Chapter 23
The second term after Christmas proceeded quietly.
Gray and Hermione's relationship returned to normal—thanks entirely to the Christmas gift he had given her.
A small cat pen-holder, hand-carved by him personally.
It had taken quite a bit of effort, though magic helped a little.
Of course, the actual carving was done entirely by hand—no spells for shaping. When he made a mistake, he simply used his wand to cast Reparo and try again.
With his precise control, it wasn't especially difficult.
Given unlimited retries, even someone who had never touched a chisel before could produce a decent little cat in just a few days.
The cat stretched one front paw forward, back arched in a graceful curve, tail raised and curled into a neat circle at the tip—perfectly sized to hold a quill.
Why a cat pen-holder? Was he going to admit it was because Miss Granger reminded him of a cat—cute, but also a little prickly?
Of course not.
Their first meeting after Christmas was in the library. Gray was reading when Hermione arrived and deliberately chose the seat right beside him.
She set the cat pen-holder on the table with a small huff and a wrinkled nose.
"It's so ugly."
Gray flicked his wand. Tiny, delicate points of light drifted out and gathered behind the cat, forming a pair of miniature wings.
Hermione burst out laughing. She covered her mouth to stifle it, then turned and glared at him.
"Now it's *even uglier*."
Gray dispelled the magic, gave her a small smile, and shrugged.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the library windows. A gentle breeze drifted past them, carrying a faint drowsiness.
It made you want to stretch out and yawn luxuriously.
"Okay… it's not *that* ugly," Hermione admitted with a reluctant smile. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the cat's surface. It wasn't perfectly smooth, but every plane had clearly been carved with care.
And just like that—they were friends again.
Harry and Ron were the happiest of all.
The moment they saw Gray and Hermione return to the Gryffindor common room together, they rushed over, practically vibrating with urgency, ready to bombard Gray with questions about Nicolas Flamel.
They were on the verge of losing their minds. In the past few weeks they had read more books than in the previous ten years of their lives combined.
Ron had even started dreaming about Nicolas Flamel. In one dream, the man was an old wizard with white hair and beard, riding a broom and catching the Golden Snitch.
The next day he borrowed every record of historical Quidditch players—especially the elderly ones.
"It's a sign from the Quidditch gods," Ron insisted. "I'm sure Nicolas Flamel is in here somewhere."
"So Dumbledore's hiding a signed Quidditch jersey on the fourth floor?" Hermione asked dryly. "Nicolas Flamel is his idol?"
"It's… not impossible," Ron muttered, though he quietly closed the record book.
Gray figured the time was right to tell them about Nicolas Flamel.
But before he could speak, Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth.
Gray blinked at her in confusion.
He didn't speak with his mouth anyway.
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly. She lowered her hand, cleared her throat twice, and said:
"I know you still don't believe Snape would hurt Harry. But next Quidditch match, come watch with us. He'll definitely try something again. Then you can go straight to Dumbledore—tell him everything. He'll deal with Snape and protect whatever's hidden on the fourth floor."
"Come on, Gray doesn't even like Quidditch," Ron grumbled. "I still can't understand how anyone *doesn't* like Quidditch."
"Everyone has their own interests, Ron," Harry said. "You can't expect the whole world to love it just because you do."
"I know, I know," Ron muttered.
To their immense relief, Hermione dropped the demand that they keep scouring brick-thick books for Nicolas Flamel.
All they had to do now was wait for the next Quidditch match. Once Gray saw Snape's next move with his own eyes, he would believe them—and warn Dumbledore.
Once Dumbledore knew Snape was trying to get past the fourth-floor defenses, steal whatever was hidden there, and even kill Harry to prove his loyalty to You-Know-Who, he would personally intervene.
Snape would be arrested and sent straight to Azkaban.
So the focus had shifted. It wasn't about finding Nicolas Flamel or discovering what Dumbledore was hiding anymore.
It was about proving everything to Gray.
The best way? Let him see it for himself.
When they learned the next match—Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff—would be refereed by Snape himself, they knew their chance had arrived.
"At the next match, Snape won't be able to resist," Hermione said solemnly, looking Gray straight in the eye. "You *have* to come."
Harry and Ron nodded earnestly. Harry's expression was a mix of fear and fierce determination.
He had imagined what might happen. Snape could curse him off his broom mid-air. Or use some hidden hex. Or even slip poison onto him in some subtle way—slow, agonizing death.
But if his sacrifice exposed Snape, alerted Dumbledore, and stopped You-Know-Who from rising again… it would all be worth it.
He would feel proud—honored—to give everything for justice.
The thought made hot blood surge through him, almost burning a hole in his chest. He wanted the world to see what he was willing to offer for the greater good.
Gray looked at their eyes—Harry's resolve, Ron's excitement, Hermione's burning sense of righteousness—and felt something stir inside him.
All this time he had been thinking of them as their future selves. He had almost forgotten they were still just eleven- and twelve-year-old children.
Yes, they were impulsive. Their thinking was sometimes shallow, full of childish logic and fairy-tale ideas.
But wasn't that exactly why they were the protagonists?
Even he—despite himself—felt moved by their earnestness. Part of him wanted to stand with them, face the "evil" Snape, and protect the Philosopher's Stone.
"I'll go," he wrote with floating words. "Actually… I've never watched a Quidditch match before."
"YES!" Harry and Ron cheered as though they had already won. Hermione's face lit up with a wide smile.
Gray just smiled quietly. He didn't think too much of it.
The next match was still a week away. In the meantime, the trio was practically buzzing with energy. They acted as though Snape's arrest and Dumbledore's praise were already guaranteed.
Even the search for Nicolas Flamel had been temporarily shelved.
Once Snape was caught, whatever was hidden would be perfectly safe—no matter what it was.
***
Tl/N : Want to read more of this [+20 Chapter ] and support me, join me on patreon.com/WeirdSensei