human again / hp.

Chapter 16

The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of parchment and the soft hum of whispered conversations. Sunlight filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting warm patches of light on the ancient wooden tables. Harry, Ron, and I sat at our usual spot, a secluded corner tucked away from Madam Pince's watchful eyes.

Ron was slouched in his chair, half-heartedly flipping through a book about magical artifacts. Harry, seated beside him, was more focused, his brow furrowed as he skimmed through a volume on alchemy. I was working through a dense text on magical history, though my mind kept wandering to the mystery we were trying to solve.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere," Ron muttered, shutting his book with a loud thump that earned him a glare from Madam Pince. "This is hopeless."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "There's got to be something here about what Fluffy's guarding. We just haven't found it yet."

I glanced at my own book, the words blurring together. We'd been at this for weeks, ever since Harry overheard Snape and Quirrell's cryptic conversation. The pieces of the puzzle felt tantalizingly close, yet frustratingly out of reach.

The sound of quick, determined footsteps broke the silence, and I looked up just as Hermione Granger appeared, clutching a massive, leather-bound book. Her expression was triumphant, and before any of us could greet her, she slammed the book onto the table with a resounding thud.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione!" Ron yelped, jumping in his seat. "You trying to give us a heart attack?"

Harry and I exchanged amused glances, though my heart was racing from the sudden noise.

Hermione didn't seem to notice our reactions. She was already flipping through the thick, yellowed pages, muttering to herself. "I had you looking in the wrong section," she said, her tone filled with self-reproach. "How could I be so stupid? I checked this out a few weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

Ron stared at the colossal tome in disbelief. "This is light?"

"Of course!" Hermione replied briskly, as though the answer were obvious.

I leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What is it, Hermione?"

Her finger stopped on a page, and she looked up at us with a mixture of excitement and urgency. "Here it is!" she announced, turning the book so we could see the entry she'd found. "Nicholas Flamel."

Pointing to the text, Hermione reads "Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone."

"The what?" Ron and Harry said in unison, their confused expressions almost identical.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but equally in the dark.

Hermione huffed, exasperated. "Honestly, do I have to explain everything? The Philosopher's Stone is a legendary substance with astonishing powers. It can transform any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal."

Ron's eyes widened. "Immortal?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "It means you'll never die."

"I know what it means!" Ron snapped, his ears turning red.

"Shh!" Harry hissed, glancing around nervously.

Hermione's voice dropped to a whisper, though her excitement was still palpable. "The only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicholas Flamel, the noted alchemist who last year celebrated his 665th birthday."