Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Great Wizards of
the Twentieth Century,
or
 Notable Magical Names of Our Time
; he

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CHAPTER TWELVE 
‘
198 
‘
was missing, too, from 
Important Modern Magical Discoveries,
and 
A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry.
And then, of course, 
there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; 
thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows. 
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided 
to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started 
pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to 
the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if 
Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a 
specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the 
restricted books, and he knew he’d never get one. These were the 
books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, 
and only read by older students studying advanced Defense 
Against the Dark Arts. 
“What are you looking for, boy?” 
“Nothing,” said Harry. 
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him. 
“You’d better get out, then. Go on — out!” 
Wishing he’d been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, 
Harry left the library. He, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed 
they’d better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. 
They were sure she’d be able to tell them, but they couldn’t risk 
Snape hearing what they were up to. 
Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had 
found anything, but he wasn’t very hopeful. They had been look-
ing for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments be-
tween lessons it wasn’t surprising they’d found nothing. What they 
really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breath-
ing down their necks. 

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THE MIRROR OF ERISED 
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199 
‘
Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their 
heads. They went off to lunch. 
“You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?” said 
Hermione. “And send me an owl if you find anything.” 
“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” 
said Ron. “It’d be safe to ask them.” 
“Very safe, as they’re both dentists,” said Hermione. 
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too 
good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory 
to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, 
so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by 
the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork — 
bread, English muffins, marshmallows — and plotting ways of get-
ting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they 
wouldn’t work. 
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly 
like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made 
it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and 
battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged 
to someone else in his family — in this case, his grandfather. 
However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew 
them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he 
wanted. 
Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, 
and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet 
and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was 
confusing. “Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send 
him,
we can afford to lose 
him.
” 

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CHAPTER TWELVE 
‘
200 
‘
On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the 
next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents 
at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing 
he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. 
“Merry Christmas,” said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of 
bed and pulled on his bathrobe. 
“You, too,” said Harry. “Will you look at this? I’ve got some pre-
sents!” 
“What did you expect, turnips?” said Ron, turning to his own 
pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s. 
Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown 
paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was 
a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it him-
self. Harry blew it — it sounded a bit like an owl. 
A second, very small parcel contained a note.