A Certain Magical Hogwarts

The night was deep, but the Gryffindor common room was still alive with celebration.

To mark their first victory, Fred and George disappeared for two hours, only to return laden with bottles of Butterbeer, fizzing pumpkin juice, and bags of sweets from Honeydukes.

They even invited William, Cedric, and Cho to join.

William and the others naturally didn't decline an opportunity to enjoy free treats and drinks.

…

"So, Hagrid mentioned the name 'Nicolas Flamel'?"

William sipped his tea thoughtfully, sitting in a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Hagrid said it was some sort of arrangement between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel."

"And then," Harry continued, "when Hagrid and I visited the vault to fetch something for Dumbledore, Gringotts was robbed."

William massaged his temples, piecing the puzzle together.

From what he had gathered: Nicolas Flamel had entrusted Dumbledore with something, which Dumbledore stored in the vault. 

After Hagrid retrieved it, a dark-robed wizard attempted to steal it—a wizard William and others just so happened to encounter.

Afterward, Dumbledore placed enchantments to secure the item within the school.

So, was the dark-robed wizard Quirrell?

But Quirrell didn't seem like the kind of powerful dark wizard who could pull off something like that.

If he truly had the abilities shown during the Gringotts heist, Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed him to remain at Hogwarts.

William had faced the dark-robed figure himself and understood the terrifying strength of the other party.

Could it be… that Quirrell was under the control of the dark-robed wizard via the Imperius Curse? Or perhaps he was just a subordinate?

Both seemed plausible.

"Who is Nicolas Flamel?" Ron asked, looking puzzled. "You haven't told us."

Harry glanced curiously at William, trying hard to keep his gaze from lingering too long on Cho, who sat beside Cedric.

William turned to Hermione in surprise. "You haven't told them?"

Harry and Ron both turned their expectant eyes on Hermione.

Blushing, Hermione defended herself. "Mr. Flamel asked me not to reveal anything about him before he left."

Harry and Ron's jaws dropped. "You know Nicolas Flamel?!"

"Of course we do," Cedric chimed in as he shuffled a deck of cards with Cho. He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. "William's been corresponding with Mr. Flamel for months!"

"Well, you could say we're… pen pals," William said vaguely.

"Pen pals" wasn't entirely accurate. 

Their relationship was more akin to a teacher and student, with Flamel guiding William on many aspects of alchemy. But to avoid complications, William didn't elaborate.

The Gringotts incident was even more off-limits—at least to Harry and Ron. William had promised Fudge to keep it a secret.

The only people William had shared the Gringotts story with were Cedric, Cho, and the twins, all his trusted friends, who wouldn't spread the word. As for Hermione, she already knew from her firsthand experience.

"I have a book in my dormitory that mentions Nicolas Flamel," Hermione said suddenly. "I'll fetch it for you." She darted off.

Meanwhile, sitting near William, Ron felt increasingly out of place. 

After a while, he dragged Harry to get some drinks.

Harry glanced at Cho reluctantly before leaving.

When Hermione returned, she spotted Harry and Ron by the snacks. She hurried over, flipping her thick book to a specific page before handing it to them.

Both boys were dumbstruck after reading it. Nicolas Flamel's biography was simply awe-inspiring.

"It has to be Flamel's Philosopher's Stone!" Harry said, "I bet he entrusted it to Dumbledore because they're friends and because he knew someone was after it. That's why they moved it out of Gringotts."

"A stone that can turn any metal into gold and make you immortal? No wonder Quirrell is after it. Anyone would want that!" Ron said enviously. "If I had the Philosopher's Stone, I'd buy my own Quidditch team."

"But, Hermione, how do you know Nicolas Flamel?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"During the summer vacation," Hermione explained vaguely, "William… got sick, and Mr. Flamel came to visit him."

She avoided mentioning the Gringotts heist, respecting Flamel's instructions to keep it secret.

"I could ask Mr. Flamel if the item he lent to Professor Dumbledore is the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione said suddenly.

"What? You can contact Flamel?" Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous glances.

"Well, not me. Only William can. But…" Hermione grinned sweetly. "Mr. Flamel invited the two of us to his six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth birthday party during Christmas."

"What?!" Ron's eyes burned with envy.

He wanted to go too!

…

Not far away, William was quietly sharing his deductions with Cedric and Cho.

"Could it be the Philosopher's Stone?" Cedric asked in a low voice.

William shook his head. "It's hard to say. Flamel has many treasures; who knows what it could be?

"But whatever it is, I'm more curious about something else right now."

"What's that?"

"What Quirrell is hiding under that scarf."

Quirrell always kept his head wrapped in a scarf. What once seemed like an eccentric habit now felt suspicious.

After all, he hadn't removed it even when his head was on fire.

"That's easy," Cedric said with a grin. "We could post a bounty at school."

"Exactly," William said, catching on quickly and smiling back. "A bounty for discovering what's under Professor Quirrell's scarf."

"It won't be easy to get students to mess with a professor," Cho raised an eyebrow. "How much are you planning to offer?"

"Fifty Galleons," William decided after a moment of thought.

"That'll definitely get the students interested!"

…

"Achoo!"

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Professor Quirrell pulled his robes tighter around himself. He felt like he might be coming down with a cold.

"Damn Snape!" Quirrell cursed internally. "It's his fault for dumping cold water on me."

But as he sneezed, the face on the back of his head winced in pain, the movement pulling at the already aggravated burns.

"Idiot!" a shrill voice hissed, making Quirrell tremble.

"Hurry and fetch me the Burn-Healing Potion!" the voice demanded.

Quirrell picked up the potion from the desk and offered it to the face on the back of his head.

The face, pale as chalk with glowing red eyes and snake-like slits for nostrils, was covered in blistering burns.

The mouth opened wide to take a gulp, but before swallowing, it spat it out violently.

"What did you put in this potion? It tastes… revolting!" the voice shrieked.

Quirrell quaked in fear.

It was a potion from Madam Pomfrey herself—what could have gone wrong?

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