'Stay there!' she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

'I never thought to look in here!' she whispered excitedly. 'I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.'

'Light?' said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

'I knew it! I knew it!'

'Are we allowed to speak yet?' said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

'Nicolas Flamel,' she whispered dramatically, 'is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!'

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

'The what?' said Harry and Ron.

'Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look read that, there.'

She pushed the book towards them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

'See?' said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. 'The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!'

'A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!' said Harry. 'No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it.'

'And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,' said Ron. 'He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?'

Next morning in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

'I'm going to play,' he told Ron and Hermione. 'If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them ... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.'

'Just as long as we're not wiping you off the pitch,' said Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team weren't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was wonderful, no one had done it for nearly seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the changing rooms next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practising the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd got the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

'Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis,' Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

'I know, 'Ron snapped. 'Don't nag.'

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 on to 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.

'Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?'

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

'You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?' said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. 'It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.'

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

'I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy,' he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, 'You tell him, Neville.'

'Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.'

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.

'Come on, Harry!' Hermione screamed, leaping on to 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! Ron! 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 row in front.

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.

Harry left the changing room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him on to their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Harry had reached the shed. He leant against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape ...

And speaking of Snape ...

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the Forest while everyone else was at dinner what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the Forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

'... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus ...'

'Oh, I thought we'd keep this private,' said Snape, his voice icy. 'Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all.'

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

'Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?'

'B-b-but Severus, I '

'You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell,' said Snape, taking a step towards him.

'I-I don-t know what you '

'You know perfectly well what I mean.'

An owl hooted loudly and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, ' your little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting.'

'B-but I d-d-don't '

'Very well,' Snape cut in. 'We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.'

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

'Harry, where have you been?' Hermione squeaked.

'We won! You won! We won!' shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. 'And I gave Malfoy a black eye and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.'

'Never mind that now,' said Harry breathlessly. 'Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this ...'

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

'So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy and he said something about Quirrell's "hocus-pocus" I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell which Snape needs to break through '

'So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?' said Hermione in alarm.

'It'll be gone by next Tuesday,' said Ron.

- CHAPTER FOURTEEN*

Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher's Stone. She had started drawing up revision timetables and colour-coding all her notes. Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

'Hermione, the exams are ages away.'

'Ten weeks,' Hermione snapped. 'That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel.'

'But we're not six hundred years old,' Ron reminded her. 'Anyway, what are you revising for, you already know it all.'