Do You Know Who Nicolas Flamel Is?

A Horcrux was a product of Dark Magic created by the Ancient Greek Wizard Herpo the Foul. It could store a fragment of its maker's soul. Herpo had devised this sinister object in his pursuit of immortality.

In China, there were similar things called artifact spirits. Legend held that the most remarkable kind was a conscious "spirit" that arose on its own after a magical weapon was forged. Another way to create one was through the sacrifice of a living person.

—Excerpt from Herpo's Wondrous Creations: Horcruxes

Will recalled the books on Dark Magic he had read at home. He had practically memorized this one, but it was a cheap, widely available book from Knockturn Alley. It offered no detailed account of how to create a Horcrux, only a basic explanation of what one was.

Judging by Voldemort's behavior, Will suspected Horcruxes affected their creator's mind and intellect. After all, creating one meant splitting the soul.

While Will's thoughts wandered to Horcruxes, Harry's violently bucking broomstick dragged him high above the Quidditch Pitch. Nearly everyone's eyes were fixed on Harry. Will alone was lost in thought. Perhaps he alone knew that Dumbledore would never let the Chosen One he had nurtured die in such a ridiculous school Quidditch match.

Once Hermione knocked over Quirrell, who was muttering the Jinx, Harry's broomstick gradually settled down. Harry quickly ended the match, and Slytherin suffered a crushing defeat. Discontented boos rose from the Slytherin stands, and Malfoy and his lot had already begun shouting abuse.

Will was glad the match had ended quickly. He stuffed his book into the Book Trunk and led a rather dejected Sylvia away from the Quidditch Pitch. As they walked, she kept saying, "I can't believe we lost to Gryffindor. Slytherin hadn't lost in seven years!"

Will had none of that sense of collective pride. He couldn't have cared less about the House Cup.

"If you're feeling down, why don't we take a walk by the Black Lake?" Will suggested.

Will and Sylvia ended up spending the afternoon beside the Black Lake. He built a campfire, and they roasted fish over it. There was one small setback: he tried to use Transfiguration to make a little wooden hut to shelter them from the cold wind, but his skill clearly wasn't up to it. In the end, they put up three earth walls beneath a tree to block the breeze.

While the two of them were roasting fish beside the Black Lake, four young wizards had gathered at Hagrid's Hut by the Forbidden Forest to torment Hagrid—or perhaps to be tormented by his Rock Cakes.

Yes, Neville had come to Hagrid's Hut with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The four of them sat holding their Rock Cakes, unsure what to do with them. Harry thought they were much harder than the plates they normally ate from. Sometimes he couldn't help wondering whether Hagrid had baked them with actual ground rock.

"You Longbottom lad, you look sturdier than Harry," Hagrid said, patting Neville on the back with a hand bigger than a palm-leaf fan. Neville felt as though his spine was about to snap.

"That was a close one, wasn't it, Harry? What got into your Nimbus? I'll pour you some hot tea to settle your nerves."

Neville rubbed his back. "Hagrid's strong, isn't he?"

Ron nodded with feeling. Hagrid had once patted him like that too.

Neville rummaged through his pocket, intending to take Trevor out for some air. After feeling around, though, he couldn't find him. He spread his hands helplessly. "He's run off again."

"You'd better find him quickly," Ron warned. "The Forbidden Forest is right there. If Trevor goes in, you might never find him again."

Neville pulled out his Wand. "Accio, Trevor!"

A gray-black toad rose from the grass in Hagrid's yard and flew into the hut toward Neville.

Ron and Harry were surprised. They knew Neville had learned the Summoning Charm, but they hadn't realized he could use it so smoothly.

"Will taught me the Summoning Charm," Neville said, catching Trevor and preparing to tuck him back into his pocket.

Far away, as Will roasted fish beside the Black Lake, a notification suddenly appeared.

[Someone felt grateful to you. Charisma Experience +1]

"I don't know why you'd choose a toad for a pet," Ron said. "I didn't think any young wizards at Hogwarts would bring one." He held Scabbers up by the tail and set him beside a Rock Cake. Scabbers rolled over, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep, ignoring it completely.

Hagrid came to the table with the tea and looked at the toad in Neville's hand. "What a lovely little fellow. Toads are good friends to wizards, you know."

"Why?" Harry asked. To be honest, he wasn't fond of toads either. There was something rather off-putting about them. Compared with a toad, his owl Hedwig was adorable.

"Toads can help young wizards test potions. When they drink one containing toxins, they can pass them out through their skin without much harm. And different toxins and strengths can make them produce potions of different colors." Hagrid delivered all this in one breath, then seemed to remember something. "Oh, Harry, your mother liked toads. She was very good at Potions Class and often used them to test potions."

Harry remembered what Aunt Petunia had said: "If my damned sister was one, how could you not be? Oh, she got a letter just like yours, and then she was gone... off to that school... Every holiday, she'd come back with her pockets full of toad eggs and turn teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a complete freak! But my parents couldn't see it. It was Lily this and Lily that all day long. They were delighted to have a witch in the family!"

Harry felt uncomfortable. His expression stiffened, and he took a sip of the hot tea Hagrid had poured.

Ron noticed Harry's face and assumed he was still shaken by what had happened during Quidditch. "Don't worry, Harry. We've figured out what happened."

"It was Snape," Ron said, recounting the scene for Harry. "Hermione and I saw him, and Neville saw him too. He was casting a spell on your Broomstick, muttering under his breath and staring straight at you."

"Nonsense," Hagrid said as he poured them tea. "Why would Snape do that?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, unsure how to tell him. Harry decided to be honest.

"I found out something about him," Harry told Hagrid. "On Halloween night, he tried to get past that big three-headed dog, and it bit him. We think he wants to steal whatever the dog is guarding."

"No, Harry. Snape wasn't hurt on Halloween night, remember? He was standing right behind Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected him. "It must have happened sometime in the past few days."

Hagrid set the teapot down heavily and looked at them in bewilderment.

"How do you know about three-headed Fluffy?"

"Three-headed Fluffy?"

"Yes—he's mine. Bought him off a Greek fellow I met at a pub last year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard—" Hagrid had let it slip, but he quickly realized his mistake.

"Guard what?" Harry asked urgently.

"That's enough. Stop asking," Hagrid said roughly. "It's top secret, understand?"

"But Snape wants to steal it."

"Nonsense," Hagrid said again. "Snape's a teacher at Hogwarts. He wouldn't do anything like that."

"Then why did he try to kill Harry?" Ron shot back loudly. He already hated Snape with a passion, though even he didn't know why.

"I'm telling you, you're wrong!" Hagrid snapped. "I don't know why Harry's Broomstick behaved like that, but Snape would never try to kill a student! Now listen, all three of you—you're meddling in things that don't concern you. It's dangerous. Forget the big dog. Forget what he's guarding. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel—"

As it turned out, Hagrid wasn't good at keeping secrets.

"Aha!" Harry said. "So someone named Nicolas Flamel is involved, is he?" Hagrid was furious with himself for failing to keep the secret Dumbledore had entrusted to him.

The visit ended badly. It was the first time Hagrid and Harry had clashed so fiercely.

The group left Hagrid's Hut. On the way back, Ron kept kicking loose stones as though they were Snape's head, until he nearly kicked one sharp enough to slice through his boot.

Hermione, meanwhile, kept thinking back over the books she had read, searching her memory for Nicolas Flamel.

Then they spotted two figures heading toward the Castle not far away: Will and Sylvia.

"Will should know." Hermione clapped her hands. "How did I forget to ask him?"

She hurried toward them, calling out as she went.

"Oh, no," Ron muttered. Ever since Will had taken down the Troll on Halloween, Ron had been reluctant to deal with him.

Partly, that was because he had said plenty of nasty things about Will in front of Harry and Hermione. Partly, it was because Will's Aguamenti had drenched half his body and left him in the Hospital Wing for days.

But right now, finding out who Nicolas Flamel was mattered more.

"It's you. What's up?" Will and Sylvia had just eaten several roasted fish, and Will had gained two Cooking Experience points. He was in a good mood.

"Do you know who Nicolas Flamel is?" Hermione asked without preamble.

Will's answer lit up their faces.

"Of course I do."