Vacation is over (Part 2)

"Vizet! Vizet!"

Two whispering voices barely rose above the shuffle of parchment and turning pages.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had emerged from between two shelves and were now standing beside Vizet's table in the library.

"Hmm?" Vizet glanced toward Madam Pince and replied in a low voice, "What's the matter?"

Ron and Harry exchanged glances, then spoke in unison: "Do you know Nicolas Flamel?"

Having stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays, the two had spent days in the library — not to finish homework, but chasing a mystery.

Harry had long been nagged by the feeling that the name Nicolas Flamel was familiar. Yet despite scouring the shelves, and even with Hermione's return and assistance, they'd come up empty.

Now, spotting Vizet — whose mind seemed to hold half the library's catalog — they decided to take their chances.

"Do you know?" Harry asked eagerly. "After all, you're basically —"

"— more like Madam Pince than Madam Pince!" Ron jumped in. "You don't just know the titles — you know which row they're in!"

Their praise was not exaggerated. Vizet had helped them more than once in their early homework days, long before Hermione's helpful nature had fully revealed itself.

"Nicolas Flamel?" Vizet blinked, searching through the index in his mind. Within moments, he had sorted, retrieved, and distilled the relevant details.

"He's an immortal wizard. A brilliant alchemist. He's said to live in seclusion in Devonshire and possesses the only Philosopher's Stone known to exist."

"That's it!" Harry gasped. "Fluffy's guarding the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Merlin's beard!" Ron added. "Snape's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone!"

Vizet's brows lifted in surprise. "Oh? Fluffy? Professor Snape? Philosopher's Stone? Wait — the Philosopher's Stone is in the school?"

"Hey!" Hermione hissed, finally snapping out of her shock. Her face paled as she realized too late that she should have stopped them.

Harry and Ron, in their excitement, had spilled more than they should have. Vizet's questions — sharp as a quill's point — made it clear he'd caught on to their suspicions. Worse yet, their voices had attracted the attention of Madam Pince.

Moments later, all four of them — Harry, Ron, Hermione, and even Vizet — were unceremoniously shooed out of the library by the furious librarian.

"Sorry… we really didn't mean to drag you into it…" Ron mumbled, his face as red as his hair.

Hermione, however, had latched onto something else entirely. "Vizet," she asked urgently, "you just said Nicolas Flamel is an immortal wizard — what do you mean by that?"

Vizet answered simply, "He's been alive for more than six hundred years. Born in 1327, still living today."

"So that's why we couldn't find him!" Ron slapped his forehead. "We spent the whole holiday looking in Modern Witchcraft Studies!"

"I know where he is!" Hermione suddenly gasped, eyes wide. "Wait here — see you at the Great Hall!" And without another word, she dashed off toward the moving staircases, nearly tripping in her haste.

Vizet looked at Harry and Ron. "You two… don't eat Chocolate Frogs?"

"What?" Harry blinked.

Ron looked confused. "Of course we do."

"Nicolas Flamel doesn't have his own card," Vizet explained patiently. "But he's mentioned on Headmaster Dumbledore's."

Harry's face lit up. "That's where I'd seen it!" He rummaged in his robes, pulled out a battered, wrinkled Chocolate Frog card, and squinted at the text.

"'Discovered twelve uses of dragon blood... and partnered with Nicolas Flamel in alchemical research…'" he read aloud, then looked up, grinning. "That's it!"

"I can't believe it!" Ron groaned, knocking his knuckles against his temple. "I've collected more than five hundred of these and never noticed!"

Harry laughed. "At least Vizet noticed it. I would've never remembered without him."

"Vizet, do you collect Chocolate Frog cards too?" Ron asked eagerly. "Do you have Agrippa or Ptolemy? I'd trade either for a spare Elfrida Clagg —"

But before the conversation could veer completely off course, Vizet smoothly brought them back. "What I'm more curious about is… what does any of this have to do with Professor Snape?"

Ron jumped at the chance to explain. "Because he's always finding excuses to deduct points from Gryffindor — especially from Harry!"

"My points too!" Ron added indignantly. "If I so much as sit next to him, we both get docked!"

"Same for the others," Harry scowled. "Anyone within five feet of me loses at least five points a week!"

Vizet stifled a chuckle. He, too, had witnessed Snape's selective severity — more than once at that.

Catching the glint of humor in Vizet's eyes, Harry leaned in and said with firm conviction, "He's definitely trying to harm me. There's a wound on his leg — a big one. I saw it. Fluffy bit him!"

To demonstrate, Harry bent down, tugged up his trouser leg and motioned animatedly at his calf. "Right here! This is where it was!"

"There was also something wrong with my broomstick!" Harry was saying, his voice rising with excitement. "Then Hermione noticed that Professor Snape was casting a spell from the — uh — and they, um, planned to, er, stop it —"

Before he could finish, Ron slapped a hand over Harry's mouth. Harry struggled and muttered through Ron's fingers, his words coming out in muffled bursts.

"Harry, stop talking," Ron hissed, his face gone pale. He looked as if he'd seen a dementor.

Vizet turned just in time to see what had silenced them.

Professor Snape stood less than two meters away, clad in sweeping black robes, his expression unreadable save for the faint, venomous curve of his mouth.

"Well, well," Snape said softly, his voice a silken drawl that sent a chill down the corridor. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. How very enlightening."

He took a deliberate step forward.

"Let me think," he murmured. "Gossiping about a professor in the corridor... casting a spell that ignited said professor's robe…"

His dark eyes glinted with menace as he stepped even closer and leaned down, his face inches from Ron's.

"And you, Mr. Weasley, seem to know exactly who started the fire." His voice lowered to a hiss, and for a moment, he almost seemed to be savoring the accusation.

Ron stood frozen, wide-eyed. His face was red with panic.

Harry, meanwhile, was flushed for an entirely different reason — he was struggling to breathe through Ron's hand.

Finally breaking free, Harry yanked Ron's arm down and glared up at Snape with open defiance.

Snape straightened slowly, his gaze sweeping over them. "Twenty points from Gryffindor," he said coolly, "for speaking about professors in the corridor."

Harry's fists clenched. "You —!"

Snape's eyes flicked toward him without emotion. "And twenty more," he added silkily, "for that tone, Mr. Potter."

Ron was now almost trembling. The loss of forty points stung, but it was Snape's voice — so calm, so deadly — that truly terrified him.

Without another word, Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve and bolted down the corridor, dragging his friend along behind him.

As they disappeared around the corner, Ron's voice floated back: "Vizet! Thanks for everything! Take care!"

Snape turned his gaze back to Vizet. His expression remained icy, but his tone shifted — no longer drawled, but clipped and commanding.

"Vizet. My office. Now."