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“What are we supposed to do?” Harry rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “Now that Snape knows how to get past Fluffy, the stone is as good as stolen!”
“How would Snape of all people get his hands on a dragon egg to give to Hagrid anyway?” Ron asks. “Must have cost a fortune since they’re illegal in Wizarding Britain—does he have that kind of money?”
Hermione frowns, “I don’t think so…if he was really that wealthy, then why would he be so desperate to get the stone?”
“For the immortality, obviously,” Ron says. “Who wouldn’t want to be immortal?”
“Besides,” Harry adds. “What’s a little spending if he can make back all the gold after he steals it?”
Hermione didn’t look convinced, “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem very plausible…”
“Honestly, Hermione,” Ron says. “Are you really going back to defending him now of all times?”
“That’s not what I’m saying! It’s just—” Hermione huffs, “—oh, I don’t know.”
“No, wait, you might be onto something,” Harry sits up straighter. “He might have gotten the money for the dragon egg from someone else, but who…?”
“I think we should just tell Dumbledore,” Hermione says, and Harry absently nods, but isn’t really paying attention anymore.
Where would Snape get the money?
Harry tries to think of people that would just give Snape however many galleons he needed to buy whatever he wanted and his thoughts stumble over Draco's parents. The Malfoys have money, plenty of it, and they didn’t seem to care how much they were spending on that shopping trip to the mall.
They practically dote on Draco, and Draco—Draco has been telling everyone he comes across that Snape is dating his parents, Snape is his new Pa, Snape, Snape, Snape—Draco’s been practically gushing over him. Snape would barely have to ask and Draco would help.
No—Harry can’t think of Draco like that.
Draco is good, and what Snape is trying to do is evil, it’s wrong, and surely Draco would refuse something like this, wouldn’t he? Draco is a good person, Harry knows he is, so he couldn’t possibly be helping Snape.
Right?
Except, Draco adores Snape, and Snape seems to care for Draco too, so maybe Draco just can’t see it. Maybe Draco has just convinced himself that helping Snape can’t be bad because he’s unable to see past the obvious wrongdoing that Snape is roping him into.
“Harry…?” Ron waves a hand in front of his face. “You alright, mate?”
“I think Draco is helping Snape,” Harry blurts out. “That’s where Snape got the money.”
Both Hermione and Ron look taken aback.
Harry needs to do something.
Okay—he doesn’t know for sure if Draco is actually helping, but the facts seem to be aligning that way, as much as Harry dislikes the scenario in which it’s true. Harry doesn’t want to believe Draco is helping Snape, but if he is…Harry can’t just let Draco continue.
If he has to be the wake up call that Draco needs, then he will be.
“Come on!” Harry says, already out the door and starting down the hall.
Draco will be with Finch-Fletchley, Harry bets.
The two of them are together most of the time and Finch-Fletchley keeps trying to prevent Harry from talking with Draco, like some petty bodyguard. It’s frustrating, but Harry knows from experience that they tend to hang around in the room they use for their studying club.
Then, Harry runs, fueled by determination, with Ron and Hermione chasing after him.
Harry slams the door open so hard it hits the wall with a bang. Draco and Finch-Fletchley are seated inside, and Draco stands as he raises an eyebrow at him. Harry doesn’t allow himself to get distracted by it, not right now, not with something this important.
“I want to know if you’re involved with the stone too!” Harry demands, cutting off whatever Draco was about to say and breathing heavily from sprinting the distance here. “Are you helping him?”
Draco takes a step back, legs bumping into the chair he was just sitting in, eyes wide like a panicked deer. It looks like a clear admission of guilt, if Harry ever saw one. Finch-Fletchley takes a protective stance in front of Draco, arms crossed and glaring, “I suggest you leave, Potter.”
Harry glares right back at him, then focuses back on Draco, taking another step forward, “Not until I have answers! What Snape is doing is wrong and you know it Draco!”
“Potter, I’m not sure where you get the audacity, but I suggest you take it and your accusations back to your common room before I make you.” Finch-Fletchley draws his wand, angered and threatening, and Harry has the sudden urge to punch him.
“This isn’t about you, Finch-Fletchley,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “So why don’t you take your opinions and stuff them—”
“Harry!” Hermione runs up with Ron at her side, “You can’t just accuse—” Her shout breaks off in a panic, “—oh goodness, Draco!”
Harry and Finch-Fletchley both whip around to see Draco grasping the front of his robes, swaying where he’s standing. His eyes are unfocused and he takes in another wheezing gasp of air before he’s stumbling to his knees. All of Harry’s anger dissolves into panic.
“Draco!” Finch-Fletchley shouts, and he’s at Draco’s side in a moment, grabbing Draco’s robes and keeping him propped up. “He’s choking! I need—we need to—Draco!”
Harry is at Draco’s other side a moment after, and Draco blinks, lethargic and slow, his head starting to loll to the side. Harry helps support Draco’s weight so they can gently lay him on the floor. Draco’s eyes fall shut and it takes far longer for them to open back up again.
“What are you doing?” Harry says forcefully, frowning at Finch-Fletchley as the Hufflepuff starts reaching inside Draco’s robes. “Get away from him!”
“Potter! Stop it!” Finch-Fletchley tries to bat him away, one hand still on Draco’s robes. “I need to get—Draco, keep your eyes open!—even if they aren't ready for use—sorry, but this is an emergency—”
“Help!” Hermione yells, and when Harry turns to look behind him, past Hermione and Ron, though the open door, Harry can see Quirrell near the end of the hall, wand already out. A flood of relief goes through Harry—someone capable of helping is around, thank goodness.
“Professor!” Hermione calls after him. “Please help! Our friend is—!”
But Quirrell doesn’t turn back, disappearing around the corner.
The panic returns ten-fold and Harry is too choked with concern to protest much when Finch-Fletchley pushes him aside, grabbing something in the inner pocket of Draco’s robes. It’s a small brown ball—chocolate, Harry thinks—but he doesn’t know how this is supposed to help.
“How is that supposed to—?” Harry starts but is cut off when Finch-Fletchley actually snarls at him.
“Get Madam Pomfrey!” Finch-Fletchley snaps at the three of them, and Ron immediately runs off to do just that, then Finch-Fletchley continues with his efforts to shove the chocolate ball into Draco’s mouth.
Harry is on his knees, blinking away tears that are blurring his vision.
He can’t bring himself to yell at Finch-Fletchley anymore, no matter how the Hufflepuff is acting towards him, because this almost feels like his fault, like it was karma for yelling at Draco and accusing him of being involved with whatever scheme Snape has plotted.
How did it all go so wrong so quickly?
Please let Draco be okay, Harry thinks desperately, hoping that some magical being will hear him and help. Please, Draco can’t—please. I’ll do anything. Please!
Finch-Fletchley manages to get Draco to swallow the chocolate and Draco takes a gasping breath.
It’s awful, like a pained cough, and Harry wraps his arms around himself. Draco’s eyes almost seem to focus on him and he reaches an arm out towards Harry. Draco’s hand lands on his knee, and it almost looks like Draco is trying to pat him, but the limb is too weak to do so.
“…al…right…” Draco says, but the words are quiet and it sounds like he’s speaking around glass, scratchy and sharp and painful. Harry blinks away his tears to meet Draco’s eyes, and Draco doesn’t look scared. “Don’t…worry.”
Draco isn’t scared, Harry thinks, and puts his hand over Draco’s. I should be braver.
Harry laces his fingers through Draco’s and tries to project a more assured expression.
“…be okay…worry…” Draco manages, and Harry thinks he’s trying to say I’ll be okay, don’t worry but his eyes unfocus again and Harry squeezes his hand tighter.
Finally, finally, Ron comes running in with Madam Pomfrey following a step behind.
She pushes Harry to the side, but not far enough that Harry is forced to let go of Draco’s hand, and Draco smiles at him. Harry tries to smile back, to show something that conveys I’m sorry, I love you, I’m so, so sorry, please be okay, but Madam Pomfrey is pointing her wand at Draco’s chest and Draco slumps over, unconscious, before Harry gets the chance.
For the next few minutes, they all wait with bated breaths as Madam Pomfrey casts more spells. Draco’s breathing evens out for a couple moments, then stutters again, choking. Madam Pomfrey straightens, flicking her wand at Draco and he is levitated several feet in the air.
“We need to transfer him to St Mungo’s,” Madam Pomfrey says, voice grim. Harry widens his eyes in horror, and his expression is mirrored on Finch-Fletchley's face. Hermione makes a sound like she’s just been punched. “He’ll be fine,” Madam Pomfrey says in an attempt to abate their worry, “but given his illness, it would be safer.”
She leads them all to the Hospital Wing in a hurried pace, and they all follow behind, silent and anxious. Harry can’t tear his eyes off of Draco’s unmoving form, even as Madam Pomfrey ushers people out of the way and students start to whisper.
His thoughts are on a constant loop, trying to figure out what had happened but it is hard to think rationally when his mind is addled with distress. Harry just wanted to make sure that Draco wasn’t helping Snape steal the stone, then he was fighting with Finch-Fletchley, then Draco was choking and Quirrell had left so Ron called Madam Pomfrey and—
“Quirrell.” Harry says darkly, just as Madam Pomfrey sets Draco onto a bed.
A moment later, Snape bursts through the doors of the Hospital Wing, demanding to see Draco. He completely ignores Harry’s presence, striding over to Madam Pomfrey, and the two of them begin a hushed conversation about who did this and medical coma and St Mungo’s.
“Quirrell?” Hermione asks, leaning towards Harry as Ron joins their makeshift huddle. Regrettably, so does Finch-Fletchley. “Harry, what—?”
“No one else was around Draco except us three—us four—” Harry glares at Finch-Fletchley, but the Hufflepuff doesn’t take the hint, and doesn’t leave, “—when he started choking, except for Quirrell. He had his wand out, so why didn’t he come help us?”
“Why did he have his wand out?” Ron asks. “Unless,” Ron stutters on the realization, “he cursed Draco.”
“I’m going to make him regret it,” Finch-Fletchley says, and Harry can’t help but agree.
“—inform Lucius and Narcissa,” Snape’s voice cuts through their conversation. “I’ll handle transferring Draco to St Mungo’s. See if you can contact Albus about what to do with who was responsible.”
The last three words come out as a near growl, and Snape looks like he’s about to commit murder, but his expression softens slightly when he looks back over at Draco. Madam Pomfrey guides Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Finch-Fletchley to the side, closer to the door, as Snape levitates Draco away.
“Madam Pomfrey!” Hermione says urgently. “We think that Quirrell was the one to curse Draco!”
“Did you see Professor Quirrell cast the spell?” Madam Pomfrey asks.
“Well, no, but—!” Harry says, then Finch-Fletchley speaks over him.
“He was running away when Granger yelled to him for help. Weasley had to run and get you instead.”
“I see,” Madam Pomfrey replies, sounding far too peaceful for Harry’s liking. “I will let the Headmaster know and see if we can get Professor Quirrell’s side of the story as well.”
“We need to speak to Dumbledore, actually,” Hermione insists. “It’s about the stone. Snape—!”
“Professor Snape is currently taking Mr Malfoy to St Mungo's,” Madam Pomfrey interjects. “I don’t want any of you hassling him when he’s worrying over his godson.”
“Draco is our friend too!” Harry protests.
“I’m well aware, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey says, calm and placating, “and I’m very grateful that Mr Malfoy has friends like you who are looking out for him, but as of right now, the best course of action is to wait and let the healers do their jobs. Mr Malfoy will be fine.”
“It’s not about that!” Ron says. “We need to tell Dumbledore—!”
“I’ll tell Dumbledore about your concerns regarding Professor Quirrell,” Madam Pomfrey says, voice firm but not unkind. She begins ushering them out of the Hospital Wing. “He’s left on a missive and isn’t at Hogwarts at the moment, but I’ll pass the message forward for you. Rest assured, your concerns will be made known to him.”
“But we—!”
Then they’re all forced out into the empty hallway.
Harry lets out a frustrated breath, “Well, now what are we supposed to do about—”
Hermione cuts him off, glancing around them, “Not here.”
She leads them all to a nearby empty classroom, and to Harry’s dismay, Finch-Fletchley follows them inside. Ron closes the door behind them all.
“Okay, what is your problem?” Finch-Fletchley demands.
“What’s my problem?” Harry shoots back. “You’re the one who—!”
“I’m the one who defended Draco after you came storming in with a load of accusations!” Finch-Fletchley interrupts, ignoring Harry’s attempts to talk over him. “And again with the stone and Snape! What’s so important about it that you have been plotting for months? Don’t think I forgot about that suspicious conversation you were having in the hall—and now you’re claiming Draco wants to steal the thing? Draco has been working on his own projects. Why would he be involved in whatever mess you three have gotten into?”
Harry shares a look with Ron and Hermione. Eventually, Hermione says, “Snape has been trying to steal the philosopher’s stone. Harry thought Draco might be helping him do it.”
Finch-Fletchley blinks at them, “Hold on—what? Philosopher’s…?”
“It was made by Nicholas Flamel,” Hermione explains, “and can grant immortality and turn metal to gold. We don’t know why Snape wants it, but he’s been after the stone for the entire year.”
Finch-Fletchley appears to be at a loss for words, so Ron adds, “He’s also been trying to kill Harry.”
“That’s—that’s a serious allegation,” Finch-Fletchley says. “Why would Snape be trying to kill you?”
“He tried to,” Harry says, “back during the first Gryffindor vs Slytherin match.”
Hermione picks up the explanation, “Harry’s broom went wild, and I saw Snape in the professor’s stands. He was mouthing a jinx and wasn’t breaking eye-contact with Harry. I had to sneak over and set his robes on fire.”
Finch-Fletchley looks between the three of them, parroting their words in disbelief, “You set his robe on fire? Why would you think—?”
“He was cursing Harry’s broom! He could have died!” Hermione says, defensive. “We could only stop Snape by breaking eye-contact, and it worked. The broom stopped being jinxed once he looked away to put out the flames.”
Finch-Fletchley fixes them all with a flat look, “So you think Snape was jinxing Potter’s broom—and then?”
“He was jinxing Harry’s broom!” Ron says.
“Okay…” Finch-Fletchley says slowly. “So what does that have to do with the stone you all are so concerned about?”
“The stone is being kept here, at Hogwarts, but he’s been trying to break past the defenses,” Harry explains. “He tried to steal it back at Halloween but was stopped by Fluffy.”
“Fluffy?” Finch-Fletchley asks.
“Fluffy is the three-headed dog on the third floor,” Hermione explains.
“A three-headed dog,” Finch-Fletchley repeats. “Like a cerberus? From mythology?”
“We saw it!” Ron says. “It was huge, three snarling heads—bloody beast tried to eat us.”
“On the third floor?” Finch-Fletchley continues. “Didn’t Dumbledore say to stay away from there?”
“We didn’t mean to go up there,” Harry says, and Hermione and Ron nod with him. “But we were…well, we were running from Filch and ended up seeing Fluffy and the trapdoor he was guarding.”
“These two didn’t,” Hermione says, waving a hand at Harry and Ron, “but I noticed the trapdoor and pointed it out afterwards.”
“We were too busy running to look for trapdoors!” Ron protests.
“Guys,” Finch-Fletchley waves to get their attention. “How is this relevant?”
“So me and Ron ran to the bathroom to warn Hermione about the troll, and we saw Snape going in the opposite direction of the other professors. We didn’t get the chance to follow him then because we heard Hermione scream and had to fight the troll, but when Snape, McGonagall, and Quirrell got to the bathroom, his leg was injured. I overheard him later with Filch to get bandages and I’m sure it was Fluffy that bit him. We think he let the troll in to distract everyone so he could try to steal the stone.”
“Wait, what?” Finch-Fletchley says. “So putting aside the fact that a cerberus is a real thing that exists and there’s one in Hogwarts, you think Snape was the one who let the troll in? That doesn’t make any sense. If he wanted a distraction, why wouldn’t he just brew some poison and cause chaos that way? He is the school’s potion master.”
“I—huh,” Hermione says. “It’s just that Snape has been acting suspicious a lot. It’s always him and Quirrell—Snape’s been threatening Quirrell to try to get past his defenses, we saw it.”
“What defenses would Quirrell even have?” Finch-Fletchley asks. “He hasn’t exactly shown any skill while teaching us in Defense. He seems scared of everything.”
“Well, I heard that he’s supposedly skilled in troll-hunting,” Hermione says. A look of consideration crosses her face. “But he looked ready to collapse when he saw the unconscious troll in the bathroom.”
A dawning look of comprehension comes over Ron’s face, “What if Quirrell was faking? If he has skill with trolls, then maybe he was only pretending to faint when he screamed about it. He passed out on the floor, didn’t he, Harry?”
Harry nods, “He screamed about a troll in the dungeons, then passed out in front of everyone, but then…Quirrell was also there with McGonagall and Snape when they found us in the bathroom.”
“So,” Finch-Fletchley says. “He lied about the troll being in the dungeons, he pretended to fall unconscious but then got up just fine while everyone was corralled back to their dorms, and now he’s attacked Draco, that means…”
Harry’s eyes widen, all the pieces clicking together.
“Quirrell must have planned this then!” Harry says, voice full of conviction, then gasps. “That’s why he attacked Draco! If Quirrell was the one trying to steal the stone, and not Snape, that means Snape must have been the one protecting it from him! But now…”
“Now Snape has gone off to St Mungo’s with Draco,” Hermione says, horror creeping into her voice. “And if both Snape and Dumbledore are no longer at Hogwarts, then there’s no one left to protect the stone! Quirrell won’t have anyone to stop him!”
“And Hagrid said Quirrell also helped make some of the defenses,” Ron says, worrying. “He probably wouldn’t have any trouble getting past them.”
“We have to stop him! We’ll have to protect the stone,” Harry says, halfway out the door. “He hurt Draco, we can’t let Quirrell get it! We can’t let him get away with this!”
“Harry, wait!” Hermione is calling after him, Ron and Finch-Fletchley following close behind.
“There’s no time!” Harry says. “Quirrell is probably half-way through by now!”
“I know Dumbledore and Snape are out, but can’t you tell your head of house to deal with this?” Finch-Fletchley says. “Or we could go to Professor Sprout and tell—oh!”
Harry runs directly into Professor McGonagall, who lets out a sound of alarm when, a moment later, Ron, Hermoine, and Finch-Fletchley do the same.
“Professor!” Hermione says, the quickest to regain her bearings. “We need to talk to Dumbledore, it’s important, tell him that—”
“I’m sure whatever matters you need to discuss with him can wait,” McGonagall says firmly. “The headmaster has been called out for—”
“We know!” Harry says hastily. “Pomfrey told us Dumbledore’s not here, but he needs to come back to Hogwarts. It’s important! We think the philosopher’s stone is going to get stolen by—!”
McGonagall's expression darkens into suspicion, “I don’t know how you all know about that, but I can assure you that the defenses are quite sturdy.”
“But Quirrell—!” Ron tries, but their protests fall on deaf ears.
McGonagall tells them to drop the subject and walks away. Soon enough, they are left alone again.
“What now?” Hermione asks, waving her hands in a helpless gesture.
“We can stop by Gryffindor tower,” says Ron. “We might need the cloak.”
Then they’re running up the stairs, Finch-Fletchley’s harried questions about ‘what cloak?’and ‘is this really a priority?’ going unanswered.
Finch-Fletchley seems uncomfortable standing in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, “What if somebody sees—?”
“I’ll go grab it,” Harry says, ignoring Finch-Fletchley, saying the password, and running to the dormitories to fetch it from his trunk. When he gets back out to the corridor, Ron and Hermione are explaining what the invisibility cloak is to Finch-Fletchley.
“—owns a cloak that turns you invisible?” Finch-Fletchley says. “That’s a thing in the Wizarding World?”
“It’s not common,” Ron says. “Bloody rare items—but Harry got it for Christmas.”
Finch-Fletchley huffs, “Of course he did.”
“It’s a tight fit for four,” Harry says, shooting a glare at Finch-Fletchley. “It’d be a lot easier if there were less people tagging along.”
“Not a chance, Potter,” Finch-Fletchley snipes back. “Quirrell attacked my best friend and I’m just going to roll over because you’ve got a possessive crush on Draco.”
Harry flushes, “I’m not possessive!”
“Ah, young love,” The Fat Lady says, leaning against the side of her portrait.
All of them freeze.
“...we should get going,” Ron says.
Harry mutely nods and they squish together as he tosses the cloak over them all.
Don’t worry, Draco, Harry thinks, resolve hardening. I won’t let Quirrell get away with this.