HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 18: Clues to Nicolas Flamel

Chapter Eighteen: Clues to Nicolas Flamel

The day before term began, Draco returned to Hogwarts early with nothing to occupy his time. He set up his new Wizard's Chess set in the Great Hall.

Using a pair of ruthless pawns and an aggressive bishop, he checkmated Theodore Nott decisively.

"Fine, I admit you're better." Theodore threw down his king and stalked away.

Before Draco could pack up, Hermione rushed toward him like a charging Hippogriff, beaming. "Draco, thank you! It's all thanks to you!"

"What happened?" Draco casually tapped the chessboard with his wand. "Pack!" The pieces leaped into their box obediently.

"How did you do that?" Hermione asked, momentarily distracted. "Why do different wizards get different results with the Packing Charm? I've tried it dozens of times—the wand movement helps, but it has little effect on how well the spell actually works."

"You're missing a core principle," Draco said. "Organization charms require both meticulous logic and imagination. When you cast, you must visualize precisely where each piece belongs. The spell responds to your intent."

He reached out and disturbed the pristine chess box, sending pieces tumbling and shrieking in chaos. "Try it."

Hermione drew her wand. "Pack!"

The pieces arranged themselves together, but several landed in incorrect positions.

"You're not very familiar with Wizard's Chess, are you?" Draco observed. "That's the second issue: you need intimate knowledge of what you're organizing. You must remember exactly where everything belongs before you can properly visualize it."

"I understand!" Hermione said happily, delighted to have learned another spellcasting technique from him.

She'd never expected to meet someone like Draco at Hogwarts—he was a platinum-blond revelation.

The closer she got to him, the more impressive he became.

He possessed understanding far exceeding their peers. While most students struggled to memorize incantations and proper pronunciation, Draco applied spells fluently in everyday situations. Everyone knew he'd been the first in their year to successfully cast a charm, but few realized he also understood the underlying theory more deeply than anyone else.

He never mocked her ignorance of the wizarding world. When she'd first arrived at Hogwarts, she'd been terrified of "revealing her Muggle-born status," worried that her unfamiliarity would be ridiculed by children from magical families. But he never had.

He would gently correct her, easing her anxiety. It had started around the Sorting, she thought. Gradually, she'd lowered her guard, admitting when she didn't understand something and asking for his perspective.

And he—this boy who hid such a gentle heart beneath his cold exterior—seemed remarkably patient with her. He was always generous with his insights, helping her practice, identifying weaknesses in her technique, and assisting her in refining her spellwork.

Draco Malfoy now topped this academically-minded Gryffindor's list of "most desired study partners."

When he was present, every other option seemed hopelessly inadequate.

"So what did you want to tell me?" her favorite study partner was asking. "You practically flew over here."

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She leaned close to his ear, voice trembling with excitement. "We found Flamel! And the Philosopher's Stone! The three-headed dog is guarding the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Shh!" Draco covered her mouth hastily.

Over Hermione's shoulder, he spotted Quirrell approaching—the professor swayed slightly as he walked.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher looked dreadful. He was pale and gaunt, as though he'd spent the holidays seriously ill.

Draco wasn't surprised. Having a wraith possessing the back of your skull couldn't be without cost—physical deterioration was probably the least of it.

Hermione startled at his sudden contact. His hand was warm, the gesture slightly domineering, but she didn't mind.

It reminded her of Halloween night, when he'd rescued her from the troll.

He wasn't the type to overreact. She trusted that. So instead of protesting, she cleverly followed his gaze and spotted Quirrell.

That was close. She exhaled softly in relief.

Her warm breath brushed against Draco's palm, making him uncomfortable.

He released her quickly, tucking his hand behind his back as though to preserve the warmth. He glanced around at the students chatting nearby and frowned. "Let's find somewhere more private."

They found an empty classroom with a view of the Quidditch pitch, where several gold-and-scarlet figures struggled through the winter air.

Pale sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing them in warmth.

"Diligent practice," Draco drawled, recognizing Gryffindor's colors. One of those figures had to be Potter.

"Thank Merlin, he's finally stopped obsessing over that wretched mirror," Hermione muttered.

"What?" Draco asked.

"The Mirror of Erised. Harry found it while wandering the castle. It supposedly shows people what they desire most," Hermione said eagerly. "Unfortunately, I never got to see it. They moved it before term ended—I've no idea where."

Draco raised an eyebrow. He'd heard of it but never seen it. Hogwarts held many treasures he'd yet to discover.

"Anyway! Let's talk about Nicolas Flamel!" She eagerly opened the thick volume she'd been clutching and pushed it toward him, revealing a lengthy passage. "Just as you suspected—he's 665 years old! No wonder I couldn't find him in books about contemporary wizards."

"What are you planning to do?" Draco looked up calmly.

So Flamel had finally been discovered. Miss Know-It-All's research skills hadn't disappointed.

"We don't know exactly. We're just curious about it. Professor Dumbledore should be keeping it well protected now..." Hermione stammered.

"You haven't forgotten someone tried to steal it from Gringotts, have you?" Draco retorted. "Do you think Quirrell let that troll into the dungeons as a prank? Not long ago, you suspected Snape of plotting some grand conspiracy..."

"Yes, I did suspect Professor Snape... A few days ago, Harry overheard him threatening Quirrell," Hermione said vaguely, her expression uncertain. "But why would Professor Quirrell steal the Stone? He has no grudge against Harry, so why would he curse Harry's broom? Sometimes, looking at Quirrell's pitiful appearance, it's hard to believe—"

"Hermione, you're approaching this backwards. Try working from the outcome," Draco interrupted, subtly guiding her. "Who in this world truly loathes Potter enough to want him dead? And who desperately craves immortality, an endless supply of life? Someone who might be lurking somewhere, barely clinging to existence..."

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Voldemort!"

The name made Draco flinch.

"Don't say that name!" His face darkened.

But Hermione barely noticed.

She stood abruptly and grasped his hand, her excitement palpable. "You're right! Quirrell isn't doing this for himself—he's doing it for his master! He must be You-Know-Who's servant!"

"Don't say that name!" Draco repeated, irritated.

He couldn't help his sensitivity.

In his previous timeline, members of Voldemort's Snatcher squad—including the werewolf Greyback—had tracked the Potter trio precisely because of such reckless use of the Taboo curse on Voldemort's name.

It had triggered a cascade of tragedies.

Irreversible consequences.

All entirely avoidable.

"Sorry." Hermione glanced at him, confused by his vehemence.

She didn't dwell on it—she had more pressing concerns.

She released his hand and began pacing. "I need to warn Harry about Quirrell... We need more evidence... Otherwise Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore won't believe us..."

"Yes, I agree," Draco said lazily, secretly cherishing the warmth lingering on his palm.

Miss Know-It-All's fighting spirit was formidable. Her passion for battle could ignite at a moment's notice.

"Draco, thank you. I have to go—there's so much to do!" Hermione flashed him a smile and dashed from the classroom, startling the Grey Lady floating near the doorway.

She gasped an apology to the ghost and hurried away.

Draco shook his head, amused by her recklessness.

He watched her retreating figure, his thoughts drifting to another question: what role did Professor Snape play in all this?

In his previous memories, he'd had no idea Snape had protected Potter with counter-curses.

He hadn't known Snape had threatened Quirrell on Potter's behalf.

When Draco had been relentlessly tormenting Potter and his friends in his past life, Snape's attitude had ranged from tacit approval to outright encouragement.

Snape's behavior was utterly baffling. He'd been kind to Draco, a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor.

Yet he'd also enjoyed Dumbledore's deep trust—at least until he'd killed him.

When he'd rejoined the Dark Lord's ranks, Voldemort had trusted him without hesitation, despite Snape spending years under Dumbledore's protection.

Whichever side Snape truly served, he was exceptionally cunning. Not every opportunist could navigate such precarious allegiances and emerge unscathed.

Until Draco confirmed Snape's true loyalties, he could maintain a facade of respect and affection—but he couldn't truly confide in the man.

Still, Draco wasn't ungrateful. Over the years, Snape as Head of Slytherin had shown exceptional favoritism toward his House students.

As someone who enjoyed those privileges, Draco—like most Slytherins—found it difficult to think ill of their Head of House.

When Draco had been dying from *Sectumsempra*, Snape had saved his life.

When Draco had failed his mission from the Dark Lord, Snape had completed it himself—and made an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa to protect her son.

Truly, an enigma.

---

After Christmas, the Quidditch pitch bristled with banners for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Professor Snape, always unpredictable, had volunteered to referee—just as Dumbledore had suggested.

Draco might have thought Snape intended to penalize Potter, but after learning Snape had protected him, that theory seemed shaky.

Was it possible Snape was refereeing to protect Potter?

The hypothesis struck Draco as darkly ironic—like a poorly executed joke.

As students filed into the stands, he heard Weasley ahead of him complaining to Hermione: "I bet he gives Hufflepuff extra points."

"Oh, come on, Ron. Referees have to be fair," Hermione said, sounding unconvinced.

Potter seemed unaffected by Hermione's warning. He caught the Snitch just five minutes into the match, shattering the school record.

Hufflepuff was crushed.

Gryffindor had won in absurdly little time—so quickly that neither friend nor foe had opportunity to interfere with Potter. Draco noticed Snape's face had gone ashen.

The entire Slytherin and Hufflepuff sections looked crestfallen. Slytherin's Captain, Marcus Flint, spat angrily onto the pitch.

No one wanted their House to lose. Though Draco had complicated feelings about Potter, Gryffindor's victory brought them one step closer to the House Cup.

After losing to Gryffindor last time, Slytherin had been counting on Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw to defeat them. Now that hope had dimmed considerably.

Draco heard Flint yelling at Slytherin's Seeker, Terence Higgs: "You need to improve! Slytherin can't afford another loss!"

"Why's this my fault? It's not just me!" Higgs shot back.

"Is that your attitude?" Flint snarled. "Is this how a Slytherin pursuing excellence behaves?"

Amid Flint's tirade, Draco surged into the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle, unable to stop himself from fantasizing about catching the Snitch in his own Quidditch match.