For the rest of the Christmas holidays, Elian kept his distance from Harry and Ron. Dumbledore's words lingered in his mind, echoing whenever he tried to relax. To escape them, he buried himself in books, chasing after any mention of Nicolas Flamel and delving into advanced branches of magic.
Elian discovered that Nicolas Flamel was not only a close friend of Albus Dumbledore, but also the creator of the fabled Philosopher's Stone—the legendary object said to grant wealth without end and life without limits.
However, Elian chose not to tell Harry or Ron about the Philosopher's Stone just yet. He figured he could dig deeper over the holidays and share everything once he had more to offer. Unfortunately, no new discoveries came his way.
Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had begun to worry about him. Two days before term resumed, they found him,as usual,seated by the fireplace in the common room, buried in a book. They dropped into the seats beside him. For a while, none of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable, until Elian finally lifted his eyes from the page.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, his tone balanced between sarcasm and playfulness.
"Are you alright, Elian?" Harry asked, his voice edged with worry.
"Can you clarify the meaning of alright, Potter?" Elian replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Because if it means digging into the life of some Nicolas Flamel, whom I've never met, then yes—I'm perfectly alright."
Harry and Ron's faces went pale. They had completely forgotten about Nicolas Flamel.
"Did you find out something, then?" Harry asked quickly.
"Oh, I did. But let's wait until Granger is back, so I can enlighten you peanut brains all at once."
"Are you still upset?" Harry asked, fidgeting.
"Upset? About what?" Elian asked flatly.
"I mean… the Mirror," Harry said hesitantly.
"What Mirror?" Elian asked with mock innocence.
Harry sighed, defeated. "Never mind. We'll talk about Nicolas Flamel once Hermione's here."
The next day, Hermione returned, and as expected, she was appalled by Harry's late-night adventures. The thought of him sneaking around the castle three nights in a row left her horrified. "If Filch had caught you!" she scolded.
Her outrage dimmed, however, when Elian finally told her, Harry, and Ron about the Philosopher's Stone.
"So Snape's after it!" Ron whispered the moment Elian finished.
"A stone that can make gold and keep you alive forever," Harry added. "No wonder he wants it. Who wouldn't?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were thrilled to finally uncover what the three-headed dog was guarding. Elian, however, couldn't share their excitement. He still had no answers about Quirrell's connection to his bracelet, and more troublingly, if Quirrell was after the Philosopher's Stone, why had he tried to harm Harry along the way? The questions nagged at him for days.
When the new term began, Elian returned to Defence Against the Dark Arts classes whenever he could, hoping to notice something useful. Yet the only thing he gained was a sharper ache in his wrist, the bracelet tightening each time Quirrell drew near.
One evening in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Ron were playing chess while Elian absentmindedly twisted his bracelet. For the first time, Hermione was actually losing to Ron, and what unsettled her more than that was Elian's silence. Normally, he would have thrown in some sharp comment about her defeat, but tonight he was quiet. She thought of asking if he was alright, but Ron's smug grin kept pulling her attention back to the board.
The silence didn't last. Harry walked in, looking battered from Quidditch practice, and dropped down beside Elian without a word. Elian glanced at Harry's exhausted, drooping face, sighed, and said in his usual drawl, "So, what grand existential crisis are we dealing with this time, Potter?"
"Snape is refereeing the next Gryffindor–Hufflepuff match," Harry muttered.
Hermione and Ron's heads shot up at once.
"Don't play," Hermione blurted.
"Say you're ill," Ron added quickly.
"Pretend you've broken your leg," Hermione urged.
"Or actually break your leg," Ron said with far too much enthusiasm.
Harry shook his head. "I can't. There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor forfeits."
Elian didn't say anything more. His mind had already bolted to another question the moment Harry mentioned that Snape would be refereeing the match. Why would Snape volunteer for that? If he truly wanted to harm Harry, it would have been easier to do so from the stands, like during the last game. But now, with all eyes on him, that would be impossible.
That could only mean one thing: Snape's incantations that day were meant to protect Harry.
Elian was no longer torn between suspects. It was Quirrell. Quirrell had tried to curse Harry. Quirrell had let the troll in on Hallowe'en. Quirrell was after the Philosopher's Stone. And the tightening of Elian's bracelet whenever the man was nearby, yes, it had been warning him from the start.
How the bracelet knew, he couldn't explain. But it knew.
Before Elian could share his thoughts with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Neville came stumbling into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs were bound tightly by the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have hopped all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.
The room erupted with laughter, everyone except Hermione. The noise quickly faded, though, when they noticed that Elian wasn't laughing either. His silence cut through the mirth.
Hermione hurried over and undid the curse, guiding Neville to sit beside Harry and Elian.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Malfoy," Neville said shakily. "I ran into him outside the library. He said he was looking for someone to practice that on."
"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"
Neville shook his head.
"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron said firmly. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to make it easier for him."
"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor," Neville choked. "Malfoy's already done that."
"Elian, Harry, say something!" Hermione insisted.
"If he doesn't want any trouble, Granger… it's his choice," Elian said at last, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Still, Longbottom, I'm honestly impressed you managed to get this far without tripping over your own feet."
"It's not the time for jokes, Elian!" Hermione hissed.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He pressed it into Neville's hand.
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."
Neville's lips twitched into the faintest smile as he unwrapped the Frog.
As everyone admired Harry's kindness and tried to cheer Neville up, Elian quietly slipped out of the Gryffindor common room without a word. He decided against sharing his suspicions about Quirrell with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. From Harry's sharp comment about Slytherins to Neville just now, Elian could tell his dislike for Slytherins, and by extension, Snape, was too deep. Harry would only see Snape as the one after the Philosopher's Stone, no matter what Elian said.
Elian strolled across the castle and soon arrived at the Slytherin tower. Naturally, he couldn't resist the chance to torment Malfoy, especially after hearing how he had picked on Neville. It was the perfect excuse to ruin the boy's evening.
Reaching the dungeon where the Slytherin common room lay hidden, Elian stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall. With a faint smirk, he whispered, "Aspiration."
The stones shifted at once, sliding apart to reveal the narrow passageway that led inside.
As Elian stepped into the common room, he immediately spotted Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle lounging by the fire, their laughter echoing against the stone walls.
"And did you see his face?" Malfoy sneered, his voice dripping with amusement. "He looked like a pig ready for slaughter."
Elian crept closer, careful to stay just outside their line of sight. A grin tugged at his lips as he slipped two of his wands into his hands. With a subtle flick of the first, he cloaked himself in a Disillusionment Charm, his outline melting into the shadows. From the second, he whispered, "Tarantallegra… delayed," and traced a silent arc toward Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Nothing happened.
Perfect. Elian smirked, pocketed his wands, and slipped out of the common room without a trace.
As Elian made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower, a sudden, distorted voice crackled from his black stud. He froze, pressing a hand to his ear. This time, the distortion was less severe; instead of the unintelligible noises from before which only Elian was able to understand somehow, a more human voice emerged.
"Tr… trust the… m…" it whispered, then fell silent.
Elian stayed still for a long moment, his mind racing. Why had the voice appeared out of nowhere again? Who—or what—was behind it? And what did it mean by "trust them"? Questions swarmed his thoughts, refusing to be silenced. Shaking off the unease, he hurried toward the Gryffindor Tower, but the sudden, mysterious warning lingered in his mind, stubborn and unshakable.
Elian reached the Gryffindor common room, only to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione waiting for him.
"Where were you?" Hermione demanded, arms crossed, her gaze sharp.
"That sounds like an interrogation, Granger," Elian said, half-sarcastic, half-distracted by the warning from the black stud.
"Because it is," Ron added, trying to match her sternness.
"You too, Weasley?" Elian said, mockingly betrayed.
"Are you hiding something from us, Elian?" Harry interjected.
"Granger, your effect is finally spreading," Elian quipped, smirking at Hermione.
"Enough dodging, Elian," Hermione hissed.
Elian sighed.
"Let's just say I went to someone, who did something to someone, so I did something to the first someone."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at him in unison. "Huh?"
"Now, Potter," Elian continued, "you have more pressing matters than interrogating me. For instance… something called a Quidditch match."
Harry's eyes widened as he remembered Wood's early morning practice for the Gryffindor team. Without another word, he headed to bed.
Elian then turned to Ron.
"And Weasley, did you finish your Transfiguration homework that's due tomorrow?" he asked, mock-innocently.
"Oh…no," Ron muttered, panic rising. He hurried to his bed, pulling out his homework and scribbling furiously, completely forgetting everything else.
Elian then faced Hermione.
"I neither play Quidditch nor have any homework pending," she said proudly. "You can't trick me, Elian."
Elian stepped closer, a sly grin on his face. "Oh, Granger, I don't trick anyone. I just let these two muscle-brains think they have more important things to do."
He flicked her forehead lightly and headed to his own bed, leaving Hermione flushed and annoyed.
"WAIT!" Hermione exclaimed, but Elian was already under the covers, pretending to be asleep.
The next morning in Potions with the Slytherins, Elian sat hunched over his parchment, copying down the various uses of Flobberworm Mucus. He kept glancing at the clock on the wall, lips twitching with a smug grin.
Ron leaned closer, frowning. "What's with that look? Something good happen to you this morning?"
"Oh, nothing's happened yet, Weasley," Elian replied lightly, still watching the hands of the clock.
A moment later, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle suddenly lurched to their feet. Without warning, their legs began kicking and stamping in a wild, uncoordinated rhythm.
"Wh—what's happening?!" Malfoy yelped, flailing as though trying to grab hold of his own knees.
"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Snape hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits.
"I don't know, Professor! Help us!" Malfoy cried, his face red with a mix of panic and humiliation.
The class erupted in laughter. Crabbe tripped over his own feet, Goyle knocked over an inkwell, and Malfoy's frantic jerking made him look like a puppet with its strings cut loose.
Harry, for once, found himself grinning in Snape's presence, the corners of his mouth shaking as he tried to hold back a laugh. Even Hermione, who instinctively shot a sharp look at Elian, couldn't keep herself from letting out a quick chuckle.
Snape instantly realized someone had cast Tarantallegra on Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. With a sharp flick of his wand, he snapped, "Finite Incantatem."
The three regained control, scrambled to their feet, and hurried back into their seats. The room fell silent under Snape's venomous glare.
"Excuse me, Professor," Elian said, raising his hand and cutting through the silence.
Snape's eyes narrowed on him.
"I believe a few of your precious Slytherins just disrupted the class," Elian said dryly. "So I was wondering—"
"Enough, Vale," Snape hissed, his voice like a whip. "One point from Slytherin."
He turned back to the board and began scribbling with aggressive strokes of chalk, the air still heavy with his barely contained temper.
As the class ended, Harry, Elian, Ron, and Hermione made their way out of the dungeon. Hermione wasted no time scolding Elian.
"I knew it!" she hissed. "I knew you'd pull some reckless stunt!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Granger," Elian replied calmly, already used to her nagging.
"Don't play dumb," Hermione shot back. "You modified the Dancing Feet Spell and used it on Malfoy last evening to get back at him for what he did to Neville."
"That's brilliant!" Ron cut in, grinning. "Elian, you've got to teach me that spell later."
"Me too," Harry added eagerly.
"You too, Harry!" Hermione said, her voice full of disappointment.
"Malfoy needed a lesson, Hermione," Harry shot back, his tone firm. "And I'm not going to be scared of Snape either. In the next match, I'll play with everything I've got."
As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he told Elian, Ron, and Hermione. The rest of the team weren't too calm, either. If Gryffindor won, they would surpass Slytherin in the House Championship, but even though the idea of overtaking Slytherin was wonderful, no one had done it for nearly seven years. But would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?
Elian, however, was worried about something else entirely. The warning he got from his black stud was still lingering in his head.
It wasn't just the black stud. His ring and bracelet also displayed powers no ordinary wizard could manage. Elian was growing skeptical; too much had happened for him to ignore. The ornaments his mother left behind were becoming less of a gift and more of a burden. He still didn't understand why they were tied to his soul. And though they had helped him more than once, the lack of understanding gnawed at him far more than their aid ever comforted him.
The day of the Quidditch match finally arrived. Elian, Ron, and Hermione went to see Harry outside the changing room. Harry could tell Elian's "good luck" carried the weight of a farewell, and even Ron and Hermione's words felt less like encouragement and more like they were bracing for the worst. It wasn't exactly comforting. He barely registered a word of Wood's pep talk as he tugged on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Elian, Ron, and Hermione found seats in the stands beside Neville, who looked puzzled. He couldn't understand why Ron and Hermione seemed so tense, or why they both clutched their wands as if they expected trouble.
"Did something happen with them?" Neville asked, turning to Elian, who seemed unbothered. Elian thought to himself that while Snape would surely be unfair, Quirrell wouldn't be able to harm Harry.
"Oh, nothing, Longbottom. They just cooked up a little trick to surprise Harry when Gryffindor wins," Elian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Back in the changing room, Wood had taken Harry aside.
"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."
'The whole school's out there!' said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Even – blimey – Dumbledore's come to watch!"
Harry's heart did a somersault.
"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try and hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the pitch, something that Ron noticed, too.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look – they're off. Ouch!"
Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.
"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle, who snickered on cue.
"Oh, Malfoy," Elian cut in, turning toward him with a smirk. "I thought you gave up this tired act and started a dance troupe with your goons."
Malfoy's head snapped toward Elian, the memory of his Potions class humiliation flashing in his eyes.
"Vale," he spat, "I knew you were behind that!"
"Behind what, Malfoy?" Elian asked, all mock innocence.
"You—" Malfoy started, ready to lunge at Elian, but Neville suddenly stepped in front of him.
"Move aside, Longbottom," Malfoy sneered. "Or do you want me to use the Leg-Locker Curse on you again?"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Neville stammered, his voice trembling but firm. "I'm worth twelve of you."
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into laughter, their jeers echoing, but Ron and Hermione didn't dare look away from the match. Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty for absolutely no reason.
Elian, however, as always, had no interest in the match, itched to shut Draco's laughter, but instead, whispered to Neville, "Say something else, Longbottom, or just punch his nose."
Neville hesitated, glancing at Elian.
"What are you whispering to that pig, Vale?" Draco cut in. "In terms of brains, he is even poorer than Weasley."
Ron's nerves were already stretched to breaking point with anxiety about Harry.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy – one more word –"
"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly. "Harry –!"
"What? Where?"
Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.
Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.
Elian stood aside, amused.
"Well... that accelerated quickly," Elian muttered to himself, but he didn't interfere like usual, as Neville was standing up for himself for the first time, and interfering means disrespecting his effort, and Ron was already helping him, throwing hands at Crabbe and Goyle.
Hermione's eyes, however, were locked on Harry.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape – she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches – next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.
The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Elian! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won!
We've won! Gryffindor are in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the front row.
Elian smirked and pulled out one of his wands, aiming it at Ron and Neville.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said.
Ron and Neville floated slightly into the air, their fight paused as they hovered, turned toward the pitch. Panic flashed across their faces, but then they noticed Harry holding the golden Snitch.
"We won!" they shouted in unison.
"Now stop fighting, you idiots, and go congratulate Potter," Elian said, gently lowering them back to the ground.
Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it – the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling on to the pitch, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped – then Harry felt a hand
on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.
"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror …
been keeping busy … excellent …"
Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
Elian quietly slipped away from the pitch without congratulating Harry. He figured his presence wasn't necessary, after all, he wasn't technically a Gryffindor, and decided this was the perfect time to focus on understanding his ornaments better, while everyone else was busy celebrating.
Elian made his way to the Forbidden Forest, reasoning that students weren't allowed there and most of the teachers were still at the Quidditch pitch, so no one would disturb him while he examined his ornaments.
He pulled out his English Oak wand with a unicorn core, recalling how his black stud had felt warm when Ollivander handed it to him.
"Let's see if this works," he muttered, pressing the tip of the wand to his ear.
As soon as the tip of the wand touched the stud, Elian's vision went black. There was nothing, just darkness.
He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It wasn't. He looked around, but all he saw was void. Then a voice echoed from behind, eerily similar to the distorted one from the stud.
"You are late by five minutes."
Elian turned, his eyes widening. A man stood before him in a black suit,but... his face was blank. Only a mouth was visible; everything else was missing.
Elian tried to move, but every muscle felt bound to something invisible. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if he had none.
The faceless man stepped closer, stopping just an arm's length away, and then... smirked.
"I wanted to talk more, but I suppose it's time, Elian Vale," the man said. "Before we meet again, though… remember this: you have enough time to do everything you need, Vale, but never anything you want."
The faceless man snapped his fingers, and in the next moment, Elian found himself in the Gryffindor tower, lying on the sofa in the common room. His eyes fluttered open to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione leaning over him; the rest of the students were already asleep.
Hermione noticed first and practically lunged toward him.
"Elian!" she hissed. "We were so worried! What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest?! Why did you even go there?! You just disappeared after the Quidditch match!"
"Calm down, Hermione," Ron said, holding up a hand. "Let him at least speak."
Elian rubbed the back of his head, unfazed by Hermione's onslaught of questions.
"Who brought me here?" he asked casually.
"I brought you back, Elian," Harry said, his voice edged with concern. "Now tell us—what were you doing there?"
Elian sighed. "After the Quidditch match, I was heading back to the Gryffindor tower, planning to congratulate Potter later once the crowd had thinned. On my way, Peeves—well, you know how he hates it when his pranks fail, decided to get back at me. He knocked an armor stand over onto me, and the next thing I remember, I woke up here. Wait… you're saying I was in the Forbidden Forest?"
He lied carefully, keeping the black stud, the faceless man, and about the ornaments to himself for now.
"Peeves' pranks are getting out of control," Hermione snapped, catching Elian off guard—he had expected her to press him for more information, but her worry for him seemed to have overtaken her usual cleverness.
"Anyway, what were you doing in the Forbidden Forest, Potter?" Elian asked.
Harry glanced around carefully, confirming no one else was awake, then spoke quietly but urgently. "I followed Snape to the Forbidden Forest. And we were right, Elian—the dog is actually guarding the Philosopher's Stone. Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if Quirrell knew how to get past Fluffy—and Quirrell mentioned something about his 'hocus pocus.' I reckon there are other protections on the Stone apart from Fluffy—loads of enchantments, probably. Quirrell must have set some anti-Dark Arts spells, and Snape needs to break through them—"
"So it means the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape," Hermione added.
Elian muttered to himself, "It must be the other way around, then."
"What did you say?" Ron asked.
"Nothing, just analyzing what Potter said," Elian replied, hiding the weight of what he already suspected about Quirrell.
He wanted to tell them about Quirrell, but he didn't know how to reveal it.