The Elusive Nicolas Flamel

Just as he'd promised, Cheyenne was pleased to find Dumbledore had managed to convince Harry not to seek out the Mirror of Erised again; that, however, was the easy part...forgetting the magical item, now that was another story entirely. Shortly after his talk with their headmaster, Harry started having nightmares, which usually involved his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter. 

"See, Dumbledore was right," Ron said after Harry had finished recounting his troubling dreams to him and Cheyenne, who sat rubbing his back, "That mirror could drive someone mad." 

"Seems it came close to it with you..." Cheyenne agreed, squeezing Harry's shoulder, "I know you enjoyed it for a while, Harry, but, honestly, I'm glad it's out of our lives...I didn't like what it was doing to you...neither of us did..." He heaved a sigh in understanding and put a hand over hers', knowing she, and Ron, had both been worried about him. 

Hermione, who returned to the castle the day before term was to start, was just as worried about all this as Ron and Cheyenne, though she showed it in a different way; her horror at Harry being out of bed three nights in a row, especially after the close shave they had with Mrs. Norris, was matched only by her disappointment that they were as close to solving their Nicolas Flamel mystery as they had been before the holidays. 

With so little luck thus far, it was understandable the quartet of friends was beginning to lose hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book; it was only Harry and Cheyenne's confidence that they'd read the name somewhere recently that kept them going, though they were now back to skimming through books for ten minutes at a time between classes. With the new term came more Quidditch practice, too, meaning both Harry and Cheyenne had even less time to help than before. 

Training was intense; an endless parade of rain had now replaced the snow, though it did little in the way of diminishing Wood's spirits as he pushed the team harder with each session. At one point, Fred and George began to complain that Wood had become a fanatic and was taking things way too far, for which Harry and Cheyenne had to disagree; after seven years, there was a chance for Gryffindor to overtake Slytherin in the house championship, but only if their team were to win their next Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Who wouldn't be ecstatic about something like that? It helped that these longer training sessions seemed to quell Harry's nightmares, too, which, in Cheyenne's option, was well worth the exhaustion. 

It was during one particularly difficult practice session, though, that Wood let slip a troubling bit of news. 

"Will the two of you stop messing around?!" He yelled at the Weasleys after they kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms. "This is exactly the kind of thing that'll lose us this match! Snape's going to be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor while he's refereeing." 

This was jarring enough to make George really fall off his broom. 

"Snape's refereeing?!" He spluttered, jerking into a seated position with his Quidditch robes now completely drenched in thick brown mud, "When's he ever offered to referee a Quidditch match?! He'll do all he can to keep us from overtaking Slytherin in the house championship!" 

The rest of the team gathered around George to voice their concerns as well. 

"Look, it's not my fault," Wood sighed, shaking his head, "But if we want to minimize the chances of Snape favoring Hufflepuff, we're going to have to make sure we play a good, clean game, all right?" He looked from one person to the next expectantly, willing them to understand the gravity of the situation they now found themselves in. 

(That's all well and good...) Cheyenne frowned as she and Harry exchanged an uneasy look, knowing full well they had at least a dozen reasons why they needed to keep as much distance between themselves and Snape as possible during this Quidditch match. 

While the rest of the team hung back to talk after practice per usual, Harry and Cheyenne headed straight back to the castle; neither was really in the mood for conversation, not even Cheyenne, who normally would have stayed back to hang out with Fred. Each of them was so engrossed in their own thoughts they didn't even talk to each other, remaining silent the entire walk back to Gryffindor Tower and speaking only to give the Fat Lady the password required to enter the common room. Inside, they found Ron and Hermione playing chess at a table in the far corner; chess, particularly wizards' chess, was one of the few things Hermione wasn't particularly good at, which the boys thought was a rather good thing. Though she wouldn't admit it aloud, Cheyenne was rather inclined to agree with them. Nobody was perfect at everything. 

"Don't say anything for a moment," Ron instructed as Harry and Cheyenne took the empty seats beside them, "I need to concen -" he paused as he glanced up and caught the look on their faces, "Hey, what's the matter with you two? You both look terrible." 

Glancing around the common room to be sure no one could overhear, the pair quietly told their friends the sudden, unfortunate news. 

"Don't play," Hermione immediately advised. 

"Say you're ill," Ron added. 

"Pretend to break your leg?" Hermione continued. 

"Really break your leg," Ron said. Cheyenne crossed her arms, eyeing her best friend. 

"You know, technically, Snape was enchanting your broom at our last Quidditch match, not mine. In addition to being your Helper, I'm also the reserve Seeker, so if you were to feign being ill -" 

"No," Harry shook his head firmly, frowning at the suggestion; while what Cheyenne had said was true, Harry didn't think he could live with himself if she went in his place and Snape decided to take his frustrations out on her. While she'd been lucky enough to walk away from their last match, he shuddered to think what could happen this time round. 

At that point, the Fat Lady's portrait opened behind them, and Neville toppled into the common room, causing the quartet to look around, curious. That he'd been able to climb through the portrait hole was a feat, given his legs were magically stuck together by what they immediately recognized as the Leg-Locker Curse. They had no doubt he'd had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower. 

Everyone present burst into laughter at the sight, everyone, that is, except Hermione and Cheyenne, who both leapt to their feet; Hermione performed the counter curse, while Cheyenne helped the trembling boy to his feet, "Are you okay?" She asked, leading him to an empty chair at their table; Neville nodded, his eyes downcast, "What happened?" 

"Malfoy," Neville said in a shaky voice, "I bumped into him outside the library. He said he'd been looking to practice that on someone." 

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged, taking the seat beside him, her scowl causing her forehead to wrinkle, "You have to report this, Neville." 

But Neville only shook his head and mumbled, "I don't want any more trouble." 

"But you've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron encouraged, pinching his eyebrows, "Just because Malfoy's used to walking all over people, it doesn't mean you should make it any easier by laying down in front of him." 

"You don't have to remind me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor!" Neville choked on a sob, shaking his head, "Malfoy does it plenty for you." 

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged a look, unsure what they could say or do to help bolster Neville's spirits, though he decided to feel around in the pocket of his robes for something while she turned to rub Neville's back. Thankfully, Harry had one more Chocolate Frog left over from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas, which he offered to Neville. The boy's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he took the foil wrapped treat, gripping it tight in his hands while Cheyenne smiled quietly, squeezing his shoulders. 

"Hey, you're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry told him gently, bumping his shoulder as a way of encouragement. Cheyenne nodded. 

"Harry's right, Neville. Think of it this way, the Sorting Hat chose to put you in Gryffindor and the hat is never wrong when it comes to stuff like that. It saw something in you." 

"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding firmly, "And look where Malfoy is! In stinking Slytherin!" 

The corners of Neville's lips twitched up into a weak smile as he slowly unwrapped the frog. 

"Thanks, Harry..." He put a hand over Cheyenne's and squeezed lightly, "You, too, Cheyenne...I think I'm going to head up to bed...D'you two want the card? You're collecting them, right?" 

As Neville turned away, Cheyenne leaned over for a look at the card while Harry snorted. 

"Dumbledore again," he sighed, glancing up at Cheyenne, "He was the first one we -" He broke off as Cheyenne caught his wrist and her wide eyes met his. It didn't take more than a second for it to click; he flipped the card over. 

"We found him!" He whispered, turning to Ron and Hermione again, "We found Flamel! We told you we'd read the name somewhere before, on the train here! Listen to this:" He leaned in, as though he was about to divulge his deepest, darkest secrets, "'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard, Grindelwald, in 1945, his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, and his work in alchemy with partner, Nicolas Flamel'!" 

Hermione suddenly leapt to her feet, her eyes twinkling; none of the others had seen her so exhilarated since they'd received the marks for their first piece of homework. 

"Stay there!" She breathed before turning and sprinting up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. The other three could do little more than exchange mystified looks before she returned carrying an enormous old book. 

"I never thought to look in here!" She whispered, dropping the tomb onto the table; the chess board bounced, sending several pieces tumbling to the floor amid shouts of indignation, "I'd checked this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading." 

"This is light?" Ron quirked a brow as Harry and Cheyenne stooped to retrieve the fallen chess pieces; hissing at Ron to be quiet until she was done, the eager young woman flipped the book open and began flicking frantically through its pages, murmuring under her breath. She found what she was looking for as Harry and Cheyenne reemerged from under the table. 

"I knew it!" She whispered as they set the pieces back on the board, "I just knew it!" 

"Can we speak now?" Ron asked grumpily; Hermione, however, ignored him as she bent over the old, worn pages. 

"Nicolas Flamel," She whispered in a slow, dramatic voice, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!" 

Her gaze flicked up from the book, expecting some kind of grand effect; she was, however, sorely disappointed as the two boys stared back, confused. Cheyenne seemed to be the only one who understood the gravity of what she'd just read, her eyes wide in astonishment. 

"The what?" Ron and Harry asked, completely lost. Hermione sighed and shook her head as Cheyenne rounded the table to stand next to her. 

"Honestly, don't either of you read?" Hermione sniffed as Cheyenne turned the book toward herself, "It's this passage here." Hermione tapped the paragraph, directing her gaze. 

"'The ancient study of alchemy centers around creating the legendary substance with astonishing powers, known simply as the Sorcerer's Stone. Not only can the stone transform any metal into pure gold, it is also known to produce the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.' 

"'While there have been numerous reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, there is only one known Stone in existence, of which belongs to noted alchemist and opera lover, Mr. Nicolas Flamel. [Flamel], having just celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday this past year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his six hundred and fifty-eight-year-old wife, Perenelle.'" 

"See?" Hermione said once Cheyenne had finished, "That dog's guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! He must have known someone was after it, so he asked someone he knew he could trust to keep it safe for him: Dumbledore! It's why he wanted to move the Stone out of Gringotts!" 

"No wonder Snape's so keen to get his hands on this thing!" Harry breathed, slouching back in his chair, "Who wouldn't want a stone that could make gold and keep you from ever dying?" 

"It's no wonder we haven't been able to find Flamel in that Study of Recent Development in Wizardry, either." Ron agreed, glancing down at the book, "He isn't exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?" 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Harry and Ron would spend the following morning discussing what they'd do if they each had a Sorcerer's Stone of their own. Hermione, not particularly interested in it herself, learned to tune the pair out as they went about their day; Cheyenne, meanwhile, found it quite amusing and would sometimes listen in when she was bored. It was only when Ron mentioned he'd buy his own Quidditch team during Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry remembered his predicament with the coming match. 

"I'm going to play," he told his friends as they sat down to lunch, "As confident as I am in Chey's ability to cover my position, I don't trust Snape, nor do I want any of the Slytherins to think I'm just too scared to face him. I'll show them." He nodded, resolute, as Cheyenne put a hand on his arm and he shot her a rueful smile, "Besides, it'd be worth it to wipe those stupid smiles off their faces if we won." Cheyenne smiled in agreement. 

"Well, just so long as we aren't the ones wiping you off the field..." Hermione murmured tentatively. 

No matter what he told their friends, however, there was no hiding his nervousness; Cheyenne knew Harry far too well to be fooled by the brave front he tried to maintain around others, though she could understand his reasons for it. He didn't want Ron or Hermione to worry about either of them more than they already were, especially given what had happened thus far. Truth be told, she wasn't all too thrilled herself, given the circumstances, but then she didn't think anyone on their team was, not really. While they were all excited at the idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship after seven long years, the path along the way was a treacherous one, with one rather huge obstacle. Would they be able to get past it in one piece? They could only hope. 

The fact that Harry, whether he was imagining it or not, continually ran into Snape wherever he went did not help matters. In fact, it happened so often nowadays that he began to wonder if their professor was following him and was just waiting to catch him on his own; it got to the point Ron, Hermione, and Cheyenne had to always make sure Harry never ventured off on his own whenever they were out of the common room. Their worry over his safety was only further compounded by the weekly torture that had become their Potions lesson, with Snape being downright nasty to Harry at every opportunity. Did Snape know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Cheyenne couldn't quite figure out how, not unless he really did have the ability to read minds, like she and Harry often speculated. 

The day of the match, the tension among those of Gryffindor house was palpable; meals were a bleak affair, the usual energy born of the excitement of an approaching Quidditch match snuffed out under the dark cloud that had descended over the Great Hall. Neither Ravenclaw nor Hufflepuff were spared; there was an obvious hush that had befallen both of their house tables, even though Hufflepuff was due to play that day, too. They knew as well as any Gryffindor what was at stake and the obstacle that was waiting for them out on the pitch. The Slytherins, overconfident at the knowledge that their head of house was the referee, were the only ones seemingly at ease while the rest of the castle was on the edge of their seats. 

Even as they wished Harry and Cheyenne good luck outside the locker room that afternoon, it was clear both Ron and Hermione were worried neither of them would be walking off the field alive. Not what you'd call comforting. Cheyenne worried if she was about to be sick as she changed into her Quidditch robes and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand. 

Up in the stands, Ron and Hermione claimed some seats next to Neville, who couldn't quite understand why either of them looked so worried or why they'd brought their wands with them to a Quidditch match. Unbeknownst to either Harry or Cheyenne, the pair had been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse in secret and were ready to use it on Snape the second he looked about to hurt their friends. The idea had come to them after Malfoy had used the curse on Neville. 

"Don't forget the incantation is Locomotor Mortis," Hermione murmured to Ron as he tucked his wand up in his sleeve. 

"I know," Ron snapped back, "Don't nag." 

Back down in the locker room, Wood pulled Harry and Cheyenne aside; he looked rather pale and frantic, like he was ready to burst out of his skin at any second. 

"I don't want to put any pressure on either of you," he started, his round eyes darting between them, "But if there's ever been a time when we've needed the Snitch caught early, it's now. End the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much, all right?" 

"The whole school's come to watch!" Fred said as he peered outside, shielding his eyes against the weak winter light, "Even - blimey!" He squinted, "Dumbledore's come to watch!" 

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged astonished looks. 

"Dumbledore?" The pair hurried to the door to look, their hearts in their throats; there in one of the towers at the other end of the pitch, they spotted a glimmer of silver among the mass of black. 

Cheyenne's lips lifted into a smile even as her throat seized, eyes burning with unshed tears. They were safe, Harry was safe. Snape wouldn't have the nerve to try anything with Dumbledore watching. 

Judging by the foul look on his face as the teams marched out onto the field, Snape obviously knew this, too, and his poor mood did not go unnoticed by anyone else. 

"Don't think I've ever seen Snape look so mean," Ron said to Hermione as the players mounted their brooms, "Look, they're off. Ouch!" He spun in his seat as someone jabbed him in the back of the head. 

"Oops," Malfoy smirked maliciously at Ron, "Sorry, Weasley, I didn't see you there." He reclined back in his seat, bracing his feet against the back of Ron's chair as the latter turned back to the match and the blond turned to Crabbe and Goyle, "How long d'you think Potter and Power'll be able to stay on their brooms this time? Anyone want to bet?" He kicked Ron's seat, "How about you, Weasley?" 

Ron ignored Malfoy in favor of scowling at Snape's penalty to Hufflepuff for the Bludger George had aimed at him. Hermione, crossed fingers buried in her robes, had her gaze fixated on Harry and Cheyenne, who circled high above the pitch, scouring the field for a sign of the Snitch. 

"You want to know how I think they choose people to play for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy continued loudly, after Snape had awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason, "They pick the people they feel sorry for. See, look at Potter and Power, for example, neither of them've got any parents, then, of course, there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – maybe you should try out for the team, Longbottom, they're missing someone without brains to complete the set." 

Neville flushed red, but instead of keeping his tongue, he turned in his seat to face Malfoy. 

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered, trying to sound brave. His words, however, were met with a roar of laughter from the trio. 

"You tell him, Neville." Ron encouraged without taking his eyes off the game. 

"Longbottom," Malfoy chortled, grinning at Neville, "If brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something." 

Ron clenched his arm rests, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. 

"I'm warning you, Malfoy," he growled in a low, warning voice, turning his head to glower at the blond once more, "One more word -" 

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, eyes wide, "Harry -!" 

"What?" Ron whipped his head back around, searching the pitch frantically, "Where?!" 

The crowd gasped as Harry took a sudden, but spectacular dive; one or two were on their feet, cheering him on. Hermione was among those standing, but she'd stuffed her crossed fingers into her mouth as Harry shot toward the ground like a bullet. Further up, Cheyenne cut off the Hufflepuff Seeker, keeping him from following. 

"Seems you're in luck, Weasley," Malfoy snickered, "Obviously Potter's spotted some extra money for you!" 

Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron had dived over the seats and was wrestling him to the ground, punching and kicking whatever he could reach. Neville, after a moment's hesitation, clambered over his seat to help occupy Crabbe and Goyle. 

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, jumping up onto her seat for a better look, so preoccupied with watching Harry that she didn't seem to notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around underneath her or the scuffles and yelps that came from the tangle of limbs that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle. 

Above them, Snape turned on his broom just as a blur of scarlet shot past him, missing him by mere inches, and, in the next second, Harry had pulled up out of his dive. The Snitch was clasped tight in his raised fist. 

The entire stadium erupted in cheers; the oppressive cloud of doubt and uncertainty that had befallen the castle dissipated, giving way to exhilarating triumph. He'd done it, and so quickly, too! It had to be a record! 

"Ron! Ron, where are you?!" Hermione shrieked, bouncing up and down in her seat as she threw her arms around Parvati Patil, who was sitting in the row in front of them, "The game's over, we've won! Harry's won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" 

Harry, hovering only a foot above the ground, leapt from his broom, still holding the Snitch aloft and beaming with pride. He'd really done it – the game had barely even lasted five minutes, and it was over. Snape, his lips pursed so tight they were turning white, landed nearby, glowering at Harry as Cheyenne threw her arms around him from behind and the other Gryffindors spilled out onto the field. Before the rest of their house could reach them, though, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder, drawing the pair's attention. 

"Well done," Dumbledore beamed, speaking softly so only Harry and Cheyenne could hear, "It's nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror, keeping busy..." he winked at Cheyenne, who smiled widely in return, "Excellent." 

Snape spat bitterly on the ground. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

A short time later, Harry and Cheyenne left the locker room together to take their Nimbus Two Thousands back to the broomshed, still abuzz with energy from their victory. Neither could remember being happier than they were now; Cheyenne could rightly say she'd done many things she was proud of in school, but she knew something like this was particularly important to her best friend. Harry had truly done something to be proud of, something that was all his instead of something he'd been told about. Harry wasn't just a famous name anymore. The contented look on his face warmed her heart as they crossed the grounds, the cold air turning their cheeks pink while water from the grass seeped into the hems of their robes and their shoes. She could understand; the last hour felt like a dream, the way the rest of their house had swamped them, lifting the pair onto their shoulders while Ron and Hermione cheered them on from a distance, even while Ron was trying to stop a nosebleed. 

Harry sighed as they reached the shed and the pair moved to lean against it, peering up at Hogwarts; it loomed above them, the setting sun turning its windows a brilliant red. Cheyenne took Harry's hand in hers, squeezing gently in congratulations for what he'd accomplished today. He'd won, he was the one who put Gryffindor in the lead. He'd shown Snape that he could do it. 

Cheyenne opened her mouth to tell Harry how proud she was of him when he stopped her, turning his head toward the front steps of the castle. She straightened and followed his gaze, spotting the hooded figure as it reached the dirt path and moved quickly toward the forbidden forest, obviously doing its best not to be seen. The figure's walk was familiar...swift and confident, prowling. Snape. What was he doing, heading into the forest while everyone else was at dinner? Their recent victory was quickly pushed to the back of their minds in the wake of this new development. 

Exchanging quizzical looks, neither Harry nor Cheyenne hesitated in jumping back on their Nimbuses and taking off. They were careful, gliding silently out of sight behind the shed until Snape had melted into the shadows, allowing them the chance to follow. 

It wasn't easy; the trees were so thick it was difficult to see where their Potions' teacher had disappeared, leaving the two to circle overhead, slowly descending until the toes of their shoes brushed the upper most branches. Cheyenne heard the voices that floated up from somewhere down below and she gestured to Harry to follow until they could land soundlessly among the branches of a tall beech tree. 

Crouching low, they moved carefully along, clenching their broomsticks in their hands as they peered through the leaves. 

Snape emerged in a shadowed clearing below, pulling his hood back to reveal his face, but he wasn't alone; Quirrell stood across from him, his face obscured by the thicket of leaves, though his stutter seemed worse than before. Harry and Cheyenne had to strain just to hear what they were saying. 

"...d-dunno why you would want t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..." 

"I wanted to keep this private," Snape said in an icy voice, "After all, students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, are they?" 

Cheyenne caught Harry's eye before leaning forward to hear more; Quirrell mumbled something that Snape immediately interrupted. 

"Have you figured out a way to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?" 

"W-w-well, I-I -" 

"You don't want me as an enemy, Quirrell," Snape warned, taking a threatening step toward him. 

"I-I really don't know what -" 

"I think you know exactly what I mean." 

An owl hooted nearly, startling Harry and Cheyenne, the latter of whom almost lost her balance and fell out of the tree. It was only Harry's quick thinking that saved her, as he grabbed the back of her robes and steadied her in time for them to hear Snape tell Quirrell, " - your bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting." 

"B-but I really d-don't -" 

"Oh, very well," Snape snapped, taking a step back, "We'll just have to have another chat soon, once you've had time to reconsider where your loyalties lie." 

With that, Snape yanked his hood back up over his head, turned on his heel, and strode out of sight. Dusk had almost completely set in now, but Harry and Cheyenne could still see Quirrell where he stood, rigid and terrified, like someone had just rooted him to the spot. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"Harry, Cheyenne!" Hermione squealed when she and Ron caught up with them in the entrance hall, "Where have you two been?" 

"We won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Harry enthusiastically on the back, "And listen to this, I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handedly! Poor bloke's still out cold, but Madam Pomfrey's told us he'll make a full recovery!" he puffed out his chest, "Talk about showing Slytherin, huh? Hey, c'mon, the whole house is waiting for the two of you in the common room with a party to celebrate. Fred and George've swiped some cakes and stuff from the kitchens." 

"Oh, never mind that right now!" Cheyenne shook her head, eyes wide, "We have something to tell you." 

"Let's find an empty room," Harry agreed, glancing around anxiously, "You'll both want to hear this." 

The quartet of friends were quick to find an empty room just down the corridor, where Harry and Cheyenne, after checking to make sure Peeves was not lurking in the shadows, quickly ushered Ron and Hermione inside. As soon as the door was shut behind them, the duo immediately launched into their recount of the conversation they'd overheard between their teachers. 

"We were right," Harry concluded breathlessly, "It is the Sorcerer's Stone and Snape's been trying to force Quirrell to help him steal it. He asked if Quirrell knew how to get past Fluffy -" He finally had to pause to catch his breath. Cheyenne put a hand on his back, encouraging him to settle his breathing while she continued. 

"We heard Snape say something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus' - likely that means there are other things aside from Fluffy guarding the stone, too. Probably lots of enchantments and some anti-Dark Arts spell of Quirrell's that Snape needs to get through -" 

"So, that means the Stone is only safe so long as Quirrell continues to stand up to Snape?" Hermione covered her mouth. 

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron shook his head bleakly.