It was almost dinnertime when Solim walked out of Filch's office. He had gone straight there after lunch and spent the entire afternoon in the small, cluttered room filled with shelves of strange, dried seafood.
The purpose of his visit was twofold. First, there was Filch himself, and second, the legendary Marauder's Map.
Filch's current state was surprisingly good, especially in terms of spirit. He no longer seemed to care about the Gryffindor students who liked to make trouble. After all, he had been a Squib for half his life, and now, on the brink of finally becoming a real wizard, he had more important matters to occupy his attention. Who would waste energy on mischievous students under such circumstances?
According to Filch, he could hardly wait to get his own wand—but that would have to wait until at least next semester. For now, he had indulged in a rare luxury: he had commissioned a custom wand from a wandmaker. Just last Hogsmeade Day, after dismissing the older students, he had made a trip into town and struck a deal. Ordinary wands simply could not adapt to Filch's unique magical power.
Even Snape admitted that Filch's current magical strength surpassed that of many Aurors.
Solim felt a twinge of unease. He wasn't sure what consequences Filch's sudden surge in power might bring. Filch had wasted most of his life at Hogwarts, powerless to perform magic, watching young wizards squander their talents. How would such pent-up frustration and ambition manifest now that he finally possessed real power?
Solim didn't know the answer, but at least for the moment, everything appeared calm. Whatever the outcome, Dumbledore would certainly not ignore such a development.
But Solim didn't dwell on headmasters or potions; Snape had researched, refined, and brewed the potion, so what did Solim have to do with it? Instead, he focused on his own gain: the Marauder's Map. With it in hand, moving around Hogwarts would become far easier.
As he entered the Great Hall, he noticed that Gryffindor was sitting alone, accompanied only by Neville. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were absent, probably at Hagrid's or in the library. Solim didn't bother with them; when they needed information about Nicolas Flamel, they would come to him eventually.
"How was your afternoon?" Solim asked, sitting beside Draco and forking a piece of pork chop.
"I think I've found it—the feeling you mentioned, that…" Draco paused, struggling to find the right words.
"The feeling of releasing a spell with just a thought?" Solim prompted.
"Yes! Exactly!" Draco nodded eagerly.
"Congratulations," Solim said, raising an eyebrow. "Silent casting suits you. Though, of course, I mean only the Disarming Charm."
Draco's eyes shone with excitement. He hadn't practiced the Disarming Charm for long, yet he was already approaching the threshold of silent casting.
"I must master silent casting before I go home," Draco said. "Father will be impressed. What reward do you think he'll give me?"
"That's your father, not mine. How would I know?" Solim rolled his eyes and cut his pork chop.
In fact, when Solim first arrived at Hogwarts, he had avoided pork and steaks altogether, fearing he might injure himself with the knife. But after observing that the meat was properly cooked, he had begun to eat confidently.
"By the way, Solim, registration is tomorrow," Draco said, nodding toward the door. "Do you think that scarred face will stay in school?"
Solim glanced at the trio walking toward the Gryffindor table. "You don't care if they return, but take care of yourself. Draco has no major issues, though he likes to show off. People who underestimate him often regret it."
"I was wondering—should we let them fight, vent a bit?" Solim considered, but decided against it.
After dinner, Solim and Draco headed to the small classroom, Draco eager for guidance. Solim waited for Hermione to return a book, but before they had been there five minutes, the rest of Gryffindor arrived: Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione. Draco looked at Harry and Ron with thinly veiled disgust but remained silent.
Hermione spoke first. "Solim, do you know Nico—"
"Nicole?" Solim interrupted, feeling an inexplicable urge to continue, his hands betraying signs of restlessness.
"Huh?" the others asked, confused.
"Hehe, don't worry. You mean Nicolas." The three Gryffindors nodded quickly.
"I do know Nicolas Flamel. He's a famous wizard, even Muggles know his name."
"But we searched the library all afternoon and couldn't find anything about him!" Hermione said, slightly frantic—the first time she had left the library empty-handed.
"You were looking in the wrong direction," Solim said. "The books you sought are all modern. For Nicolas, you need older records."
"Nicole May… what do people usually associate with him?" Solim asked Draco.
"The Sorcerer's Stone," Draco sneered at the Gryffindor group. "What? You guys want to play with the Philosopher's Stone too?"
"Exactly," Solim said quickly, stopping a potential argument. "The Philosopher's Stone: a pinnacle of alchemy. It grants gold and immortality. Nicolas Flamel and his wife have lived over six hundred years. That's what the Stone does."
Hearing this, the Gryffindors were momentarily dazed.
"Yes, the Philosopher's Stone. Who wouldn't want it?" Solim frowned at Ron, who muttered something under his breath.
"Snape tried to steal it! Remember Halloween? He got hurt on the leg—Fluffy must have bitten him! He was trying to get through that trapdoor!" Harry exclaimed, piecing together the story.
"It was Professor Snape," Solim said calmly, "and you should have the least respect for him."
"But we should tell Dumbledore!" Harry protested.
"Wait, Harry! Don't rush—"
Papapa! Solim clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "I understand. You think Professor Snape is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, right? Tell me, when will you Gryffindors learn to think for yourselves?"
Solim had also hesitated at first, unsure whether he should actively involve himself or remain a bystander. But then he realized: he didn't live for Harry Potter, nor did he need to defeat Voldemort. Being a bystander was unacceptable; if he was here, he would leave his mark. He decided to act freely, as long as it didn't endanger himself.
"Do you know the size of the Philosopher's Stone? It's no bigger than your fist," Solim said, holding up his hand. "Would you leave something so important lying around? Isn't it safer for Dumbledore to carry it? Why hide it somewhere else in the school?"
The Gryffindors were speechless.
Dumbledore carrying it with him was the safest option. Leaving it unattended would be risky. By placing the Stone as a lure, he could monitor Voldemort's return to the wizarding world and train Harry along the way. That was Dumbledore's plan.
"It's not safe to carry it on your person. If it's lost or stolen, anything can happen," Ron added, suspicious of Solim's certainty.
"Do you think Dumbledore is foolish enough to carry it in his pocket?" Solim asked incredulously. "Even if he did, it's irrelevant. No matter who wants the Stone—Snape, Quirrell, McGonagall—it's not your concern, first-years! Understand?"
Solim sneered at Harry. Young Gryffindors, always eager to meddle.
"But someone will try to steal it! We can't just do nothing," Harry protested.
Solim chuckled, amused by the "savior" before him. "Okay, so what will you do? Tell a professor?"
"Let me be clear," Solim continued, folding his arms, "mentioning the Philosopher's Stone to any professor will startle them—except the headmaster, who might deduct points or even punish you. And no matter how stupid you are, you won't go to Snape. Most likely, your only choice would be McGonagall. And if she has a book in her hands, she'll drop it immediately, ask how you know, then reassure you that the Stone is safe. That's exactly how it will go."
Harry and the others considered this. Going to McGonagall would indeed result in just such a predictable reaction.
"Got it? The professors will ignore you. So, you want to protect the Stone yourself?" Solim smiled darkly. "You're asking for your own death!"