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Chapter 17: The Game Begins
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 18:30:28 +0000 UTC"What?" Neville asked, blinking in confusion, his mind clearly struggling to process such a strange and unexpected request.
"Ah… okay," he stammered a moment later, quickly recovering. He was still in the phase of his gratitude where he would have probably agreed to jump off the Astronomy Tower if she'd asked him to. "Yes, of course."
With a nod, Hermione stood, and the two students swapped places. With two quick, silent Levitation Charms, she exchanged her plate and goblet with his, the whole maneuver executed with a fluid, no-nonsense efficiency that left Harry and Ron watching in baffled silence. They didn't understand why she had suddenly decided to move, but they had long ago learned that questioning Hermione's strange, often inscrutable logic was a pointless exercise. The standard answer was always a variation of 'because I have my reasons,' delivered with a look that dared them to ask a follow-up.
Across from them, Seamus Finnigan was completely oblivious to the quiet drama. He was in his own world, a world of intense, magical concentration. "Eye of rabbit, harpstring hum," he chanted, his brow furrowed, "turn this water into rum!" He gave his goblet another series of violent, stabbing jabs with his wand, as if trying to physically beat the water into submission.
Harry watched him for a moment, a bemused frown on his face. "What is he actually trying to do?" he whispered to Ron.
Ron snorted, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. "He's been at it all morning. Trying to turn water into rum. Said his granddad used to do it as a party trick. Yesterday, he managed to turn it into weak tea, and the time before that…"
BOOM!
A loud, concussive bang echoed through the Great Hall, cutting through the lunchtime chatter and causing the entire room to fall silent. Every head snapped toward the source of the explosion.
Seamus Finnigan sat there, his expression one of utter, dazed shock. His entire face was covered in a thick layer of black soot, his eyebrows were completely gone, and his hair stood on end as if he'd just been struck by lightning. A plume of thick, acrid smoke, smelling faintly of sulfur and burnt sugar, billowed from the now-charred goblet in front of him.
For a second, there was only stunned silence. Then, the entire Great Hall erupted in a tidal wave of laughter.
Hermione, who had been watching with detached amusement, couldn't help herself. A rare, genuine smile touched her lips, and she lightly covered her mouth to hide a small, appreciative chuckle. She'd known from her past life that Seamus had a unique and explosive talent for magic, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. The boy was a natural-born demolitions expert.
Her foresight had paid off. But Neville, poor, perpetually unlucky Neville, was not so fortunate. Sitting in what had been her seat, he was right in the blast radius. One side of his face was blackened with soot, and a small, smoldering patch was visible in his hair. He shot a look across the table at Hermione, an expression of pure, resentful betrayal in his eyes. Hermione expertly avoided his gaze, suddenly finding the pattern of her roast potatoes incredibly fascinating.
Just as the laughter began to die down, a sudden rush of wind swept through the hall. The doors had swung open on their own, admitting a veritable flood of owls. They swooped and soared under the enchanted ceiling, a chaotic, hooting blizzard of feathers and parchment. It was the bi-weekly group mail delivery, a treasured event for students far from home. Packages and letters rained down from above, and the hall filled with the happy, excited cries of students receiving gifts and news.
Two owls, larger than the rest, swooped down toward the Gryffindor table, each carrying an identical, long, and slender package wrapped in simple brown paper. One dropped its cargo in front of Harry, the other in front of Hermione. The sheer size of the parcels immediately drew the attention of everyone nearby.
"Blimey, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, his own small package from home completely forgotten. "What've you got there?"
A crowd of curious Gryffindors gathered around as the two began to unwrap their mysterious gifts. As the last of the paper was torn away, two brand new, magnificent broomsticks were revealed, their polished mahogany handles gleaming in the light of the enchanted candles.
"Wow…" Ron breathed, his voice filled with a reverence usually reserved for prayer. "It's not just any broom. It's a Nimbus 2000!"
Engraved in elegant gold lettering on each handle were the words: Nimbus 2000.
A collective gasp of awe went through the surrounding students. The Nimbus 2000 was the fastest, most advanced racing broom in the world, the magical equivalent of a brand-new supercar. It was an object of pure, unadulterated desire for every Quidditch-loving student in the castle. Ron reached out a hesitant, trembling hand and stroked the broom's handle as if it were a holy relic, his eyes shining with a mixture of awe and deep, soul-crushing envy. For a moment, Hermione could see the reflection of his deepest desire, the dream she knew he harbored of one day becoming a Quidditch champion.
Harry was just as stunned, but his shock was mixed with confusion. "But… who…?" he began.
His eyes were drawn to the staff table. Professor McGonagall, who was stroking the feathers of one of the delivery owls, caught his eye and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. A warm, powerful feeling spread through Harry's chest. No one, in his entire life, had ever given him a gift like this. A genuine, heartfelt smile spread across his face, and he nodded back, a silent thank you passing between student and teacher.
Hermione, on the other hand, stood and faced the staff table. With a grace and formality that seemed utterly alien in a first-year student, she performed a perfect, traditional wizard's salute—a slow, deliberate bow with her wand held over her heart. It was not the thank you of a child; it was the formal acknowledgment of one professional to another. An investment, she thought. She expects results.
Whispers broke out around her. "Did you see that? Such elegant manners!" "Is she really a Muggle-born? That was perfect form."
As the commotion from the two new brooms finally died down, Ron turned his attention back to his own mail. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet. As was typical in the wizarding world, the photos on the front page were moving, showing silent, black-and-white clips of the day's events.
Harry, his new broom leaning proudly against the table beside him, leaned over to read with Ron. After a moment, he let out a small gasp.
"Ron, look!" he said, pointing to a small article at the bottom of the page. "Someone tried to break into Gringotts!"
Ron's attention was immediately snatched away from the Quidditch scores. "What? Where?" The Weasley family vault was nearly empty as it was; the thought of losing what little they had was a terrifying one.
"Don't worry, it wasn't your vault," Harry said quickly, reading the article. "It says the break-in was at Vault 713, but nothing was stolen because the vault had been emptied earlier that same day." He paused, his brow furrowing as a sudden, dawning realization hit him. "Wait a minute… Vault 713… that's where Hagrid and I went!"
He murmured to himself, the words tumbling out in a rush of panicked memory. "Just before I came to Hogwarts… Hagrid took me to get the money my parents left me… and he went to Vault 713 to get a grubby little package, and he told me not to tell anyone about it… Oh, God."
He finally realized he'd been speaking aloud and clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting around frantically. No one seemed to have noticed.
Hermione, however, had heard every word. So much for keeping a secret, Potter, she thought with an internal roll of her eyes.
But a slow, cold smile touched her lips. After two long months of mundane school life, the main storyline was finally beginning. She knew exactly what Hagrid had taken from that vault.
The Philosopher's Stone. The legendary alchemical creation of Nicolas Flamel, the only object in the world capable of producing the Elixir of Life, granting immortality. Dumbledore, having received a tip that someone was after it, had moved it from the supposedly impregnable Gringotts for safekeeping.
And as for where the stone was now… where else would Dumbledore hide the most valuable object in the world?
There was only one answer. It was here, inside the walls of Hogwarts, the "safest place in the world."
The game, she thought with a thrill of anticipation, had finally begun.
