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  Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next
  day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look
  at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.
  Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on
  finding his way to classes.

  There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide,
  sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different
  on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to
  remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you
  asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors
  that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It
  was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed
  to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit
  each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

  The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of
  them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly
  Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right
  direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a
  trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would
  drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet,


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  pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab
  your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

  Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus
  Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their
  very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a
  door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds
  corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was
  sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening
  to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor
  Quirrell, who was passing.



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  Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature
  with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the
  corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of
  line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds
  later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than
  anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly
  as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest
  ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

  And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes
  themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out,


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  than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

  They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every
  Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the
  movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the
  greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little
  witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of
  all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

  Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only
  one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old

  indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got
  up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on
  and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the
  Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

  Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had
  to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their
  first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he
  gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

  Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to
  think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a
  talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.


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  "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you
  will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class
  will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

  Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very
  impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they


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  weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.
  After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match
  and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson,
  only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor
  McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and
  gave Hermione a rare smile.

  The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense
  Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of
  a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said
  was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be
  coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had
  been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of
  a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story.
  For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell


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  had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about
  the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung
  around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed
  full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

  Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone
  else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't
  had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to
  learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

  Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to
  find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost
  once.

  "What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his
  porridge.

  "Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of
  Slytherin House. They say he always favors them -- we'll be able to see
  if it's true."

  "Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head
  of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge
  pile of homework the day before.

  Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but
  it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a
  hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast,


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  circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters
  and packages onto their laps.

  Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to
  nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the
  owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered
  down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto
  Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy
  scrawl:


  Dear Harry,

  I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have
  a cup of tea with me around three?

  I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with
  Hedwig.

  Hagrid


  Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the
  back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

  It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because
  the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to
  him so far.

  At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor
  Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd
  been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

  Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder
  here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough


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  without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

  Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and
  like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

  "Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

  Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their


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  hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His
  eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth.
  They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

  "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of
  potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but
  they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had y caught
  every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a
  class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving
  here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you
  will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with
  its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through
  human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach
  you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't
  as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

  More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks
  with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and


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  looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

  "Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered
  root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

  Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who
  looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

  "I don't know, sit," said Harry.

  Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

  "Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

  He ignored Hermione's hand.

  "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me
  a bezoar?"

  Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without
  her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a
  bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were
  shaking with laughter.

  "I don't know, sit." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming,


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  eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those
  cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did
  Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs
  and Fungi?

  Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

  "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

  At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon
  ceiling.

  "I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why
  don't you try her?"


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  A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked.
  Snape, however, was not pleased.

  "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter,
  asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as
  the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach
  of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and
  wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of
  aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

  There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise,
  Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your
  cheek, Potter."

  Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson
  continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a
  simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak,
  watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing
  almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just
  telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned
  slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the
  dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a
  twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor,
  burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was


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  standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the
  potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils
  sprang up all over his arms and legs.



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  "Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one
  wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before
  taking the cauldron off the fire?"

  Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

  "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he
  rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

  "You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought
  he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another
  point you've lost for Gryffindor."

  This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked
  him behind their cauldron.

  "Doi* push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

  As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind
  was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor
  in his very first week -- why did Snape hate him so much? "Cheer up,"
  said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come
  and meet Hagrid with you?"

  At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the
  grounds.


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  Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the
  forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the
  front door.

  When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and
  several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang
  -- back."

  Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door
  open.

  "Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

  He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous
  black boarhound.

  There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the
  ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner


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  stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

  "Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded
  straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was
  clearly not as fierce as he looked.

  "This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a
  large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

  "Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent
  half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

  The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their
  teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told
  Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's
  knee and drooled all over his robes.


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  Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

  "An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang
  sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me
  everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Fitch puts her up to it."

  Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not
  to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

  "But he seemed to really hate me."

  "Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

  Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes
  when he said that.

  "How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot --
  great with animals."

  Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron
  told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a
  piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a
  cutting from the Daily Prophet:

  GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST



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  Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,
  widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

  Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault
  that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

  "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if
  you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this


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  afternoon.

  Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to
  rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

  "Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!
  It might've been happening while we were there!"

  There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes
  this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the
  story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied
  earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and
  thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little
  package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

  As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets
  weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry
  thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much
  to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package
  just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about
  Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?


  CHAPTER NINE

  THE MIDNIGHT DUEL

  Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley,
  but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first-year
  Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to
  put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a


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  notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan.
  Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and
  Slytherin would be learning together.



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  "Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool
  of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

  He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

  "You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron
  reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he
  is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

  Malfay certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about
  first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long,
  boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping
  Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus
  Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the
  countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen
  about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom.
  Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron
  had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their
  dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game
  with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron
  prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the


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  players move.

  Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his
  grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had
  good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of
  accidents even with both feet on the ground.

  Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This
  was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that she
  hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with
  flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through
  the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for
  anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but
  everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted
  by the arrival of the mail.

  Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that
  Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was
  always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened
  gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

  A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He


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  opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large
  marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

  "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things -- this
  tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it


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  tight like this and if it turns red -- oh…" His face fell, because the
  Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet,

  "You've forgotten something…"

  Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy,
  who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his
  hand.

  Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason
  to fight Malfay, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble
  quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

  "What's going on?"

  "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

  Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

  "Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind
  him.

  At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors
  hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying
  lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their
  feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn
  on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees
  were swaying darkly in the distance.

  The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying
  in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley
  complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to
  vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

  Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and


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  yellow eyes like a hawk.

  "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a


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  broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

  Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck
  out at odd angles.

  "Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the
  front, "and say 'Up!"'

  "UPF everyone shouted.

  Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few
  that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and
  Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell
  when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's
  voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the
  ground.

  Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding
  off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.
  Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it
  wrong for years.

  "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said
  Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come
  straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three
  -- two --"

  But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the
  ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's
  lips.

  "Come back, boy!"


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  she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a
  cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Harry saw his
  scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp,
  slip sideways off the broom and --

  WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass
  in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and
  started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

  Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

  "Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right,


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  up you get.".

  She turned to the rest of the class.

  "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You
  leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before
  you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

  Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with
  Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

  No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

  "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

  The other Slytherins joined in.

  "Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

  "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced
  Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies,
  Parvati."

  "Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the
  grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."


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  The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

  "Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking
  to watch.

  Malfoy smiled nastily.

  "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about --
  up a tree?"

  "Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick
  and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level
  with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it,
  Potter!"

  Harry grabbed his broom.



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  "No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move --
  you'll get us all into trouble."

  Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom
  and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed
  through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him -and in a rush of
  fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being
  taught -- this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up
  a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls
  back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

  He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked
  stunned.

  "Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" "Oh,
  yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

  Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom


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  tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay like a javelin. Malfoy
  only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and
  held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

  "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.

  The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

  "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball
  high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

  Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and
  then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down
  -- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball
  -- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people
  watching -- he stretched out his hand -- a foot from the ground he
  caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled
  gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

  "HARRY POTTER!"

  His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was
  running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

  "Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts --"


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  Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses
  flashed furiously, "-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck --"

  "It wasn't his fault, Professor --"

  "Be quiet, Miss Patil

  "But Malfoy --"

  "That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."


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  Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he
  left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward
  the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to
  say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong
  with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even
  looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't
  even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What
  would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

  Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor
  McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched
  along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was
  taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to
  stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His
  stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming
  wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

  Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door
  and poked her head inside.

  "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

  Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on
  him?

  But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out


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  of Flitwicles class looking confused.

  "Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up
  the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.



   119

  "In here."

  Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except
  for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

  "Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which
  clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed
  the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

  "Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker."

  Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

  "Are you serious, Professor?"

  "Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural.
  I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a
  broomstick, Potter?"

  Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he
  didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming
  back to his legs.

  "He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor
  McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley
  couldn't have done it."

  Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

  "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

  "Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

  "He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around
  Harry and staring at him. "


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  Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get him a
  decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven,
  I'd say."

  I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the
  first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year.
  Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape
  in the face for weeks…."



   120

  Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

  "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind
  about punishing you."

  Then she suddenly smiled.

  "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent
  Quidditch player himself."

  "You're joking."

  It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened
  when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of
  steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about
  it.

  "Seeker?" he said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest
  house player in about a century, said Harry, shoveling pie into his
  mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the
  afternoon. "Wood told me."

  Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

  "I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood
  wants to keep it a secret."

  Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and
  hurried over.

  "Well done," said George in a low voice. "


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  Wood told us. We're on the
  team too -- Beaters."

  "I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,"
  said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is
  going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping
  when he told us."

  "Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret
  passageway out of the school."

  "Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found
  in our first week. See you."


   121

  Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome
  turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

  "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the
  Muggles?"

  "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got
  your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course
  nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was
  full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their
  knuckles and scowl.

  "I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want.
  Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact. What's the matter? Never heard
  of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

  "Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's
  yours?"

  Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.


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  "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy
  room; that's always unlocked."

  When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a
  wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

  "Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually,
  getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's
  face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know,
  with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send
  sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real
  damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

  "And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

  "Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested. "Excuse me."

  They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

  "Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.



   122

  Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

  "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"

  "Bet you could," Ron muttered.

  "--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the
  points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be.
  It's really very selfish of you."

  "And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

  "Good-bye," said Ron.


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  All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day,
  Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus
  falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had
  spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you,
  you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
  There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or
  Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another
  school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming
  up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy
  face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

  "Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."

  They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across
  the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor
  common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning
  all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached
  the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I
  can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

  A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe
  and a frown.

  "You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

  "I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy -- he's a


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  prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

  Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.


   123

  "Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady
  and climbed through the hole.

  Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through
  the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

  "Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I
  don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the
  points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching
  Spells."

  "Go away." "All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said
  when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so --"

  But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the
  portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an
  empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione
  was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

  "Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

  "That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we 3 re going to be
  late."

  They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up
  with them.

  "I'm coming with you," she said.

  "You are not."

  "D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?


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  If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying
  to stop you, and you can back me up."

  "You've got some nerve --" said Ron loudly.

  "Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I heard something."

  It was a sort of snuffling.

  "Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.


   124

  It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor,
  fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

  "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't
  remember the new password to get in to bed."

  "Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't
  help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

  "How's your arm?" said Harry.

  "Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a
  minute."

  "Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you
  later --"

  "Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to
  stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

  Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and
  Neville.

  "If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that
  Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.

  Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the


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  Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned
  them all forward.

  They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the
  high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs.
  Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor
  and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

  Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered
  where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues
  winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls,
  keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took
  out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes
  crept by.



   125

  "He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

  Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised
  his wand when they heard someone speak -and it wasn't Malfoy.

  "Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

  It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly
  at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried
  silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had
  barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy
  room.

  "They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

  "This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to


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  creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch
  getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke
  into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of
  them toppled right into a suit of armor.

  The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

  "RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not
  looking back to see whether Filch was following -- they swung around the
  doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead,
  without any idea where they were or where they were going -- they ripped
  through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled
  along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was
  miles from the trophy room.

  "I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall
  and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and
  spluttering.

  I -- told -you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest,
  "I -- told -- you."

  "We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as
  possible."

  "Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't
  you? He was never going to meet you -- Filch knew someone was going to


   126

  be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

  Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her
  that.

  "Let's go."


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  It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen
  paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a
  classroom in front of them.

  It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

  "Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out."

  Peeves cackled.

  "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty,
  naughty, you'll get caughty."

  "Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

  "Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his
  eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

  "Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a
  big mistake.

  "STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED
  DOWN THE
  CHARMS CORRIDOR"

  Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the
  corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.

  "This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're
  done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as
  fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

  "Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the
  lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"

  The lock clicked and the door swung open -- they piled through it, shut


   127

  it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

  "Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."


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  "Say 'please."'

  "Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

  "Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his
  annoying singsong voice.

  "All right -please."

  "NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say
  please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing
  away and Filch cursing in rage.

  "He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay
  -- get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of
  Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

  Harry turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he
  was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of
  everything that had happened so far.

  They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The
  forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was
  forbidden.

  They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that
  filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads.
  Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching

  and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging
  in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

  It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry
  knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their


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  sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting
  over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

  Harry groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, he'd take
  Filch.


   128

  They fell backward -- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they
  almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look
  for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they
  hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible
  between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they
  reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

  "Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their
  bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

  "Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the
  portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and
  collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

  It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked
  as if he'd never speak again.

  "What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up
  in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one
  does."

  Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You
  don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see
  what it was standing on.

  "The floor?" Harry suggested. "


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  I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too
  busy with its heads."

  "No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously
  guarding something."

  She stood up, glaring at them.

  I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed --
  or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

  Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

  "No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along,
  wouldn't you.

  But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed


   129

  back into bed. The dog was guarding something…. What had Hagrid said?
  Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to
  hide -- except perhaps Hogwarts.

  It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby littie package
  from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


  CHAPTER TEN

  HALLOWEEN

  Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were
  still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful.
  Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the
  three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite
  keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the
  package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and
  they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy
  protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.


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  "Or both," said Harry.


  But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it
  was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what
  it was without further clues.

  Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay
  underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never
  going near the dog again.

  Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a
  bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really
  wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great
  delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

  As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention
  was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech
  owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in
  this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped
  it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had
  hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top
  of the parcel.


   130

  Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:


  DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

  It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody


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  knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood
  will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your
  first training session.

  Professor McGonagall

  Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to
  read.

  "A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched
  one."

  They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private
  before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they
  found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the
  package from Harry and felt it.

  "That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture
  of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time,
  Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

  Ron couldn't resist it.

  "It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand.
  What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron
  grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same
  league as the Nimbus."

  "What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the
  handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to
  save up twig by twig."

  Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

  "Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.



   131

  "Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.


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  "Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry.
  "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances,
  Potter. And what model is it?"

  "A Nimbus Two Thousand, sit," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the
  look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here
  that I've got it," he added.

  Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's
  obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they
  reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's
  Remembrall I wouln't be on the team…."

  "So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an
  angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs,
  looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

  "I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

  "Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

  Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

  Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It
  kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying
  under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be
  learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without
  noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap
  the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.


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  "Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

  Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it
  looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long
  tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold
  near the top.

  As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the
  dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium
  before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that
  the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end


   132

  of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They
  reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle

  children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

  Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick
  and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling -- he swooped in and out
  of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two
  Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

  "Hey, Potter, come down!'

  Oliver Wood had arrived. fie was carrying a large wooden crate under his
  arm. Harry landed next to him.

  "Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall
  meant… you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules
  this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."


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  He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

  "Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even
  if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side.
  Three of them are called Chasers."

  "Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball
  about the size of a soccer ball.

  "This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the
  Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to
  score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the
  hoops. Follow me?"

  "The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,"
  Harry recited. "So -- that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with
  six hoops, isn't it?"

  "What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Harry
  quickly.

  "Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm
  Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other
  team from scoring."


   133

  "Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember
  it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are
  they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

  "I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

  He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

  "I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "


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  These two are
  the Bludgers."

  He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than
  the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to
  escape the straps holding them inside the box.

  "Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the
  Bludgers.

  At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at
  Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking
  his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air -- it zoomed around
  their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to
  pin it to the ground.

  "See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate
  and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to
  knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each
  team -- the Weasley twins are ours -- it's their job to protect their
  side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So
  -- think you've got all that?"

  "Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the
  goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry
  reeled off.

  "Very good," said Wood.

  "Er -- have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he
  sounded offhand.

  "Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse
  than that.


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  Now, the last member of the team is the


   134

  Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the
  Bludgers unless they crack my head open."

  "Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers -- I
  mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

  Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball.
  Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size
  of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver
  wings.

  "This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important
  ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and
  difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave
  in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it
  before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the
  Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they

  nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of
  Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages
  -- I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on
  substitutes so the players could get some sleep. "Well, that's it -- any
  questions?"

  Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was


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  doing it that was going to be the problem.

  "We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting
  it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try
  you out with a few of these."

  He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few
  minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf
  balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

  Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an
  hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

  "That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily
  as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you
  turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for
  England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."


   135

  Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice
  three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly
  believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two
  months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His
  lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had
  mastered the basics.

  On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin
  wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced


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  in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly,
  something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make
  Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the
  class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which
  was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron,
  however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell
  whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to
  either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

  "Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!"
  squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as
  usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic
  words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio,
  who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a
  buffalo on his chest."

  It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the
  feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the
  desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and
  set fire to it -- Harry had to put it out with his hat.

  Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

  "Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

  "You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium


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  Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."


  "You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

  Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said,
  "Wingardium Leviosa!"


   136

  Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their
  heads.

  "Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here,
  Miss Granger's done it!"

  Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no
  one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the
  crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. "

  Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione.
  Harry caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she
  was in tears.

  "I think she heard you."

  "So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed
  she's got no friends."

  Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all
  afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast,
  Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that
  Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone.
  Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had
  entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out
  of their minds.

  A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a


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  thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the
  candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the
  golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

  Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell
  came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.
  Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped
  against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you
  ought to know."

  He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

  There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from
  the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.


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  "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories
  immediately!"

  Percy was in his element.

  "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if
  you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years
  coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

  "How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

  "Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe
  Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

  They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions.
  As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry
  suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

  "I've just thought -- Hermione."

  "What about her?"

  "She doesn't know about the troll."

  Ron bit his lip.

  "Oh, all right," he snapped. "


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  But Percy'd better not see us."

  Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped
  down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls'
  bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick
  footsteps behind them.

  "Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

  Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the
  corridor and disappeared from view.

  "What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons
  with the rest of the teachers?"

  "Search me."


   138

  Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's
  fading footsteps.

  "He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his
  hand.

  "Can you smell something?"

  Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old
  socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

  And then they heard it -- a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of
  gigantic feet. Ron pointed -- at the end of a passage to the left,
  something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and
  watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

  It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite
  gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head
  perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks
  with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible.


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  It was
  holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its
  arms were so long.

  The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its
  long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

  "The keys in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

  "Good idea," said Ron nervously.

  They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't
  about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the
  key, slam the door, and lock it.

  'Yes!"

  Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but
  as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts
  stop -- a high, petrified scream -- and it was coming from the chamber
  they'd just chained up.

  "Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.


   139

  "It's the girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.

  "Hermione!" they said together.

  It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have?
  Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key,
  fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.

  Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if
  she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the
  sinks off the walls as it went.

  "Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he


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  threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

  The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking
  stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw
  Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it
  went.

  "Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he
  threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe
  hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning
  its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

  "Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward
  the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall,
  her mouth open with terror.

  The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It
  roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to
  escape.

  Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He
  took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the
  troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there,
  but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its
  nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped -- it
  had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.


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  Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry
  clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him


   140

  off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

  Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand --
  not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell
  that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

  The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into
  the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto
  its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its
  face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

  Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was
  standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

  It was Hermione who spoke first.

  "Is it -- dead?"

  I don't think so," said Harry, I think it's just been knocked out."

  He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered
  in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

  "Urgh -- troll boogers."

  He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

  A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up.
  They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course,
  someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A


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  moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room,
  closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell
  took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly
  down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

  Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and
  Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.
  Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's
  mind.

  "What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with
  cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with
  his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in


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  your dormitory?"

  Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He
  wished Ron would put his wand down.

  Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

  "Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me."

  "Miss Granger!"

  Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

  I went looking for the troll because I -- I thought I could deal with it
  on my own -- you know, because I've read all about them."

  Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a
  teacher? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand
  up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have
  time to come and fetch anyone.


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  It was about to finish me off when they
  arrived."

  Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

  "Well -- in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the
  three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of
  tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

  Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last
  person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending
  she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started
  handing out sweets.

  "Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said
  Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt
  at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing
  the feast in their houses."

  Hermione left.

  Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

  "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have


   142

  taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five
  points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

  They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had
  climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the
  troll, quite apart from anything else.

  "We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

  "Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."


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  "Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind
  you, we did save her."

  "She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with
  her," Harry reminded him.

  They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

  "Pig snout," they said and entered.

  The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that
  had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting
  for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking
  at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

  But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are
  some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and
  knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  QUIDDITCH

  As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains
  around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every
  morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the
  upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled
  up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous
  beaverskin boots.

  The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in


   143

  his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If
  Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house
  championship.

  Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as


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  their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news
  that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know
  which was worse -- people telling him he'd be brilliant or people
  telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

  It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermlone as a friend. He didn't
  know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what
  with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She
  had also tent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a
  very interesting read.

  Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a
  Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup
  match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest
  players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to
  them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had
  been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

  Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry
  and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer
  for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them
  were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured
  them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar.


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  They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape
  crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry,
  Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view;
  they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about
  their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen
  the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off
  anyway.

  "What's that you've got there, Potter?"

  It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

  "Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape.
  "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."



   144

  "He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped
  away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

  "Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

  The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and
  Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and
  Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will
  you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right
  answers anyway.

  Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take
  his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of
  Snape? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if
  he could have it.


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  "Better you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that
  Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.

  He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer.
  He knocked again. Nothing.

  Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed
  the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met his eyes.

  Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above
  his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing
  Snape bandages.

  "Blasted thing*," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your
  eyes on all three heads at once?"

  Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but --

  "POTTER!"

  Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to
  hide his leg. Harry gulped.

  "I just wondered if I could have my book back."

  "GET OUT! OUT!"



   145

  Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He
  sprinted back upstairs.

  "Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

  In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

  "You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get
  past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when
  we saw him -- he's after whatever it's guarding! And Id bet my
  broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"


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  Hermione's eyes were wide.

  "No -- he wouldn't, she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he
  wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

  "Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,"
  snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But
  what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

  Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville
  was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind
  -- he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a
  few hours -- but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his
  leg wasn't easy to forget.

  The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of
  the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of
  everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

  "You've got to eat some breakfast."

  "I don't want anything."

  "Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

  "I'm not hungry."

  Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

  "Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are
  always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."


   146

  "Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his
  sausages.

  By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around
  the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars.


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  The seats might be
  raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going
  on sometimes.

  Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in
  the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on
  one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and
  Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion
  underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that
  the paint flashed different colors.

  Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were
  changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing
  in green).

  Wood cleared his throat for silence.

  "Okay, men," he said.

  "And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

  "And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

  "The big one," said Fred Weasley.

  "The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

  "We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the
  team last year."

  "Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had
  in years. We're going to win. I know it."

  He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

  "Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

  Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his


   147

  knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

  Madam Hooch was refereeing.


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  She stood in the middle of the field waiting
  for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

  "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all
  gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking
  particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry
  thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the
  corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing
  Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

  "Mount your brooms, please."

  Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

  Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

  Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the
  Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what
  an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"

  "JORDAN!"

  "Sorry, Professor."

  The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the
  match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

  "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet,
  a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to
  Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin
  Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying
  like an eagle up there -- he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent
  move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle --


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  that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint,
  off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of
  the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's
  Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a
  second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell
  which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in
  possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she's
  really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead


   148

  -- come on, now, Angelina -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses --
  GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

  Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the
  Slytherins.

  "Budge up there, move along."

  "Hagrid!"

  Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join
  them.

  "Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of
  binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the
  crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

  "Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

  "Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his
  binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

  Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for
  some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.


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  "Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had
  said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

  When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to
  let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch.
  Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection
  from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to
  come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry
  dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

  "All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger
  furiously toward Marcus Flint.

  "Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks
  two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the --
  wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

  A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too


   149

  busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his
  left ear.

  Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the
  streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck
  and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have
  forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to
  watch.

  Harry was faster than Higgs -- he could see the little round ball, wings


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  fluttering, darting up ahead - - he put on an extra spurt of speed --

  WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below -- Marcus Flint
  had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry
  holding on for dear life.

  "Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

  Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the
  goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the
  Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

  Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red
  card!"

  "What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

  "Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card
  and you're out of the game!"

  "But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

  Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

  "They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the
  air."

  Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

  "So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating

  "Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.



   150

  "I mean, after that open and revolting foul

  'Jordan, I'm warning you --"

  "All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which
  could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by
  Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor
  still in possession."

  It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously
  past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening
  lurch.


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  For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped
  the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt
  anything like that.

  It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him
  off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their
  riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts
  -- he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out -- and then he
  realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't
  turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the
  air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that
  almost unseated him.

  Lee was still commentating.

  "Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet --
  passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose
  -- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- A no…

  The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's
  broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying- him slowly higher, away
  from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

  "Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through
  his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of
  his broom… but he can't have…."

  Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His


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  broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to
  hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild
  jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on
  with only one hand.


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  "Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

  "Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere
  with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to
  a Nimbus Two Thousand."

  At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of
  looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

  "What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

  "I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape -- look."

  Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands
  opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop
  under his breath.

  "He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

  "What should we do?"

  "Leave it to me."

  Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned
  the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was
  almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on
  its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull
  Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good -- every time
  they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower


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  and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.
  Marcus

  Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

  "Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

  Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and
  was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say
  sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front.
  Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a
  few, well- chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the
  hem of Snape's robes.


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  It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire.
  A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him
  into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row --
  Snape would never know what had happened.

  It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on
  to his broom.

  "Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into
  Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

  Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his
  hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field
  on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

  "I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the
  game ended in complete confusion.


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  "He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling
  twenty minutes later, but it made no difference -- Harry hadn't broken
  any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results --
  Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry
  heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back
  in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

  "It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was
  cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

  "Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next
  to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell
  him. Harry decided on the truth.

  "I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past
  that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying
  to steal whatever it's guarding."

  Hagrid dropped the teapot.

  "How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.



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  "Fluffy?"

  "Yeah -- he's mine -- bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub
  las' year -- I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the

  "Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

  "Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret,
  that is."

  "But Snape's trying to steal it."

  "Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "


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  Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do
  nothin' of the sort."

  "So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

  The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about
  Snape.

  I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!

  You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw
  him!"

  "I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why
  Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student!
  Now, listen to me, all three of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don'
  concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what
  it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel
  --"

  "Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved,
  is there?"

  Hagrid looked furious with himself.


  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE MIRROR OF ERISED

  Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find


   154

  itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the
  Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that
  they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The
  few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to
  deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could
  fly off again.

  No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common


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  room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had
  become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.
  Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where
  their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as
  possible to their hot cauldrons.

  "I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all
  those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're
  not wanted at home."

  He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.
  Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them.
  Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch
  match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get
  everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing
  Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny,
  because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay
  on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back
  to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

  It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas.
  Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of
  students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up
  at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be


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  the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying,
  too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit
  Charlie.

  When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large
  fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at
  the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

  "Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the
  branches.



   155

  "Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

  "Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from
  behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping
  to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut
  of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used
  to."

  Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

  "WEASLEY!"

  Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

  "He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy
  face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

  "Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said
  Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it
  isn't more. Move along, all of you."

  Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering
  needles everywhere and smirking.

  "I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of
  these days, I'll get him --"


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  "I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

  "Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what,
  come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

  So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great
  Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with
  the Christmas decorations.

  "Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

  The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all
  around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood
  around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with
  hundreds of candles.



   156

  "How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

  "Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me -Harry, Ron, we've got
  half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

  "Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor
  Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was
  trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

  "The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before
  the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

  "Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you
  mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

  "You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh -- drop
  it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."


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  "We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

  "Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We
  must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him
  anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read his name somewhere."

  "I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

  "Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left
  Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

  They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid
  had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape
  was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to
  begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a
  book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable
  Magical Names of Our Time; he 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.


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  He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in


   157

  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 looking for two
  weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it
  wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a
  nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

  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


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  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 getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk


   158

  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


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  send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose
  him." 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 presents!"

  "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 himself. Harry blew it --
  it sounded a bit like an owl.

  A second, very small parcel contained a note.

  We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle
  Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

  "That's friendly," said Harry.

  Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

  "Weird!" he said, 'NMat a shape! This is money?"



   159

  "You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid
  and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?"


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  "I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and
  pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect
  any presents and -- oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley
  sweater."

  Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in
  emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

  "Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and
  mine's always maroon."

  "That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was
  very tasty.

  His next present also contained candy -- a large box of Chocolate Frogs
  from Hermione.

  This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very
  light. He unwrapped it.

  Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it
  lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

  "I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of
  Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it
  is -- they're really rare, and really valuable."

  "What is it?"

  Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to
  the touch, like water woven into material.

  "It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm
  sure it is -- try it on."

  Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

  "It is! Look down!"


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  Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the


   160

  mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head
  suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak
  over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

  "There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

  Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow,
  loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your
  father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was
  returned to you. Use it well.

  A Very Merry Christmas to you.


  There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the
  cloak.

  "I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the
  matter?"

  "Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had
  it really once belonged to his father?

  Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung
  open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak
  quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else
  yet.

  "Merry Christmas!"

  "Hey, look -- Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

  Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on
  it, the other a G.

  "Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's
  sweater. "


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  She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

  "Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it
  on, they're lovely and warm."

  "I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.



   161

  "You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she
  thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're
  called Gred and Forge."

  "What's all th is noise.

  Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He
  had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too,
  carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which

  Fred seized.

  "P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even
  Harry got one."

  "I -- don't -- want said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater
  over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

  "And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said

  George. "Christmas is a time for family."

  They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by
  his sweater.

  Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred
  fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of
  chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy
  and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet
  along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the


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  feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little
  plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard
  cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like
  a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the
  inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at
  the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a
  flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick
  had just read him.

  Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his
  teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid
  getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine,
  finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's


   162

  amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

  When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of
  things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous
  balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set.
  The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were
  going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

  Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball
  fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they
  returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in


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  his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he
  wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

  After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake,
  everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and
  watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because
  they'd stolen his prefect badge.

  It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been
  nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed
  was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had
  sent it.

  Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him,
  fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his
  four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the
  cloak out from under it.

  His father's… this had been his father's. He let the material flow
  over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note
  had said.

  He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak
  around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and
  shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

  Use it well.

  Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him
  in this cloak.


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  Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the
  dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch
  would never know.


   163

  Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back
  -- his father's cloak -- he felt that this time -- the first time -- he
  wanted to use it alone.

  He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room,
  and climbed through the portrait hole.

  "Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked
  quickly down the corridor.

  Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then
  it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to
  read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was.
  He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he
  walked.

  The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his
  way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along
  in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the
  sight gave him the creeps.

  The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Step ping
  carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the
  library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

  They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled


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  words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all.
  One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The
  hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it,
  maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books,
  as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

  He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor,
  he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A large
  black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with
  difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee,
  let it fall open.

  A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence -- the book was
  screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one
  high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over
  his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming


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  down the corridor outside -- stuffing the shrieking book back on the
  shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild
  eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's
  outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks
  still ringing in his ears.

  He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been
  so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where


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  he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he
  was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he
  must be five floors above there.

  "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was
  wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted
  Section."

  Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must
  know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and
  to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well,
  they can't be far, we'll catch them."

  Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner
  ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor
  and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him -- the cloak
  didn't stop him from being solid.

  He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It
  was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying
  not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room
  without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry
  leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps
  dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before
  he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

  It looked like an unused classroom.


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  The dark shapes of desks and chairs
  were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper
  basket -- but propped against the wall facing him was something that
  didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone
  had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

  It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold
  frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved
  around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic


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  fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved
  nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection
  again. He stepped in front of it.

  He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He
  whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the
  book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but
  a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

  But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to
  the mirror.

  There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there,
  reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his
  shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible,
  too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's


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  trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

  He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his
  reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt
  the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their
  reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the
  others existed only in the mirror.

  She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes -- her
  eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the
  glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that
  she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin,
  black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore
  glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as
  Harry's did.

  Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching
  that of his reflection.

  "Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

  They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the
  faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green
  eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as
  though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family,
  for the first time in his life.



   166

  The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at


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  them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping
  to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache
  inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

  How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade
  and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his
  senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He
  tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back,"
  and hurried from the room.

  "You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

  "You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.

  "I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly.

  "And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to
  show me your other brothers and everyone."

  "You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house
  this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not
  finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you
  eating anything?"

  Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them
  again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very
  important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding?
  What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

  "Are you all right?" said Ron. "


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  You look odd."

  What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror
  room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much
  more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the
  library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

  "I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

  "No!" Harry hissed. I know it's here somewhere."

  They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction,
  but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead


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  with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

  "It's here -- just here -- yes!"

  They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his
  shoulders and ran to the mirror.

  There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

  "See?" Harry whispered.

  "I can't see anything."

  "Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…."

  "I can only see you."

  "Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

  Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't
  see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

  Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

  "Look at me!" he said.

  "Can you see all your family standing around you?"

  "No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head
  boy!"

  "What?"


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  "I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the
  house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too.

  Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at
  Harry.

  "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

  "How can it? All my family are dead -- let me have another look --"



   168

  "You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

  "You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I
  want to see my parents."

  "Don't push me --"

  A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion.
  They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

  "Quick!"

  Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris
  came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the
  same thing -- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she
  turned and left.

  "This isn't safe -- she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us.
  Come on."

  And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

  The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

  "Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

  "No."

  "Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

  "No… you go…"

  "I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back
  tonight."

  "Why not?"


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  "I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had
  too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are
  wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into
  you? What if you knock something over?"

  "You sound like Hermione."


   169

  "I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

  But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in
  front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.

  That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was
  walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he
  didn't meet anyone.

  And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of
  his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in
  front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all
  night with his family. Nothing at all.

  Except --

  "So -- back again, Harry?"

  Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind
  him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus
  Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to
  get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

  " -- I didn't see you, sir."

  "Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore,
  and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.


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  "So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with
  Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of
  the Mirror of Erised."

  "I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

  "But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

  "It -- well -- it shows me my family --"

  "And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

  "How did you know --?"



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  "I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.
  "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

  Harry shook his head.

  "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the
  Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it
  and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

  Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want…
  whatever we want…"

  "Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less
  than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have
  never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley,
  who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing
  alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us
  neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by
  what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is
  real or even possible.


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  "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you
  not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will
  now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,
  remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and
  get off to bed?"

  Harry stood up.

  "Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

  "Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one
  more thing, however."

  "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

  "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

  Harry stared.

  "One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas
  has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on
  giving me books."


   171

  It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore
  might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved
  Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.


  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NICOLAS FLAMEL

  Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of
  Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the
  invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry
  wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he
  couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed


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  about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high
  voice cackled with laughter.

  "You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said
  Ron, when Harry told him about these drearns.

  Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different
  view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being
  out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had
  caught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who
  Nicolas Flamel was.

  They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a li- brary
  book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere.
  Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten
  minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other
  two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

  Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that
  had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys
  complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's
  side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would
  overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven
  years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer
  nightmares when he was tired out after training.

  Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave


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  the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the


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  Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off
  their brooms.

  "Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of
  thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll
  be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

  George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

  "Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's
  he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we
  might overtake Slytherin."

  The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

  "It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a
  clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

  Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for
  not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch….

  The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the
  end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common
  room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only
  thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very
  good for her.

  "Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to


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  him, "I need to concen --" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the
  matter with you? You look terrible."

  Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other
  two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

  "Don't play," said Hermione at once.

  "Say you're ill," said Ron.

  "Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

  "Really break your leg," said Ron.

  "I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out,


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  Gryffindor can't play at all."

  At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed
  to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs
  had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the
  Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to
  Gryffindor tower.

  Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed
  the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet,
  trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit
  with Harry and Ron.

  "Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said
  he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

  "Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

  Neville shook his head.

  "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

  "You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to


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  walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of
  him and make it easier."

  "There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor,
  Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

  Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog,
  the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He
  gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

  "You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you
  for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

  Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

  "Thanks, Harry… I think I'll go to bed…. D'you want the card, you
  collect them, don't you?"

  As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.



   174

  "Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever-"

  He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron
  and Hermione.

  "I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read
  the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen
  to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark
  wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of
  dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas
  Flamel'!"


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  Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd
  gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

  "Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls'
  dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks
  before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

  "I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this
  out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

  "Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked
  something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages,
  muttering to herself.

  At last she found what she was looking for.

  "I knew it! I knew it!"

  "Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

  "Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker
  of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

  This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

  "The what?" said Harry and Ron.

  "Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look -- read that, there."

  She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient
  study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a


   175

  legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform
  any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which
  will make the drinker immortal.

  There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries,


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  but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel,
  the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six
  hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon
  with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

  "See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be
  guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it
  safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it,
  that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

  "A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No
  wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

  "And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent
  Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's
  six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

  The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down
  different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still
  discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It
  wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry
  remembered about Snape and the coming match.

  "I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the
  Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show


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  them… it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

  "Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

  As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous,
  whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm,
  either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was
  wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed
  to, with such a biased referee?

  Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to
  keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered
  whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions


   176

  lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so
  horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the
  Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could -- yet he sometimes had
  the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

  Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the
  next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever
  see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry
  hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch
  robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

  Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to


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  Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or
  why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry
  know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker
  Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were
  ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

  "Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron
  slipped his wand up his sleeve.

  "I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

  Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.

  "Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early
  capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor
  Hufflepuff too much."

  "The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the
  door. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"

  Harry's heart did a somersault.

  "Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right.
  There was no mistaking that silver beard.

  Harry could have laughed out loud with relief He was safe. There was
  simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was
  watching.

  Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched
  onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.


   177

  "I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're
  off Ouch!"


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  Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

  "Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

  Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

  "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone
  want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

  Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because
  George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her
  fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was
  circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

  "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said
  Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another
  penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See,
  there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've
  got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no
  brains."

  Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

  "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

  Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not
  daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

  "Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and
  that's saying something."

  Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety
  about Harry.

  "I'm warning you, Malfoy -- one more word

  "Ron!"


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  said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"

  "What? Where?"


   178

  Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and
  cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her
  mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

  "You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the
  ground!" said Malfoy.

  Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of
  him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over
  the back of his seat to help.

  "Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as
  Harry sped straight at Snape -- she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron
  rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the
  whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

  Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see
  something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches -- the next
  second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the
  Snitch clasped in his hand.

  The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember
  the Snitch being caught so quickly.

  "Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won!
  Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on
  her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

  Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe


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  it. He'd done it -- the game was over; it had barely lasted five
  minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land
  nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harry felt a hand on his
  shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

  "Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear.
  "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror… been keeping
  busy… excellent…"

  Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

  Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two
  Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling


   179

  happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could
  say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never
  smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour
  in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him
  onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and
  down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

  Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked
  up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun.
  Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape….

  And speaking of Snape…

  A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly
  not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the
  forbidden forest.


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  Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He
  recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest
  while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?

  Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding
  silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He
  followed.

  The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in
  circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he
  heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering
  beech tree.

  He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his
  broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy
  clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too.
  Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering
  worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

  "… d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places,
  Severus…"

  "Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy.
  "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after
  all."

  Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted
  him.


   180

  "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

  "B-b-but Severus, I --"

  "You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step
  toward him.


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  "I-I don't know what you

  "You know perfectly well what I mean."

  An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied
  himself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of hocus-pocus.
  I'm waiting."

  "B-but I d-d-don't --"

  "Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when
  you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties
  lie."

  He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was
  almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as
  though he was petrified.

  "Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.

  "We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And
  I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle
  single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomftey says he'll be all
  right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the
  common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and
  stuff from the kitchens."

  "Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty
  room, you wait 'til you hear this…."

  He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them,
  then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

  "So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to


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  force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past


   181

  Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocuss-- I reckon
  there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of
  enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts
  spell that Snape needs to break through --"

  "So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to
  Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

  "It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.


  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NORBERT THE NORWEGIAN RIDGEBACK

  Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the
  weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it
  didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

  Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and
  Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was
  still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper,
  which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed
  Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron
  had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

  Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She
  had started drawing up study schedules and colorcoding all her notes.
  Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the
  same.

  "Hermione, the exams are ages away."

  "Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "


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  That's not ages, that's like a second to
  Nicolas Flamel."

  "But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what
  are you studying for, you already know it A."

  "What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass
  these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I
  should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten
  into me…."


   182

  Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines
  as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter
  holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard
  to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's
  blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron
  spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get
  through all their extra work.

  "I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down
  his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the
  first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear,
  forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

  Harry, who was looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and
  Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you
  doing in the library?"


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  Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked
  very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

  "Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at
  once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer
  not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?" "Oh, we found out who he
  is ages ago," said Ron impressively. "And we know what that dog's
  guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St --"

  "Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening.
  "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

  "There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said
  Harry, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy --"

  "SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not
  promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it
  in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh
  --"

  "See you later, then," said Harry.

  Hagrid shuffled off.

  "What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.


   183

  "Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

  "I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of
  working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms
  and slammed them down on the table.

  "Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!


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  Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to
  Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

  "Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever
  met him, " said Harry.

  "But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by
  the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop
  Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden -
  anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns
  Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

  "But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry.

  "Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean
  Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you.
  Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to
  make them forget."

  "So what on earths Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

  When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later,
  they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid
  called "Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door
  quickly behind them.

  It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there
  was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them
  stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

  "So -- yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

  "Yes," said Harry.


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  There was no point beating around the bush. "We were
  wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone
  apart from Fluffy."


   184

  Hagrid frowned at him.

  "0' course I cant, he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two,
  yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That
  Stone's here fer a good reason. It Was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I
  s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou'
  Fluffy."

  "Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know,
  you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm,
  flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was
  smiling. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really." Hermione
  went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him,
  apart from you."

  Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at
  Hermione.

  "Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he
  borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o' the teachers did enchantments…
  Professor Sprout -- Professor Flitwick -- Professor McGonagall --" he
  ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell -- an' Dumbledore
  himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh
  yeah, Professor Snape."

  "Snape?"

  "Yeah -- yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped
  protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."


TxText:
  Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape
  had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out
  how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything --
  except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

  "You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. aren't you,
  Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you?
  Not even one of the teachers?"

  "Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

  "Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we


   185

  have a window open? I'm boiling."

  "Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the
  fire. Harry looked at it, too.

  "Hagrid -- what's that?"

  But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire,
  underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

  "Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's er…"

  "Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get
  a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

  "Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a
  few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was
  quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

  "But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?"


TxText:
  said Hermione.

  "Well, I've bin doin' some readin' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book
  from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library -- Dragon Breeding
  for Pleasure and Profit -- it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's
  all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I
  em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with
  chicken blood every half hour. An' see here -- how ter recognize
  diff'rent eggs -- what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're
  rare, them."

  He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

  "Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she said.

  But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the
  fire.

  So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to
  Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.
  "Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening
  after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were
  getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Harry and
  Ron, too. It was driving them nuts.


   186

  Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid.
  He had written only two words: It's hatching.

  Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione
  wouldn't hear of it.


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  "Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon
  hatching?"

  "We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what
  Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing --"

  "Shut up!" Harry whispered.

  Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How
  much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

  Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end,
  Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during
  morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their
  lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried
  through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them,
  looking flushed and excited.

  "It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

  The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something
  was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

  They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated
  breath.

  All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby
  dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought
  it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge
  compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils,


TxText:
  the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

  It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

  "Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke
  the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.


   187

  "Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

  "Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow,
  exactly?"

  Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face
  -- he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains -- it's a kid --
  he's runnin' back up ter the school."

  Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no
  mistaking him.

  Malfoy had seen the dragon.

  Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week
  made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their
  free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

  "Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

  "I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

  They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a
  week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing
  his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There
  were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.


TxText:
  "I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon
  with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert!
  Where's Mommy?"

  "He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

  "Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to
  be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

  Hagrid bit his lip.



   188

  "I -- I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I
  can't."

  Harry suddenly turned to Ron. Charlie, he said.

  "You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

  "No -- Charlie -- your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons.
  We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put
  him back in the wild!"

  "Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

  And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send -an owl to Charlie to
  ask him.

  The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry
  sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to
  bed. The clock on the wall had just

  chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of
  nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at
  Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by
  the crate.

  "It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a
  bloody handkerchief. "


TxText:
  I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a
  week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met,
  but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little
  bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when
  I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

  There was a tap on the dark window.

  "It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have
  Charlie's answer!"

  The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

  Dear Ron,

  How are you? Thanks for the letter -- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian
  Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing


   189

  will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to
  visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal
  dragon.

  Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on
  Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still
  dark.

  Send me an answer as soon as possible.

  Love,

  Charlie

  They looked at one another.

  "We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too
  difficult -- I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and
  Norbert."

  It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two


TxText:
  agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert -- and Malfoy.

  There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to
  twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam
  Pomfrey -- would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though,
  he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked
  as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

  Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day
  to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

  "It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's
  about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of
  my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept
  threatening to tell her what really bit me -- I've told her it was a
  dog, but I don't think she believes me -I shouldn't have hit him at the
  Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

  Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

  "It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this
  didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke


   190

  into a sweat.

  "Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no -- I've
  just remembered -- Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's


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  going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

  Harry and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came
  over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

  "It's too late to change the plan now," Harry told Hermione. "We haven't
  got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance
  to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the
  invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

  They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail
  when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

  "I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage -- nothin'
  I can't handle."

  When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears,
  although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the
  leg.

  "Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot -- jus' playin' -- he's only
  a baby, after all."

  The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry
  and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come
  quickly enough.

  They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say
  good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had
  to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late


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  arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get
  out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis
  against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

  "He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in
  a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets
  lonely."

  From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as


   191

  though the teddy was having his head torn off.

  "Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Hermione covered the
  crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves.
  "Mommy will never forget you!"

  How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never
  knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble
  staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. UP another
  staircase, then another -- even one of Harry's shortcuts didn't make the
  work much easier.

  "Nearly there!" Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the
  tallest tower.

  Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate.
  Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the
  shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each
  other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

  Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by
  the ear.

  "Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin!


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  Wandering
  around in the middle of the night, how dare you --"

  "You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming -- he's got a
  dragon!"

  "What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on -- I shall see
  Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

  The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest
  thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the
  cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe
  properly again. Hermione did a sort of jig.

  "Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

  "Don't," Harry advised her.

  Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his
  crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out


   192

  of the darkness.

  Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Hermione the
  harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them.
  They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and
  Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

  At last, Norbert was going… going… gone.

  They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as
  their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon -- Malfoy in
  detention -- what could spoil their happiness?

  The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they
  stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the
  darkness.


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  "Well, well, well," he whispered, "we are in trouble."

  They'd left the invisibility cloak on top of the tower.


  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE FORIBIDDEN FOREST

  Things couldn't have been worse.

  Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor,
  where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione
  was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover- up stories chased each
  other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He couldn't
  see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were
  cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak?
  There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for
  their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of
  night, let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower, which was
  out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the invisibility
  cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

  Had Harry thought that things couldn't have been worse? He was wrong.
  When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.



   193

  "Harry!" Neville burst Out, the moment he saw the other two. "I was
  trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to
  catch you, he said you had a drag --"

  Harry shook his head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor
  McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert


TxText:
  as she towered over the three of them.

  "I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were
  up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain
  yourselves."

  It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's
  question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

  "I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor
  McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco
  Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of
  bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's
  funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

  Harry caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that this
  wasn't true, because Neville was looking stunned and hurt. Poor,
  blundering Neville -- Harry knew what it must have cost him to try and
  find them in the dark, to warn them.

  "I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in
  one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I
  thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor
  meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions --
  yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around


TxText:
  school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous -- and fifty
  points will be taken from Gryffindor."

  "Fifty?" Harry gasped -- they would lose the lead, the lead he'd won in
  the last Quidditch match.

  "Fifty points each," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily
  through her long, pointed nose.

  "Professor -- please

  "You can't --"


   194

  "Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all
  of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

  A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In
  one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house
  cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How
  could they ever make up for this?

  Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his
  pillow for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to
  say to comfort him. He knew Neville, like himself, was dreading the
  dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what
  they'd done?

  At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the
  house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they
  suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then
  the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter,
  their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lo st them all those points,


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  him and a couple of other stupid first years.

  From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school,
  Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs
  turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose
  the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble
  to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other
  hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks
  Potter, we owe you one!"

  Only Ron stood by him.

  "They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads
  of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like
  them."

  "They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have
  they?" said Harry miserably.

  "Well -- no," Ron admitted.

  It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not
  to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it


   195

  with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he
  went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

  "Resign?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get
  any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

  But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak
  to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they


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  called him "the Seeker."

  Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time
  as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to
  them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in
  class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

  Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying
  he had to do kept his mind off his misery. He, Ron, and Hermione kept to
  themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the
  ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart,
  memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions….

  Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new
  resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put
  to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one
  afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he
  drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

  "No -- no -- not again, please --"

  It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

  "All right -- all right --" he heard Quirrell sob.

  Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening
  his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He
  strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him.
  He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into
  the classroom.


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  It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end.
  Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised
  himself about not meddling.

  All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Sorcerer's Stones that Snape had
  just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be


   196

  walking with a new spring in his step -- Quirrell seemed to have given
  in at last.

  Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on
  Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd heard.

  "Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break
  his Anti-Dark Force spell --"

  "There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

  "Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,"
  said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet
  there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant
  three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?"

  The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione
  answered before Harry could.

  "Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try
  anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

  "But we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us
  up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at


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  Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor -- who do you
  think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him,
  Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help
  us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the
  more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget,
  we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot
  of explaining."

  Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

  "If we just do a bit of poking around --"

  "No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

  He pulled a map of Jupiter toward him and started to learn the names of
  its moons.

  The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, and
  Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:


   197

  Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch
  in the entrance hall.

  Professor McGonagall Harry had forgotten they still had detentions to do
  in the furor over the points they'd lost. He half expected Hermione to
  complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't
  say a word. Like Harry, she felt they deserved what they'd got.

  At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Ron in the common
  room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville.


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  Filch was already
  there -- and so was Malfoy. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had
  gotten a detention, too.

  "Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

  I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you,
  eh?" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes… hard work and pain are the
  best teachers if you ask me…. It's just a pity they let the old
  punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a
  few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in
  case they're ever needed…. Right, off we go, and don't think of
  running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

  They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry
  wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something
  really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

  The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them
  into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's
  hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

  "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

  Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it
  wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his -face, because
  Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that
  oaf?


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  Well, think again, boy -- it's into the forest you're going and I'm
  much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

  At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his
  tracks.



   198

  "The forest?" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual.
  "We can't go in there at night -- there's all sorts of things in there
  -- werewolves, I heard."

  Neville clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and made a choking noise.

  "That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with
  glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble,
  shouldn't you?"

  Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He
  was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his
  shoulder.

  "Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All
  right, Harry, Hermione?"

  "I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly,
  they're here to be punished, after all."

  "That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin
  lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit,
  I'll take over from here."

  "I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added
  nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp
  bobbing away in the darkness.

  Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.


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  "I'm not going in that forest, he said, and Harry was pleased to hear
  the note of panic in his voice.

  "Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely.
  "Yeh've done wrong an' now yehve got ter pay fer it."

  "But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd
  be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd

  tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines!
  What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out.
  If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off
  ter the castle an' pack. Go on"'


   199

  Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his
  gaze.

  "Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous
  what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow
  me over here a moment."

  He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he
  pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the
  thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into
  the forest.

  "Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground?
  Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt
  badly by summat. This is the second time in a week.


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  I found one dead
  last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have
  ter put it out of its misery."

  "And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy,
  unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

  "There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with
  me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're
  gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent
  directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin'
  around since last night at least."

  "I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

  "All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. " So me, Harry,
  an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other.
  Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right?
  Get yer wands out an' practice now -- that's it -- an' if anyone gets in
  trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh -- so, be
  careful -- let's go."

  The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a
  fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the left
  path while Malfoy, Neville, and Fang took the right.

  They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a


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  ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue


   200

  blood on the fallen leaves.

  Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

  "Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Harry asked.

  "Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn,
  they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

  They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water;
  there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of
  unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

  "You all right, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've
  gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter -- GET
  BEHIND THAT TREE!"

  Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a
  towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow,
  raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was
  slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing
  along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few
  seconds, the sound faded away.

  "I knew it, " he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

  "A werewolf?" Harry suggested.

  "That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid
  grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

  They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound.
  Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

  "Who's there?"


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  Hagrid called. "Show yerself -- I'm armed!"

  And into the clearing came -- was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a
  man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming
  chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry and Hermione's jaws
  dropped.

  "Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"



   201

  He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

  "Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful
  voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

  "Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow.
  "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an'
  Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is
  Ronan, you two. He's a centaur.))

  "We'd noticed," said Hermione faintly.

  "Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much,
  up at the school?"

  "Erm --"

  "A bit," said Hermione timidly.

  "A bit. Well, that's something." Ronan sighed. He flung back his head
  and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

  "Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter
  yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt -- you seen anythin'?"

  Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then
  sighed again.

  "Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been
  for ages past, so it is now."


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  "Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin'
  unusual?"

  "Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him
  impatiently. "Unusually bright."

  "Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home, said
  Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

  Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest
  hides many secrets."



   202

  A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again,
  but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and
  wilder-looking than Ronan.

  "Hullo, Bane," said Hagrid. "All right?"

  "Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

  "Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in
  here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured -- would yeh know anythin'
  about it?"

  Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. "Mars is
  bright tonight," he said simply.

  "We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see
  anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

  Harry and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their
  shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

  "Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a
  centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the
  moon."

  "Are there many of them in here?" asked Hermione.

  "Oh, a fair few… Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're


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  good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind,
  centaurs… they know things… jus' don' let on much."

  "D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" said Harry.

  "Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's
  bin killin' the unicorns -- never heard anythin' like it before."

  They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking
  nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being
  watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them.
  They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid's
  arm.

  "Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"


   203

  "You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back
  for yeh!"

  They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking
  at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the
  rustling of leaves around them.

  "You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" whispered Hermione.

  "I don't care if Malfoy has, but if something's got Neville… it's our
  fault he's here in the first place."

  The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's
  seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig.
  What was going on? Where were the others?

  At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy,


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  Neville, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed,
  had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had
  panicked and sent up the sparks.

  "We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were
  makin'. Right, we're changin' groups -- Neville, you stay with me an'
  Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry," Hagrid
  added in a whisper to Harry, "but he'll have a harder time frightenin'
  you, an' we've gotta get this done."

  So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They
  walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until
  the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so
  thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were
  splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been
  thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead,
  through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

  "Look --" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

  Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

  It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen
  anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at
  odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on


   204

  the dark leaves.


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  Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him
  freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered….
  Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the
  ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood
  transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head
  over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

  "AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

  Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted -- so did Fang. The hooded
  figure raised its head and looked right at Harry -- unicorn blood was
  dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward
  Harry -- he couldn't move for fear.

  Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as
  though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He
  heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over
  Harry, charging at the figure.

  The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a
  minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur
  was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he
  had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

  "Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

  "Yes -- thank you -- what was that?"

  The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale
  sapphires.


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  He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar
  that stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

  "You are the Potter boy," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid.
  The forest is not safe at this time -- especially for you. Can you ride?
  It will be quicker this way.

  "My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front
  legs so that Harry could clamber onto his back.

  There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the
  clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks


   205

  heaving and sweaty.

  "Firenze!" Bane thundered. "What are you doing? You have a human on your
  back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

  "Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze. "This is the Potter boy. The
  quicker he leaves this forest, the better."

  "What have you been telling him?" growled Bane. "Remember, Firenze, we
  are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read
  what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

  Ronan pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was
  acting for the best, " he said in his gloomy voice.

  Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

  "For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with
  what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like
  donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"


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  Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had
  to grab his shoulders to stay on.

  "Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not
  understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that
  secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes,
  with humans alongside me if I must."

  And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could,
  they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

  Harry didn't have a clue what was going on.

  "Why's Bane so angry?" he asked. "What was that thing you saved me from,
  anyway?"

  Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of
  low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question. They made
  their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought
  Firenze didn't want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a
  particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly
  stopped.


   206

  "Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used -for?"

  "No," said Harry, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the
  horn and tail hair in Potions."

  "That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said
  Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain,
  would commit such a crime.


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  The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive,
  even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have
  slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have
  but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your
  lips."

  Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in
  the moonlight.

  "But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud. "If you're going to be
  cursed forever, deaths better, isn't it?"

  "It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long
  enough to drink something else -- something that will bring you back to
  full strength and power -- something that will mean you can never die.
  Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very
  moment?"

  "The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course -- the Elixir of Life! But I don't
  understand who --"

  "Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power,
  who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

  It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's
  heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what
  Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died.
  Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to
  die."

  "Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-"

  "Harry! Harry, are you all right?"


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  Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along


   207

  behind her.

  "I'm fine," said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. "The
  unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

  "This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to
  examine the unicorn. "You are safe now."

  Harry slid off his back.

  "Good luck, Harry Potter," said Firenze. "The planets have been read
  wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those
  times."

  He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry
  shivering behind him.

  Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to
  return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly
  shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as
  Harry began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

  Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He
  was still shaking.

  "Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the
  forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get
  rich…."

  "Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he
  thought Voldemort could hear them.

  Harry wasn't listening.

  "Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so…. Bane was furious…
  he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to
  happen….


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  They must show that Voldemort's coming back…. Bane thinks
  Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me…. I suppose that's written
  in the stars as well."

  "Will you stop saying the name!" Ron hissed.

  "So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry


   208

  went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me
  off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

  Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

  "Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever
  afraid of With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway,
  who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me,
  and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

  The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed
  exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

  When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his invisibility cloak
  folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

  Just in case.


  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR

  In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to
  get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting
  through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could
  be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.


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  It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did
  their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the
  exams, which had been bewitched with an AntiCheating spell.

  They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by
  one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across
  a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox
  -- points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if
  it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks
  while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

  Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his
  forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the
  forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because
  Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by


   209

  his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there
  was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

  Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harry had seen in the forest,
  or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but Ron
  and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea
  of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn't keep visiting them in
  dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much


TxText:
  time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

  Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering
  questions about batty old wizards who'd invented selfstirring cauldrons
  and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam
  results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put
  down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help
  cheering with the rest.

  "That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they
  joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have
  learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of
  Elfric the Eager."

  Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron
  said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and
  flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the
  tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. "No
  more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You
  could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how
  badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

  Harry was rubbing his forehead.

  "I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps
  hurting -- it's happened before, but never as often as this."

  "Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

  "I'm not ill," said Harry. "


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  I think it's a warning… it means danger's
  coming…."

  Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

  "Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as


   210

  Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out
  how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not
  going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for
  England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

  Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was
  something he'd forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to
  explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last
  night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I
  remembered we'd done that one."

  Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do
  with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across
  the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only
  one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore.
  Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy… never… but --

  Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

  "Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

  "I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had turned white.
  "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

  "Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.


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  "Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy
  slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and
  a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How
  many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law?
  Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

  "What are you talking about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the
  grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

  Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and
  sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

  "Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

  "Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

  "No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know


   211

  that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards
  with look like?"

  "Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

  He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

  "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head --
  that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn'
  he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

  Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas. "What did you talk to him
  about, Hagrid?


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  Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

  "Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember.
  "Yeah… he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here….
  He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after… so I told
  him… an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon… an'
  then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks….
  Let's see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play
  cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he
  didn' want it ter go ter any old home…. So I told him, after Fluffy, a
  dragon would be easy…"

  "And did he -- did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, try ing
  to keep his voice calm.

  "Well -- yeah -- how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around
  Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to
  calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off
  ter sleep --"

  Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

  "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey --
  where're yeh goin'?"

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they
  came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy
  after the grounds.

  "We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "


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  Hagrid told that stranger
  how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that


   212

  cloak -- it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope
  Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop
  him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

  They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the
  right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor
  did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

  "We'll just have to --" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across
  the hall.

  "What are you three doing inside?"

  It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

  "We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely,
  Harry and Ron thought.

  "See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though
  this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

  Harry swallowed -- now what?

  "It's sort of secret," he said, but he wished at once he hadn't, because
  Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

  "Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He
  received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for
  London at once."

  "He's gone?" said Harry frantically. "Now?"

  "Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many
  demands on his time --

  "But this is important."

  "Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic,
  Potter.


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  "Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor -- it's
  about the Sorcerer's tone --"



   213

  Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books
  she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn't pick them up.
  "How do you know --?" she spluttered.

  "Professor, I think -- I know -- that Sn- that someone's going to try
  and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

  She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

  "Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. I don't
  know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can
  possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

  "But Professor --"

  "Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down
  and gathered up the fallen books. I suggest you all go back outside and
  enjoy the sunshine."

  But they didn't.

  "It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was
  out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found
  out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He
  sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when
  Dumbledore turns up."

  "But what can we --"

  Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron wheeled round.

  Snape was standing there.

  "Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

  They stared at him.


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  "You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd,
  twisted smile.

  "We were --" Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

  "You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around


   214

  like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor
  really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

  Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

  "Be warned, Potter -- any more nighttime wanderings and I will
  personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

  He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

  Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

  "Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "One of us
  has got to keep an eye on Snape -- wait outside the staff room and
  follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that."

  "Why me?"

  "It's obvious," said Ron. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor
  Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "'Oh Professor Flitwick,
  I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong….'"

  "Oh, shut up," said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for
  Snape.

  "And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron.
  "Come on."

  But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the
  door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor


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  McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

  "I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of
  enchantments!" she stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you 've
  come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from
  Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!" Harry and Ron went back to
  the common room, Harry had just said, "At least Hermione's on Snape's
  tail," when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came
  in.

  "I'm sorry, Harry!" she wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was
  doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him,


   215

  and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

  "Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

  The other two stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

  "I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone
  first."

  "You're mad!" said Ron.

  "You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said?
  You'll be expelled!"

  "SO WHAP" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of
  the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like
  when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get
  expelled from!


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  He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark
  Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think
  he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house
  cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to
  go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's
  only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over
  to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing
  you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

  He glared at them.

  "You're right Harry," said Hermione in a small voice.

  "I'll use the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It's just lucky I got it
  back."

  "But will it cover all three of us?" said Ron.

  "All -- all three of us?"

  "Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

  "Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to
  the Stone without us? I'd better go and took through my books, there
  might be something useful…"



   216

  "But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too."

  "Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in
  secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not
  throwing me out after that."


TxText:
  After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room.
  Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to
  Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset
  by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come
  across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harry
  and Ron didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they
  were about to do.

  Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

  "Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left,
  stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He
  putted out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had
  given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy -- he didn't
  feel much like singing.

  He ran back down to the common room.

  "We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of
  us -- if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own --"

  "What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville
  appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked
  as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

  "Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak
  behind his back.

  Neville stared at their guilty faces.

  "You're going out again," he said.

  "No, no, no," said Hermione. "


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  No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed,
  Neville?"

  Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford
  to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.


   217

  "You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor
  will be in even more trouble."

  "You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

  But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

  I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the
  portrait hole. "I'll -- I'll fight you!"

  "Neville, "Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot
  --"

  "Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. I don't think you should be
  breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to
  people!"

  "Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know
  what you're doing."

  He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt
  out of sight.

  "Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists. "I'm
  ready!"

  Harry turned to Hermione.

  "Do something," he said desperately.

  Hermione stepped forward.

  "Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

  She raised her wand.

  "Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing it at Neville.

  Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole


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  body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face,
  stiff as a board.



   218

  Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he
  couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

  "What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

  "It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so
  sorry."

  "We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

  "You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as they stepped over him
  and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

  But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a
  very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked
  like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping
  down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs.
  Norris skulking near the top.

  "Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but
  Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris
  turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

  They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the
  third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that
  people would trip.

  "Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed
  his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are


TxText:
  you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

  He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

  "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

  Harry had a sudden idea.

  "Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own
  reasons for being invisible."

  Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time
  and hovered about a foot off the stairs.



   219

  "So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir," he said greasily. "My
  mistake, my mistake -- I didn't see you -- of course I didn't, you're
  invisible -- forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

  "I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this
  place tonight."

  "I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air
  again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

  And he scooted off

  "Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron.

  A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor
  -- and the door was already ajar.

  "Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past
  Fluffy."

  Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them
  what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other
  two.

  "If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the
  cloak, I won't need it now."

  "Don't be stupid," said Ron.

  "We're coming," said Hermione.


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  Harry pushed the door open.

  As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of
  the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it
  couldn't see them.

  "What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

  "Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

  "It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here
  goes…"


   220

  He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but
  from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew
  breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased -- it tottered on its paws and
  fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

  "Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and
  crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath
  as they approached the giant heads. "I think we'll be able to pull the
  door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first,
  Hermione?"

  "No, I don't!"

  "All right." Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's
  legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and
  open.

  "What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

  "Nothing -- just black -- there's no way of climbing down, we'll just
  have to drop."

  Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his


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  attention and pointed at himself.

  "You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Ron. "I don't know how deep
  this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."

  Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog
  growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell
  back into its deep sleep.

  Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no
  sign of the bottom.

  He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his
  fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "If anything happens to
  me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to
  Dumbledore, right?"

  "Right," said Ron.



   221

  "See you in a minute, I hope…

  And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down,
  down and -- FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on
  something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the
  gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

  "It's okay!" he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp,
  which was the open trapdoor, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!"

  Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

  "What's this stuff?" were his first words.

  "Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it's here to break the fall.


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  Come on, Hermione!"

  The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but
  Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

  "We must be miles under the school , she said.

  "Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.

  "Lucky!" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you both!"

  She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle
  because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist
  snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs
  had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

  Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on
  her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant
  off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster
  the plant wound around them.

  "Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is -- it's
  Devil's Snare!"

  "Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled
  Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his
  neck. "Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Hermione.



   222

  "Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it
  curled around his chest.

  "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… what did Professor Sprout say? -- it
  likes the dark and the damp

  "So light a fire!" Harry choked.


TxText:
  "Yes -- of course -- but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her
  hands.

  "HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

  "Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it,
  muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had
  used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it
  loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth.
  Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they
  were able to pull free.

  "Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry as he
  joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

  "Yeah," said Ron, "and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis --
  'there's no wood,' honestly."

  "This way," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the
  only way forward.

  All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of
  water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and
  Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart,
  he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards'
  bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon -- Norbert had been bad
  enough…

  "Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

  Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up
  ahead.

  "Do you think it's a ghost?"



   223

  "I don't know… sounds like wings to me."


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  "There's light ahead -- I can see something moving."

  They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly
  lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small,
  jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the
  opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

  "Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

  "Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if
  they all swooped down at once… well, there's no other choice… I'll
  run."

  He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted
  across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at
  him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched. He
  pulled the handle, but it was locked.

  The other two followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it
  wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora charm.

  "Now what?" said Ron.

  "These birds… they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione.

  They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering -- glittering?

  "They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys --
  look carefully. So that must mean…" he looked around the chamber while
  the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "… yes -- look!
  Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

  "But there are hundreds of them!"


TxText:
  Ron examined the lock on the door.

  "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one -- probably silver, like the
  handle."

  They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into
  the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the


   224

  bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to
  catch one.

  Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He
  had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's
  weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large
  silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and
  stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

  "That one!" he called to the others. "That big one -- there -- no, there
  -- with bright blue wings -- the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

  Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into
  the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

  "We've got to close in on it!" Harry called, not taking his eyes off the
  key with the damaged wing. "Ron, you come at it from above -- Hermione,
  stay below and stop it from going down and I'll try and catch it. Right,
  NOW!"

  Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harry
  streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and
  with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one
  hand.


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  Ron and Hermione's cheers echoed around the high chamber.

  They landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in
  his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned -- it worked. The moment
  the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very
  battered now that it had been caught twice.

  "Ready?" Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They
  nodded. He pulled the door open.

  The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as
  they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an
  astonishing sight.

  They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black
  chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what
  looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the
  white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly -- the towering
  white chessmen had no faces.



   225

  "Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

  "It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across
  the room."

  Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

  "How?" said Hermione nervously.

  "I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

  He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the
  knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the
  ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.


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  "Do we -- er -- have to join you to get across?" The black knight
  nodded. Ron turned to the other two.

  "This needs thinking about he said. I suppose we've got to take the
  place of three of the black pieces…."

  Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said,
  "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at
  chess --"

  "We're not offended," said Harry quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

  "Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, YOU 90
  next to him instead of that castle."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

  The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a
  knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces
  and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harry, Ron,
  and Hermione took.

  "White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board.
  "Yes… look…"

  A white pawn had moved forward two squares.


   226

  Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he
  sent them. Harry's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

  "Harry -- move diagonally four squares to the right."

  Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white
  queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he
  lay quite still, facedown.

  "Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to


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  take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

  Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy.
  Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall.
  Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry and Hermione were in
  danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white
  pieces as they had lost black ones.

  "We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think let me
  think…"

  The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

  "Yes…" said Ron softly, "It's the only way… I've got to be taken."

  "NOF Harry and Hermione shouted.

  "That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I take
  one step forward and she'll take me -- that leaves you free to checkmate
  the king, Harry!"

  "But --"

  "Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

  "Ron --"

  "Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

  There was no alternative.

  "Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go - now,


   227

  don't hang around once you've won."

  He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard
  across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor -
  Hermione screamed but stayed on her square - the white queen dragged Ron
  to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

  Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.


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  The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had
  won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With
  one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Hermione charged through
  the door and up the next passageway.

  "What if he's --?"

  "He'll be all right," said Harry, trying to convince himself. "What do
  you reckon's next?"

  "We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put
  charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them
  alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's."

  They had reached another door.

  "All right?" Harry whispered.

  "Go on."

  Harry pushed it open.

  A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their
  robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in
  front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out
  cold with a bloody lump on its head.

  "I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered as they
  stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't
  breathe."

  He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what
  came next - but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table
  with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.


   228

  "Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?"


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  They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind
  them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At
  the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.
  They were trapped.

  "Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry
  looked over her shoulder to read it:

  Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

  Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

  One among us seven will let you move ahead,

  Another will transport the drinker back instead,

  Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

  Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

  Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

  To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

  First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

  You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

  Second, different are those who stand at either end,

  But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

  Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

  Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

  Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

  Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.



   229

  Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was
  smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

  "Brilliant," said Hermione. "This isn't magic -- it's logic -- a puzzle.


TxText:
  A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be
  stuck in here forever."

  "But so will we, won't we?" "Of course not," said Hermione. "Everything
  we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are
  wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us
  back through the purple."

  "But how do we know which to drink?"

  "Give me a minute."

  Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the
  line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she
  clapped her hands.

  "Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black
  fire -- toward the Stone."

  Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

  "There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one
  swallow."

  They looked at each other.

  "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

  Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

  "You drink that," said Harry. "No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab
  brooms from the flying- key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor
  and past Fluffy -- go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to
  Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while,
  but I'm no match for him, really."

  "But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"


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  "Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar.


   230

  "I might get lucky again."

  Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her
  arms around him.

  "Hermione!"

  "Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

  "I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of
  him.

  "Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important
  things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

  "You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't
  you?"

  "Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle
  at the end, and shuddered.

  "It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

  "No -- but it's like ice."

  "Quick, go, before it wears off."

  "Good luck -- take care."

  "GO!"

  Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

  Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to
  face the black flames.

  "Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

  It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle
  down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking
  his body, but couldn't feel them -- for a moment he could see nothing
  but dark fire -- then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.



   231

  There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even
  Voldemort.


  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


TxText:
  THE MAN WITH TWO FACES

  It was Quirrell.

  "You!" gasped Harry.

  Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

  "Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here,
  Potter."

  "But I thought -- Snape --"

  "Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble,
  either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't
  he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to
  him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

  Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

  "But Snape tried to kill me!"

  "No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally
  knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch
  match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd
  have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape
  hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

  "Snape was trying to save me?"

  "Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "\Why do you think he wanted to
  referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it
  again. Funny, really… he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything
  with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was
  trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular…


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  and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you
  tonight."


   232

  Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped
  themselves tightly around Harry.

  "You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on
  Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what
  was guarding the Stone."

  "You let the troll in?"

  "Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what
  I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while
  everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already
  suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not
  only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog
  didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

  "Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.

  It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell.
  It was the Mirror of Erised.

  "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured,
  tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with
  something like this… but he's in London… I'll be far away by the
  time he gets back…."

  All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him
  from concentrating on the mirror.

  "I saw you and Snape in the forest --" he blurted out.


TxText:
  "Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the
  back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got.
  He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me - as though he could,
  when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…."

  Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into
  it.

  "I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… but where is it?"

  Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He


   233

  had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

  "But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

  "Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts
  with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never
  wanted you dead."

  "But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was
  threatening you…."

  For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

  "Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions
  -- he is a great wizard and I am weak --"

  "You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.

  "He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I
  traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of
  ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong
  I was.


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  There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too
  weak to seek it…. Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I
  have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me."
  Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I
  failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He
  punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…."

  Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon
  Alley -how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that
  very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

  Quirrell cursed under his breath.

  "I don't understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break
  it?"

  Harry's mind was racing.

  What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he
  thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the
  mirror, I should see myseff finding it -- which means I'll see where
  it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up


   234

  to?

  He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without
  Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he
  tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to
  himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"


TxText:
  And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come
  from Quirrell himself

  "Use the boy… Use the boy…"

  Quirrell rounded on Harry.

  "Yes -- Potter -- come here."

  He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry
  got slowly to his feet.

  "Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you
  see."

  Harry walked toward him.

  I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I
  see, that's all.

  Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that
  seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in
  front of the mirror, and opened them again.

  He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment
  later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and
  pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its
  pocket -- and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his
  real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- he'd gotten the Stone.

  "Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

  Harry screwed up his courage.

  "I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I -- I've
  won the house cup for Gryffindor."


   235

  Quirrell cursed again.

  "Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the
  Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?


TxText:
  But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though
  Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

  "He lies… He lies…"

  "Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did
  you just see?"

  The high voice spoke again.

  "Let me speak to him… face-to-face…"

  "Master, you are not strong enough!"

  "I have strength enough… for this…."

  Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't
  move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to
  unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's
  head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the
  spot.

  Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there
  should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most
  terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red
  eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

  "Harry Potter…" it whispered.

  Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

  "See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor … I
  have form only when I can share another's body… but there have always
  been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…. Unicorn
  blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrell
  drinking it for me in the forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life,


TxText:
  I will be able to create a body of my own…. Now… why don't you give


   236

  me that Stone in your pocket?"

  So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He
  stumbled backward.

  "Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join
  me… or you'll meet the same end as your parents…. They died begging
  me for mercy…"

  "LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

  Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see
  him. The evil face was now smiling.

  "How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your
  parents were brave…. I killed your father first; and he put up a
  courageous fight… but your mother needn't have died… she was trying
  to protect you…. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have
  died in vain."

  "NEVER!"

  Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!"
  and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At
  once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as
  though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his
  might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head
  lessened -- he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and
  saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering
  before his eyes.

  "Seize him! SEIZE HIM!"


TxText:
  shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged,
  knocking Harry clean off his feet' landing on top of him, both hands
  around Harry's neck -- Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain,
  yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

  "Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"

  And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go
  of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Harry could see
  they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

  "Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.


   237

  Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by
  instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --

  "AAAARGH!"

  Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew:
  Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible
  pain -- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough
  pain to stop him from doing a curse.

  Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as
  tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off -- the
  pain in Harry's head was building -- he couldn't see -- he could only
  hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM!
  KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry!
  Harry!"

  He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and
  fell into blackness, down … down… down…


TxText:
  Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to
  catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

  He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How
  strange.

  He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view
  above him.

  "Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Then he
  remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir,
  quick --"

  "Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said
  Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

  "Then who does? Sir, I --"

  "Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.

  Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the
  hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next


   238

  to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

  "Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What
  happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a
  complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your
  friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to
  send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam
  Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated
  it."

  "How long have I been in here?"

  "Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved


TxText:
  you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

  "But sit, the Stone

  I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor
  Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to
  prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.

  "You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

  "We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it
  became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just
  left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

  "It was you."

  "I feared I might be too late."

  "You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --"

  "Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For
  one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has
  been destroyed."

  "Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"

  "Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.
  "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had
  a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."



   239

  "But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

  "They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then,
  yes, they will die."

  Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.


TxText:
  "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas
  and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long
  day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great
  adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As
  much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings
  would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of
  choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay
  there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the
  ceiling.

  "Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking… sir -- even if the Stone's
  gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"

  "Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear
  of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

  "Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back,
  isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

  "No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking
  for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed.
  He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers
  as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his
  return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to
  fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed


TxText:
  again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

  Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then
  he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can
  tell me… things I want to know the truth about…."

  "The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing,
  and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall
  answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which
  case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."



   240

  "Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried
  to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the
  first place?"

  Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

  "Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not
  now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry.
  When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are
  ready, you will know."

  And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

  "But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

  "Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot
  understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your
  mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to


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  have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone,
  will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell,
  full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort,
  could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person
  marked by something so good."

  Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill,
  which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found
  his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know
  who sent it to me?"

  "Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought
  you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things… your
  father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food
  when he was here."

  "And there's something else…"

  "Fire away."

  "Quirrell said Snape --"

  "Professor Snape, Harry." "Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because
  he hated my father. Is that true?"



   241

  "Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr.
  Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

  "What?"

  "He saved his life."

  "What?"

  "Yes…" said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work,
  isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt….
  I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt
  that would make him and your father even.


TxText:
  Then he could go back to
  hating your father's memory in peace…."

  Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he
  stopped.

  "And sir, there's one more thing…"

  "Just the one?"

  "How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

  "Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant
  ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only
  one who wanted to find the Stone -- find it, but not use it -- would be
  able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or
  drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes…. Now,
  enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bettie
  Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come
  across a vomitflavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost
  my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't
  you?"

  He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he
  choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

  Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

  "Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

  "Absolutely not."


   242

  "You let Professor Dumbledore in…"

  "Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need
  rest."

  "I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam
  Pomfrey…"

  "Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."


TxText:
  And she let Ron and Hermione in.

  "Harry!"

  Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was
  glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

  "Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried
  --"

  "The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What really happened?"

  It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more
  strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything:
  Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a
  very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry
  told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

  "So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

  "That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to
  the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

  "I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed
  at how crazy his hero was.

  "So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

  "Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round --
  that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact
  Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall -- he already knew -- he
  just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the


   243

  third floor."

  "D'you think he meant you to do it?"


TxText:
  said Ron. "Sending you your
  father's cloak and everything?"

  "Well, " Hermione exploded, "if he did -- I mean to say that's terrible
  -- you could have been killed."

  "No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore.
  I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or
  less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty
  good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just
  taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me
  find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the
  right to face Voldemort if I could…."

  "Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly.
  "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The
  points are all in and Slytherin won, of course -- you missed the last
  Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you -- but
  the food'll be good."

  At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

  "You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT" she said firmly.

  After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

  I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened
  his many candy boxes. I can, can't I?"

  "Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said


TxText:
  stiffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize
  how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

  "Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

  Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was
  indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry,
  took one look at him, and burst into tears.

  "It's -- all -- my -- ruddy -- fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands.
  I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only


   244

  thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a
  dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter
  live as a Muggle!"

  "Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and
  remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have
  found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have
  found out even if you hadn't told him."

  "Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

  "VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped
  crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up,
  Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate
  Frog, I've got loads…."

  Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds
  me.


TxText:
  I've got yeh a present."

  "It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last
  Hagrid gave a weak chuckle. "Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off
  yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead -- anyway,
  got yeh this…"

  It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it
  curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him
  from every page were his mother and father.

  "Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer
  photos… knew yeh didn' have any… d'yeh like it?"

  Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

  Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He
  had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving
  him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked
  out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's
  winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner
  showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

  When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started
  talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione
  at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were


   245

  standing up to look at him.

  Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

  "Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "


TxText:
  And I must trouble you
  with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our
  delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a
  little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get
  them nice and empty before next year starts….

  "Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the
  points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and
  twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two;
  Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred
  and seventy- two."

  A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table.
  Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a
  sickening sight.

  "Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent
  events must be taken into account."

  The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

  "Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out.
  Let me see. Yes…

  "First -- to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

  Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

  "…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I
  award Gryffindor house fifty points."

  Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars
  overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other
  prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past
  McGonagall's giant chess set!"


TxText:
  At last there was silence again.

  "Second -- to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the


   246

  face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

  Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had
  burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside
  themselves -- they were a hundred points up. "Third -- to Mr. Harry
  Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet for pure nerve
  and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

  The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves
  hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points
  -- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup -- if
  only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

  Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

  "There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a
  great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to
  stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville
  Longbottom."

  Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some
  sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted
  from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and
  cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people
  hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before.


TxText:
  Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who
  couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the
  Body-Bind Curse put on him.

  "Which means, Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even
  Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we
  need a little change of decoration."

  He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet
  and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a
  towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor
  McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye
  and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed
  one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back
  to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

  It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at
  Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls… he would


   247

  never, ever forget tonight.

  Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but
  come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good
  marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even
  Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his
  abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid


TxText:
  as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a
  shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

  And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed,
  Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were
  handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the
  holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred
  Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats
  that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express;
  talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier;
  eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns;
  pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling
  into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

  It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened
  old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate
  in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out
  of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

  "You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you -- I'll
  send you an owl."

  "Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to." People
  jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle
  world. Some of them called:


TxText:
  "Bye, Harry!"

  "See you, Potter!"

  "Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

  "Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry.

  He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together. "There he is,
  Mom, there he is, look!"


   248

  It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at
  Ron.

  "Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see

  "Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

  Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

  "Busy year?" she said.

  "Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs.
  Weasley."

  "Oh, it was nothing, dear."

  "Ready, are you?"

  It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking
  furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station
  full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley,
  looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

  "You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.

  "In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't
  got all day." He walked away.

  Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

  "See you over the summer, then."

  "Hope you have -- er -- a good holiday," said Hermione, looking
  uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so
  unpleasant.

  "Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was
  spreading over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic
  at home.


TxText:
  hey. I looked up "Lute Index" on google and found your website haha. Maybe try to have this website not show up in search engines.


TxReadDate: 2025-04-11 17:45:11.161810
TxText:
  THE 48LAWS OF POWER
  ROBERT GREENE has adegreeinclassical studies
  and hasbeen aneditor atEsquireandoflmt magazines.
  Heisalso aplaywrightand lives inLosAngeles.
  JOOST ELFERS istheproducer of772:48LawsofPawer
  and also of
  TheSam: Language cyFB:fi-tkdays
  withGaryGoldschneider
  TheSemiLanguages ofReiatiansiuyu
  withGaryGoldschneider
  Playwith Hmr Facet'
  with Saxton Freymann
  P
  O
  W
  E
  R
  ROBERT GREENE
  AJOOST ELFFERS PRODUCTION
  P
  PROFILE BOOKS
  This paperbackedition published in2000
  Reprinted 200], 2002
  FirstpublishedinGreat Britain in1998by
  Profile Books Ltd
  58A Hatnon Garden
  London ECIN RLX
  First publishedintheUnited States in1998by
  Viking,adivision ofPenguinPutnam Inc.
  Copyright®Robert Greene aridjoost Elflers, 1998
  Aportion ofthiswork firstappearedin'17wUzne Reader
  TypesetinBEBaskerville
  Printed andbound inItaly by
  Legoprint S.p.a.—Lavis (TN)
  The moral right oftheauthors hasbeen asserted.
  Allrightsreserved. Without limiting therights under copyright reserved above, nopart ofthispublication maybe
  reproduced,shared orintroduced into a.retrieval system,ortransmitted, inanyform orbyanymeans (electronic,
  mechanical, photocopying, recordingorotherwise), without thepriorwritten peimission ofboth thecopyright
  owner and thepublisher ofthisbook.
  ACIP catalogue record forthisbooliis available from theBritish Library.
  ISBN 186197 278 4-
  AIieasury ofJewish Fhlklare byNathan Ausubel, Cnpyfight(S131948, 1976 byCrown Publishers, Inc.Reprinted by
  pemiissionofCrown Publishers, Inc.
  7712C/tines: LookingGlass byDennis Bloodworth. Copyright(C)1966, 1967byDennis Bloudworth. Bypermission of
  Ferrar, Straus and Giroux.
  7712Baal: oftfwCourtier byBaldcsar Castiglione,translated byGeorge Bull; Penguin Books (London). Copyright ©
  George Bull, 1967.
  The Golden Dream: Seekers eff]!Domtla byWalker Chapman; Bobbs-Merrill. Copyright ©1967 byWalker Chapman.
  TIteBa1gz'as byIvan Cloulas, translated byGilda Roberts; Franklin Watts, Inc.Copyright®1987byLibrairie
  Artheme Faynrd. Translation copyrightCC)I989 byFranklin Watts, Inc.
  Vézrious FablesfiomI/Zmbus Places, edited byDiane DiPrima; Capricorn Books /'G.P.Putnanfs Sons. (01960 G.P.
  Pulnam's Sons.


TxReadDate: 2025-04-11 17:45:17.457785
TxText:
  Arnmzian Fol/rtala andFables, translated byCharles Downing; Oxford UniversityPress. ©Charles Downing1972.
  771:Little Brown Baa/c afAneca?0tes, edited byClifton Fadiman; Little, Brown andCompany. C'x>pyn'ghc(0L985 by
  Little, Brown andCompany (ln<:.)
  Z7zePowzr oftheCharlalan byGrete deFrancesco, translated byMiriam Beard, Copyright, 1939, byYaleUniversity
  Press. BypermissionofYaleUniversityPress.
  77ze Omzle: AMarmot zftlwArtofDi.cmtian byBaltasar Gracién, translated byL.B.Walton", Orion Press.
  Behind theSame: afRoyulPalaminKorea (YiDynasty) byHa'lb.e»hung. Copynght(fl1983 byHaTae~hu.ng. Byperm.is~
  slot: ofYonsei University Press, Seoul.
  7712Hiszaries byHerodotus, translated byAubrey deSélincoun, revised byA.R.Bum; Penguin Books (London).
  Copyrifixt ©theEstate ofAubrey deSélincouri, 1954. Copyright (3A.KBum, l972.
  Hollywaadby Garson Kanin (Viking). Copyright©1967, l974byT.F.T,Corporation.
  Fabierfrom Africa,collected byjan Knappcrt;Evan Brothers Limited (London). Collection ©l980]=m Knappcrt.
  IkeGreat Fables ofAllNatimLs,selected byManuel Komroff; Tudor Publishing Company. Copyright, 1928, byDial
  Press, Inc.
  Sxizcted Fuller byjean deLaFonmine, translated byJames Michic; Penguin Books (London). Translation copyright
  Qjames Mickie, 1979.
  TheRomance qftilzRosabyGuillaume deLorris, translated byCharles Dahlberg; Princeton UniversityPress.
  172:Complm Essays byMichel deMontaigne, translated byM.A.Screech; Penguin Books (London). Translation
  copyright oM.A.Screech, I987, 1991.
  ABookqfFa've Rings byMiyamobo Musashi, uanslatcd byVictor Harris; Overlook Press. Copyright©l97=lbyVictor
  TheNew 0zy'i2rdAnnotated Bible with theApaaypluz,revised standard version, edited byHeibert G.May and Bruce M.
  Metzger; Oxford University Press. Copyright ©1973byOxford University Press, Inc.
  Makers efkome:Nine Lines byPlutarch, translated byIanScott~Kilveit; Penguin Books (London). Copyright ©Ian
  Scott—Kilvert, 1965.
  7722Rise andFuliofAt/tens: Nine Greek Lives byPlutarch, translated byIanScotl«Kilvert; Penguin Books (London).
  Copyright ®IanScott~Kilvert, 1960.
  Chemo-ya." IhejapaneszTiaCeremony byA.


TxText:
  L.Sadler; Charles E.ThttleCompany,'11.!)1962 byCharles E.Tuttle Co
  Amara! Politia: ThePersistent Iiuth qfil/Iathiavellism byBen~Ami Scharfstein; State UniversityofNew York Press.
  ©l995 State University ofNew York.
  Caravan nfbnzam by[dries Shah; OctagonPress (London). Copyright©1970, 1980 byIdries Shah.
  Ihles ofthcDervixlxes byIdries Shah. Copyright ©Idries Shah, 1967. Used bypermission ofPenguin Putnam lnc. and
  OctagonPress (London).
  TheCraft offlnoev byR.G.H.Siu;john Wiley &.Sons. Copyright©1979byjohn Wiley 8:Sons, Inc.
  TheSubtle Ruse: 77;:Bank af/imbiv Wisdom andGuile, translated byRene R.Khawam; East-West Publications. C0py~
  right@>L980 English translation East~West Publications Ltd.
  Tiwzirt ofM17bySuirtzu, translated byThomas Cleary;Shambhala Publications. ((31938 byThomas Cleary.
  TheArtofWarbySun-tzn, translated byYuan Shibing.©1987 byGeneral TaoHanshang. Used bypennissionof
  Sterling Publishing Co.,Inc., 387 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016,
  TheHistmy ofthe Pelaponnssian WarbyThucyclides, translated byRexWamcr; Penguin Books (London). Translation
  copyright RexWarner, 1954.
  TheThurber Carnival byJames Thurber; Ha.q:erCollins. Copyrightl9¢5 byJames Thurber,
  TlwCourt Artist: Onthezimemy ofllw Modern Artist byMartin Wamlce, translated byDavid McLintouk. Translation ©
  Maison desSciences de1'Homme andCambridge University Press 1993. BypermissionofCambridge University
  Press.
  The Can Game and“lfzlbw Kid” Mil.' 77:5Autobiography ofllzeFamous CanArtist astold toW.TBrannon; Dover Publi-
  cations. Copyright ©1948 byW.T'.Brannon.
  27:Anna Biller, and tamyparents
  R.G.
  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  Firstl would like tothank Anna Biller, who helped edit and research thisbook, and whose in-
  valuable insights playedacritical role intheshapeand content of17w48Laws. Without her,
  none ofthiswould have been possible.
  Imust also thank mydear friend Michiel Schwarz who wasresponsible forinvolvingmein
  theartschool Fabrika inItalyandintroducingmethere to_]oost Elffers, mypartner andproducer
  ofThe48Laws ofPower. Itwas intheschemingworld ofFabrika that_]oost andIsaw thetimeless-


TxText:
  ness ofMachiavelli andfrom ourdiscussions inVenice, Italy,thisbook was born.
  Iwould like tothank Henri LeGoubin, who suppliedmewith many Machiavellian anec~
  dotes over theyears, particularly conceming the numerous French characters who playsuch a
  large role inthisbook.
  Iwould also iike tothank Les and Sumiko Biller, who lent metheir libraryonJapanesehis-
  toryandhelpedmewith theJapaneseTeaCeremony part ofthebook. Similarly,Imust thank
  mygood friend Elizabeth Yang who advised me onChinese history.
  Abook like thisdepended greatlyontheresearch material available andl amparticularly
  gratefultotheUCLA Research Library; Ispent many pleasant days wandering through itsin-
  comparable collections.
  Myparents, Laurette and Stanley Green, deserve endless thanks fortheirpatienceand
  support.
  And Imust notforgettopaytribute tomycat,Boris, who keptmecompany throughout the
  never—ending daysofwriting.
  Finally,tothose peopleinmylifewho have soskillfullyused thegameofpowertomanipu~
  late, torture, and cause mepainover theyears, Ibearyounogrudges andIthankyouforsup
  plyingmewith inspirationforThe48Laws 0fP0wer.
  Rabert Greene
  mfii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  CONTENTS
  PREFACEpagezrrzii
  LAW 1page I
  NEVER OUTSHINE THE MASTER
  Alwaysmake those aboveyoufeelcomfortably superior Inyourdesire topleaseorimpress them, donotgo
  toofarindisplaying your talent: oryoumight accomplishtheoppasite~»—-inspire fear andinsecurity.Make
  yourmasters appearmore brilliant than theyareand youwillattain theheights ofpower.
  LAW 2page 8
  NEVER PUT TOO MUCH TRUST INFRIENDS,
  LEARN HOW TOUSE ENEMIES
  Bewary :.3ffziends——~theywillbetray youmore quickly, fortheyareeasibr aroused toenvy. 'I'hey also become
  spoiledandtyrannical.But hire aformer enemyand hewill bemore loyal than afriend,because hehas more
  toprove.Infact, youhave more tofearfromfriendsthanfitrmenemies. Ifyouhave noenemies, findawayto
  make them.
  LAW 3page16
  CONCEAL YOUR INTENTIONS
  Keep people off-balanceand inthedarkbynever revealingthepurpose behind your actions. Iftheyhave no
  clue what youareupto,theycannot prepareadefense. Guide themfar enough down thewrong path, envelop
  them inenough smoke, andbythetimethrgvrealize your intentions, itwill betoolate.
  LAW 4page 31


TxText:
  ALVVAYS SAY LESS THAN NECESSARY
  When youaretryingtoimpress peoplewith words, the more you say,the more rommon youappear,and tlwless
  incontrol. Evenifyouaresaying something banal, itwill seem original ifyoumake itvague, open—ended,
  andsphinxlike. Powerfltl people impress and intimidate bysayingless. The more you say,the more likely you
  aretosaysomething foolish.
  LAW 5/mge37
  SOMUCH DEPENDS ON REPUTATION-—-GUARD ITWITH YOUR LIFE
  Reputationisthecornerstone ofpower. Through reputation alone youcan intimidate and win," once itslips,
  however, youarevulnerable, and will beattacked onallsides. Makeyour reputation unassailable. Alwaysbe
  akrt topotential attacks and thwart them before theyhappen. Meanwhile, learn todestroy yourenemies by
  openingholes intheir ownreputations.Then stand aside and letpublic opinion hangthem.
  LAVV 6page 44
  COURT ATTENTION ATALL COST
  Everythingisjudged byitsappearance;what isunseen counts fornothing:Never letyourselfgetlostinthe
  crowd, then, orburied inoblivion. Stand out. Heconspicuous,atallcost.Malzeyourselfa magnet ofattention
  byappearing larger,more colorfulmoremysteriousthan thebland and timid masses.
  CONTENTS [1
  LAW 7page56
  GET OTHERS TO DO THE WORK FOR YOU, BUT ALWAYS TAKE THE CREDIT
  Use thewisdom, knowledge,andlegwork ofother peopletofurther yourown muse. Notonlywill such assis-
  tance save you valuable time andenergy,itwillgive youagodlikeaura ofejficiertcy and speed.Intheend
  your hehperswill beforgottenandyouwill beremembered. Never doyourselfwhat others can doforyou.
  LAW 8page62
  MAKE OTHER PEOPLE COME TOYOU—-USE BAIT IFNECESSARY
  Whenyoufortetheotherpersontoact,youarethe oneincontrol. Itisalways better tomake your opponent
  come toyou,abandoninghisownplans intheprocess.Lure him withfabulous gains-thenattack. You hold
  thecards.-
  LAW' 9page 69
  WIN THROUGH YOUR ACTIONS, NEVER THROUGH ARGUMENT
  Any momentary triumph youthinkyou have gained through argumentisreallyaIyrrhir victory:The resent»
  ment andillwillyoustirupisstronger and lasts longer than anymomentary change ofopinion. Itismuch


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  more powerfultogetothers toagree with youthrough your actions, without saying:1word. Demonstrate, do
  notexplicate.
  LAW 10page76
  INFECTION: AVOID THE UNHAPPY AND UNLUCKY
  You can diefromsomeone else':misery-——emotionalstates are asinfectiousasdiseases. Km mayfeelyouare
  helpingthedrowningman butyouareonlyprecipitating yourown disaster: Theunfortunatesometimes draw
  misfortuneonthemselves; theywill also draw itonyou. Associate with thehappy andfortunate instead.
  LAW 11page82
  LEARN TOKEEP PEOPLE DEPENDENT ON YOU
  Tomaintain your independence youmust alwaysbeneeded and wanted. The more youarerelied on,the more
  freedom youhave. Make people dependonyoufortheir happiness andprosperityandyou have nothingtofear.
  Never touch them enoughsothat theycan dowithout you.
  LAVV 12page89
  USE SELECTIVE HONESTY AND GENEROSITY TODISARM YOUR VICTIM
  One sincere and honest move will cover over dozens ofdishonest ones. 0pen~hea7ted gestures ofhonesty and
  gertemsity bring down theguard ofeven themost suspicions people.Onceyourselective honesty opensahole in
  their armor; you can deceive andmanipulatethem atwill. Atimely gzfl-ma ']i'q,v'anhorse-——zoill serve the same
  purpose.
  LAW I3page95
  WHEN ASKING FOR HELP, APPEAL TOPEOPLE'S SELFAINTEREST,
  NEVER TOTHEIR MERCY OR GRATITUDE
  Ifyouneed toturn toanallyforhelp,donotbother toremind himofyour pastassistance andgooddeeds. He
  willfindawaytoignore you. Instead, uncover somethinginyour request,orinyour alliance with him, that
  willbenefit him, andemphasizeitoutofallproportion, Hewillrespond enthusiastically when hesees some-
  thingtobegained forhimself.
  1- comsms
  LAW 14page107
  POSE ASAFRIEND, WORK ASASPY
  Knowingaboutyour rival iscritical. Usespiestogathervaluable information thatwillkeep youastepahead.
  Better still:PlaythespyyourselfInpolitesocial encounters, learn toprobe. Ask indirect questionstogetpeople
  toreveal their weaknesses and intentions. There isnooccasion that isnot anopportunity finrartful spying.
  LAW J5 page 107
  CRUSH YOUR ENEMY TOTALLY
  Allgreatleaders since Adoses have known that afeared enemymust becrushedcompletely. (Sometimes they
  have learned this thehard way.)


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  Ifone ember isleftalight,nomatter howdimlyitsmolders, afirewill eventu-
  allybreak out. More islostthrough stopping halfway than through total annihilation: The enemy will recover,
  andwill seekrevenge. Crush him, notonly inbody butinspirit.
  LAW 16 page 115
  USE ABSENCE TOINCREASE RESPECT AND HONOR
  Toomuch circulation makes theprice godown: The moreyouare seen and heard from,the more common you
  appear Ifyouarealready established inagroup, temporarywithdrawal from itwill make youmore talked
  about, even more admired. You must learn when toleave. Create value through scarcity.
  LAW 17page1:23
  KEEP OTHERS INSUSPENDED TERROR: CULTIVATE ANAIR OFUNPREDICTABILITY
  Humans are creatures ofhabit with aninsatiable need toseefamiliarityinother peoplesactions. Yourpre-
  dictability givesthem asense ofcontrol. Turn thetables: Bedeliberately unpredictable. Behavior that seems to
  have noconsistencyorpurposewillkeep them off—balance, and theywill wear themselves outtryingtoexplain
  yourmoves. Taken toanextreme, thisstrategycanintimidate and terrorize.
  LAW 18page130
  DO NOT BUILD FORTRESSES TOPROTECT YOURSELF—ISOLATION ISDANGEROUS
  Theworld isdangerous and memies areeverywhere——et/eryonehas toprotectthemselves. Afortres.sseems the
  safest. But isolation exposes youtomore dangers than itprotects youfrorn—-—itcutsyouoffflom valuable in-
  formation, itmakes youconspicuous and aneasy target. Better tocirculate among people, find allies, mingle.
  You areshielded from your bythecrowd.
  LAW nopage137
  KNOW WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH—DO NOT OFFEND THE WRONG PERSON
  There aremany different kinds ofpeopleintheworld, and youcan never assume thateveryone will react to
  your strategiesinthe sameway.Deceive oroutmaneuver some peopleandtheywillspendtherestoftheir lives
  seeking revenge. Theyarewolves inlambs' clothing.Chooseyour victims and opponents carefully, then—
  never offendordeceive thewrong person.
  CONTENTS xi
  LIXW 20page14;)'
  DO NOT COMMIT TOANYONE
  Itisthefoolwhoalwaysrushes totake sides. Donotcommit toanyside orcause butyourseh'. Bymaintaining
  your independence, youbecome themasterof(ufhers—~playingj7eo[1le againstoneanother: makingthempursue
  you.


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  LAW 21page 156
  PLAY ASUCKER TO CATCH ASUCKER—--SEEM DUMBER THAN YOUR MARK
  No onelikesjeeling smpider than thenextperson.Thetrick, then, istomake your victims jeelsmart—and not
  just smart, outsmarter than youare. Once convinced o/"this, theywill never suspect that you mayhave ulte-
  riormotives'
  LAW 22page 163
  USE THE SURRENDER TACTIC: TRANSFORM WEAKNESS INTO POWER
  Whenyouareweaker; neverfight forhonor's sake; choose surrender instead. Surrender gives youtime tone-
  couer, time totorment and irritate your conqueror;time towaitforhispowertowane. Donotgivehim thesat»
  isfaction offightinganddefeating you——surrender first. Byturningtheother cheekyouinfiiriate and unsettle
  him. Make surrender atoolofprmren
  LAVV 23page171
  CONCENTRATE YOUR FORCES
  Conserve your forces andenergies bykeepingthem conrentrated attheir stwngastjsaint.Yougainmore byfind~
  ingarich mine andmining itdeeper;thanbyflitting fromoneshallow mine toanotherwintenstty defeatsex-
  tensity everytime. When looking forsourres ofpowertoelevate you,findthe onekeypatron,thefatcow who
  willgive youmilhjoralongtimeto
  LAW 24page178
  PLAY THE PERFECT COURTIER
  Theperfecteourtier thrives inaworld where everythingrevolves aroundpowerandpolitical dexterity' Hehas
  mastered theartofindirection; heflutters, yieldstosuperiors,and assertspowerover others inthemostoblique
  andgracefulmanner Learn andapplythelaws ofcorurtiershipand there will benolimit tohowfaryoucan
  riseinthecourt.
  LAW 25page 19;/'
  RE-CREATE YOURSELF
  Donotacvepttheroles thatsociety foistsonyou. Rmreate yourself byforginganew identity,onethat com-
  mands attention and never bones theaudience. Bethemaster ofyourown image rather than lettingothers de-
  fine itforyou. Ineorporate dramatic devices into your public gesturesand octiom——your powerwill be
  enhanced andyour character will seem larger than life.
  LAW 26page 200
  KEEP YOUR HANDS CLEAN
  Km must seem aparagon ofcivilityand Your hands are never soiled bymistakes and nastydeeds.
  Maintain such aspotless afrpearance byusing others asscapegoatsand eativpawstodisguise yourin»
  volvement.
  xii CONTENTS
  LAW 27page 225
  PLAY ON PEOPLE'S NEED TO BELIEVE TO CREATE ACULTLIKE FOLLOWING


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  Peoplehave anoverwhelmingdesire tobelieve insomething. Become thefocal point ofsuch desirebyojj'm'ng
  them acause, anemfaithtofollow. Keep yourwantsvaguebutfullofpromise; emphasizeenthusiasm over
  rationalityand clear thinking. Giveyournewdisciplesrituals toperform,ask them tomake sacrificesonyour
  oehaqf Intheabsence oforganized religion andgrand causes, yournewbelief system willbring you untold
  power.
  LAW 28page 227
  ENTER ACTION WITH BOLDNESS
  Ifyouare unsure ofacourse ofaction, donotattemptit.Your doubts and hesitations willinfect yourexecu-
  tion, Timidityisdangerous: Better toenter with boldness. Anymistakes you commit through audacityare eas»
  ilycorrected with more audacity. Everyoneadmires thebold; noonehonors theléfllid.
  LAW 29page 236
  PLAN ALL THE WAY TOTHE END
  Theendingiseverything.Plan allthewaytoit,taking into account allthepossible consequences, obstacles,
  and twists offortunethatmightreverseyourhard work andgivetheglorytoothers. Byplanningtotheend
  youwill not beoverwhelmed bycircumstances andyouwill know when tostop. Gently guide fortuneandhelp
  determine thefittune bythinking farahead.
  LA'/V 30page 245
  MAKE YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENTS SEEM EFFORTLESS
  Your actions must seem natural and executed with ease. Allthetoilandpracticethatgointo them, and also
  alltheclever tricks, must beconcealed. When you act, acteflortlessly,aszfyoucould domuch more. Avoid the
  temptation of-revealinghow hardyouwurk—it onlyraises questions.Teach nooneyour tricks ortheywill be
  used against you.
  LAW 31page25-?
  CONTROL THE OPTIONS: GET OTHERS TO PLAY WITH THE CARDS YOU DEAL
  The bestdeceptionsarethe ones that seem togivetheother personachoice: Your victims feeltheyareincontrol,
  but areactually your puppets.Give people optionsthat some outinyourfavorwhichever onetheychoose, Force
  them tomake choices between thelesser oftwoevils, bothofwhich serve your purpose.Put them onthehorns of
  adilemma: Theyaregoredwherevertheyturn.
  LAW 3 2page 263
  PLAY TOPEOPLES FANTASIES
  Thetruth isoftenavoided because itisuglyandunjbleasant.Never appealtotruth andrealityunlessyouare
  preparedfortheangerthat comes from disenchantment. Lifeissoharsh anddistressingthatpeoplewho can
  manufactureromance orconjure npfarztasyarelike oases inthedesert: Everyone flockstothem. There isgreat
  powerintappinginto thefantasies ofthe masses.
  CONTENTS xiii
  LAW' 33page'.771


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  DISCOVER EACH MAN'S THUMBSCREW
  Everyonehas aweakness, agapinthecastle wall. That weakness isusuallyaninsecurity,anuncontrollable
  emotion orneed; itcan also beasmafl secret pleasure. Eithermay,oncefound, itisathumbscrew youcan turn
  toyour advantage.
  LAW 734page 252
  BEROYAL INYOUR OWN FASHION: ACT LIKE AKING TO BETREATED LIKE ONE
  Theway you carry yourself willoften determine how youaretreated: Inthelong run, appearing vulgarorcom-
  mon will makepeople disrespect you. For aking respects himselfandinspiresthe same sentiment inothers. By
  acting regally andconfident ofyour powers, you make yourselfseem destined towear acrown.
  LAVV 33page 291
  MASTER THE ART OFTIMING
  Never seem tobeinahurry—hurrying betraysalackofcontrol overyourself: and over time. Alwaysseempa-
  tient, asifyou know thateverythingwill come toyoueventually.Become adetective oftheright moment;
  outthespirit ofthetimes, thetrends that willcarry youtopower: Learn tostand back when thetime isnotyet
  ripe,and tostrike fiercelywhen ithas reached fruition.
  LAVV 36page 300
  DISDAIN THINGS YOU CANNOT HAVE: IGNORING THEM ISTHE BEST REVENGE
  Byacknowledgingapetgr problem yougive itexistence andcredibility.The more attention youpayanenemy,
  thestronger youmake him; and asmall mistake isoftenmade worse and more visible when youtrytofixit.It
  issometimes best toleave thingsalone. Ifthere issomething you want butcannot have, showcontempt forit.
  'I7te lessinterestyou reveal, the more superior youseem.
  LAW 37page3()9
  CREATE COMPELLING SPECTACLES
  Striking imagery andgrand symbolic gesturescreate theaura ofpower—e1/eryone respondstothem.Stage spec-
  tacles forthose aroundyou, then,fullofarresting visuals and radiant symbols that heighten your presence.
  Dazzledbyappearances,noonewill notice what youarereally doing.
  LAVV 38page 317
  THINK ASYOU LIKE BUT BEHAVE LIKE OTHERS
  Ifyoumake ashow ofgoing againstthetimes, flaunting yourunconventional ideas and unorthodoxways,
  peoplewill think that youonlywant attention and thatyoulook down uponthem. They willfindawayto
  punish youformakingthemfeelinferiorItisfarsafertoblend inand nurture the common touch. Share your


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  originality onh with tolerant friends and those who are sure toappreciate your uniqueness.
  I./\VV 39page 325
  STIR UPWATERS TO CATCH FISH
  Angerand emotion arestrategically counterproductive.You must always stay calm and objective. Butifyou
  can make yourenemiesangrywhile stayingcalmyourselfl yougainadecidedadvantage.Putyourenemies
  off-balance: Find thethink intheir vanity through which youcanrattle them and you hold thestrings.
  .rio CONTENTS
  LAW 40page 333
  DESPISE THE FREE LUNCH
  What isoffered forfreeisdangenms—~it usuallyinvolves either atrick orahidden obligation. What has worth
  isworth paying forBypaying yourownway you stay clearofgratitude, guilt, and deceit. Itisalsooftenwise
  topaythefullprice-—thereisnocuttingcorners with excellence. Belavish with your money and itcirru-
  lating, forg'enemsityisasign and amagnet forpower.
  LAVV 4] page 347
  AVOID STEPPING INTO AGREAT MAN'S SHOES
  Whathappens first always appearsbetter and more originalthan what comes afterIfyou succeed agreatman
  orhave ajarnous parent, youwill have toaccomplishdouble their achievements tooutshine them. Donotget
  lostintheir shadow, orstuck inapastnotofyourown making: Establishyourown name andidentity by
  changingcourse. Slaytheoverbearingfathei; disparage hislegacy, andgain power byshininginyourown
  way.
  LAW'42page358
  STRIKE THE SHEPHERD AND THE SHEEP WILL SCATTER
  Trouble canoftenbetraced toasingle strongindi-oidual——the stirrer, thearrogant underling,thepoisoner of
  goodwill. youallow suchpeopleroom tooperate,others will succumb totheir influence.Donotwaitforthe
  troublestheycause tomultiply,donottrytonegotiatewith them—thtyareirredeemable. Neutralize their in»
  jluence byisolatingorbanishingthem. Strike atthe source ofthetrouble and thesheepwill scatter.
  LAVV 43 page 367
  WORK ON THE HEARTS AND MINDS OFOTHERS
  Coercion creates areaction that willeventually work against you. You must seduce others intowantingto
  move inyourdirection. Aperson youhave seduced becomesyour loyal pawn. And thewaytoseduce others isto
  operateontheir individualpsychologiesand weaknesses. Soften uptheresistantbyworkingontheir emotions,
  playingonwhattheyhold dear and whattheyfear: Ignorethehearts and minds ofothers andtheywillgrowto
  hateyou.
  LAVV «'14 page3 76


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  DISARM AND INFURIATE WITH THE MIRROR EFFECT
  Themirrorreflects reality,butitisalso theperfecttoolfordeception:Whenyoumirroryour enemies, doingex~
  actlyasthey do,theycannot figureoutyour strategy.TheMirror Eflectmocks and humiliates them, making
  them overreact. Byholding upamirror totheir psyehes, youseduce them with theillusion that you share their
  values; byholding upamirror totheir actions, you teach them alesson. Few can resist thepower oftheMirror
  Effect.
  LA'/V 45 page392
  PREACH THE NEED FOR CHANGE, BUT NEVER REFORM TOO MUCH ATONCE
  Everyoneunderstands theneedforchangeintheabstract, but ontheday-to-daylevelpeoplearecreatures of
  habit. Toomuch innovation istraumatic, and will lead torevolt. Ifyouare new toaposition ofpower,oran
  outsider tryingtobuild apower base, make ashow ofrespectingtheoldwayofdoing things. Ifchangeisnec-
  essary,make itfeellike agentle improvementonthepast.
  CONTENTS .ro
  LAW 46 page 400
  NEVER APPEAR TOO PERFECT
  Appearingbetter than others isalways dungwmcs,but most drmgmms ofallistoappeartohave nofault:or
  weaknesses. Envymates silent enemies. Itissmart tooccasionally display defects,and admit toharmless
  vices, inorder todcflect envy andappearmore human andapfiwctchable. Only guds and thedead can seem
  pevfect with impunity.
  LAW 47 page 410
  DO NOT G0 PAST THE MARK YOU AIME!) FOR;
  INVICTORY, LEARN WHEN TO STOP
  The moment ofvictoryisoftentlwmtmmzi ofgmttest peril.Intheheatofvictory, armganneand0vmonfi—
  dense canpush youpastthegmzl youhadaimedjbr; and bygoing toofar, youmake more enemies thanyou
  defeat. Donotallow success togotoyourhead. Time isnosubstétum forstrategyandcanrful planning.Set a
  goal,and when you mach it,stop.
  LAVV 48 page 419
  ASSUME. FORMLESSNESS
  Bytalkingashape, byhavingavisible plan, you open yourselftoattack. Instead oftaking afmm foryour
  enemytograsp, keepyoursetf adaptableand onthe move. Accept thefaathatnothingiscertain and nolaw is
  fixed.The bestwaytopmtect yourselfistobeasfluidandformlessaswater; never betonstabifityorlasting
  urder. Everything changes.
  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY page 431
  [NDEX page 433
  231;!' CONTENTS
  PREFACE
  Thefeeling ofhavingnopowerover people and events isgenerallyun-
  bearable tous«—-when wefeelhelplesswefeelmiserable.


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  No one wants less
  power; everyonewants more. Intheworld today, however, itisdangerous
  toseem toopower hungry,tobeovert withyour powermoves. Wehave
  toseem fairand decent. Soweneed tobesubtle~—congenial yetcunning,
  democratic yetdevious.
  Thisgameofconstant duplicitymost resembles thepower dynamic
  that existed inthescheming world oftheoldaristocratic court. Throughout
  history,acourt hasalwaysformed itself around thepersoninpower—king,
  queen, emperor,leader. The courtiers who filled this court were inanespe-
  ciallydelicate position: Theyhad toserve their masters, butiftheyseemed
  tofawn, iftheycurried favor tooobviously,theother courtiers around
  them would notice and would actagainst them. Attemptstowin the mas-
  ter's favor, then, had tobesubtle. And even skilled courtiers capable of
  such subtletystill had toprotect themselves from their fellow courtiers,
  who atallmoments wereschemingtopushthem aside.
  Meanwhile the court wassupposedtorepresenttheheight ofciviliza-
  tion and refinement. Violent orovertpowermoves were frownedupon;
  couniers would work silentlyandsecretly against any amongthem who
  used force. This was the couxtier's dilemma: While appearingthevery
  paragon ofelegance, they had tooutwit and thwart their own opponentsin
  thesubtlest ofways. The successful comtier learned over time tomake all
  ofhis moves indirect; ifhestabbed anopponent intheback, itwaswith a
  velvet gloveonhishand and the sweetest ofsmiles onhisface. Instead of
  usingcoercion oroutright treachery,theperfectcourtier gothisway
  through seduction, charm, deception,and subtle strategy, always planning
  several moves ahead. Life inthe court was anever-ending gamethat re-
  quired constant vigilanceand tactical thinking.Itwas civilized war.
  Todayweface apeculiarlysimilar paradox tothat ofthe courtier:
  Everythingmustappear civilized, decent, democratic, and fair. Butifwe
  playbythose rules toostrictly,ifwetake them tooliterally,we arecrushed
  bythose around uswho arenot sofoolish. Asthegreat Renaissance diplo-
  mat and courtier Niccolo Machiavelli wrote, “Anyman who tries tobe
  goodallthetime isbound tocome toruinamongthegreatnumber who


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  arenotgood.”The court imagineditself thepinnacleofrefinement, but un-
  PREFACE .1'1:[z'
  (,'om'Is are, uI1que.x1irm-
  ably. the scum' ufpuliiee
  r/css andgood
  i>reediIl;,>;were they not
  so,they wmtirl bethe
  seals vfslzmghrer and
  rlewluliml. I/msr who
  now rmtle upon and
  :'mlm1L'e, would uf/'mm
  andmh. well other,
  Ifmannmxs dui nor
  iIllC¥'[3(J.\'e….
  LORD CllI;$'l 1;lI.)-IFID,
  1694-1 713'
  There isnothing very'
  add about lambs
  ciisiiking birds ofpn-y,
  butthis isno ranmzz fr»-
  holding itagainst large
  br'rd.s ofprerthat rluzy
  carry offlmnbs. And
  when theI/mzlzx wim-
  [mr among Iheniselvex,
  “Ilww birds' nfprcy
  areevil, and zz',0e.\ this
  notgiveas (1right to
  Saythat whatever isthe
  «;p;m.s'im ofa birdof
  prey must begood.''''
  there isnothingin/rm—
  sically wrong Wil/I rut-I:
  rmurgummt~-though
  [hebirds ofprey will
  look so/mzwlmt qmzztl
  mlly and say. “We have
  rmtliirzg agaimi Ifiese
  gum! ImnI,>_9'.' infact,we
  love 1lu*rIz;rwIIu'Izg
  tastes better t/um a
  tender' lamb."
  llRllLDl[l(JH ."'4'lE-.'l'ZS('HI:.
  l8444 900
  ;1miii PREFACEderneath itsglitteringsurface acauldron ofdark emotions--greed, envy,
  lust, hatred-—boi1ed and simmered. Our world today similarly imagines it-
  selfthepinnacleoffairness, yetthe same uglyemotions still stirwithin us,
  asthey have forever. Thegameisthe same. Outwardly, youmust seem to
  respecttheniceties, butinwardly,unlessyouare afool, youlearn quickly
  tobeprudent,and todo asNapoleonadvised: Place youriron hand inside
  a.velvet glove. If,likethecourtier oftimesgone by,youcan master the arts
  ofindirection, learning toseduce, charm, deceive, andsubtly outmaneuver
  your opponents, you will attain theheights ofpower.You will beable to


TxText:
  make peoplebend toyour willwithout their realizingwhatyouhave done.
  And iftheydonotrealize whatyouhave done, theywillneither resent not
  resistyou.
  Tosome peoplethenotion ofconsciously playing power games—nomat-
  terhow indii-ect—seems evil, asocial, arelic ofthepast. They believe they
  canoptoutofthegame bybehavinginwaysthat have nothingtodowith
  power. You must beware ofsuch people,forwhile they expresssuch opin~
  ions outwardly, theyareoften among the most adept playersatpower.
  They utilize strategies thatcleverly disguise thenature ofthemanipulation
  involved. These types, forexample,will often displaytheir weakness and
  lack ofpowerasakind ofmoral virtue. But truepowerlessness, without
  anymotive ofselfiinterest, would notpublicize itsweakness togain sympa-
  thyorrespect. Makingashow ofone's weakness isactuallyaveryeffective
  strategy,subtle anddeceptive,inthegame ofpower (see Law 22,the Sur—
  render Tactic).
  Another strategyofthesupposed nonplayeristodemand equalityin
  everyarea oflife.Everyonemust betreated alike, whatever their status and
  strength.But toavoid thetaint ofpower, youattempttotreateveryone
  equallyandfairly, youwill confront theproblemthat some peopledocer-
  tainthingsbetter than others. Treating everyone equallymeans ignoring
  their differences, elevatingthe less skillful and suppressingthose who
  excel. Again, manyofthose who behave thiswayareactually deploying
  another power strategy, redistributing people's rewards inawaythatthey
  determine.
  Yetanotherwayofavoidingthegame would beperfect honestyand
  straightforwardness, since one ofthemaintechniques ofthose who seek
  powerisdeceit andsecrecy.Butbeing perfectlyhonest willinevitably hurt
  and insult agreat many people,some ofwhom will choose toinjure youin
  return. No onewill seeyourhonest statement ascompletely objectiveand
  free ofsome personalmotivation. And they willberight: Intruth, the use
  ofhonestyisindeed apower strategy,intended toconvince peopleofone's
  noble, goodehearted,selfless character. Itisaform ofpersuasion,even a
  subtle form ofcoercion.
  Finally,those who claim tobenonplayers mayaffect anairofnaiveté,
  toprotectthem from the accusation thattheyare afterpower.Beware
  again, however, fortheappearanceofnaiveté canbeaneffective means of
  deceit (see Law 21,Seem Dumber Than Your Mark).


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  And even genuine
  naiveté isnotfree ofthe snares ofpower.Children maybenaive inmany
  ways, butthey often actfrom anelemental need togaincontrol over those
  around them. Children suffer greatlyfrom feeling powerlessintheadult
  world, andtheyuseanymeans available togettheir way. Genuinelyinno-
  centpeople maystillbeplayingforpower,and areoften horribly effective
  atthegame,since theyarenothindered byreflection. Once again, those
  who make ashow ordisplay ofinnocence aretheleast innocent ofall.
  You canrecognizethese supposed nonplayers bythewaythey flaunt
  their moral qualities,their piety,theirexquisitesense ofjustice. But since
  allofushungerforpower, and almost allofour actions areaimed atgain-
  ingit,thenonplayersaremerely throwing dust inoureyes, distractingus
  from theirpower plays with their airofmoral superiority.Ifyouobserve
  them closely, youwill seeinfactthattheyareoften the ones most skillful at
  indirect manipuiation,even ifsome ofthem practice itunconsciously.And
  theygreatlyresent anypublicizing ofthetactics theyuseevery day.
  Iftheworld islike agiant scheming court and we aretrapped inside it,
  there isno useintryingtooptoutofthegame.That willonlyrenderyou
  powerless,and powerlessness will make you miserable. Instead ofstrug-
  gling againsttheinevitable, instead ofarguingandwhiningandfeeling
  guilty,itisfarbetter toexcel atpower. Infact, thebetter youare atdealing
  with power,thebetter friend, lover, husband, wife, and person you be
  come. Byfollowingtheroute oftheperfect courtier (see Law 24)you learn
  tomake others feelbetter about themselves, becomingasource ofpleasure
  tothem. Theywillgrow dependentonyour abilities and desirous ofyour
  presence. Bymasteringthe48laws inthisbook, you spareothers thepain
  that comes from bungling with power—~by playingwith firewithout know-
  ingitsproperties. Ifthegameofpowerisinescapable,better tobeanartist
  than 2.denier orabungler.
  Learningthegame ofpower requiresacertain wayoflookingattheworld,
  ashifting ofperspective. Ittakes effort andyears ofpractice,formuch of
  thegame maynot come naturally. Certain basic skills arerequired, and
  onceyoumaster these skillsyouwill beable toapply thelaws ofpower
  more easily.
  The most important ofthese skills, andpower'scrucial foundation, is
  theability tomaster your emotions. Anemotional responsetoa.


TxText:
  situation is
  thesingle greatestbarrier topower,amistake thatwill cost youalotmore
  than anytemporary satisfactionyoumight gain byexpressing yourfeel-
  ings. Emotions cloud reason, andifyoucannot seethesituation clearly,
  youcannot prepareforandrespondtoitwith anydegree ofcontrol.
  Angeristhe most destructive ofemotional responses,foritclouds
  yourvision themost. Italso has arippleeffect thatinvariably makes situa-
  tions lesscontrollable andheightens your enemy'sresolve. Ifyouaretry»
  ingtodestroyanenemywho hashurt you, farbetter tokeephim off—guard
  byfeigningfriendliness than showing your anger.lTheold)“ means ingum
  mm ismain' with people
  are fr7l'1."£' um] czmni/lg.
  Low a/xv, /hey say; but
  [/10] is/0wailfor
  sunshine. andlife needs
  every' moment.
  JUHANN vow ('nomm-‥
  l749»— 1832
  The arrow rim! bytile
  zzrdrc-rrn1l_,vormaynot
  kill (I.i~/'n;:le fI('I'\'(m. Hm
  .¢rr(zI¢r;,Wn.s' rleviwri by(I
  Wm' man canlull we-n
  hr]/)f'S inI/1:'womb.
  KAt:rn.rA .
  lNI.|lI\N l'll|Lf)SUl'lll K.
  'Illlltl) ('l,'\"l l?llY li.('.
  Pl-RE FACE rile
  Ithought tomyself
  With what means, with
  what dtf(?P,'[]!l0Il.\', with
  howmanyvaried arts,
  with what! induxzrya
  man sharpens hiswits
  tozleceive another.
  andlhrough these
  variations theworld is
  madc more beautiful.
  FRA'nsro V|;'l”l'()Rl,
  ('0.\Il|1MI'('IR/\RY AND
  FRIFND or
  MA<'rIIAvr|_i_I.
  FA RIYSI.Y'lT,FNTH
  ('FNTKI RY
  There are noprinci-
  pl€SCl/1('Y(,'areonly
  evmtr. There isno
  good and had, there are
  only «:ircmrIslumte,.r.
  Thesuperiorman
  C.\'p()l4S('.§' events and
  circumstames inorder
  Inguide them. Ifthere
  were principlm and
  fixed laws, nations
  would notchange them
  aswechange ourshirrs
  and aman curt not be
  expecrr/l tobewiser


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  than anentire mmnn.
  HONORE Dr.BALZAC.
  1'/')')~1 850
  L1?;'PREFACELove and affection are alsopotentially destructive, inthattheyblind
  youtotheoften self-serving interests ofthose whom you least suspect of
  playingapower game. You cannot repress angerorlove, oravoid feeling
  them, andyoushould nottry.Butyoushould becareful about howyouex-
  press them, and most important, theyshould never influence your plans
  andstrategies inany way.
  Related tomastering youremotions istheabilitytodistance yourself
  from thepresentmoment and think objectivelyabout thepast and future.
  Like Janus, the double—faced Roman deityandguardian ofallgatesand
  doorways, youmust beable tolook inboth directions atonce, thebetter to
  handle dangerfrom wherever itcomes. Such istheface youmust create for
  yourself-onefacelooking continuouslytothefuture and theother tothe
  ast.P
  For thefuture, the motto is,“No daysunalert.” Nothing should catch
  you bysurprise because youareconstantly imagining problemsbefore
  theyarise. Instead ofspending yourtime dreaming ofyour plan's happy
  ending, youmust work oncalculating every possible permutationandpit-
  fallthatmight emergeinit.The further you see, the more stepsaheadyou
  plan,the more powerful youbecome.
  The other face ofJanus looks constantlytothepast—though not tore-
  member pasthurts orbeargrudges.That would onlycurb your power.
  Half ofthegameislearninghow toforgetthose events inthepastthat eat
  awayatyouand cloud yourreason. The realpurpose ofthebackward-
  glancing eyeistoeducate yourself constantly—youlook atthepasttolearn
  from those who came beforeyou. (The many historical examplesinthis
  book willgreatly helpthatprocess.) Then, having looked tothepast, you
  look closer athand, toyourown actions and those ofyourfriends. This is
  the most vital school youcan learn from, because itcomes from personal
  experience.
  Youbegin byexaminingthemistakesyouhave made inthepast,the
  ones that have most grievously heldyouback. Youanalyzethem interms
  ofthe48laws ofpower, and you extract from them alesson and anoath:


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  “Ishall never repeatsuch amistake; Ishall never fall into such atrap
  again.” Ifyoucan evaluate and observe yourselfinthisway, youcan learn
  tobreak thepatterns ofthepast—an immenselyvaluable skill.
  Power requirestheabilitytoplaywithappearances.Tothis end you
  must learn towearmanymasks andkeepabagfullofdeceptivetricks. De-
  ceptionandmasquerade should notbeseen asuglyorimmoral. Allhuman
  interaction requires deceptiononmany levels, and insomewayswhatsep—
  arates humans from animals isourability tolieand deceive. InGreek
  myths,inIndia's Mahabharata cycle,intheMiddle Eastern epic ofGilga~
  mesh, itistheprivilegeofthegodstousedeceptive arts; agreat man,
  Odysseus forinstance, wasjudged byhisabilitytorival thecraftiness ofthe
  gods, stealingsome oftheir divinepower bymatchingthem inwits and de-
  ception. Deceptionisadevelopedartofcivilization and the most potent
  weaponinthegame ofpower.
  You cannot succeed atdeception unless youtake asomewhat dis-
  tanced approachtoyourself——-unless youcan bemanydifferent people,
  wearing themask that thedayand themoment require.With such aflexi«
  bleapproachtoallappearances, including your own, you lose alotofthe
  inward heaviness that holds peopledown. Makeyourface asmalleable as
  theactor's, work toconcealyourintentions from others, practice luring
  people into traps. Playingwithappearances andmasteringartsofdecep
  tion areamongthe aesthetic pleasures oflife.Theyarealsokey compo«
  nents intheacquisition ofpower.
  Ifdeception isthemost potent weaponinyour arsenal, then patience
  inallthingsisyour crucial shield. Patience willprotect youfrom making
  moronic blunders, Like mastering your emotions, patienceis :1skill-—it
  does not come naturally.Butnothingaboutpowerisnatural; poweris
  more godlikethan anythinginthenatural world. And patienceisthe
  supremevirtue ofthegods, who have nothing buttime. Everything good
  willhappen——-the grass willgrow again, ifyougiveittime and seeseveral
  stepsinto thefuture. Impatience,ontheother hand, onlymakesyoulook
  weak. Itisa.principal impedimenttopower.
  Power isessentiallyamoral and oneofthemost importantskills toac~
  quireistheabilitytoseecircumstances rather than goodorevil. Power isa
  game—-thiscannot berepeatedtoooften—and ingames youdonotjudge
  your opponents bytheir intentions butbytheeffect oftheir actions. You
  measure their strategyand theirpower bywhatyoucan seeand feel. How


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  often aresomeone's intentions made the issue only tocloud and deceive!
  What does itmatter ifanother player, your friend orrival, intended good
  thingsand hadonly your interests atheart, iftheeffects ofhisaction lead to
  somuch min and confusion? Itisonly natural forpeopletocover uptheir
  actions with allkinds ofjustifications, always assumingthattheyhave acted
  outofgoodness.You must learn toinwardly laugheach timeyouhear this
  and never getcaught upingauging someone's intentions and actions
  throughasetofmoral judgmentsthat arereallyanexcuse forthe accumu-
  lation ofpower.
  Itisagame. Your opponentsitsopposite you.Both ofyoubehave as
  gentlemenorladies, observing therules ofthegame andtaking nothing
  personally.Youplaywith astrategyandyouobserveyour opponent's
  moves with asmuch calmness asyoucan muster. Intheend, youwillap-
  preciatethepoliteness ofthoseyouareplayingwith more than their good
  and sweet intentions. Trainyour eyetofollow theresults oftheir moves,
  theoutward circumstances, and donotbedistracted byanythingelse.
  Half ofyour mastery ofpowercomes from whatyoudonotdo,what
  youdonotallow yourselftogetdraggedinto. Forthisskillyoumust learn
  tojudgeallthings bywhattheycostyou.AsNietzsche wrote, “The value of
  athing sometimes liesnotinwhat one attains with it,butinwhat onepaysl
  forit——what itcosts us.”Perhaps youwill attain your goal,and aworthy goal
  atthat, but atwhatprice? Applythis standard toeverything, including
  whether tocollaborate with other peopleorcome totheir aid.Intheend,
  PREFACE
  .mi
  xxii PREFACEr“'"“”'filife isshort, opportunitiesarefew, andyouhave onlysomuchenergyto
  draw on.And inthis sense time isasimportantaconsideration asany
  other. Never waste valuable time, ormental peace ofmind, ontheaffairs of
  others—that istoohighapricetopay.
  Power isasocialgame.Tolearn and master it,youmust developthe
  abilitytostudyand understand people.Asthegreat seventeenth-century
  thinker and courtier Baltasar Gracién wrote: “Many people spendtime
  studyingtheproperties ofanimals orherbs; how much more importantit
  would betostudythose ofpeople, with whom wemust live ordie!” Tobea
  master player youmust also be amaster psychologist.You must recognize


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  motivations and seethrough thecloud ofdust with which peoplesurround
  their actions. Anunderstanding ofpeople's hidden motives isthesingle
  greatest piece ofknowledge youcan have inacquiring power.Itopens up
  endless possibilitiesofdeception, seduction, andmanipulation.
  Peopleareofinfinite complexityandyoucanspendalifetime watch-
  ingthem without everfully understanding them. Soitisallthe more im-
  portant, then, tobegin youreducation now. Indoingsoyoumust alsokeep
  oneprincipleinmind: Never discriminate astowhomyou studyand
  whomyoutrust. Never trustanyone completelyandstudy everyone,in-
  cludingfriends and loved ones.
  Finally, youmust learn alwaystotake theindirect route topower.Dis-
  guise your cunning.Like abilliard ball that caroms several times before it
  hits itstarget, yourmoves must beplannedanddevelopedintheleast ob
  vious way. Bytraining yourselftobeindirect, youcanthrive inthemodern
  court, appearing theparagon ofdecencywhile beingthe consummate ma-
  nipulator.
  Consider The48Laws ofPower akind ofhandbook onthe artsofindirec»
  tion. The laws arebased onthewritings ofmen and women who have
  studied and mastered thegame ofpower.These writings spanaperiod of
  more than three thousandyearsand were created incivilizations asdis»
  parateasancient China and Renaissance Italy; yetthey share common
  threads andthemes, together hintingatanessence ofpowerthat hasyetto
  befullyarticulated. The 48laws ofpowerarethedistillation ofthis accu-
  mulated wisdom, gatheredfrom thewritingsofthe most illustrious strate
  gists (Sun-tzu, Clausewitz), statesmen (Bismarck, Talleyrand),courtiers
  (Castiglione, Gracién), seducers (Ninon deLenclos, Casanova), and con
  artists (“Yellow Kid” Weil) inhistory.
  The laws have asimple premise:Certain actions almost alwaysin-
  crease one's power (the observance ofthelaw), while others decrease it
  and even ruin us(thetransgressionofthelaw). Thesetransgressionsand
  observances areillustrated byhistoricalexamples.The laws aretimeless
  and definitive.
  T7ze48Laws ofPowercanbeused inseveralways. Byreadingthebook
  straight through youcanlearn about power ingeneral. Although several of
  thelaws mayseem not topertain directlytoyour life, intimeyou will


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  probablyfind that allofthem have some application, and that infactthey
  areinterrelated. Bygettinganoverview ofthe entiresubject you will best
  beable toevaluate yourown pastactions andgainagreater degree ofcon-
  trol overyourimmediate affairs. Athorough reading ofthebook will in»
  spire thinkingand reevaluation long after youfinish it.
  The book hasalso been designed forbrowsingand forexaminingthe
  law that seems atthatparticularmoment most pertinent toyou. Say you
  areexperiencing problemswith asuperiorand cannot understand why
  yourefforts have notlead tomore gratitudeorapromotion.Several laws
  specificallyaddress themaster-underling relationship,andyouarealmost
  certainly transgressingoneofthem. Bybrowsingtheinitial paragraphsfor
  the48laws inthetable ofcontents, youcanidentifythepertinentlaw.
  Finally, thebook can bebrowsed throughandpicked apartforenter-
  tainrnent. for anenjoyable ridethroughthefoibles andgreat deeds ofour
  predecessorsinpower.Awarning, however, tothose who usethebook for
  thispurpose: Itmightbebetter totum back. Power isendlesslyseductive
  anddeceptiveinitsownway. Itisa1abyrinth—yourmind becomes con-
  sumed with solvingifsinfinite problems,and yousoon realize how pleas-
  antlylostyouhave become. Inother words, itbecomes most amusing by
  takingitseriously.Donotbefrivolous with such acritical matter. Thegods
  ofpowerfrown onthefrivolous; they giveultimate satisfaction onlyto
  those whostudyandreflect, andpunishthose who skim thesurfaces look-
  ingfor agoodtime.
  Anyman who tries tobegood allthetime isbound tocome toruin
  amongthegreatnumber who arenotgood.Hence :2prince who wants
  tokeephisauthoritymust [mm how not to begood, and usethat
  knowledge,orrgfiain wing it,asnecessity requires.
  THE PRINCE, Niu.-011) Machiavelli, 7469- 7527
  PREFACE cmciii
  LAW
  I¢E\/EI[()[TTSI[IDJE
  'TIIE B4AiYFEI[
  JUDGMENT
  Alwaysmake those shaveyaufeelcomfartably superior
  Inyourdesim topteaseandimpress them, donotgotoo
  farindispfaying yourtalents oryoumight accomplish
  theo[)posite——inspire fearandinsecurity.Make your
  masters appearmore brilliant than theyareandyouwill
  attain theheights ofpowen
  9 LAW 1TRANSCRESSION OFTHE LAW
  NicolasFouquet, Louis XIV's finance minister inthefirstyears ofhisreign,
  was agenerousman who loved lavish parties, pretty women, andpoetry.


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  He also loved money, forheled anextravagant lifestyle. Fouquetwas
  clever andverymuch indispensabletotheking,sowhen theprimemim's—
  ter,Jules Mazarin, died, in1661, the finance minister expectedtobe
  named the successor. Instead, thekingdecided toabolish theposition. This
  and other signs made Fouquet suspectthat hewasfallingoutoffavor, and
  sohedecided toingraliate himself with theking bystaging the mostspec-
  tacularpartytheworld had ever seen. The party'sostensiblepurpose
  would betocommemorate thecompletion ofFouquet's chateau, Vaux—le-
  Vicomte, but itsreal function was topay tribute totheking, theguest of
  honor.
  The most brilliant nobility ofEuropeand some ofthegreatest minds
  ofthe Iime—La Fontaine, LaRochefoucauld, Madame deSévigné—
  attended theparty.Moliere wrote aplayfortheoccasion, inwhich he
  himself was toperformattheevening's conclusion. Theparty began with a
  lavish seven—course dinner, featuringfoods from the Orient never be-
  fore tasted inFrance,aswell asnew dishes created especially forthenight.
  The meal was accompanied with music commissioned byFouquetto
  honor theking.
  After dinner there was apromenade throughthechateau's gardens.
  Thegrounds and fountains ofVaux—le»Vicomte were tobetheinspiration
  forVersailles.
  Fouquet personally accompaniedtheyoung king throughthegeomet-
  rically aligned arrangements ofshrubberyand flower beds. Arrivingatthe
  gardens' canals, theywitnessed afireworks display,which was followed by
  theperformance ofMoliere's play. The partyranwell into thenightand
  everyone agreed itwas themost amazing affair they had ever attended.
  The next day, Fouquetwas arrested bytheking'shead musketeer,
  D'Artagna.n. Three months later hewent ontrial forstealing from the
  country's treasury. (Actually,most ofthestealing hewas accused ofhehad
  done onthekings behalf and with theking's permission.) Fouquetwas
  found guiltyand sent tothe most isolated prisoninFrance, highinthe
  Pyrenees Mountains, where hespentthelasttwenty yearsofhislifeinsoli-
  taryconfinement.
  Interpretation
  Louis XIV, theSunKing,was aproud andarrogantman who wanted tobe


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  the center ofattention atalltimes; hecould not countenance beingout-
  done inlavishness byanyone,andcertainlynot hisfinance minister. To
  succeed Fouquet,Louis chose _]ean—Baptiste Colbert, aman famous forhis
  parsimonyand forgivingthedullest partiesinParis. Colbert made sure
  thatany moneyliberated from thetreasurywent straightinto Louis's
  hands. With themoney, Louis built apalaceeven more magnificent than
  Fouquet's—the glorious palaceofVersailles. Heused the same architects,
  decorators, andgarden designer.And atVersailles, Louis hosted parties
  even more extravagant than the onethat costFouquethisfreedom.
  Let usexamine thesituation. Theevening oftheparty,asFouquet pre-
  sented spectacleonspectacletoLouis, each more magnificent than the one
  before, heimaginedtheaffair asdemonstratinghisloyaltyand devotion to
  theking.Notonlydidhethink thepartywould puthim back intheking's
  favor, hethought itwould show hisgood taste, hisconnections, and his
  popularity, makinghimindispensable totheking anddemonstratingthat
  hewould make anexcellent prime minister. Instead, however, each new
  spectacle,each appreciativesmile bestowed bytheguestsonFouquet,
  made itseem toLouis that his own friends and subjectswere more
  charmed bythefinance minister thanbytheking himself, andthatFouquet
  wasactually flauminghiswealth and power.Rather than flattering Louis
  XXV, Fouquet'selaborate party offended theking's vanity.Louis would not
  admit this toanyone,ofcourse-—-instead, hefound aconvenient excuse to
  ridhimself ofaman who hadinadvertentlymade him feel insecure.
  Such isthefate, insome form orother, ofallthose who unbalance the
  master's sense ofself,pokeholes inhisvanity,ormake him doubt hispro
  eminence.
  When thewming began, Fouquetwas attheto]:oftheworld.
  Bythetime ithad ended, hewas atthebottom.
  Voltaire, 16.944 778
  OBSERVANCE OFTHE LAW
  Intheearly 1600s, theItalian astronomer and mathematician Galileo
  found himself inaprecarious position.Hedependedonthegenerosityof
  greatrulers tosupporthisresearch, and so,like allRenaissance scientists,
  hewould sometimes make gifts ofhisinventions and discoveries tothe
  leading patrons ofthetime. Once, forinstance, hepresentedamilitaiy
  compasshehad invented totheDuke ofGonzaga.


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  Then hededicated a
  book explainingthe useofthecompass totheMedicis. Both rulers were
  grateful, andthroughthem Galileo was able tofind more students toteach.
  Nomatter how greatthediscovery, however, hispatrons usually paidhim
  withgifts,notcash. This made for alifeofconstant insecurityanddepen-
  dence. There must beaneasierway,hethought.
  Galileo hiton anew strategyinl6l0, when hediscovered the moons
  ofJupiter.Instead ofdividing thediscovery among hispatrons—giving
  onethetelescopehehadused, dedicatingabook toanother, and soon—as
  hehaddone inthepast,hedecided tofocus exclusivelyontheMedicis. He
  chose theMedicis for one reason: Shortlyafter Cosimo Ihad established
  theMedici dynasty,in1540, hehad made Jupiter,themightiestofthe
  gods, theMedici symbol—a symbol ofa.powerthat went beyond politics
  andbanking,onelinked toancient Rome and itsdivinities.
  Galileo turned hisdiscovery of_]upiter'smoons into acosmic event
  LAW 133
  -1'
  ,LAW]honoring theMedicis' greatness. Shortlyafter thediscovery,heannounced
  that “thebrightstars [the moons ofjupiterl offered themselves intheheav~
  ens” tohistelescopeatthe same time asCosimo II'senthronement. He
  said that thenumber ofthemoons-—-four——harmonized with thenumber of
  theMedicis (Cosimo IIhad three brothers) and that the moons orbitecl
  Jupiterasthese four sons revolved around Cosimo I,thedynasty'sfounder.
  More than coincidence, thisshowed that theheavens themselves reflected
  theascendancy oftheMedici family.After hededicated thediscoveryto
  theMedicis, Galileo commissioned anemblem representing Jupiter sitting
  on acloud with thefour stars circling about him, andpresentedthis to
  Cosimo IIasasymbolofhislink tothe stars.
  In1610 Cosimo IImade Galileo hisofficial court philosopherand
  mathematician, with afullsalary.For ascientist this was thecoup ofalife»
  time. Thedays ofbegging forpatronagewere over.
  Interpretation
  Inonestroke, Galileo gainedmore with his newstrategythan hehad in
  yearsofbegging. The reason issimple:All masters want toappearmore
  brilliant than other people.
  They donot care about science orempirical tmth orthelatest inven~


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  tion; theycare about their name and their glory.GalileogavetheMedicis
  infinitelymore glory bylinking their name with cosmic forces them hehad
  bymaking them thepatrons ofsome new scientific gadgetordiscovery.
  Scientists arenotsparedthevagaries ofcourt lifeandpatronage. They
  too must serve masters who hold thepurse strings.And their great intellec-
  tualpowerscan make the master feelinsecure, asifhewere onlythere to
  supplythe funds~—an ugly, ignoble job.The producerofagreatwork
  wants tofeelheismore thanjusttheprovider ofthefinancing. Hewants to
  appearcreative andpowerful,and also more important than theworkpro~
  duoed inhis name. Instead ofinsecurity youmust give himglory.Galileo
  did notchallengetheintellectual authorityoftheMedicis with hisdiscov~
  ery,ormake them feel inferior inany way; byliterally aligningthem with
  thestars, hemade them shine brilliantly amongthe courts ofItaly. Hedid
  notoutshine themaster, hemade themaster outshine allothers.
  KEYS TO POWER
  Everyonehas insecurities. Whenyoushow yourselfintheworld and dis-
  play your talents, younaturallystirupallkinds ofresentment, envy,and
  other manifestations ofinsecurity. This istobeexpected.You cannot spend
  your lifeworrying about thepetty feelings ofothers. With those above you,
  however, youmust take adifferent approach: When itcomes topower,
  outshiningthemaster isperhapstheworst mistake ofall.
  Donotfoolyourselfintothinkingthat lifehaschanged much since the
  daysofLouis XIV and theMedicis. Those who attain high standinginlife
  arelikekingsandqueens: Theywant tofeel secure intheir positions,and
  superiortothose around them inintelligence, wit, and charm. Itisa.deadly
  but common misperception tobelieve thatbydisplayingand vaunting
  your gifts andtalents, youarewinning themaster's affection. Hemay feign
  appreciation, but athisfirstopportunityhewillreplace you with someone
  lessintelligent, lessattractive, lessthreatening, justasLouis XIV replaced
  thesparkling Fouquetwith thebland Colbert. And aswith Louis, hewill
  notadmit thetmth, butwillfind anexcuse toridhimself ofyour presence.
  This Law involves tworules thatyoumust realize, First, youcan inad-
  vertently outshine amaster simply bybeing yourself. There are masters


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  who are more insecure than others, nronstrously insecure; you maynatu-
  rallyoutshine them byyourcharm andgrace.
  No one had more natural talents than Astorre Manfredi, prince of
  Faenza. The most handsome ofalltheyoung princes ofItaly, hecaptivated
  hissubjects with hisgenerosity and open spirit.
  Intheyear 1500, Cesare Borgialaid siege toFaenza. When thecity
  surrendered, thecitizens expectedthe worst from thecruel Borgia, who,
  however, decided tospare thetown: Hesimply occupieditsfortress, exe-
  cuted none ofitscitizens, and allowed Prince Manfredi, eighteenatthe
  time, toremain with hiscourt, incompletefreedom.
  Afew weeks later, though, soldiers hauled Astorre Manfrediawaytoa
  Roman prison.Ayearafter that, hisbodywas fished outofthe River
  Tiber, astone tied around hisneck. Borgia justifiedthehorrible deed with
  some sort oftmmped~up charge oftreason andconspiracy,but thereal
  problemwas that hewasnotoriouslyvain and insecure. Theyoungman
  wasoutshininghim without even trying. Given Manfredi's natural talents,
  theprince'smerepresencemade Borgiaseem less attractive and charis-
  matic. The lesson issimple: Ifyoucannot help being charmingandsupe~
  not, youmust learn toavoid sud: monsters ofvanity. Either that, orfind a
  waytomuteyour good qualitieswhen inthecompany ofaCesare Borgia.
  Second, never imaginethat because the master lovesyou, youcan do
  anything youwant. Entire books could bewritten about favorites who fell
  outoffavor bytakingtheir status forgranted,fordaringtooutshine. In
  late-sixteentbcenturyjapan,thefavorite ofEmperor Hideyoshiwas aman
  called Sen noRikyu.Thepremierartist ofthe teaceremony,which had be-
  come anobsession with thenobility,he was one ofHideyoshi'smost
  trusted advisers, had his own apartmentinthepalace,and was honored
  throughout japan.Yetin1591, Hideyoshihad him arrested and sentenced
  todeath. Rikyutook hisown life, instead. The cause forhissudden change
  offortune was discovered later: Itseems thatRikyu, former peasantand
  later court favorite, had had awooden statue made ofhimself wearingsan-


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  dals (aSign ofnobility)andposing loftily.Hehad had this statue placedin
  themost important templeinside thepalace gates,inclear sight oftheroy-
  altywho often wouldpass by.ToHidcyoshithissignifiedthatRikyuhad
  no sense oflimits. Presurning that hehad the same rightsasthose ofthe
  highest nobility,hehadforgottenthat hisposition dependedonthe em»
  peror,and had come tobelieve that hehad earned itonhis own. This was
  LAW 1
  6 LAW 1anunforgivable miscalculation ofhis own importanceand hepaid forit
  with hislife. Remember thefollowing:Never take your position for
  granted and never letanyfavorsyoureceive gotoyourhead.
  Knowingthedangers ofoutshining your master, youcan turn thisLaw
  toyour advantage. First youmust flatter andpuff upyourmaster. Overt
  flatterycan beeffective but has itslimits; itistoodirect andobvious, and
  looks bad toother courtiers. Discreet flatteryismuch more powerful. If
  youare more intelligent than your master, forexample,seem theopposite:
  Make himappearmore intelligent than you. Actnaive. Make itseem that
  youneed hisexpertise. Commit harmless mistakes thatwill nothurt youin
  thelongrunbutwillgive youthechance toaskforhishelp.Masters adore
  suchrequests.Amaster who cannot bestow onyouthe ofhisexperi-
  ence may direct rancor andillwill atyouinstead.
  Ifyourideas are more creative than your master's, ascribe them to
  him, inaspublicamanner aspossible. Make itclear thatyour advice is
  merelyanecho ofhisadvice.
  Ifyou surpass yourmaster inwit, itisokaytoplaytherole ofthecourt
  jester,but donotmake himappearcold andsurly bycomparison.Tone
  downyourhumor ifnecessary,and findwaystomake him seem thedis-
  penser ofamusement andgood cheer. Ifyouarenaturallymore sociable
  and generous than your master, becareful not tobethecloud that blocks
  hisradiance from others. Hemust appearasthe sunaround whichevery-
  onerevolves, radiating powerandbrilliance, thecenter ofattention. Ifyou
  arethrust into theposition ofentertaining him, adisplay ofyour limited
  meansmaywinyouhissympathy. Any attempttoimpresshim withyour
  graceandgenerositycanprovefatal: Learn from Fouquetorpaytheprice.
  Inallofthese cases itisnot aweakness todisguise your strengths if
  intheendthey lead topower.


TxText:
  Byletting others outshine you, youremain
  incontrol, instead ofbeingavictim oftheir insecurity.This will allcome in
  handythedayyoudecide torise above your inferior status. If,likeGalileo,
  youcanmake yourmaster shine even more intheeyes ofothers, thenyou
  are agodsendandyouwill beinstantly promoted.
  Image:
  The Stars inthe
  Sky. There can beonly
  one sun at atime. Never
  obscure the sunlight,or
  rival the sun's brilliance',
  rather, fade into theskyand
  find waystoheighten
  the master star's
  intensity.
  Authority: Avoid outsliining the master. Allsuperiorityisodious, but the
  superiority ofasubjectover hisprinceisnotonly stupid,it.isfatal. This isa
  lesson that the stars intheskyLeachus-—--they mayberelated tothe sun,
  andjustasbrilliant, buttheyneverappearinhercompany. (Baltasar
  Grzutifm, llilll-I658]
  REVERSAI.
  You cannotworry about upsetting every person youcome across, butyou
  must beselectively cruel. Ifyour superiorisafalling star, there isnothing
  tofearfrom outshininghim. Donotbemerciful-—-yourmaster had nosuch
  scruplesinhisown cold—blooded climb tothetop.Gauge hisstrength. Ifhe
  isweak, discreetly hasten hisdownfall: Outclo, outchann, outsmart him at
  keymoments. Ifheisveryweak andreadytofall,letnature take itscourse.
  Donotriskoutshiningafeeble superior--it might appear cruel orspiteful.
  Butifyourmaster isfirm inhisposition, yetyouknow yourselftobethe
  more capable,hideyourtime and bepatient. Itisthenatural course of
  things thatpower eventuallyfades and weakens. Your master will fall
  someday, andifyouplayitright, youwill outlive andsomeday outshine
  him.
  LAW 1 z
  LAW
  NEVER PUT TOO MUCH
  TRUST INFRIENDS, LEARN
  HOW TO USE ENEMIES
  JUDGMENT
  Bewary zyffn'emds-theywillbetray youmore quickly, for
  theyareeasily aroused toenvy. Theyalso became spaileri
  andtyrannical.But hiveafmmer enemy and hewill be
  mofre loyal than afiimd,because hehas more topmve.
  Infact, youhave mam tofearfmmfviemls thanfivmen—
  emies.Ifyouhave noemmnies, findamaytomake them.
  TRANSGRESSION OFTHE LAW
  Inthemid—ninth century A.l.)., ayoungman named Michael IIIassumed
  thethrone oftheByzantine Empire.


TxText:
  Hismother, theEmpress Theodora,
  had been banished toanunnery,andherlover, Theoctistus, had been mur-
  dered; atthehead oftheconspiracytodepose Theodora and enthrone
  Michael had been Michael's uncle, Bardas, aman ofintelligence and a:mbi~
  tion. Michael was now ayoung, inexperienced ruler, surrounded byin»
  triguers, murderers, and profligates. Inthis time ofperilheneeded
  someone hecould trust ashiscouncillor, and histhoughts turned toBasil~
  ius,hisbest friend. Basilius had noexperiencewhatsoever ingovernment
  and politics——-in fact, he was thehead oftheroyal stables——buI hehad
  provenhislove andgratitudetime andagain.
  They had met afewyears before, when Michael had been visitingthe
  stables justasawild horse gotloose. Basilius, a.young groomfrompeasant
  Macedonian stock, had saved Michael's life. The gmom's strength and
  couragehadimpressed Michael, who immediately raised Basilius from the
  obscurity ofbeingahorse trainer tothepositionofhead ofthestables. He
  loaded hisfriend with gifts and favors andthey became inseparable. Basil-
  ius was sent tothefinest school inByzantium,and thecrude peasantbe—
  came acultured andsophisticatedcourtier.
  Now Michael wasemperor,and inneed ofsomeone loyal.Who could
  hebetter trust with thepost ofchamberlain and chief councillor than a
  youngman who owed himeverything?
  Basilius could betrained forthejoband Michael loved him like a
  brother. Ignoring theadvice ofthose who recommended themuch more
  qualified Bardas, Michael chose hisfriend.
  Basilius learned well and was soon advisingtheemperoronallmatters
  ofstate. The only problemseemed tobemoney-——Basiliusnever had
  enough. Exposure tothesplendor ofByzantinecourt lifemade him avari-
  cious fortheperksofpower. Michael doubled, then tripledhissalary,en-
  nobled him, and married him offtohis own mistress, Eudoxia Ingerina.
  Keepingsuch atrusted friend and adviser satisfied was worthanyprice.
  But more trouble was tocome. Bardas was now head ofthearmy, and
  Basilius convinced Michael mat the man washopelesslyambitious.


TxText:
  Under
  theillusion that hecould control hisnephew,Bardas hadconspired toput
  him onthethrone, and hecould conspire again,this time togetridof
  Michael and assume the crown himself. Basilius poured poisoninto
  Michael's earuntil theemperor agreedtohave hisuncle murdered. During
  agreathorse race, Basilius closed inonBardas inthecrowd and stabbed
  him todeath. Soon after, Basilius asked that hereplace Bardas ashead of
  thearmy,where hecould keep control oftherealm andquell rebellion.
  This wasgranted.
  Now Basilius's powerand wealth only grew, and afewyearslater
  Michael, infinancial straits from his own extravagance, asked him topay
  back some ofthemoneyhehad borrowed over theyears.ToMichael's
  shock and astonishment, Basilius refused, with alook ofsuch impudenceTohave agood enemy,
  choose a/rierld.' He
  knows where tomike.
  DIANE DEPomrns,
  l499~»l566, Mismess or
  HENRI IIorFnawcr,
  Every mm:Ibestow a
  vacant ajffice:7make 52
  hundred discontented
  persons and one
  ingraze.
  LOUIS XIV, 1638-1715
  Thus formy own part
  Ihave more than omze
  been (leroived bythe
  person Iloved moss
  andofwhose love.
  above' everyoneelse Cr,
  Ihave been mostr:/on]?
  denr. SothatIbelieve
  that itmay be/viggiztto
  love arzd¥€efi'/re one
  person above allothers,
  accordingtomerit and
  worth. but never to
  trust .\'0much in this
  tempting trapof/'n'eml-
  shipastohave cause to
  repent ofitlater an.
  BALDASSARF,
  CASTIGLIONE,
  1*-178452')
  LAW 2 9
  rt|'|Ha
  >.\,\|\l2 |'lll-.
  \l[Mlxlt. »\\l)'l'Hl“
  é€|<1R()\
  /\make chased by
  Imnteris as/(ed afurrrwr
  Inlave ifslife. Tohide it
  from itspur.\'uer.\; the
  finmer .aqna£te(l amt lei
  (hrSnake crawl inn) his
  bellyBu! when the
  tlangttr hadpasxswl and
  the[unuer cwketl the
  snake tocoma out. zhe
  xnake rrfusml. Irwas
  warm and safiz inside.


TxText:
  Onhisway harm», the
  /7um saw aheron and
  worn' up :0him and
  whispered what had
  huppemerl. Tim heron
  told him tomud: and
  smzin toeject the
  make. When thesnake
  snm;k itshead (ml, the
  heron caughl it.pulled it
  our, and killed it.The
  former wasworried that
  the makfs polxrzn
  Inighl will beinside
  him, and the heron
  told him (ha! the Lure
  forsnakz' poison was
  tocook and eatsit
  white fowl.“You 're
  (1while fowl,"
  .\'(Ii(l Yhafarmer.
  "You'll dofara
  start.”Hegrabbed
  the'heron. putitin at
  bag,
  h0and carried it
  me, where he
  hung2'!upwhile he
  told hiswife whal
  had happened.
  "I'm surprisedat
  you,"suit! thewife.
  "The hird timer
  youakimlrms'.
  rizls youofthv evil
  inyour belly,
  .save.\' your Iliain
  fact, yet you
  (arch iftmcl talk
  ofkilling it."
  She immedi-
  ate!)Jreleaxetl
  thehenm, and
  itflew
  3ul 0away.
  nits
  way, itgouged
  outher eyes.
  M0 7at';
  When you
  .\'('(:' water
  /l0wing
  1:phiIl,it
  m€u!'LS' thatthat theemperor suddenlyrealized hispredicament: The former stable
  boy had moremoney,more allies inthearmyand senate, and intheend
  more power than theemperor himself. Afew weeks later, after anightof
  heavy drinking, Michael awoke tofind himself surrounded bysoldiers.
  Basilius watched astheystabbed theemperortodeath. Then, after pro-
  claiming himself emperor,herode hishorse through the streets ofByzan-
  tium, brandishing thehead ofhisformer benefactor and best friend atthe
  endofalong pike.
  Interpretation
  Michael IIIstaked hisfuture onthe sense ofgratitude hethought Basilius
  must feel forhim. SurelyBasilius would serve him best; heowed the em-
  perorhiswealth, hiseducation, and hisposition. Then, once Basilius was in
  power, anythingheneeded itwas best togivetohim, strengthening the


TxText:
  bonds between thetwo men. Itwasonlyonthefateful day when the em-
  perorsaw thatimpudentsmile onBasilius's face that herealized hisdeadly
  mistake.
  Hehad created amonster. Hehad allowed aman toseepower up
  close-—a man who then wanted more, who asked foranythingandgotit,
  who feltencumbered bythecharityhehad received andsimply didwhat
  many people doinsuch asituation: They forgetthefavors they have re-
  ceived andimagine theyhave earned their success bytheir own merits.
  AtMichael's moment ofrealization, hecould stillhave saved hisown
  life,butfriendshipand love blindeveryman totheir interests. Nobodybe—
  Iieves afriend canbetray.And Michael went ondisbelievinguntil theday
  hishead ended uponapike.
  Lord, protect mefrum myfriends; Ican take careqfmyenemies.
  Volmlre, 1694-1778
  OBSERVANCE OFTHE LAW
  Forseveral centuries after thefalloftheHanDynasty [A.D. 222], Chinese his-
  toryfollowed the same patternofviolent andbloody coups,one after the
  other. Armymen would plottokill aweakemperor,then would replacehim
  ontheDragon Throne with astrong general. Thegeneral would start anew
  dynastyand crown himself emperor;toensure hisown survival hewould kill
  offhisfellow generals. Afewyears later, however, thepattern would resume:
  New generalswould rise upand assassinate him orhis sons intheir turn. To
  beemperor ofChina was tobealone, surrounded byapackofenemies—it
  was theleastpowerful,least secure positionintherealm.
  InA.D. 959, General Chao K'uang—yinbecame Emperor Sung.He
  knew theadds, theprobabilitythat within ayearortwo hewould bemur-
  dered; how could hebreak thepattern? Soon after becoming emperor,
  Sungordered abanquettocelebrate the newdynasty,andinvited themost
  powerfulcommanders inthearmy.After theyhad drunk much wine, he
  somcrmc isrepayingorkirzrlnmzxt
  AFRICAN /-'oz./4 1;:LE
  dismissed theguardsandeverybodyelse exceptthegenerals, who now
  feared hewould murder them inone fellswoop. Instead, headdressed
  them: “The whole dayisspentinfear, andIamunhappyboth atthetable
  and inmybed. Forwhich one ofyoudoes notdream ofascending the
  throne? Idonotdoubt your allegiance, butifbysome chance yoursubor-


TxText:
  dinates, seeking wealth andposition,were toforce theemperor's yellow
  robe upon youinturn, how couldyourefuse it?”Drunk andtearing for
  their lives, thegenerals proclaimedtheir innocence and their loyalty. But
  Sung had other ideas: “The best way topassone's daysisinpeacefulen~
  joyment ofriches and honor. Ifyouarewillingtogive upyour commands,
  Iamreadytoprovide you with line estates and beautiful dwellings where
  you maytakeyour pleasure with singersandgirlsasyour companions.”
  The astonished generalsrealized that instead ofalifeofanxietyand
  struggle Sungwasoffering them riches andsecurity. The next day, allof
  thegeneralstendered their resignations,andthey retired asnobles tothe
  estates thatSung bestowed onthem.
  Inone stroke, Sungturned apackof“friendly” wolves, who would
  likelyhave betrayed him, into agroupofdocile lambs, faxfrom allpower.
  Over the next few years Sung continued hiscampaigntosecure his
  rule. InA.D. 971,King LinoftheSouthern Han finallysurrendered tohim
  afteryears ofrebellion. ToLiu's astonishment, Sung gave him arank inthe
  imperialcourt andinvited him tothepalacetosealtheir newfound friend-
  ship with wine. AsKing Liutook theglassthatSungoffered him, hehesi-
  tated, fearing itcontainedpoison.“Your subject'scrimes certainlymerit
  death,” hecried out,“but IbegYour Majestytospare your subject'slife. In-
  deed Idare notdrink this wine.” Emperor Sung laughed,took theglass
  from Lin, andswallowedithimself. There was nopoison. From then on
  Liubecame hismost trusted andloyal friend.
  Atthetime, China hadsplinteredinto manysmaller kingdoms.When
  Ch'ien Shu, theking ofone ofthese, was defeated, Sung'sministers ad-
  vised theemperortolock thisrebelup.They presenteddocuments prov-
  ingthat hewasstillconspiringtokillSung. When Ch'ien Shu came tovisit
  theemperor, however, instead oflockinghimup,Sunghonored him. He
  alsogave him apackage, which hetold theformer kingtoopen when he
  washalfwayhome. Ch'ien Shuopenedthebundle onhisreturn journey
  and sawthatitcontained allthepapers documentinghisconspiracy.He re-
  alized thatSungknew ofhismurderous plans, yethadspared him nonethe-
  less.


TxText:
  This generositywon him over, and hetoobecame oneofSung'smost
  loyal vassals.
  Interpretation
  AChinese proverb compares friends tothejawsand teeth ofadangerous
  animal: Ifyouarenotcareful, youwillfind them chewing you up.Emperor
  Sungknew thejawshewaspassingbetween when heassumed thethrone:
  His“friends” inthearmy would chew him uplike meat, andifhesome-
  how survived, his“friends” inthegovernment would have him forsupper.'1'/iere arermmy who
  think zlzerefizre thzu a
  wise prince ought,
  when hehas the
  chance, 10form-m
  astzarely some cnmizy,
  sothat byrlcpprmirirzg
  ithewillu1:gn1mtl1is'
  _ur4m(nm-.s'. f'rin«'ex, and
  espwizzllynew ones,
  have found more fair/1
  and more uxejiilmzss in
  those men. whom :11the
  bcgimiing oftheir
  power they regarded
  with ruspicimi. than in
  those they tztfirsl
  confidedin.Pandolfo
  ]'c'lru<::'i, primte nf
  Stems. gm-'Billed his
  State more byIiwse
  it-liom hesltspecrezi
  [Iran byoilzers.
  Nxcrtnt) NlACHl.-\\'l;'LLL
  ls:l6'J- )527
  Abrahmzm. agreat
  expert inVeda who has
  become agreat archer
  aswell, offers his
  .s't?rL'It'(,'.\' Ir)Irisgrmrl
  frimd, who isnow the
  king.The hruhrn/In
  tries am when hesees
  I/14'king, "kemgnize
  me,yu1u'V/"/'z'cm1.r"'T/u'
  kingatzswers /rim with
  comempt and than
  t'.\'[)1l1iI1S."'YL'.V,we wcna
  fricm1.\' Iznfrme, but our
  friewzis/1/pwar based
  [NZlvlltll[1(7Mv'6')'WP
  had. . . .Iw:1rfrie'nzI.s'
  with van. good
  hmhnmn. hecttmsv it
  served mypurpose. No
  pauper isfriend tothe
  rich. nofool tothe
  wisr. normvzml torim
  LAW 2 II
  brave. An,Oldfriim/I-—
  who needs him? Itis
  two men ofeqnal
  wealth andequal birth
  who rmi1racrfrier1d-
  ship and marriage, not


TxText:
  (1rich man and (I
  pauper‥ ‥/in old
  friend—-who needs
  him?
  'iHi-, MAHABH.IxRA'lA,
  I".rnum L:«_=N'r1;RY ac.
  Pick upnbeefrom
  klIH]I1E'S,\', and learn (he
  liIm'ruIlrm.i u/'kindmzws.
  SIIH PR()VEl[l.i
  M(IIIare mun! remly ll)
  repayaninjury than a
  bz:ru:j7't, Iwmme grilli-
  tude is £1'burden and
  revengeitpleasme.
  T.-ugnus, c.An 55-420
  1.') LAW 2Emperor Sung would have notruck with “friends”—-he bribed hisfellow
  generals with splendidestates andkept them faraway. This was amuch
  better waytoemasculate them than killing them, which would onlyhave
  ledother generals toseekvengeance. And Sung would have nothingtodo
  with“friendly”ministers. More often than not,they would end updrinking
  hisfamouscupofpoisonedwine.
  Instead ofrelyingonfriends, Sungused hisenemies, one after the
  other, transforming them into farmore reliable subjects. While afriend ex-
  pectsmore and more favors, and seethes withjealousy,these former £:ne~
  mies expected nothingand goteverything.Aman suddenly sparedthe
  guillotineisagratefulman indeed, andwillgototheends oftheearth for
  the man who haspardonedhim. Intime, these former enemies became
  Sung'smost trusted friends.
  And Sungwasfinallyable tobreak thepattern ofcoups, violence, and
  civil war—the Sung Dynasty ruled China for more than three hundred
  years.
  Inaspeech Abraham Lincoln delivererl attheheight ofthe(Ii:/il War,
  hereferredtotheSoutherners as
  _fellow human beingswho were in
  error. Anelderly ladychastised himfornotcallingthem irremncilable
  enemies who must bedestroyed. “Why, madam,”L2'ncoln replied,
  “doInotdestroy myenemies when Imake themmyfr2Tends?”
  KEYS TO POWER
  Itisnatural towant toemploy your friends whenyou findyourselfintimes
  ofneed. The world isaharsh place, and yourfriends soften theharshness.
  Besides, you know them. '


TxText:
  Why dependon a stronger when youhave a
  friend athand?
  Theproblem isthat youoften donotknowyourfriends aswell asyou
  imagine.Friends often agreeonthingsinorder toavoid anargument.
  Theycover uptheir unpleasant qualifiesso astonotoffend each other.
  They laugh extra hard ateach other's jokes.Since honesty rarely strength-
  ensfriendship, you maynever know how afriend tmly feels. Friends will
  saythat they love your poetry,adore your music, envy yourtaste in
  clothes———maybe theymean it,often theydonot.
  Whenyoudecide tohire afriend, yougraduallydiscover thequalities
  heorshehaskept hidden. Strangely enough,itisyouractofkindness that
  unbalances everything. Peoplewant tofeelthey deserve their goodfor-
  tune. The receiptofafavor can becomeoppressive:Itmeans youhave
  been chosen becauseyouare afriend, notnecessarilybecause youaredo
  serving. There isalmost atouch ofcondescension inthe actofhiring
  friends thatsecretlyafflicts them. Theinjurywill come outslowly: Alittle
  more honesty,flashes ofresentment and envyhere andthere, and before
  youknow ityour friendshipfades. The more favors andgifts yousupplyto
  revive thefriendship, thelessgratitude youreceive.
  Ingratitudehasalonganddeep history.Ithasdemonstrated itspowers
  for somany centuries, that itistruly amazing thatpeoplecontinue toun
  derestimate them. Better tobewary.Ifyounever expect gratitude from a
  friend, youwill bepleasantly surprisedwhen they doprove grateful.
  Theproblemwith usingorhiring friends isthat itwillinevitably limit
  your power. The friend israrelythe onewho ismost able tohelp you;and
  intheend, skill andcompetencearefarmore important thanfriendly feel-
  ings. (Michael Illhad amanright under his nose who would have steered
  himright andkept him alive: That man wasBardas.)
  Allworking situations requireakind ofdistance betweenpeople.You
  aretryingtowork, notmake friends; friendliness (real orfalse) only ob
  scores that fact. Thekey topower, then, istheabilitytojudgewho isbest
  able tofurther yourinterests inallsituations. Keep friends forfriendship,
  butwork with theskilled andcompetent.
  Your enemies, ontheother hand, are anuntapped goldmine thatyou
  must learn toexploit.


TxText:
  When Talleyrancl, Napc-leon's foreign minister, de-
  cided in1807 that hisboss wasleading France toruin, and the time had
  come toturn against him, heunderstood thedangers ofconspiring against
  theemperor; heneeded apartner,aconfederate-——-what friend could he
  trust insuch aproject?Hechose Joseph Fouché, head ofthe secret police,
  hismost hatedenemy,aman who had even tried tohave him assassinated.
  Heknew that their former hatred would create anopportunityfor anemo~
  tional reconciliation. Heknew that Fouché would expect nothingfrom
  him, and infact would work toprovethat hewasworthyofTalleyra.nd's
  choice; apersonwho hassomethingtoprove will move mountains foryou.
  Finally, heknew that hisrelationshipwith Fouché would bebased onmu-
  tualselfiinterest, and would notbecontaminated bypersonal feeling.The
  selection proved perfect; although theconspirators did notsucceed intop-
  pling Napoleon,theunion ofsuch powerfulbutunlikely partners gener-
  ated much interest inthecause; oppositiontotheemperor slowly beganto
  spread.And from then on,Talleyi-and and Fouché had a.fruitful working
  relationship.Wheneveryou can,burythehatchet with anenemy,and
  make apointofputtinghim inyourservice.V
  AsLincoln said, youdestroyanenemywhenyoumake afriend of
  him. In1971, duringtheVietnam War, Henry Kissingerwas thetarget of
  anunsuccessful kidnapping attempt,aconspiracy involving, among others,
  therenowned antiwar activist priests theBerrigan brothers, four more
  Catholic priests,and four nuns. Inprivate,without informingtheSecret
  Service orthejustice Department, Kissinger arrangedaSaturday-morning
  meeting with three ofthealleged kidnappers. Explaining tohisguests that
  hewould have most American soldiers outofVietnam bymid-1972, he
  completelycharmed them. They gave him some “Kidnap Kissinger” but»
  tons and one ofthem remained afriend ofhisforyears, visiting him on
  several occasions. This was notjust8.onetime ploy: Kissinger made apol-
  icyofworking with those who disagreed with him. Colleaguescommented


TxText:
  that heseemed togetalongbetter with hisenemies than with hisfriends.
  Without enemies around us, wegrow lazy. Anenemyatour heels
  sharpensour wits, keepingusfocused and alert. Itissometimes better,l'li()l'l'l'l\A'» l\l\'tilIf
  I'.\l.\1||2$
  King Iliero clumceri
  uponittime. .vpeakin_;,r
  with one()f]'1tS
  enemies. tobetold ina
  rrproaclifulrmzrzrmr
  that hehadstinking
  brculli. lrV/wrc'upon the
  good kmg, bring some-
  whrzz di.9:rza_wd in
  Izim.ve'I/I assoon ashe
  mtlrrnmi hanw chided
  hiswife, “How does it
  Imppm Ihm you never
  told me0/'this pm!»
  (em?"The wonum.
  bringasimple. chrlsir,
  um! hrrwnivss rlame,
  Said. “Sir, I/um'thought
  allmax klmazniz imri
  smaller! so."Thus itis
  plain thatfaults that
  areevzdml lothe
  senses. gross'and
  corpu/'u!,orotherwise
  noiorrous tntheworld.
  weknow byour
  e'm°mim Sooner than
  byum'frieml.s and
  familiar;
  PLUTARCII.
  c.A.I). 46-120
  LAW 2 13
  14 LAW 2then, touseenemies asenemies rather than transforming them into friends
  orallies.
  Mao Tse-tungsawconflict askeyinhisapproachtopower.In1937 the
  Japanese invaded China, i.nte.rrupi:i:ugthe aim'! war between Mods Com-
  munists andtheir enemy, theNationalists.
  Fearingthat theJapanesewould wipe them out, some Communist
  leaders advocated leaving theNationalists tofighttheJapanese,andusing
  thetime torecuperate.Mao disagreed:TheJapanesecould notpossibly
  defeat andoccupyavastcountry like China forlong. Once they left, the
  Communists would havegrown rusty iftheyhad been outofcombat for
  severalyears,and would beillpreparedtoreopentheir struggle with the
  Nationalists. Tofightaformidable foelike theJapanese,infact, would be
  theperfect trainingforthe Communists' ragtag army.Mao's planwas
  adopted,and itworked: Bythe time theJapanese finally retreated, the
  Communists hadgained thefighting experiencethathelpedthem defeat
  theNationalists.
  Years later, aJapanesevisitor tried toapologizetoMao forhis coun-


TxText:
  try'sinvasion ofChina. Mao interrupted, “Should Inot thankyouin»
  stead?” Without aworthy opponent,heexplained,aman orgroupcannot
  grow stronger.
  Mao's strategyofconstant conflict has several keycomponents. First,
  becertain that inthelongrunyou willemergevictorious. Never picka
  fight with someone youare not sure youcan defeat, asMao knew the
  Japanesewould bedefeated intime. Second, ifyouhave noapparentene-
  mies, youmust sometimes setupaconvenient target,even turningafriend
  into anenemy.Mao used this tactic time andagaininpolitics. Third, use
  such enemies todefine yourcause more clearly tothepublic,even framing
  itasastruggle ofgood againstevil. Mao actually encouragedChi.na's dis
  agreements with theSoviet Union and theUnited States; without clear-cut
  enemies, hebelieved, hispeople would loseanysense ofwhat Chinese
  Communism meant Asharplydefined enemy isafarstronger argument
  foryourside than allthewordsyou could possibly puttogether.
  Never letthepresence ofenemies upsetordistressyou—youarefar
  better offwith adeclared opponentortwo than notknowing where your
  real enemies lie.The man ofpowerwelcomes conflict, usingenemies to
  enhance hisreputationasasurefoobed fighter who can berelieduponin
  times ofuncertainty.
  Image: ThejawsofIngrzttitude.
  Knowingwhat would happen
  ifyou putafinger in
  themouth ofalion,
  youwould stay
  clear ofit.
  VVith friends
  you will have
  nosuch caution, and
  ifyou hire them, they will
  eatyoualive with ingratitude.Authority:
  Know how to use
  enemies foryourown
  profit.You must learn tograbat
  sword notbyitsblade, which would
  cutyou, butbythehandle, which allows
  youtodefend yourself.The wise man
  profitsmore from hisenemies,
  than afool from hisfriends.
  (BaltasarGraciz'1n,
  16 0 1—16 58)
  REVE RSA L
  Althoughitisgenerallybest not tomix work with friendship, there are
  times when afriend can beused togreatereffect than anenemy. Aman of
  power,forexample,often hasdirty work that has tobedone, butforthe
  sake ofappearances itisgenerally preferabletohave other peopledoitfor


TxText:
  him; friends often dothisthebest, since their afiection forhim makes them
  willingtotake chances. Also, ifyour plans goawryfor some reason, you
  can use afriend asaconvenient scapegoat.This “fall ofthefavorite” was a
  trick often used bykingsandsovereigns: Theywould lettheir closest friend
  atcourt take thefallfor amistake, since thepublic would notbelieve that
  theywould deliberately sacrifice afriend forsuch apurpose. Ofcourse,
  afteryouplaythatcard, youhave lostyourfriend forever. Itisbest, then, to
  reserve thescapegoat role for someone who isclose toyou but not too
  close.
  Finally,theproblemabout working with friends isthat itconfuses the
  boundaries and distances thatworking requires.Butifboth partnersinthe
  arrangement understand thedangers involved, afriend often can beem-
  ployedtogreat effect. You must never letyour guard down insuch aven-
  ture, however; alwaysbe onthe lookout forany signs ofemotional
  disturbance such asenvyandingratitude. Nothingisstable intherealm of
  power,and even theclosest offriends canbetransformed into theworst of
  enernies.
  LAW 2 15
  16LAW
  CONCEAL YOUR
  INTENTIONS
  JUDGMENT
  Keep people ojfbalanccand inthedarkbynever reveal-
  ingthepurposebehindyouractions. Iftheyhave noclue
  what youareupto,theycannotprepmzzcldefense.Guide
  themfarenoughdown thewrong path, mzrelopthem in
  enough smoke, andbythetime theyrealize yourinten-
  tions, itwill betoolate.
  PART I:USE DECOYED OBJECTS OFDESIRE AND RED
  HERRINGS TOTHROW PEOPLE OFF THE SCENT
  Ifatanypointinthedeception youpractice peoplehave theslightest suspi-
  eion astoyour intentions, allislost. Donotgivethem thechance tosense
  whatyouareupto:Throw them offthe seen! bydragging mlherrings
  across thepath.Usefalse sincerity,send ambiguous signals,setupmis—
  leading objects 0]'desire. Unable todistinguishthegenuine fmm thefalse,
  thrgrccmnat pickoutyourvealgoal.
  TRANSGRESSION OFTHE LAW
  Over several weeks, Ninon deLenclos, the most infamous courtesan of
  seventeentlrcentury France, listened patientlyastheMarquis deSevigné
  explained hisstruggles inpursuingabeautiful butdifficult youngcountess.
  Ninon wassixty~twoatthetime, and more than experiencedinmatters of
  love; themarquiswas aladoftwenty-two, handsome, dashing, buthope
  lessly inexperiencedinromance.


TxText:
  Atfirst Ninon was amused tohear the
  marquistalkabout hismistakes, butfinally shehad had enough. Unable to
  bear ineptitudeinanyrealm, least ofallinseducingawoman, shedecided
  totake theyoungman under herwing. First, hehad tounderstand that this
  was war, and that thebeautiful countess was[citadel towhich hehad to
  laysiegeascarefullyasanygeneral. Every step had tobeplanned and exe-
  cuted with theutmost attention todetail and nuance.
  Instructing themarquistostart over, Ninon told him toapproach the
  countess with abitofdistance, anairofnonchalance. The next time the
  two were alone together,shesaid, hewould confide inthe countess as
  would afriend but notva potentiallover. This was tothrow heroffthescent.
  The countess was nolongertotake hisinterest inherforgranted-perhaps
  hewasonlyinterested infriendship.
  Ninon plannedahead. Once the countess was confused, itwould be
  time tomake herjealous. Atthenext encounter, atamajorféte inParis, the
  marquis would show upwith abeautiful youngwoman athisside. This
  beautiful youngwoman hadequally beautiful friends, sothat wherever the
  countess would now seethemarquis, hewould besurrounded bythemost
  stunning youngwomen inParis. Notonlywould the countess beseething
  withjealousy,shewould come toseethemarquisassomeone who was de-
  sired byothers. Itwashard forNinon tomake themarquis understand, but
  shepatiently explained that awoman who isinterested inaman wants to
  seethat other women areinterested inhim, too. Notonlydoes thatgive
  him instant value, itmakes itallthe more satisfying tosnatch him from
  their clutches.
  Once the countess wasjealousbutintrigued,itwould betime tobe-
  guileher. OnNinon's instructions, themarquis would failtoshow upataf-
  fairs where the countess expectedtoseehim. Then, suddenly,hewould
  appearatsalons hehad never frequented before, butthat the countess at-
  LAW 3 I7
  18 LAW 3tended often. Shewould beunable topredict his moves. Allofthiswould
  push herinto the state ofemotional confusion that isaprerequisitefor sum
  cessful seduction.
  These moves were executed, and took several weeks.


TxText:
  Ninon moni-
  tored themarquis's progress: Through hernetwork ofspies,sheheard how
  the countess would laughalittle harder athiswitticisms, listen more
  closelytohisstories. Sheheard that the countess wassuddenly asking ques-
  tions about him. Her friends told her that atsocial affairs the countess
  would often lookupatthemarquis, following hissteps.Ninon feltcertain
  that theyoungwoman wasfallingunder hisspell. Itwas amatter ofweeks
  now, maybeamonth ortwo, butifallwent smoothly,thecitadel would
  fall.
  Afewdayslater themarquiswas atthecountess's home. Theywere
  alone. Suddenly hewas adifferent man: This time actingonhis own im—
  pulse,rather than following Ninon's instructions, hetook the countess's
  hands and told her he was inlove with her. Theyoungwoman seemed
  confused,3reaction hedid notexpect. She became polite,then excused
  herself. Forthe restoftheeveningsheavoided hiseyes,was notthere to
  saygoodnighttohim. The next few times hevisited he was told she was
  not athome. When shefinallyadmitted him again,thetwo feltawkward
  anduncomfortable with each other. Thespellwas broken.
  Interpretation
  Ninon deLenclos knew everything about theartoflove. The greatestwrit-
  ers,thinkers, andpoliticians ofthetime had been her lovers——men like La
  Rochefoucauld, Moliére, andRichelieu. Seduction was agame toher, tobe
  practiced with skill. Asshegotolder, and herreputation grew, the most im~
  portant families inFrance would send their sons toher tobeinstructed in
  matters oflove.
  Ninon knew that men and women arevery different, but when it
  comes toseduction they feelthe same: Deepdown inside, theyoften sense
  when theyarebeing seduced, butthey giveinbecause they enjoy thefeel-
  ingofbeingledalong. Itisapleasuretoletgo,and toallow theotherper-
  son todetouryouinto astrange country. Everythinginseduction,
  however, dependsonsuggestion. You cannot announce yourintentions or
  reveal them directlyinwords. Insteadyoumust throwyour targets offthe
  scent. Tosurrender toyour guidance theymust beappropriately confused.


TxText:
  You have toscrambleyour signals——~appea.r interested inanother man or
  woman (thedecoy),then hint atbeing interested inthetarget,then feign
  indifference, onand on.Such patternsnotonly confuse, they excite.
  Imagine thisstoryfrom thecountess's perspective:After afewofthe
  marquis's moves, she sensed themarquiswasplayingsome sort ofgame,
  butthegame delighted her. She did notknow where hewasleading her,
  but somuch thebetter. His moves intrigued her, each ofthem keeping her
  waitingforthenext one———she even enjoyedherjealousyandconfusion, for
  sometimesanyemotion isbe-tier than theboredom ofsecurity. Perhapsthe
  marquishadulterior motives; most men do.But she waswilling towait and
  see, andprobably ifshehad been made towaitlong enough,what hewas
  uptowould nothave mattered.
  The moment themarquisuttered that fatal word “love,” however, all
  waschanged.This was nolongeragame with moves, itwas anartless show
  ofpassion.His intention was revealed: He wasseducingher. This put
  everythinghehad done inanewlight. Allthat before had been charming
  now seemed uglyandconniving; the countess feltembarrassed and used.
  Adoor closed that would neveropen again.
  Donot beheld acheat, even though2'!isimpossible tolivetoday without beingone.
  Letyour greatest cunninglieincovering upwhat looks likecunning.
  l:ia.lm.s'm (]rzu'iz1u., I6/)1I658
  OBSERVANCE OFTHE LAW
  In1850 theyoungOtto vonBismarck, then athirty—five—yearvold deputyin
  thePrussian parliament,was ataturning pointinhis career. The issues of
  thedaywere theunification ofthemanystates (including Prussia) into
  which Germanywas then divided, and awaragainst Austria, thepowerful
  neighbor tothesouth thathopedtokeeptheGermans weak and atodds,
  even threateningtointervene iftheytried tounite. Prince William, next in
  line tobeP:ussia's king,was infavor ofgoingtowar, and theparliament
  rallied tothe cause, preparedtobackanymobilization oftroops.Theonly
  ones toopposewar were thepresent king,Frederick William IV, and his
  ministers, whopreferredtoappeasethepowerfulAustrians.


TxText:
  Throughouthis career, Bismarck had been aloyal,even passionate
  supporter ofPrussian mightandpower.Hedreamed ofGerman unifica-
  tion, ofgoingtowaragainstAustria andhumiliatingthecountrythatfor so
  longhadkept Germanydivided. Aformer soldier, hesaw warfare asaglo-
  rious business.
  This, after all, was the man whoyearslater wouldsay,“The great
  questions ofthetime will bedecided, notbyspeechesandresolutions, but
  byiron andblood.”
  Passionate patriotand lover ofmilitary glory,Bismarck nevertheless
  gaveaspeechinparliamentattheheight ofthe war fever that astonished
  allwho heard it“Woe unto thestatesman,” hesaid, “who makes war with-
  out areason thatwill stillbevalid when the war isover! After thewar, you
  will alllookdifferentlyatthese questions.Willyouthen have thecourage
  toturn tothepeasant contemplating theashes ofhisfarm, tothe man who
  has been crippled,tothefather who has lost hischildren?” Notonly did
  Bismarckgoontotalk ofthemadness ofthis war, but, strangest ofall,he
  praisedAustria and defended her actions. This went against everythinghe
  had stood for. Theconsequenceswere immediate. Bismarck wasagainst
  the wa.r——what could thispossiblymean? Other deputieswere confused,
  and several ofthem changed their votes. Eventuallythekingand hisminis-
  ters won out, and war was averted.
  Afew weeks after Bisma.rck's infamous speech,theking, gratefulthat
  LAW 3 19
  20 LAW 3hehadspoken forpeace, made him acabinet minister. Afewyearslater he
  became thePrussian premier. Inthisrole heeventuallyledhiscountry and
  a.peace-loving kinginto awaragainst Austria, crushingtheformer empire
  andestablishinga German state, with Prussia atitshead.
  lnterpretation
  Atthe time ofhisspeechin1850, Bismarck made several calculations.
  First, hesensed that thePrussian military, which had notkept pace with
  other European armies, wasunready forwar--that Austria, infact,might
  verywell win, adisastrous result forthefuture. Second, ifthe war were lost
  and Bismarck hadsupported it,his career would begravely jeopardized.
  Thekingand hisconservative ministers wantedpeace;Bismarck wanted
  power.


TxText:
  The answer was tothrow peopleoffthescent bysupportingacause
  hecletested, saying thingshewould laughatifsaidbyanother. Awhole
  countrywasfooled. Itwas because ofBismarck's speechthat theking made
  him aminister, atposition from which hequicklyrose tobeprime minister,
  attaining thepowertostrengthen the Prussian militaryand accomplish
  what hehad wanted allalong:thehumiliation ofAustria and theunifica»
  tion ofGermanyunder Prussia's leadership.
  Bismarck wascertainlyoneofthecleverest statesman who ever lived,
  amaster ofstrategyanddeception.No onesuspected what hewasuptoin
  this case. Had heannounced hisreal intentions, arguingthat itwas better
  towait now andfight later, hewould nothave won theargument,since
  most Prussians wanted war atthat moment andmistakenlybelieved that
  theirarmywassuperior totheAustrians. Had heplayed uptotheking,
  askingtobemade aminister inexchange forsupporting peace,hewould
  not have succeeded either: Theking would have distrusted hisambition
  and doubted hissincerity.
  Bybeing completelyinsincere andsending misleading signals,how-
  ever, hedeceivedeveryone, concealed hispurpose,and attainedevery-
  thing hewanted. Such isthepower ofhiding yourintentions.
  KEYS TO POWER
  Most peopleareopenbooks. They saywhat they feel, blurt outtheir opin-
  ions atevery opportunity,andconstantlyreveal their plansand intentions.
  Theydothisforseveral reasons. First, itiseasyand natural toalways want
  totalkabout one's feelingsandplans forthefuture. Ittakes effort tocontrol
  your tongue and monitor whatyoureveal. Second, many believe thatby
  beinghonest andopen theyarewinning people's hearts andshowing their
  good nature.Theyaregreatlydeluded. Honestyisactuallyablunt instru-
  ment, which bloodies more than itcuts. Your honestyislikelytooffend
  people;itismuch more prudenttotailor your words, telling peoplewhat
  theywant tohear rather than the coarse andugly truth ofwhatyoufeel or
  think. More important, bybeing unabashedly open youmake yourselfso
  predictable and familiar that itisalmost impossibletorespectorfearyou,
  andpower will not accrue toapersonwho cannot inspiresuch emotions.
  Ifyou yearn forpower, quickly layhonesty aside, and train yourselfin
  the artofconcealing yourintentions. Master the artandyouwillalways
  have theupper hand.


TxText:
  Basic toanabilitytoconceal one's intentions isa
  simple tmth about human nature: Our first instinct istoalwaystrustap-
  pearances.We cannotgoaround doubting thereality ofwhat we seeand
  hear—-constantly imagining thatappearances concealed something else
  would exhaust andterrifyus.This fact makes itrelatively easytoconceal
  one's intentions. Simply dangleanobject youseem todesire, agoal you
  seem toaimfor,infront ofpeople's eyesandtheywill take theappearance
  forreality. Once theireyesfocus onthedecoy, they will fail tonotice what
  youarereally upto.Inseduction, setupconflictinghsignals,such asdesire
  andindiiference, andyounotonly throw them offthescent, youinflame
  their desire topossess you.
  Atactic that isoften effective insetting uparedherringistoappearto
  supportanidea orcause that isactually contrarytoyourown sentiments.
  (Bismarck used this togreateffect inhisspeechin1850.) Most peoplewill
  believe youhave experiencedachange ofheart, since itissounusual to
  playsolightly with somethingasemotional asone's opinionsand values.
  The same applies foranydecoyed objectofdesire: Seem towant some-
  thinginwhichyouareactuallynot atallinterested and yourenemies will
  bethrown oilthescent. makingallkinds oferrors intheir calculations.
  During theWar oftheSpanish Succession in1711, theDuke ofMarl-
  borough,head oftheEnglish army,wanted todestroyakeyFrench fort,
  because itprotectedavitalthoroughfareinto France. Yetheknew thatifbe
  destroyed it,theFrench would realize what hewanted-to advance down
  that road. Instead, then, hemerely captured thefort, andgarrisoned itwith
  some ofhistroops, making itappearasifhewanted itforsome purposeof
  his own. The French attacked thefort and theduke letthemrecaptureit.
  Once theyhaditback, though, theydestroyed it,figuringthattheduke had
  wanted itfor some importantreason. Now that thefort wasgone,theroad
  wasunprotected, andMarlborough could easily march into France,
  Use this tactic inthefollowingmanner: Hide yourintentions notby
  closing up(with theriskofappearing secretive, andmaking people suspi-
  cious) butbytalking endlesslyabout yourdesires andgoals—~justnotyour
  real ones. You willkillthree birds with one stone: Youappear friendly,
  open,andtrusting; you conceal your intentions; and you sendyourrivals


TxText:
  ontimeconsuming wild~goose chases.
  Another powerful tool inthrowing peopleoh'the scent isfalse sincer-
  ity.People easilymjstake sincerityforhonesty. Remember-their firstin
  stinct istotrustappearances, and since theyvalue honesty and want to
  believe inthehonesty ofthose around them, they willrarelydoubt youor
  seethrough youract.Seeming tobelieve what you saygives your words
  great weight. This ishow Iagodeceived anddestroyed Othello: Given the
  depthofhisemotions, theapparent sincerityofhis concerns about Desde—
  rnona's supposed infidelity,how could Othello distrust him? This isalso
  how thegreatcon artist Yellow Kid Weil pulled thewool over suckers'
  eyes: Seemingtobelieve sodeeplyinthedecayed objecthewasdangling
  LAW 3,2]
  22fLAW 3infront ofthem (aphony stock,a.touted racehorse), hemade itsreality
  hard todoubt. Itisimportant, ofcourse, not togotoofarinthis area. Sin~
  cexity isatrickytool: Appear overpassionateandyou raise suspicions.Be
  measured and believable oryourruse will seem theput-onthat itis.
  Tomakeyourfalsesincerityaneffectiveweaponinconcealing your
  intentions, espouseabelief inhonesty andfertlirightnessasimportantso-
  cialvalues. Dothis aspubliclyaspossible. Emphasize your positiononthis
  subject byoccasionally divulgingsome heartfelt thought-though onlyone
  that isactually meaninglessorirrelevant, ofcourse. Napoleon";minister
  Talleyrandwas amaster attaking peopleinto hisconfidence byrevealing
  some apparentsecret. This feigned confidence——a decoy—-wouldthen
  elicit areal confidence ontheother person's part.
  Remember: The best deceivers doeverything theycan tocloak their
  [roguishqualities. They cultivate anairofhonesty inone area todisguise
  their dishonestyinothers. Honestyismerely another decoyintheir arsenal
  ofweapons.1
  r
  I
  5.-
  PART II:USE SMOKE SCREENS TO
  DISGUISE YOUR ACTIONS
  Deceptionisalwaysthebeststrategy, butthebestdeceptions requireascreen
  ofsmoke todistract peoplesattention from your realpurpose.The bland
  exterior—like theunreadable pokerface——is oftentheperfectsmoke screen,
  hiding your intentions behind thecomfortable andfamiliar Ifyoulead the
  sucker down afamiliar path,hewon 'tcatch onwhen youlead him into a
  trap.
  OBSERVANCE OFTHE LAW I
  In1910, aMr.


TxText:
  Sam Geezil ofChicago sold hiswarehouse business forclose
  to$1million. Hesettled down tosemiretirement and themanagingofhis
  many properties,butdeepinside heitched fortheolddays ofdeal-making.
  One dayayoungman named JosephWeil visited hisoffice, wantingtobuy
  anapartmenthehadupforsale. Geezil explainedtheterms: Thepricewas
  $8,000, but heonly requiredadown payment of$2,000. Weil said he
  would sleeponit,buthecame back thefollowing dayand offered topay
  thefull$8,000 incash, ifGeezil could wait acoupleofdays,until adeal
  Weil wasworkingoncame through.Even insemiretirement, aclever busi-
  nessman like Geezil was curious astohow Weil would beable tocomeup
  with somuch cash(roughly $150,000 today)soquickly.Wei] seemed reluc-
  tant tosay, andquickly changed thesubject, butGeezil waspersistent.Fi-
  nally,after assurances ofconfidentiality,Weil told Geezil thefollowing
  story.
  Weil's uncle was the secretaryto acoterie ofmultimillionaire fi-
  nanciers. These wealthy gentlemen had purchasedahunting lodge in
  Michigan tenyears ago, atacheap price. Theyhad notused thelodge for a
  fewyears,sotheyhad decided tosellitand had asked Weil's uncle toget
  whatever hecould forit.Forreasons——-good reasons—of hisown, theuncle
  had been nursingagrudge against themillionaires foryears;this was his
  chance togetback atthem. Hewould selltheproperty for$35,000 toaset-
  upman (whom itwas Weil's jobtofind). The financiers were toowealthyto
  worryabout thislowprice.Theset-upman would then turn around and
  selltheproperty again foritsrealprice,around $155,000. The uncle, Weil,
  and thethird man would splittheprofitsfrom this second sale. Itwas all
  legaland for agoodcause—the uncle's justretribution.
  Geezil had heard enough: Hewanted tobe the set-up buyer. Weil was
  reluctant toinvolve him, but Geezil would notback dovmz The idea ofa
  large profit, plusalittle adventure, had himchampingatthebit.Weil ex-
  plained that Geezil would have toputupthe$35,000 incash tobringthe
  deal off.


TxText:
  Geezil,amillionaire, said hecould getthemoney with asnap of
  hisfingers.Weil finally relented andagreedtoarrangeameetingbetween
  theuncle, Geezil, and the financiers, inthetown ofGalesburg,Illinois.
  On the train ride toGalesburg,Geezil met theuncle—a.nimpressive.||'Jlll .KIM? HI'lHIt.v\|"|,.
  Fl-'_l(l\.'* \l()RHll||' (ll~
  '|'l|I] ll)()l. liN\I.
  Then Jehu assembled
  allthepeople, and said
  (0them, “Ahab .\'erw¢a'
  Ba'tilalittle: bm.lelzu
  will serve him much
  nwre. Now therefore
  call tomeallthe
  prophets 0fBa'al, all
  hiswars/rippers will all
  hispri:?s1.\;letmme he
  mis.ring,f0r1 have a
  great mcrrifice tooffer
  /0Ba'ul; whoever is
  missing shall not live."
  Bu! Jehu diditwith
  rmming inunler to
  destroy theworship-
  persofBa'al.
  Am] Jehu orderell.
  “Sanctify asolemn
  as'seml>ly for Ba'al. So
  they procluinzerl it.And
  Jehu sen! throughout
  allIsrael: and allthe
  worshippers 0fBzI "al
  mine, sothat there was
  not amore leftwho (llll
  not come. Ami they
  entered thehouse of
  Ba'al. and thelmusc of
  Ba'41!wasfilled from
  one end totheotlmr. . . .
  Then Jehu went into
  Ihehouse ofBa'al…
  and heStlitl mthe
  worshippers of8u'al,
  “Search, and see
  that there isnoservant
  uftlze LORD here
  LAW :4 23
  rmumg you, butonly
  flu'ivurshipperx of
  Ba'u[,” Then hewent in
  tooffer sacrifices and
  burnt offeringx.
  Now Jeim had
  stationed eight;man
  outside, and said,“The
  man who allows anyof
  those whom [give into
  your hands toescape
  shall forfezt hislife."'So
  assoon ashehad made
  anandofoffcring the
  burnt offering, Jehu
  mill toIheguard and to
  theofficers, “Go inand
  slay rhem;le1 not aman
  escape.”


TxText:
  Sowhen they put them
  Inthe.s'word, Iheguard
  and theofficer: cast
  them umand went into
  theinner mom oflhe
  house of81111! and they
  broughtnmthepillar
  that war inthehouse of
  li'a'al and burned it
  Ami they demolished
  thepillar ofBa-'al arul
  deniolixired thehouse
  ofBa11!,and made it(1
  [amine tothisday.
  Thus Jclxu wipedmu
  Ba ':11from Israel.
  OLD TESTAMENT.
  2KINGS 10:18-28
  24 Law :1man, with whom heavidlydiscussed business. Weil alsobrought alonga
  companion,asomewhat paundiyman named GeorgeGross. Weil ex-
  plainedtoGeezil that hehimself was aboxing trainer, that Gross was one
  ofthepromising piizefightershetrained, and that hehad asked Gross to
  come alongtomake sure thefighter stayedinshape.For apromising
  fighter, Gross wasunimpressive looking—hehadgrayhair and abeer
  belly—butGeezil was soexcited about thedeal that hedidn't really think
  about theman's flabby appearance.
  Once inGalesburg, Weil and hisuncle went tofetch thefinanciers
  while Geezil waited inahotel room with Gross, whopromptly putonhis
  boxing trunks. AsGeezil half watched, Gross began toshadowbox. Dis-
  tracted ashewas, Geezil ignored howbadlytheboxer wheezed after afew
  minutes ofexercise, althoughhisstyleseemed realenough. Anhour later,
  Weil and hisuncle reappeared with thefinanciers, animpressive, intimidat
  inggmup ofmen, allwearing fancysuits. Themeeting went well and the fi-
  nanciers agreedtosell thelodge toGeezil, who had alreadyhad the
  $35,000 wired toalocal bank.
  This minor business now settled, thefinanciers satback intheir chairs
  andbegan tobanter about high finance, throwing outthe name 'f].P.Mor~
  gain”asifthey knew the man. Finallyoneofthem noticed theboxer inthe
  corner ofthe room. Weil explainedwhat hewasdoingthere. The financier
  countered that hetoohad aboxer inhisentourage, whom henamed. Weil
  laughed brazenlyand exclaimed that his man could easilyknock outtheir
  man. Conversation escalated into argument.


TxText:
  Intheheat ofpassion, Weil
  challenged the men toabet. The financiers eagerly agreedand lefttoget
  their man ready for afight thenext day.
  As soon astheyhad left, theuncle yelledatWeil, rightinfront of
  Geezil: They did not have enough moneytobetwith, and once thefi-
  nanciers discovered this, theuncle would befired. Weil apologizedforget»
  tinghim inthis mess, buthehad aplan:Heknew theother boxer well, and
  with alittle bribe, they could fixthefight.But where would themoney
  come from forthebet? theuncle replied.Without ittheywere asgoodas
  dead. FinallyGeezil had heard enough. Unwillingtojeopardizehisdeal
  withanyillwill, heoffered his own $35,000 cash forpart ofthebet. Even if
  helostthat, hewould wire for more moneyand stillmake a.profitonthe
  sale ofthelodge. The uncle andnephewthanked him. With their own
  $15,000 and Geezil's $35,000 they wouldmanagetohave enough forthe
  bet. That evening,asGeezil watched the two boxers rehearse thefixin
  thehotel room, hismind reeled atthekillinghewasgoingtomake from both
  theboxing match and thesaleofthelodge.
  Thefight took placeinagymthe next day. Well handled thecash,
  which wasplaced forsecurityinalocked box. Everythingwaspro»
  ceedingasplannedinthehotel room. The financiers were looking glumat
  howbadly their fighterwasdoing,andGeezil wasdreamingabout theeasy
  moneyhe was about tomake. Then, suddenly,awild swing bytheli-
  nai1cier's fighterhitGross hard intheface, knocking him down. When he
  hitthe canvas, blood spurted from hismouth. Hecoughed,then laystill.
  One ofthefinanciers, aformer doctor, checked hispulse;hewas dead. The
  millionaires panicked: Everyonehad togetoutbefore thepolicearrived-—
  they could allbechargedwith murder.
  Terrified, Geezil hightailed itoutofthegymand back toChicago, leav-
  ingbehind his$35,000 which hewasonlytoogladtoforget, foritseemed
  asmall pricetopaytoavoid being implicatedinacrime. He never wanted
  toseeWeil oranyoftheothersagain.
  After Geezil scurried out, Gross stoodup,under his own steam. The
  blood that hadspurted from hismouth came from aballfilled with chicken


TxText:
  blood and hot water that hehadhidden inhischeek. The whole affair had
  been masterminded byWeil, better known as“the Yellow Kid,” oneofthe
  most creative con artists inhistory.Weil splitthe$35,000 with the fi-
  nanciers and theboxers (allfellow cona:u'sts)—a nice littleprofit for afew
  days' work.
  Interpretation
  The Yellow Kid had staked outGeezil astheperfect sucker long before he
  setupthe con. Heknew theboxingmatchscam would betheperfectruse
  toseparateGeezil from hismoney quicklyanddefinitively.But healso
  knew thatifhehadbegun bytryingtointerest Geezil intheboxing match,
  hewould have failed miserably.Hehad toconceal hisintentions and
  switch attention, create asmoke screen-—-in this case thesale ofthelodge.
  Onthetrain ride and inthehotel room Geezil's mind had been com-
  pletely occupiedwith thepending deal, theeasy money,the chance to
  hobnob with wealthymen. Hehad failed tonotice that Gross was outof
  shapeandmiddle-agedatbest. Such isthedistracting powerofasmoke
  screen. Engrossedinthe business deal, Gee-zil's attention waseasilydi—
  verted totheboxing match, butonlyatapointwhen itwasalready toolate
  forhim tonotice thedetails that would have given Grossaway.The match,
  after all,now dependedonabribe rather than ontheboxer's physicalcondi~
  lion. And Geezil was sodistracted attheendbytheillusion oftheboxer's death
  that hecompletely forgot about hismoney.
  Learn from theYellow Kid: The familiar, inconspicuousfront isthe
  perfect smoke screen. Approach yourmark with anidea that seems ordi~
  nary enough—a business deal, financial intrigue.The sucker's mind isdis
  tracted, hissuspicions allayed. That iswhen yougently guidehim onto the
  second path,theslippery slope down which heslides helplesslyinto your
  trap.
  OBSERVANCE OFTHE LAW II
  Inthemid-1920s, thepowerful warlords ofEthiopiawere comingtothe re-
  alization that ayoungman ofthenobility named Haile Selassie, also
  known asRas Tafari, wasoutcompetingthem allandnearingthepoint


TxText:
  where hecould proclaim himself their leader, unifyingthecountry forthe
  first time indecades. Most ofhisrivals could not understand how this
  wispy,'quiet,mild—mannered man had been able totake control. Yetin?:l:\llAI\' :\tIIi']SS THE
  (Nl'Ll\.\ l\BROAD
  I)-'\\'l.l(;llT
  This means tocreate :1
  from thateventually
  becomes imbued with
  flilfl[VflDSfl/IE7? 0!
  irrtpresxian nffamilizzb
  ily,within which the
  strategist may mcmeu-
  ver unseen while all
  eyesaretrained tosea
  obn'mrs faniiliarities.
  “'l'!ilE 'mmTv-six
  sTR;n'r.Gn-5.“ QUOTET) rs
  TH]: JAPANESE ARI' Ul“
  WAR.
  THOMAS Crmsv, 1991
  26 LAW 31927, Selassie was able tosummon thewarlords, one atatime, tocome to
  Amldis Ababa todeclare their loyaltyandrecognize him asleader.
  Some hurried, some hesitated, butonly one, DejazmachBalcha of
  Sidamo, dareddefySelassie totally.Ablustery man, Balcha was agreat
  warrior, and heconsidered the new leader weak andunworthy.Hepoint-
  edly stayed away from thecapital. Finally Selassie, inhisgentle but stern
  way,commanded Balcha tocome. The warlord decided toobey,butin
  doingsohewould turn the tables onthispretendertotheEthiopian
  throne: Hewould come toAddis Ababa athis own speed,and with an
  army of10,000 men,a.force large enoughtodefend himself, perhapseven
  start acivil war. Stationing this formidable force inavalleythree miles
  from thecapital,hewaited, asakingwould. Selassie would have tocome
  tohim.
  Selassie didindeed send emissaries, askingBalcha toattend anafter»
  noon banquetinhishonor. ButBalcha, nofool, knew history—heknew
  that previous kings and lords ofEthiopiahad used banquetsas atrap.
  Once hewas there and fullofdrink, Selassie would have him arrested or
  murdered. Tosignalhisunderstanding ofthesituation, heagreedtocome
  tothebanquet,butonlyifhecould bringhispersonal b0dyguaId—-500 of
  hisbest soldiers, allarmed andreadytodefend him and themselves. To


TxText:
  Balcha's surprise, Selassie answered with the utmost politeness that he
  would behonored toplayhost tosuch warriors.
  On thewaytothebanquet,Balcha warned hissoldiers not toget
  drunk and tobeontheir guard. When theyarrived atthepalace, Selassie
  was hischarmingbest. Hedeferred toBalcha, treated him asifhedesper-
  atelyneeded hisapprovaland cooperation.But Balcha refused tobe
  charmed, and hewarned Selassie thatifhedidnot return tohiscamp by
  nightfall,hisarmyhad orders toattack thecapital.Selassie reacted asif
  hurtbyhismistrust. Over themeal, when itcame time forthetraditional
  singing ofsongs inhonor ofEthiopia's leaders, hemade a.point ofallowing
  only songs honoringthewarlord ofSidarno. Itseemed toBalcha that Se»
  lassie was scared, intimidated bythisgreat warrior who could notbeout-
  wittecl. Sensing thechange, Balcha believed that hewould bethe one to
  call theshots inthedaystocome.
  Attheend oftheafternoon, Balcha and hissoldiers begantheir march
  back tocampamidst cheers and gun salutes. Lookingback tothecapital
  over hisshoulder, heplannedhisstrategy—-howhis own soldiers would
  march through thecapitalintriumph within weeks, and Selassie would be
  putinhisplace,hisplace beingeither prisonordeath. When Balcha came
  insightofhiscamp, however, he saw thatsomethingwasterribly wrong.
  Where before there had been colorful tents stretchingasfar astheeye
  could see, now there wasnothing, onlysmoke from doused fires. What
  devil's magicwas this?
  Awitness told Balcha what hadhappened. Duringthebanquet,alarge
  army, commanded byanallyofSelassie's, had stolen uponBalcha's en-
  campment byaside route hehad not seen. Thisarmyhad not come to
  light,however: Knowingthat Balcha would/haveheard anoisybattle and
  hurried back with his600-man bodyguard,Selassie had.armed his own
  troopswith baskets ofgoldand cash. Theyhad surrounded Balcha'sarmy
  andproceededtopurchase everylast oneoftheirweapons.Those who re»
  fused were easily intimidated. Within afewhours, Balcha's entire force had
  been disarmed and scattered inalldirections.


TxText:
  Realizinghisdanger,Balcha decided tomarch south with his600 sol-
  diers toregroup, butthe same army that had disarmed hissoldiers blocked
  hisway.The otherwayout was tomarch onthecapital, but Selassie had set
  alarge armytodefend it.Like achess player,hehadpredictedBalcha's
  moves, and had checkmatecl him. Forthefirst time inhislife, Balcha sur-
  rendered. Torepenthis sins ofprideandambition, heagreed toenter a
  monastery.'
  Interpretation
  ThroughoutSelassie's long reign,no one could quite figure him out.
  Ethiopianslike their leaders fierce, butSelassie, who wore thefront ofa
  gentle, peaceloving man, lasted longer thananyofthem. Neverangryor
  impatient,helured hisvictims with sweet smiles, lulling them with charm
  andobsequiousnessbefore heattacked. Inthe case ofBalcha, Selassie
  playedontheman's wariness, hissuspicion that thebanquetwas atrap—
  which infactitwas, butnotthe one heexpected.Selassie'sway ofallaying
  Balcha's fears—letting himbringhisbodyguardtothebanquet, givinghim
  topbilling there, making him feelincontro1—-created athick smoke screen,
  concealingthereal action three milesaway.
  Remember: Theparanoidandwaryareoften the easiest todeceive.
  Win their trust inone area andyou have asmoke screen that blinds their
  View inanother, letting you creep upand level them with adevastating
  blow. Ahelpfulorapparentlyhonest gesture,orone thatimplies theother
  persorfs supen'ority——theseareperfect diversionarydevices.
  Properlysetup,thesmoke screen isaweapon ofgreat power.Iten-
  abled thegentle Selassie tototally destroyhisenemy, without firingasingle
  bullet.
  Donotunderestimate thepower ofTafari.Hecreefis
  like amouse but hehasjawslike alion.
  fimlrim n/'Sidmn.o'.s last ruarzls' be/ima erztmzivcgthez:rnn.a.stary
  KEYS TO POWER
  Ifyoubelieve that deceivers arecolorful folk who mislead with elaborate
  liesand talltales, youaregreatly mistaken. The best deceivers utilize a
  bland andinconspicuous front that calls noattention tothemselves. They
  know thatextravagantwords andgestures immediately raise suspicion.In-


TxText:
  stead, they envelop their marlc inthefamiliar, thebanal, theha.rmless. In
  Yellow Kid Weil's dealingswith Sam Geezil, thefamiliar was abusiness
  deal. IntheEthiopian case, itwas Selassie's misleading obsequiousness—
  exactlywhat'Balcha. would have expected from aweaker warlord.
  LAW 3 27
  LAW 3Once youhave lulledyoursuckers' attention with thefamiliar, they
  will not notice thedeception being perpetratedbehind their backs. This
  derives from asimpletruth: peoplecanonly focus ononethingatatime. It
  isreallytoodifficult for them toimaginethat thebland and harmlessper~
  sontheyaredealingwith issimultaneously setting upsomething else. The
  grayer and more uniform thesmoke inyoursmoke screen, thebetter it
  concealsyourintentions. Inthedecoyand redherringdevices discussed in
  Part I,youactively distract people;inthesmoke screen, youlullyourvic-
  tims, drawingthem intoyour web. Because itissohypnotic,this isoften
  thebestway ofconcealing yourintentions.
  Thesimplest form ofsmoke screen isfacial expression. Behind abland,
  unreadable exterior, allsorts ofmayhemcanbeplanned,without detection.
  This isaweaponthat themost powerfulmen inhistoryhave learned toper-
  fect. Itwas said that noone could read Franklin D.Roosevelfs face. Baron
  jamesRothschild made alifelong practice ofdisguisinghisrealthoughts be
  hind bland smiles andnondescriptlooks. Stendhal wrote ofTalleyrand,
  “Never was aface lessofabarometer.” Henry Kissinger would bore hisop—
  ponentsaround thenegotiating table totears with hismonotonous voice,
  hisblank look, hisendless recitations ofdetails; then, astheireyes glazed
  over, hewould suddenlyhitthem with alistofbold terms. Caughtoff»
  guard, theywould beeasily intimidated. As onepokermanual explains it,
  “While playinghishand, thegood playerisseldom anactor. Instead he
  practicesabland behavior that minimizes readable patterns,frustrates and
  confuses opponents, permits greaterconcentration,”
  Anadaptable concept,thesmoke screen can bepracticedon anum-
  beroflevels, allplayingonthepsychological principlesofdistraction and
  misdirection. One ofthe most effective smoke screens isthe noblegesture.
  Peoplewant tobelieve apparently noble gesturesaregenuine, forthebelief
  ispleasant. They rarely notice how deceptivethese gesturescan be.


TxText:
  The artdealerjoseph Duveen was once confronted with aterrible prob-
  lem. The millionaires who hadpaidsodearlyforDuveen's paintingswere
  runningoutofwall space, andwith inheritance taxes gettingever higher,it
  seemed unlikelythatthey would keep buying. The solution wastheNational
  Gallery ofArtinWashington, D.C., which Duveen helpedcreate in1937by
  getting Andrew Mellon todonate hiscollection toit.The National Gallery
  was theperfect front forDuveen. Inone gesture, hisclients avoided taxes,
  cleared wallspacefor new purchases,and reduced thenumber ofpaintings
  onthemarket, maintaining theupward pressureontheir prices. Allthis
  while thedonors created theappearance ofbeing publicbenefactors.
  Another effective smoke screen isthepattern, theestablishment ofase
  riesofactions that seduce thevictim intobelieving youwill continue inthe
  same way. Thepattern playsonthepsychology ofanticipation: Our behav~
  iorconforms topatterns,orsowelike tothink.
  In1878 theAmerican robber baronjay Gould created acompanythat
  began tothreaten themonopoly ofthetelegraph companyWestern Union.
  The directors ofWestern Union decided tobuy Gould'scompany up-
  theyhad tospendahefty sum, butthey figured theyhadmanagedtorid
  themselves ofanirritating competitor.Afewmonths later, though,Gould
  wasitatagain, complaininghehad been treated unfairly. Hestartedupa
  second companytocompetewith Western Union and itsnew acquisition.
  The same thing happened again:Western Union bought him out toshut
  himup.Soon thepattern began forthethird time, but now Gould went for
  thejugular: Hesuddenly stagedabloodytakeover struggleandmanaged
  togain complete control ofWestern Union. Hehad established apattern
  that had tricked thecompany'sdirectors intothinking hisgoalwas tobe
  boughtout atahandsome rate. Once theypaidhim off,they relaxed and
  failed tonotice that hewasactually playing forhigher stakes. The patternis
  powerfulinthat itdeceives theotherpersonintoexpecting theopposite of
  whatyouarereally doing.
  Anotlier psychologicalweakness onwhich toconstruct asmoke screen
  isthetendencytomistakeappearances forreality-——the feeling thatifsome-
  one seems tobelongtoyour group,their belongingmust bereal. This habit
  makes theseamless blend averyeffective front. The trick issimple:You sim«


TxText:
  plyblend inwith those aroundyou.The betteryoublend, the lesssuspi-
  cious youbecome. DuringtheCold War ofthe 1950s and '60s, asisnow
  notorious, aslew ofBritish civil servants passedsecrets totheSoviets. They
  went undetected foryears because theywere apparentlydecent chaps, had
  gonetoalltheright schools, andlittheoldvboynetwork perfectly.Blend~
  inginistheperfect smoke screen forspying.The betteryou doit,thebet-
  teryoucanconceal yourintentions.
  Remember: Ittakes patienceandhumilitytodullyourbrilliant colors,
  toputonthemask oftheinconspicuous. Donotdespairathavingtowear
  such abland rnask~—it isoftenyour unreadabilitythat draws peopletoyou
  and makes you appearaperson ofpower.
  Image: ASheep's Skin.
  Asheepnever marauds,
  asheepnever deceives,
  asheepismagnificently
  dumb and docile. With a
  sheepskinonhisback,
  afox can pass right
  into thechicken coop.
  Authority:Have youever heard ofaskillful general,who intends to
  surpriseacitadel, announcinghisplantohisenemy?Concealyour
  purposeand hideyour progress;donot disclose the extent ofyour
  designs until theycannot beopposed. until thecombat isover. Win
  thevictorybeforeyoudeclare the war. Inaword, imitate those walk
  likepeoplewhose designsare notknown except bytheravagedcoun—
  trythrough which they have passed. (NinoncleLenclos, 16234706)
  LAW 3$29
  30 LAW 3REVERSAL
  Nosmoke screen, redherring,false sincerity,oranyother diversionaryde-
  vice will succeed inconcealing yourintentions ifyoualreadyhave an es-
  tablished reputationfordeception.And asyou getolder and achieve
  success, itoften becomes increasinglydifficult todisguise your cunning.
  Everyoneknowsyoupractice deception; persistinplayingnaive andyou
  run the risk ofseeming therankest hypocrite,which willseverely limit
  yourroom tomaneuver. Insuch cases itisbetter toownup,toappearthe
  honest rogue, or,better, therepentant rogue. Notonly willyoubeadmired
  foryour frankness, but, most wonderful and strangeofall,youwill beable
  tocontinue your stratagems.
  AsP.T.Barnum, thenineteenth-century king ofhumbuggery, grew
  older, helearned toembrace hisreputationasagrand deceiver. At one
  pointheorganizedabuffalo hunt inNew jersey, complete with Indians
  and afewimported buffalo. Hepublicizedthehunt asgenuine,butitcame
  off assocompletelyfake that thecrowd, instead ofgetting angryand ask-
  ingfortheirmoney back, wasgreatlyamused. Theyknew Barnum pulled


TxText:
  t:ricks allthetime; that was the secret ofhissuccess, andthey loved him for
  it.Learningalesson from thisaffair, Barnum stopped concealingallofhis
  devices, even revealing hisdeceptionsin atell—all autobiography.As
  Kierkegaard wrote, “The world wants tobedeceived.”
  Finally, althoughitiswiser todivert attention from your purposes by
  presentingabland, familiar exterior, there are times when thecolorful,
  conspicuous gestureistheright diversionarytactic. The great charlatan
  mountebanks ofseventeenth- andeighteenth-century Europeused humor
  and entertainment todeceive their audiences. Dazzled byagreat show, the
  public would notnotice thecharlatans' real intentions. Thus the star charla-
  tanhimself wouldappearintown inanight-blackcoach drawn byblack
  horses. Clowns, tightrope walkers, and star entertainers wouldaccompany
  him, pulling peopleintohisdemonstrations ofelixirs andquack potions.
  The charlatan made entertainment seem like thebusiness oftheday;the
  business ofthedaywasactuallythesale oftheelixirs andquack potions.
  Spectacleand entertainment, clearly,areexcellent devices toconceal
  your intentions, buttheycannot beused indefinitely. The public grows
  tired andsuspicious, andeventuallycatches ontothetrick. And indeed the
  charlatans had tomove quicklyfrom town totown, before wordspread
  that thepotionswere useless and theentertainment atrick. Powerfulpeo-
  plewith bland exteriors, ontheother hand—the Talleyrands,theRoth-
  schilds, the Selassies—can practice their deceptionsinthe same place
  throughout their lifetimes. Their act never wears thin, andrarelycauses
  suspicion.The colorful smoke screen should beused cautiously, then, and
  onlywhen theoccasion isright.
  LAW
  ALWAYS SAY LESS
  THAN NECESSARY
  _jUDGMENT
  Whenyouaretryingtoimpress peoplewith words, the
  moreyou say,the move commonyouappearand theless
  incontrol. Evenyouaresaying something banal, itwill
  seem miginal youmake itvague, open—ended,and
  sphinxlike. Powerful people impressand intimidateby\
  sayingless. The moreyou say,the more likely youme to
  saysomething foolish.
  Down, onhisluck, [the
  S(3l'e(?flWflf(<'Y] Mirrhuel
  Arlm wmt to/Vow
  York in1944.


TxText:
  T2)drown
  l1is.s'¢2rrow.s' hepaid11
  VlSlI tothefamous
  restaurant “2I." Inthe
  lobby,heraninto Sam
  Goldwyn, who offered
  Ihcsomewhat impracti-
  caladvice that he
  should buy mcelzorsex
  A!thebox./irien met
  Louis 8.Mayer.anold
  acquaintance, who
  asked him what were
  hisplans forthefuture.
  ''Iwasjusttalking to
  Sam Goldwyn. .
  began Arlen. "How
  much didheoffer
  you?"ziiterruptcd
  Mayer. “Not enough,"
  hereplied evusively.
  “Would you take fifteen
  ihousami forthirty
  wt-ek5?”uskcd Mayer.
  Nohesitation this time.
  “Yes"said Arlen.
  rm:urns, snows
  300K or ANF.('D(]TES.
  CLIFTON FADIMAN.
  Fan, 1985
  Om'oft-will taleabout
  Kissinger‥ .
  involved areport that
  l'Vimrtrm Lord had
  worked' onfordays.
  Afiter giving itto
  Kissinger,hegotit
  baclc with thenotation,
  “Isthis thebest you
  canIla?” Lord rowrote
  and polLx'l2ez1 and
  finallyI'(<'SMlNYliI!(¢(.l it,'
  back 11came with the
  same curl question.
  After rellmfting itone
  more n'me—and once
  again getting the same
  32 LAW 4TRANSGRESSION OFTHE LAW
  Gnaeus Marcius, also known asCoriolanus, was agreat militaryhero of
  ancient Rome. Inthefirsthalf ofthefifthcenturyB.C. hewon many impor-
  tantbattles, savingthecityfrom calamitytime and timeagain.Because he
  spentmost ofhistime onthebattlefield, fewRomans knew himpersonally,
  makinghimsomething ofalegendary figure.
  In454 B.C., Coriolanus decided itwas time toexploithisreputation
  and enter politics. Hestood forelection tothehigh rank ofconsul. Candi—
  dates forthisposition traditionally made apublicaddress early inthe race,
  and when Coriolanus came before thepeople,hebegan bydisplaying the
  dozens ofscars hehad accumulated over seventeen years offighting for
  Rome. Few inthecrowd really heard thelengthy speech that followed;
  those scars, proof ofhisvalor andpatriotism, moved thepeopletotears.
  Coriola.nus's election seemed certain.


TxText:
  When thepolling day arrived, however, Coriolanus made anentry
  into theforum escorted bytheentire senate andbythecity's patricians,the
  aristocracy. The common peoplewho saw this were disturbed bysuch a
  blusteringshow ofconfidence onelection day.
  And then Coriolanus spoke again, mostly addressingthewealthyciti-
  zens who hadaccompanied him. Hiswords were arrogantand insolent.
  Claimingcertain victoryinthevote, heboasted ofhisbattlefield exploits,
  made sourjokesthatappealed onlytothepatricians,voiced angryaccuser»
  tions against hisopponents, andspeculatedontheriches hewould bringto
  Rome. This time thepeople listened: Theyhad notrealized that thisleg-
  endary soldier was also acommon braggart.
  News ofCoriolanus's second speech spread quickly through Rome,
  and thepeopleturned out ingreat numbers tomake sure he was not
  elected. Defeated, Coriolanus returned tothebattlefield, bitter andvowing
  revengeonthe common folk who hadvoted against him. Some weeks later
  alarge shipmentofgrain arrived inRome. The senate wasreadytodistrib~
  utethisfood tothepeople,forfree, butjustastheywere preparingtovote
  onthequestion Coriolanus appearedonthe scene and took the senate
  floor. The distribution, heargued, would have a.harmful effect onthecity
  asawhole. Several senators appearedwon over, and thevote onthedistri-
  bution fellinto doubt. Coiiolanus did notstop there: Hewent ontocon—
  demo theconceptofdemocracyitself. Headvocated getting ridofthe
  people's represen!atives—thetribunes-—-and turningover thegoverningof
  thecitytothepatricians.
  When word ofCoriolanus's latest speech reached thepeople,their
  anger knew nobounds. The tribunes were sent tothe senate todemand
  that Coriolanusappearbefore them. Herefused. Riots broke outallover
  thecity. The senate, fearingthepeople's wrath, finally voted infavor ofthe
  grain distribution. The tribunes were appeased,but thepeoplestilldo
  manded that Coriolanus speaktothem andapologize. Ifherepented, and
  agreedtokeephisopinionstohimself, hewould beallowed toreturn to
  thebattlefield.
  Coriolanus didappearone lasttime before thepeople, who listened to
  him inraptsilence. Hestarted slowly andsoftly,but asthespeechwent on,


TxText:
  hebecame more and more blunt. Yetagainhehurled insults! His tone was
  arrogant,hisexpressiondisdainful. The more hespoke,theangtier the
  peoplebecame. Finally theyshouted him down and silenced him.
  The tribunes conferred, condemned Coriolanus todeath, and ordered
  themagistratestotake him atonce tothetopoftheTitrpeianrock and
  throw him over. The delighted crowd seconded thedecision. The patri-
  cians, however, managedtointervene, and the sentence was commuted to
  alifelong banishment. When thepeoplefound outthat Rome's great mili-
  tary hero would never retum tothecity, they celebrated inthe streets. In
  fact no one had ever seen web acelebration, not even after thedefeat ofa
  foreign enemy.
  Interpretation
  Before hisentrance intopolitics,the name ofCoriolanus evoked awe.
  Hisbattlefield accomplishmentsshowed him asaman ofgreat brav-
  ery.Since thecitizens knew little about him, allkinds oflegendsbecame at-
  tached tohis name. The moment heappearedbefore theRoman citizens,
  however, andspokehismind, allthatgrandeur andmysteryvanished. He
  braggedand blustered like acommon soldier. Heinsulted and slandered
  people,asifhefeltthreatened and insecure. Suddenlyhe was not atall
  what thepeoplehadimagined.The discrepancybetween thelegend and
  thereality proved immensely disappointingtothose who wanted tobe
  lieve intheir hero. The more Coriolanus said, the lesspowerfulheap-
  peared——-a person who cannot control hiswords shows that hecannot
  control himself, and isunworthy ofrespect.
  Had Coriolanus said less, thepeoplewould never have had cause to
  beoffended byhim, would never have known histruefeelings. Hewould
  have maintained hispowerful aura, would certainlyhave been elected con'
  sul,andwould have been able toaccomplishhisantidemocratic goals.But
  thehuman tongueisabeast that few can master. Itstrains constantlyto
  break outofitscage,andifitisnottamed, itwill runwild and causeyou
  grief.Power cannot accrue tothose who squandertheir treasure ofwords.


