Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

by J. K. Rowling

  The pain in Harry’s head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

  “Are you all right?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

  “Yes — thank you — what was that?”

  The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on Harry’s forehead.

  “You are the Potter boy,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time — especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.

  “My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber onto his back.

  There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

  “Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

  “Do you realize who this is?” said Firenze. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.”

  “What have you been telling him?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

  Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” he said in his gloomy voice.

  Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

  “For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!”

  Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on.

  “Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

  And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

  Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  “Why’s Bane so angry?” he asked. “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?”

  Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry’s question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn’t want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

  “Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

  “No,” said Harry, startled by the odd question. “We’ve only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.”

  “That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

  Harry stared at the back of Firenze’s head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

  “But who’d be that desperate?” he wondered aloud. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will bring you back to full strength and power — something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

  “The Sorcerer’s Stone! Of course — the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who —”

  “Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

  It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry’s heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: “Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.”

  “Do you mean,” Harry croaked, “that was Vol —”

  “Harry! Harry, are you all right?”

  Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

  “I’m fine,” said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. “The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in that clearing back there.”

  “This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. “You are safe now.”

  Harry slid off his back.

  “Good luck, Harry Potter,” said Firenze. “The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.”

  He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him.

  Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

  Harry couldn’t sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

  “Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort . . . and Voldemort’s waiting in the forest . . . and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich. . . .”

  “Stop saying the name!” said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

  Harry wasn’t listening.

  “Firenze saved me, but he shouldn’t have done so. . . . Bane was furious . . . he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen. . . . They must show that Voldemort’s coming back. . . . Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me. . . . I suppose that’s written in the stars as well.”

  “Will you stop saying the name!” Ron hissed.

  “So all I’ve got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone,” Harry went on feverishly, “then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off. . . . Well, I suppose Bane’ll be happy.”

  Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

  “Harry, everyone says Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won’t touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that’s a very imprecise branch of magic.”

  The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night’s surprises weren’t over.

  When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his Invisibility Cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

  Just in case.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR

  In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

  It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

  They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox — points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember h
ow to make a Forgetfulness potion.

  Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn’t sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

  Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen what Harry had seen in the forest, or because they didn’t have scars burning on their foreheads, but Ron and Hermione didn’t seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn’t keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn’t have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

  Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who’d invented self-stirring cauldrons and they’d be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn’t help cheering with the rest.

  “That was far easier than I thought it would be,” said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. “I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”

  Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

  “No more studying,” Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. “You could look more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.”

  Harry was rubbing his forehead.

  “I wish I knew what this means!” he burst out angrily. “My scar keeps hurting — it’s happened before, but never as often as this.”

  “Go to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione suggested.

  “I’m not ill,” said Harry. “I think it’s a warning . . . it means danger’s coming. . . .”

  Ron couldn’t get worked up, it was too hot.

  “Harry, relax, Hermione’s right, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”

  Harry nodded, but he couldn’t shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he’d forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to explain this, Hermione said, “That’s just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we’d done that one.”

  Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but —

  Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

  “Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily.

  “I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.”

  “Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn’t answer.

  Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

  “Hullo,” he said, smiling. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

  “Yes, please,” said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

  “No, we’re in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

  “Dunno,” said Hagrid casually, “he wouldn’ take his cloak off.”

  He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head — that’s one o’ the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

  Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.

  “What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

  “Mighta come up,” said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. “Yeah . . . he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here. . . . He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after . . . so I told him . . . an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon . . . an’ then . . . I can’ remember too well, ’cause he kept buyin’ me drinks. . . . Let’s see . . . yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted . . . but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home. . . . So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy. . . .”

  “And did he — did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Well — yeah — how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep —”

  Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

  “I shouldn’ta told yeh that!” he blurted out. “Forget I said it! Hey — where’re yeh goin’?”

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

  “We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,” said Harry. “Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak — it must’ve been easy, once he’d got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn’t stop him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?”

  They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

  “We’ll just have to —” Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

  “What are you three doing inside?”

  It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

  “We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” said Hermione, rather bravely, Harry and Ron thought.

  “See Professor Dumbledore?” Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. “Why?”

  Harry swallowed — now what?

  “It’s sort of secret,” he said, but he wished at once he hadn’t, because Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

  “Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,” she said coldly. “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”

  “He’s gone?” said Harry frantically. “Now?”

  “Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time —”

  “But this is important.”

  “Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?”

  “Look,” said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, “Professor — it’s about the Sorcerer’s Stone —”

  Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn’t that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of h
er arms, but she didn’t pick them up.

  “How do you know — ?” she spluttered.

  “Professor, I think — I know — that Sn — that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone. I’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.”

  She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

  “Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow,” she said finally. “I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.”

  “But Professor —”

  “Potter, I know what I’m talking about,” she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.”

  But they didn’t.

  “It’s tonight,” said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. “Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He’s found out everything he needs, and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.”

  “But what can we —”

  Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron wheeled round.

  Snape was standing there.

  “Good afternoon,” he said smoothly.

  They stared at him.

  “You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,” he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

  “We were —” Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

  “You want to be more careful,” said Snape. “Hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Gryffindor really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?”

  Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

  “Be warned, Potter — any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.”

  He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

  Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

  “Right, here’s what we’ve got to do,” he whispered urgently. “One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape — wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you’d better do that.”