Chapter 26: Blood-Word on the Common Room Wall Gathers Loyalty
Hearing of James's relic, Harry forgot Quirrell.
He opened the box—nothing inside.
"Are you mocking me?"
"Calm down," Dumbledore said. "It's an invisibility cloak."
Harry felt in the box; invisible fabric was there.
He threw it on—only his head showed—checked a mirror, and laughed. "What a treasure! How did my father get it?"
"The Potters are ancient, older than the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Dumbledore said, eyes lingering on the cloak. "Don't lose it. This isn't ordinary; it never fails.
"To be honest, I even thought of hiding the Philosopher's— ahem. In any case, keep it safe."
"What is the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Did I say that?" Dumbledore winked. "Now go sleep.
"By the way, will you take that troll head with you?"
Harry filed away the words "Philosopher's Stone" and sneered. "Yes. I have accounts to settle."
He took the cloak, blade, and head, and left.
At the stairs down, Ron and Hermione waited.
"Harry!"
"You're all right?"
"Why are you two here?"
"We've been waiting," Ron beamed. "Guess what? No points lost—McGonagall gave us fifteen for felling the troll!"
Where from? McGonagall had stormed in; Hermione had bowed and taken the blame, claiming she'd rashly tried to fight the troll and nearly died, saved by Ron's timely help and Harry's heroics. "You know McGonagall favors me," Hermione said, tucking hair. "If it's my fault, she lets go."
"Thanks to Hermione," Ron grinned. "Otherwise we'd be in detention for a month."
Seeing them reconciled, Harry smiled. "True feeling is seen in trouble."
A quatrain:
Friendship cracked in Charms and class,
Honor veiled and chivalry masked.
Trolls faced together, storms blown past—
One smile and old grudges dashed.
They headed for the common room. "Have you heard of the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked suddenly.
Ron shook his head; Hermione frowned. "Philosopher's Stone? Sounds familiar… where did you hear that?"
Harry told them of Dumbledore's slip. Ron clapped. "Must be what Hagrid fetched. Why hide it otherwise?"
"Perhaps," Harry said. "But what is it?"
"Let me think." Hermione tapped her head. "I've heard it somewhere."
She puzzled all the way back. Inside, students crowded around Harry.
Seeing the head in his hand, Seamus jumped. "The troll! From Professor Quirrell!"
"Killed by Harry!"
Ron puffed out his chest and retold the tale, and McGonagall's points—cheers rolled on. The Fat Lady fled to another painting.
"You felled a troll!"
"No—killed it!"
"Hail the Lion King!"
Harry, Ron basked; Hermione slipped away. Then Harry barked, "What's there to celebrate!"
Silence. "But… Harry, you killed a troll," Seamus ventured.
Harry ignored him, hefted the head and leapt onto a sofa. "Answer me—who knew Hermione wasn't at the feast?"
Two or three dozen hands went up.
"You knew she was missing; you heard there was a troll—and you ran. Heroes? Bah!
"I took you for men and women of loyalty. Tonight you acted like curs who abandon sisters. Celebrate that?"
They stared, shamefaced. Upper-years thought to soothe him, but recognized truth in his words and held their tongues.
He hopped down and jabbed chests. "You love loyalty; she loves honor—both bright paths. Why couldn't you bear her and instead freeze her out?
"Tonight she lied to shield us from punishment. Saved us detention!"
Each sentence cut to the quick, each word scraped the face; they flushed and bent.
Harry flashed steel—the older students rushed to stop him—but he slit the troll's scalp, dipped a scrap of cloth in its blood, and wrote a single character above the hearth: 義—"Loyalty/Righteousness."
"I know you are good at heart, with hot blood and true feeling. Panic confused you.
"But repeat the error and you breed disaster.
"Without loyalty gathered, how are you Gryffindor?"
He took the blade and left.
Hermione watched his back, eyes hot and wet. Tears trembled on the brink.
The students stared at the character, unknown in form but clear in meaning. Shame burning, they came to apologize.
"Sorry, Hermione," Seamus twisted his robe, not daring to meet her eyes. "Don't mind what I said after flying."
"Sorry."
"I ran and forgot you in the loo."
"Please forgive me…"
They were eleven—quick to hate, quick to regret. Hermione listened, tears falling anyway. Upper-years joked and produced hidden sweets and cordial.
They sat together, drank and laughed. Hermione smiled at last; the common room showed a touch of gathered loyalty.
A verse:
Harry's shout woke drowsy hearts,
Apologies came, eyes wet with starts.
Sweet drink shared and fruit-plates passed—
Raise cups, let loyalty last!
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