An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

Talking in Tongues

In the dark of the corridor, in the face of Filch's maniacal, gleaming eyes, this didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

Harry and Hermione were marched in silence to Professor McGonagall's private chambers on the Second Floor of Gryffindor tower. All the way down, Harry felt his anxiety grow like a sickening, coiling knot in his belly. Wild, half-formed alibis chased each other around in his brain, tripping over each other to be considered and rejected first. Their excuse - such as it was - wouldn't hold water for a second. Harry was convinced of that. And even if it did, it would only lead to more awkward questions that he had literally zero idea how he was supposed to answer.

So, for the first time in their friendship, Harry's unwavering loyalty to Hermione was severely tested.

For Hermione's part, she seemed to be realising the foolhardiness of her plan, too. She was visibly trembling, looking down at her slippers and biting her bottom lip in her worry. She wasn't a girl who got into any sort of trouble, let alone court it as she had now. This was new territory for her, and her uncertainty and inexperience made her vulnerable to mistakes.

Not that either had much of a chance to make a mistake. Professor McGonagall was already up and waiting for them when they arrived. Evidently, Mrs Norris had raced along ahead of them to communicate the crime to her in her cat Animagus form. Harry was mildly curious as to how that actually worked, but such frivolous notions were driven from his head as soon as he saw the expression on his former guardian's face.

For she was utterly furious.

Never, not once in their relationship, in any of her incarnations in Harry's life, had he ever seen Minerva McGonagall so beside herself with anger. She glowered at them, breathing heavily like a dragon about to strike. The comparison drove Harry to remember why they were here in the first place, and he was almost about to tell her everything, when the rant she had been storing finally burst free.

"I have never been so angry with two students before!" she cried. "Two of you - out of bed - long after the curfew was in place. I'm disgusted. From my own house no less. I thought both of you would have had more sense, knowing the dangers out here right now! Explain yourselves."

It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a question posed by a teacher. Her courage and bravado gone, she simply stared at her feet and made soft whimpering noises in her throat. Harry, too, had forgotten the contents of the English Language. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a little bit like a codfish, but no words came out.

"I think I've a fair idea of what was going on," Professor McGonagall continued. "Your fanciful heads have been filled with all the mystery of the object being stored below the school right now, so you thought you'd go looking for it. Who's idea was the suit of armour? Yours, Harry? Did you think it would keep you safe if you tried to pass Hagrid's little dog?"

Harry blinked. It was an out. A stupid one, but a believable one. Harry could play the hero, and it might keep Hermione from getting into too much trouble.

"Okay, y-yes, it was my idea," Harry mumbled, staring pointedly at Hermione when she looked on the verge of protest. "Ever since Sirius told me about it, and especially since we were attacked over Christmas, I've been thinking of trying to get to the Stone first. To keep it safe, you know."

"Safe!" McGonagall thundered. "You think you have more chance of protecting the Stone than a giant dog, a raft of enchantments and complex magic performed by Albus Dumbledore himself? I didn't think you that arrogant, Harry."

Ah, so there were a slew of other protections guarding the Stone. That was interesting, and Harry and Hermione had been right about that. They could discuss it later, but right now Harry had to play the foolish hero.