anything about Nicolas Flamel?"
Both boys had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays, spending days buried in the library stacks. But it wasn't homework they were after—they were hunting for any scrap of information about a single name: Nicolas Flamel.
Harry swore the name was familiar, but no matter how hard they searched—practically turning the library upside down—they found nothing. Even Hermione, back from break, had come up empty.
They'd decided to take one last shot in the library, and happened to bump into Wyzett. Trusting him as they did, they figured they might as well ask directly.
"Do you know?" Harry looked at Wyzett with hopeful eyes. "After all, you're basically—"
Ron jumped in, "—basically more like Madam Pince than Madam Pince herself! You don't just know the book titles, you know exactly which shelf they're on!"
It was true—before they'd become friends with Hermione, Wyzett had helped them with more than a few assignments.
"Nicolas Flamel?" Wyzett rifled through his mental library, quickly extracting the key facts.
"He's an immortal wizard—a legendary alchemist. He's currently living in seclusion in Devon, and he possesses the only Philosopher's Stone in existence."
"So that's it!" Harry gasped, eyes wide. "Fluffy is guarding the Philosopher's Stone!"
"Merlin's beard!" Ron blurted. "Snape was after the Philosopher's Stone all along!"
"Oh? Fluffy? Professor Snape? The Philosopher's Stone?" Wyzett raised his eyebrows. "Wait—the Philosopher's Stone is here at school?"
"Hey!" Hermione interjected, panic in her voice.
She'd sensed something was off, but hadn't managed to stop Harry and Ron in time.
Now, not only had they spilled the secret, but they'd also attracted Madam Pince's attention.
The result? All three were summarily ejected from the library—and even Wyzett was asked to leave.
"Sorry… we really didn't mean to drag you into this…" Ron stammered, his face nearly as red as his hair.
Hermione turned urgently to Wyzett. "Wyzett, when you said Nicolas Flamel is an immortal wizard, what does that mean?"
"Lived over six hundred years," Wyzett replied simply, "from 1327 to the present."
"That explains it!" Ron slapped his forehead. "We spent the whole holiday digging through Recent Developments in Wizardry and never found him!"
"I remember where I saw it!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly animated. "Wait here—I'll meet you in the Great Hall!" And she dashed off toward the moving staircase.
"Don't you two ever eat Chocolate Frogs?" Wyzett asked, glancing at Ron and Harry. "Nicolas Flamel's name comes up on the cards."
"Does it?" Ron and Harry looked blank.
"Not on his own card," Wyzett explained, "but he's mentioned on Dumbledore's."
"Oh! Dumbledore!" Harry's eyes lit up. "I knew I'd seen it! I kept saying so!"
He fished a crumpled Chocolate Frog card from his pocket and read aloud: "Discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood… achieved notable success in alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel."
"I can't believe I missed that!" Ron groaned, giving himself a light knock on the head. "And I've got over five hundred cards!"
"I didn't notice either," Harry admitted, grinning now. "Good thing you reminded us, Wyzett."
"Wyzett, do you collect Chocolate Frog cards too?" Ron asked eagerly. "Do you have Agrippa or Ptolemy? I'll trade you something you don't have…"
Sensing the conversation drifting, Wyzett quickly steered it back. "What I'm really curious about is—what does any of this have to do with Professor Snape?"
Ron huffed, "Because Snape's always finding reasons to take points from Gryffindor right in front of Harry!"
"He takes mine too! Anytime Harry and I sit together, we both lose points…"
"Everyone else, too!" Harry added indignantly. "Anyone who sits next to me gets points taken off!"
Wyzett coughed, struggling not to laugh.
It was true—Professor Snape had docked Gryffindor points right in front of him twice already.
Noticing Wyzett's barely contained grin, Harry pressed on, "He's definitely out to get me! His leg's injured—a big wound! Fluffy bit him!"
He bent down, hiking up his trouser leg and gesturing to his calf. "The wound's right here! I saw it myself!"
"So that's why my broom went haywire! And then Ron and the others saw Professor Snape casting a spell, so they… um… tried to… um…"
His words were abruptly muffled as Ron clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Harry, don't!" Ron looked absolutely terrified, as if he'd just seen a ghost.
Wyzett turned and spotted Snape himself, gliding down the corridor in his black robes, now less than two meters away.
Snape's lips curled in a thin, humorless smile.
"Well done, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. Well done indeed." His voice was cold and languid, every syllable dripping with disdain.
"Let's see… gossiping about professors in the corridor, setting fire to a professor's robes…"
He stepped forward, blocking Wyzett from view, and bent to glare at Ron.
"Mr. Weasley, you seem to know exactly who started that fire." He narrowed his eyes, his words ending in a faint, ominous hiss.
Both Harry and Ron turned scarlet—Ron from fear, Harry from lack of air under Ron's hand.
At last, Harry managed to wrench free and glared furiously at Snape.
Snape straightened, towering over them. "Gossiping about professors in the corridor—twenty points from Gryffindor."
"You!" Harry gritted his teeth, still glaring.
Snape blinked, shifting his attention back to Ron. "Twenty points each."
Under Snape's icy stare, Ron felt his skin crawl. Forgetting all about the lost points, he grabbed Harry's hand and bolted down the corridor.
As they vanished around the corner, Ron's voice echoed back: "Wyzett! Thanks for all your help! Take care!"
Snape turned, his face still cold, but his tone now brisk and businesslike. "Wyzett, come to my office."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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