Christmas was almost here.
On the eve of the holiday, Hogwarts awoke under a blanket of thick snow that covered the grounds and froze the lake solid.
The Great Hall had been decorated for the festivities.
Holly and mistletoe garlands draped the walls, and twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the hall, some adorned with twinkling icicles, others with hundreds of glowing candles.
Hermione, wrapped in her scarf, entered the hall to find Harry and Ron engrossed in a game of Wizard’s Chess.
“Don’t get too carried away,” she reminded them. “While I’m gone, make sure you keep looking for information on Nicolas Flamel.”
Just before leaving Hogwarts, Hermione instructed, “If you find anything, send me an owl immediately.”
“You’re leaving already?” Ron glanced at her, noting the absence of any luggage. “You haven’t even packed.”
“My things are already packed; I just didn’t bring them with me,” Hermione said. “Someone else will take them to the train.”
—
Dragging two suitcases, Bruce entered one of the compartments on the Hogwarts Express.
Outside, the world was a snowy white landscape, completely transformed from the way it had looked when they’d first arrived.
It didn’t take long for Hermione to find him, and she took a seat across from him.
As soon as she sat down, she yanked Kathoom over to her side.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“It’s about school,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Lately, we’ve realized someone might be planning something dangerous at Hogwarts.”
“Who?” Bruce asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Professor Quirrell.”
Bruce immediately sat up. “Tell me everything.”
“It all started just before Halloween,” Hermione explained, and then recounted the events of that night: how Harry and Draco had challenged each other to a midnight duel, only to discover a three-headed dog guarding a trapdoor.
“Harry thinks the dog was guarding something Hagrid retrieved from Gringotts—you remember, right? The news about the Gringotts break-in?”
Bruce nodded; of course he remembered.
“But what does this have to do with Quirrell?”
“Because Harry saw something,” Hermione explained. “He saw Snape warning Quirrell—right after the Quidditch match. Harry trusts Snape, so he thinks that if Snape was warning Quirrell, Quirrell must be the one up to something.”
That’s the reason? Bruce felt a twinge of disappointment. He’d hoped for a stronger lead.
Hermione went on, “Then we found out from Hagrid that the thing the dog is guarding is a secret between Dumbledore and someone named Nicolas Flamel. So, we’re looking for information on Flamel, but he’s so mysterious—”
“An alchemist,” Bruce interrupted suddenly. “You’ve read A History of Magic, haven’t you? Nicolas Flamel is mentioned there! And—”
He pulled a Chocolate Frog card from his pocket, featuring the infamous dark wizard Dumbledore.
On the back, the card listed Dumbledore’s achievements:
In 1945, he defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald, discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and made groundbreaking achievements in alchemy alongside his partner, Nicolas Flamel…
Hermione sprang to her feet, so excited that she accidentally flung Kathoom off her lap.
She remembered now!
“Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” she cried. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known creator of the Philosopher’s Stone!”
She turned, intent on running off the train to tell Harry and Ron about her discovery.
But just then, the train’s whistle sounded, and it slowly began to move.
“Send an owl later,” Bruce suggested calmly. “Or tell them after the holidays. Just enjoy Christmas.”
He said it coolly, but inside, he was elated.
Finally, he’d figured it out!
Dumbledore’s real target was the Philosopher’s Stone!
The Philosopher’s Stone was a substance of incredible power, capable of turning any metal into pure gold and producing the Elixir of Life, which granted immortality to anyone who drank it.
Dumbledore was already old, and Bruce could understand his desire for immortality. But the stone belonged to Nicolas Flamel. To maintain his image as someone who had transcended earthly desires, Dumbledore might keep the stone at Hogwarts, but he couldn’t claim it openly.
So what was the solution?
Use Quirrell to steal it, of course!
If the Philosopher’s Stone went missing, the blame would fall on Quirrell, keeping Dumbledore’s hands clean.
Bruce held his trembling hands steady, already formulating his plan.
After the Christmas holiday, he would lie in wait for Quirrell to make his move—and then catch him in the act!
As Bruce’s thoughts raced, Kathoom, on the other hand, could only shake his head, covering his face with his wing.
Great, Bat-boy has logic-looped himself.
Both were lost in thought, neither noticing the Chocolate Frog card in Bruce’s hand.
The Dumbledore on the card had quietly listened to their entire conversation.
Then, without a word, he turned and left the frame.
The train chugged onward and soon arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
As Bruce and Hermione stepped off, they were greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who stood smiling, waiting for them.
“Mum!”
Hermione ran up to her mother and hugged her tightly.
—
Meanwhile, inside an ordinary house in London, the air was filled with warmth and steam.
A pot of stew simmered on the stove, filling the room with the delicious aroma of a hearty meal.
“Eat, eat!”
The dark wizard Gibbon ladled himself another bowl of stew, practically overflowing.
“Leave some for the rest of us!” muttered a voice nearby.
Sitting around the pot were two others—Jason and Lupin.
Together, they made up the Alliance of the Outcasts.
As Christmas approached, the three had set aside their schemes, agreeing to take it easy over the holiday.
As Lupin held his bowl of steaming stew, he found himself reflecting.
Christmas used to be lonely for him; he’d often just buy some bread and dried ham to get by.
But this year was different—he actually had a delicious meal, thanks to Jason, who had a knack for finding money and had improved Lupin’s quality of life.
As for where the money came from?
It was best not to ask too many questions.
Just as Lupin was savoring his stew, a knock came at the door.
Jason immediately drew his twin pistols. “Who’s there?”
“Pardon the intrusion.”
The door, previously locked, swung open, and a strange figure stepped inside, head wrapped in layers of turban.
As the figure moved into the room, Jason realized the person didn’t have an unusually large head—it was just the excessive wrapping.
“Greetings,” the man said, smiling. “My name is Quirrell, professor at Hogwarts. I’ve heard of your group and am pleased to finally meet you.”
Jason’s finger rested on the trigger. “Oh? And why would you want to meet us?”
“Because I know you three are working on a… grand project. And I’m very interested.”
Gone was the stammering, fearful Quirrell they knew from school.
Quirrell’s voice was smooth, his demeanor confident.
“I’m here to propose a genuine partnership.”
Jason sneered. “What could you possibly offer us?”
“Oh, quite a lot.” Quirrell’s eyes gleamed. “For example, I can grant you access to Hogwarts.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then, Jason raised his head, pointing at the stew pot.
“Want a bowl?”
—
T/N: All of us is Kathoom rn
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