Chapter 10 - The Flaw in their plan

“Peter! What are you doing in the Forbidden Forest at this hour?”

Professor Flamel’s voice rang out in concern.

Peter stopped. The Headmaster stood before him, apparently unharmed.

“Professor Flamel? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. What are you doing here?”

“I… I saw someone taking you into the forest,” Peter explained. “I thought you were in danger.”

Flamel’s expression softened into a smile.

“Oh, my dear boy.” He chuckled. “There’s no need to worry about me, Peter. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”

“Who was it, Professor?”

“Edward Black,” Flamel replied. “But don’t worry. I defeated him. He’s with the Dementors now. They’ll see that he returns to Azkaban.”

“Oh.”

Peter let out a breath.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I shouldn’t have come here. I’d better go back.”

“Yes, Mr Harrow. Back to bed with you. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

Peter nodded and turned to leave.

Then something occurred to him.

“Professor?”

He turned back.

“Why was Black after you?”

Flamel hesitated, looking momentarily confused.

“He wanted to murder me, Peter.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an escaped criminal, and I spotted him. He wanted to silence the witness.”

“Ah.”

“I hope that answers your questions. Come to my office tomorrow morning. Now, off you pop.”

Peter didn’t move.

“Professor, I have one more question.”

“What is it?”

“Does the Polycharm spell give you the memories of the person you turn into?”

Flamel went still.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m fairly sure you told me Black murdered your daughter, Professor.”

Flamel’s eyes widened.

“And I think I have something that belongs to you…”

Peter tightened his grip on his wand.

“Professor Lincoln.”

For a moment, Flamel simply stared at him.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Wow!”

As he laughed, his robes began to change, shrinking into a loose, ragged white T-shirt. His grey hair darkened and grew, falling in tangled strands around his face. His features shifted, losing their warmth until the man before Peter looked pale, gaunt, and sickly.

Edward Black stood in Flamel’s place.

“The student surpasses the teacher!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “Fifty points to Slytherin!”

Peter took a few careful steps backwards, keeping his wand close.

“I always knew you were clever, Peter,” Black continued. “That’s why my master took such an interest in you. He asked me to choose you.”

Peter watched him closely. His fingers tightened around his wand.

“But I think I know what you’ve got that belongs to me.”

Black smiled.

“My notebook. I suspected you were the one who’d found it.”

Peter edged back another step.

Black extended a hand towards the trees. From behind one of them, Professor Flamel’s unconscious body floated into view.

The real Professor Flamel.

“Still alive, by the way,” Black said, lowering him to the ground. “Though not for much longer. I’ll kill him soon enough.”

He paused, then brightened.

“Wait. I have an idea.”

Peter stood rigid.

“I’ve taught you so much already. Perhaps it’s time for your final lesson of the year.”

Black drew his wand and pointed it towards Flamel.

“The Killing Curse.”

A shiver ran down Peter’s spine.

“Let’s see…”

Black stepped beside him.

“Point your wand at him. I’d like you to try first.”

He caught Peter’s wrist and lifted his arm, aiming the wand at Flamel’s motionless body.

“Perfect. Now, repeat after me. Av—”

“STOP!”

Peter wrenched his arm free.

Black stared at him, puzzled.

“You killed his daughter!” Peter shouted. “And now you want to kill him?”

Black’s eyes widened.

“You have no idea, boy, what that man has done to me! To my life! I lost everything because of him!”

“And he lost everything because of you!”

Black shook his head, staring at Peter in disbelief.

“Oh, my Lord.”

He turned away and began pacing.

“Oh. My. Lord! And I thought you could carry on our legacy!”

Peter said nothing. He raised his wand and pointed it at Black.

“I saw myself in you!” Black shouted. “I saw what you could become! You were the one person who might have understood me!”

His voice cracked. He was furious, but there were tears in his eyes too.

“No. No!”

He paced back and forth, struggling to accept what had happened.

“Peter, the world has a plan for us. For all of us! We can’t let them carry it out!”

“The same way you had a plan for me?”

Black stopped.

“My mother has plans for me too,” Peter continued. “And I’m damn sure the rest of the world has plans for me.”

He steadied his wand.

“But there’s a flaw in their plan.”

Black watched him.

“I have plans of my own.”

A jet of red light shot from Peter’s wand.

Black sprang aside, narrowly avoiding the Disarming Charm.

His face flushed with anger. Without speaking, he sent a streak of scarlet light straight back at Peter.

“Protego!”

Peter’s shield caught the spell.

“You know too much now, Peter.”

Black shook his head.

“You’ll have to die tonight.”

“Stupefy!”

Peter sent another scarlet spell hurtling towards him.

Black deflected it without uttering a word.

Peter moved, trying to remember his training. Black’s wand flicked again, and Peter ducked out of the spell’s path.

“Depulso!”

The spell struck Black in the stomach and sent him crashing into a tree.

Peter seized his chance.

He rushed to Flamel, hauled him up, and began dragging him away through the forest.

Behind them, Black struggled to his feet.

Peter pulled Flamel closer, holding him tightly, then rose into the air.

Black launched himself after them.

Peter flew between the trees, straining beneath Flamel’s weight. He glanced over his shoulder.

Black was gaining on him.

He raised his wand and gave it a small, almost casual flick.

Peter was struck in mid-air.

His grip on Flamel broke. The Headmaster fell to one side, while Peter was hurled into a tree.

Pain tore through him.

His wand slipped from his hand and landed somewhere on the forest floor.

Black wasn’t finished.

Before Peter could recover, he was lifted into the air and slammed against another trunk.

He fell, gasping.

His wand lay several feet away.

Peter crawled towards it, then tried to get to his feet.

Black lifted him again.

This time, he struck another tree, the impact driving the breath from his chest.

Peter cried out.

His back throbbed. His chest hurt with every attempt to breathe.

He forced himself to look towards his wand.

“Accio wand!”

Without a wand in his hand, without daring to look away, Peter summoned it.

It sprang from the ground and flew into his grasp.

He turned it towards Black.

“Expelliarmus!”

At the same instant, green light flashed from Black’s wand.

The spells collided.

Scarlet met green between them, neither giving way. Peter gripped his wand with both hands, struggling to hold his ground.

Nearby, Flamel stirred.

His eyelids fluttered. Through his blurred vision, he could make out Peter and Black facing each other, their wands locked in the clash of light.

Black noticed him moving.

He broke the connection.

Peter’s eyes darted towards the Headmaster.

Flamel was awake now, trying to push himself upright.

“DEPULSO!”

Black’s shout split the night.

The blast struck Peter before he could turn back.

He was thrown backwards with far greater force than before, hurtling deep into the forest. Trees and branches flashed past him, too quickly for him to cast a spell or reach for anything.

Then he hit the ground.

Black was alone with Flamel.

“So nice to finally meet you, old man.”

He approached with a smirk, his wand raised.

Flamel searched desperately through his robes.

Nothing.

His wand was gone.

Black watched him, enjoying every moment.

“So,” he said softly, “ready to see her again?”

Flamel went still.

A thunder of hoofbeats suddenly broke through the forest, growing louder with every passing second.

Black and Flamel turned towards the sound.

A herd of centaurs was charging straight at them.

Stewart clung to the back of one, while Alison rode another. They had been searching for Peter ever since the centaurs had found them.

Leading the herd was Ides, son of Magorian and the centaurs’ new leader.

Black’s eyes widened.

Before he could react, Ides lowered his head and rammed into him, sending him flying across the clearing. Black landed hard on the forest floor.

As Stewart’s centaur swept past Flamel, Stewart reached out a hand.

“Professor!”

Flamel caught it.

With Stewart’s help, he hauled himself onto the centaur’s back, and the herd carried them away before Black could recover.

“Mr Malfoy!” Flamel’s voice trembled. “Miss Parkinson! What are you doing here?”

“Saving your life, Professor!” Stewart replied. “Ides found us alone in the forest. He brought us along to look for you and Peter.”

Alison turned towards the Headmaster.

“Where is Peter, anyway, Professor?”

Flamel looked back into the darkness.

Where was Peter?

Peter lay on the forest floor, struggling against the pain. His eyes remained squeezed shut as he tried to gather enough strength to move. Slowly, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, then forced himself to stand.

Only then did he open his eyes.

Horror gripped him.

A swarm of Dementors hovered overhead, their hooded faces turned towards him.

Peter straightened abruptly. Shivers ran through his body as he stumbled backwards, trying to retreat amongst the trees.

The Dementors began descending.

One drifted closer than the others, as though it recognised him from his last encounter in the forest.

Be a threat to the threat.

Lincoln’s words returned to him.

Peter raised his wand.

Above him, the Dementors gathered, closing ranks before sweeping towards him together.

“Bas… Bas…”

The word caught in his throat.

He had never cast this spell. Never practised it. Not even against Peeves, the Boggart he had faced throughout the year.

But he had seen it work.

He had to trust himself.

There was no other choice.

“BASILISKO!”

Green fire erupted from his wand.

The flame stretched upwards, its tip swelling into a serpent’s head. Great fangs emerged from its open jaws, and fierce eyes took shape within the blaze.

The Basilisk had appeared.

It grew larger and larger, rising between Peter and the approaching Dementors. As its coils expanded, the hooded figures faltered and drew back.

Peter kept his wand raised.

The Basilisk moved with him.

His protector.

His Patronus.

A low, rumbling growl escaped its jaws. Then it lunged.

Two Dementors were swept from the air and hurled towards the ground. Others scattered as the serpent struck at them with its enormous fangs.

It wound between the trees, its glowing coils cutting off their paths, forcing every Dementor it approached to flee.

Green light flooded the clearing. Peter stood at its centre, his wand steady now, watching the creatures retreat before him.

They had descended upon him as though he were helpless.

Now they had nowhere to turn.

The roles had reversed.

Peter was the threat.

And the Dementors had no choice but to bow.

Meanwhile, Black struggled to his feet. Through the trees, he could see the centaurs carrying Flamel farther and farther away.

He wasn’t going to let him escape.

Black launched himself into the air and raced after them.

“CRUCIO!”

A great, echoing wave swept over the herd.

The centaurs stumbled as pain tore through them. Ides crashed to the ground, and the others fell around him.

Stewart, Alison, and Flamel were thrown onto the forest floor.

“That’s it!” Black shouted. “Tonight, you all die!”

Flamel forced himself upright. Stewart and Alison rose beside him, while the centaurs struggled to regain their footing.

Black pointed his wand at the Headmaster.

His jaw trembled. He could barely stand still.

Then a bright green light washed over Flamel.

Stewart and Alison were bathed in it too. Around them, the centaurs turned towards the growing glow.

Black hesitated.

He hadn’t cast the Killing Curse.

Slowly, he turned.

Peter stood amongst the trees, his wand held upright.

From its tip rose the great, ghostly Basilisk, flooding the forest with brilliant green light. Every trunk and branch stood out beneath its glow. The leaves overhead shone greener than ever.

And behind the serpent came the Dementors.

An entire army of them.

Following Peter’s command.

Stewart and Alison stared in astonishment. Flamel seemed unable to speak.

Black’s wand slipped from his fingers.

An eleven-year-old boy had brought some of the most feared and dangerous creatures in the wizarding world under his control.

Peter raised his free hand and pointed directly at Edward Black.

“That’s your man!”

The Dementors shot towards him like bullets.

Black stood rooted to the spot, his feet refusing to move. There was nowhere for him to run.

The hooded figures surrounded him.

They seized his ragged T-shirt and began lifting him from the ground.

Edward kept his eyes fixed on Peter.

Peter stared back.

Tonight, he had made an enemy.

Then Edward smiled.

“Good work, Peter. Well done.”

He gave a slow nod as the Dementors tightened their grip.

“When I come back—and I will—you’re going to learn a lesson you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

It was a promise.

The Dementors carried him higher, rising above the trees.

The Basilisk ascended with them, its enormous coils unwinding against the brightening sky. Then its shape began to break apart, scattering into tiny green fragments that drifted like glowing fireflies.

Below, Stewart and Alison still stood speechless.

Peter ran towards them and threw his arms around them both. They hugged him tightly, struggling to take in everything that had happened.

This was a night none of them would forget.

Once the centaurs had recovered, they carried the children and Professor Flamel safely out of the Forbidden Forest.

By then, dawn had arrived.

That morning, Peter, Stewart, and Alison slept for hours. By the time they woke and made their way to the Great Hall, lunch was already being served.

Miss January approached Peter at the table.

“The Headmaster would like a word with you.”

Peter went upstairs and returned to Flamel’s office.

The Headmaster sat behind his desk. In front of him lay Peter’s mysterious notebook.

Peter stopped in the doorway.

“Come in, Mr Harrow,” Flamel said with a smile.

Peter stepped inside, his eyes still on the notebook.

“Professor, is that…?”

“Yes. I found it in your trunk while you were asleep.”

Peter stared at him. Professor Flamel had been to his dormitory?

“I wanted to thank you for what you did last night,” Flamel continued. “That was extraordinarily brave, my boy. I owe you my life.”

Peter stood speechless. He had no idea how to respond.

“So, tell me. What can I do for you?” Flamel spread his hands, smiling broadly. “Consider me your genie for the day. Make a wish!”

“Nothing, really, Professor.”

“Come now. Don’t be shy. You saved my life, Peter. Surely there’s something I can give you.”

Peter hesitated.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t think of anything to ask for.”

“That’s quite all right. You needn’t decide today.” Flamel leaned back. “We’ll leave your wish unclaimed for now. Whenever you know what you want, come and ask me.”

He smiled.

“That’s a promise.”

Peter nodded, then glanced at the notebook again.

“Professor, how did Black escape from Azkaban? Couldn’t he do it again?”

“A good question. We still don’t know how he managed it, but hopefully the officials at Azkaban will learn something when they question him.”

“He threatened me before they took him away,” Peter said. “He said he’d come back.”

Flamel leaned forward.

“If he does, we’ll protect you.”

He held Peter’s gaze.

“Just as you protected us.”

Peter managed a smile.

“Before you leave, though, there’s a promise I’d like from you.”

Peter waited, wondering what it could be.

“Next year, I want you to make friends with George Smith.”

Peter’s smile vanished.

“Professor! He’s a nightmare. He was horrible to us on the train, in class—everywhere! We hadn’t even done anything to him. There’s a reason he hasn’t got any friends!”

Flamel said nothing. He simply watched Peter until the words stopped coming.

“Peter, my boy,” he said gently, “George lost his parents a month before he came to Hogwarts.”

Peter went still.

“I learnt about it after your midnight duel, when I spoke to his grandparents.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Losing someone isn’t easy,” Flamel continued. “All this time, you thought he was fighting you. But much of that anger was a battle he was having with himself.”

Peter looked down.

He had thought of George as spiteful, cunning, and cruel. It had seemed so simple. George was the villain, and Peter had finally put him in his place.

Now he remembered the boy sitting alone, barely speaking to his own friends.

“I… I didn’t know, Professor.”

Flamel gave him a moment before speaking again.

“Peter, do you know why the Sorting Hat placed you in Slytherin?”

“Because I asked it to?”

Flamel smiled.

“I think there was more to it than that. You reminded it that children aren’t born with their whole lives decided. So much of what we become depends on how we are shaped.”

Peter listened.

“You have the courage of a Gryffindor, the curiosity of a Ravenclaw, and the loyalty of a Hufflepuff. But Slytherin has given you something to grow into. Something to fight for.”

Peter remained quiet.

“If you’d been placed in Gryffindor, would you have worked quite so hard to prove yourself?”

Peter thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“If you’d been in Hufflepuff, would you have felt the same need to earn your house a place in this school?”

Again, Peter shook his head.

“And if you’d been in Ravenclaw, would you have pushed yourself to become so strong at eleven years old?”

Peter shook his head once more. He was beginning to understand.

“That is why Slytherin belongs here,” Flamel said, settling back in his chair. “It has something to offer, just as the other houses do. Hogwarts needs all four. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw—and Slytherin.”

Peter nodded slowly.

“So. Next year, you’ll make friends with Mr Smith?”

Peter gave a reluctant nod.

“Or at least try,” Flamel added.

Peter let out a small laugh.

His first year at Hogwarts was over.

The Great Hall had been decorated once again for the evening feast. Upstairs, the students’ trunks stood packed and ready. They would be leaving Hogwarts the following morning.

Peter had told Stewart and Alison about his conversation with Flamel. Neither had known about George’s parents.

The three glanced towards the Gryffindor table. George sat alone, some distance from the others, quietly eating his dinner.

They felt sorry for him. Still, none seemed quite ready to be the first to offer a hand in friendship, and they weren’t sure how he would respond.

Peter had made up his mind, though.

When they returned next year, speaking to George would be the first thing he did.

“Your attention, please!” Miss January called.

It was time to announce the House Cup winner.

Between their Quidditch victory and their examination results, Slytherin had earned a considerable number of points. The students at its table were fairly confident that the cup might be theirs.

Professor Flamel stepped up to the podium.

“My dear students! What a wonderful year it has been. I hope you’ve learnt some valuable lessons—and that I’ve been of some use as your new Headmaster. It was my first year too, after all.”

He chuckled.

“Our classrooms are cleaner than ever. The Great Hall looks magnificent, and the grounds are beautifully kept. I don’t think Hogwarts has looked this splendid in years!”

He surveyed the tables.

“I hope you’ve all learnt the importance of keeping your surroundings clean.”

A few students murmured.

“Which is why, from next year, you will no longer be doing the cleaning yourselves!”

The hall erupted in cheers.

“All right, all right. Quiet, please,” Flamel said, smiling. “Now, on to your favourite part. Who has won this year’s House Cup?”

The students settled, watching him expectantly.

“Well, the answer isn’t quite as straightforward as you might think. All four houses have performed admirably and earned a great many points. Until yesterday, Gryffindor was leading Slytherin by fifty.”

Cheers rose from the Gryffindor table.

“But,” Flamel continued, “Slytherin was awarded fifty points just yesterday.”

The cheering faltered.

“Which means we have a tie!”

Students looked at one another.

A tie?

“Yes, you heard correctly. Gryffindor and Slytherin have finished level. And I would like your help deciding what happens next.”

He looked around the hall.

“Those who believe the trophy should be shared, raise your hands.”

A scattering of hands went up.

Peter raised his. So did Alison.

Stewart continued eating.

Alison nudged him with her elbow. Still chewing, he glanced at her and shrugged.

He had no intention of sharing his dinner.

Or his trophy.

“Not many,” Flamel observed. “And who would prefer to compete for it?”

George Smith’s hand shot into the air.

Peter noticed at once.

George was staring straight at him.

Peter slowly lowered his own hand. Whatever he intended to say next year, George clearly wasn’t ready to hear it yet.

“Well, that seems clear enough,” Flamel announced. “Next year, Gryffindor and Slytherin will compete in a contest to settle the matter of this House Cup!”

Disappointed groans rose from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

Flamel lifted a hand.

“And Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff needn’t look so unhappy. While those two houses argue over who deserves the trophy, this year, you shall both have it!”

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables erupted in cheers.

Gryffindor and Slytherin remained silent.

Across the hall, Peter and George held each other’s gaze.

The game was on.

Morning arrived bright and clear. Students began leaving the castle, their trunks already loaded onto the Hogwarts Express, which waited at Hogsmeade station.

Snowman stood on the platform, checking names off his list as the students boarded.

Three were still missing.

Peter, Stewart, and Alison had decided to spend their last few minutes at Hogwarts in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. They wanted to say goodbye to the Weeping Philosopher—and see whether his spirits had improved at all.

“Well, no progress there,” Peter said, looking disappointedly at the sobbing figure in the frame.

“Anyway, what are you two doing over the holidays?” Stewart asked.

“My parents are taking me to a theme park,” Alison replied. “Somewhere Muggles and wizards can both go.”

“A theme park? That sounds pretty good.” Stewart turned towards Peter. “What about you?”

“First, I’m going to find out what that ‘surprise’ my mum mentioned was.”

“Oh, right!” Alison said. “I’d completely forgotten about that. What do you think it is?”

“A chain and a pair of handcuffs, probably,” Peter replied. “To stop me sneaking out and becoming a professional duellist.”

He gave a small laugh, and the other two joined in.

“What do you think will happen to Black?” Stewart asked once their laughter had faded.

“I doubt he’ll tell them much. He was clever enough to spend the whole year right in front of us without anyone recognising him,” Peter said. “And remember when Xin Li told us…”

He stopped.

“What?” Alison asked.

Peter stared ahead, lost in thought.

In the distance, the train whistled.

“Peter, come on,” Stewart urged. “We need to go. The train could leave any minute.”

“Black took the Weeping Philosopher out of the Room of Requirement,” Peter said slowly. “He must have had a reason.”

He turned towards the portrait.

“You lied to us.”

Stewart and Alison followed his gaze.

The Philosopher had stopped crying.

“Oops.”

A twisted, sneering smile spread across his face.

“It seems my cover is blown after all.”

Peter stepped closer to the frame.

The painted figure began to distort. Colours shifted and swirled across the canvas, pulling his features out of shape.

He was transforming.

“Black always told me you could fill his shoes,” the Philosopher continued. “I was never convinced.”

The voice was changing too.

“But you did it. You defeated him.”

The smile lingered as the painted face twisted.

“And proved yourself worthy of being the heir of Slytherin.”

The train whistled again.

None of them moved.

Peter, Stewart, and Alison stood frozen, watching the colours churn within the frame.

Then, gradually, the movement ceased.

The Weeping Philosopher was gone.

In his place was a face as white as chalk, gaunt and skull-like. Blazing red eyes stared out through snake-like pupils. Two narrow slits served as nostrils.

And behind those eyes lingered a darkness that had cast its shadow across generations.

“They’ve all forgotten me.”

His voice was cold and sibilant.

“I’ve spent the whole year weeping. But now…”

His smile widened.

“It’s time to bare my fangs.”

Every trace of expression drained from Peter’s face.

Of all the people he had expected to find behind the Philosopher’s tears, he had never imagined this one.

“The flaw was in the plan,” the voice whispered.

“But in theirs…”

Lord Voldemort smiled.