The real Herry Potter

The return to Hogwarts was anything but ordinary for Harry and the Order of the Stars. While most students were focused on the usual routine of classes, homework, and Quidditch practices, Harry and his friends found themselves overwhelmed with both their studies and their secret quest. The looming mystery of the Philosopher's Stone hung over them like a dark cloud, pulling them deeper into a world of alchemy, ancient secrets, and dangerous ambitions.

It wasn't long before the Order members started to feel the pressure. Between their regular schoolwork and their efforts to uncover the truth about the Stone, it seemed like they barely had a moment to breathe. Professor Snape's potions essays piled up, Transfiguration required relentless practice, and Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons left them exhausted. Hogwarts had no mercy for students with secret missions.

Still, the lure of the Philosopher's Stone was too great to ignore. Harry and his friends were certain now that the Stone—an alchemical masterpiece that granted immortality and unlimited wealth—was hidden in the forbidden corridor on the third floor. They had all the clues: the giant three-headed dog guarding the trapdoor, the whispers of dangerous enchantments, and the fact that Snape had already tried to steal it.

"Professor Snape was bitten by the Cerberus," he said in a low voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "We all saw him, everyone forgot about the incident because the troll crashed the Halloween party."

The room fell silent, the weight of Theo's revelation sinking in. They had all noticed Snape limping after the troll incident, but hearing that he had been near the Cerberus—the guardian of the trapdoor—made everything more real.

"And there's something else," Theo added. "Snape was a Death Eater. He escaped Azkaban by playing both sides during the war. My father told me. He's not to be trusted."

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. Snape, with his greasy hair and sneering looks, had always seemed sinister, but hearing this confirmation of his past with Voldemort and the Death Eaters made the danger all too clear.

"Then why is Dumbledore keeping him around?" Terry asked, frowning. "If he was a Death Eater, shouldn't he be in Azkaban?"

Hermione crossed her arms, her brow furrowed in thought. "Dumbledore must have some reason. Maybe Snape really did switch sides during the war, but that doesn't mean he's not after the Stone now."

The group exchanged uneasy glances. If Snape had already made an attempt to steal the Stone and failed, there was no doubt he would try again. And they were certain now that the Stone wasn't just a legend—it was real, and it was right there in the heart of Hogwarts.

"But why would Snape want the Stone?" Daphne asked, her voice calm but curious. "Surely someone like him doesn't need wealth. And if it's immortality he's after, well… that raises even more questions."

"Maybe he's after it for someone else," Harry muttered darkly. His thoughts immediately turned to Voldemort. Could Snape still be loyal to him, trying to help his old master regain power?

The group fell into a tense silence, the weight of their discovery heavy in the air.

"We need more information," Hermione finally said, breaking the silence. "If we're going to stop Snape—or anyone—from getting the Stone, we need to figure out exactly how it's protected and who else might be involved."

Fred, who had been unusually quiet up until now, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Well, if it's more information we're after, George and I might have a plan."

George smirked. "You see, we've been working on a little something in our spare time. A way to… overhear things we probably shouldn't be hearing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean eavesdropping?"

"Exactly," Fred said, clearly proud of whatever scheme they were cooking up. "With a bit of magic, of course. We'll get the details about Snape and the Stone in no time."

The rest of the group exchanged uncertain glances. The twins' plans usually bordered on reckless, but they often yielded results.

"All right," Harry said, after a moment of consideration. "But be careful. If Snape catches wind of what we're doing, we could be in serious trouble."

Fred and George both nodded, though their grins never faded.

The meeting went on, with each member discussing their theories about the Stone's defenses. They knew Dumbledore had placed powerful protections, and the involvement of the Cerberus meant that other creatures or enchantments were likely in place.

As the train of possibilities and plans rolled on, Harry found himself thinking more and more about Snape. Could he really still be loyal to Voldemort? And if so, how far would he go to retrieve the Stone? The thought chilled him.

The rest of the evening passed with hushed voices, and by the time they disbanded for the night, the Order of the Stars was more determined than ever to uncover the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone before it was too late.

As the school year rolled on, Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, had his sights set on the Quidditch Cup like a hawk. Wood was relentless in his training sessions, especially with Harry, the youngest Seeker in a century. Harry found himself balancing long, grueling practices with his schoolwork and his secret projects, which were becoming more ambitious by the day.

After classes, he was often whisked away by Wood for extra practice on the Quidditch pitch, where they worked on strategies and maneuvers that left Harry feeling exhausted but determined. Even on Sundays, instead of resting, Harry and some of his friends continued their broomstick project.

Between classes, Quidditch, and the growing pressure from the Order of the Stars to solve the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone, Harry had little time to relax. What free moments he did have, he spent experimenting in his secret base, an abandoned classroom deep within Hogwarts that he had repurposed for his private studies and dueling practice. There, he dabbled in potion-making and explored various branches of magic far beyond what was taught in their first-year classes and fought against dueling dummies.

However, with their first Quidditch match against Slytherin fast approaching, Harry knew he couldn't afford to let his other activities distract him too much. The entire school was buzzing with anticipation for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, and although Harry hadn't been at Hogwarts long, he already understood the importance of this rivalry. It was more than just a game—it was a battle for house pride. The Slytherins had always dominated the Quidditch Cup, and Oliver Wood was desperate to change that.

The night before the match, Harry found himself sitting in the common room with Hermione and Neville. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls as Harry stared into it, deep in thought. His mind raced with everything he had to juggle—Quidditch, the Philosopher's Stone, the Forbidden Forest, and his studies. It was almost too much for a first-year student.

"Harry, you've got to relax," Hermione said, noticing the tension in his posture. "You're going to be fine tomorrow. You've been practicing all term."

Neville nodded, though he looked just as nervous as Harry. "Yeah, you've caught the Snitch loads of times in practice. Just do what you always do."

Harry smiled weakly at his friends, appreciating their support. "Thanks, guys. It's just… there's so much going on right now. It feels like there's more at stake than just Quidditch."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't press him further. She had a feeling Harry wasn't talking just about the game.

The next morning, the excitement in the air was palpable as students from all four houses made their way to the Quidditch pitch. Harry, dressed in his scarlet robes, joined his team in the changing room. Wood gave a rousing speech about house pride, victory, and the importance of the match, but Harry barely heard it. His mind was focused on the game ahead.

As Harry mounted his broom and soared into the air, the sound of the cheering crowd filled his ears. The Hogwarts Quidditch stadium was packed with students from all four houses, each section buzzing with excitement. As he flew a lap around the pitch, his eyes were drawn to a small group seated together in the stands—his friends, the Order of the Stars.

Despite being from different houses, the Order members had gathered in one spot to watch the match. It was strange, seeing them all together like that, united by their secret bond even though house rivalries still ran strong during Quidditch. Harry caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass, all wearing Slytherin scarves, proudly cheering for their team. Their support for Slytherin was unwavering, and Harry could see the competitive glint in their eyes. On the other side, Hermione and Neville were decked out in scarlet and gold, yelling encouragement for Gryffindor.

It was a strange but comforting sight—his friends, divided by house colors, but still connected in some secret, deeper way.

As Harry flew higher, he could feel the weight of every gaze in the stadium settling on him. He was the youngest player on the pitch, and being Gryffindor's Seeker made him the center of attention. It was unnerving. People from all four houses were watching him, some with awe, others with doubt, and a few, especially the Slytherins, with disdain. He could hear murmurs about him as he flew past, some whispering about his skill, others about his fame as the Boy Who Lived.

For a brief moment, the pressure almost overwhelmed him. His heart pounded in his chest as he felt the collective weight of expectation bearing down on him. It was as though the entire game rested on his shoulders. But then, Harry shook the thoughts away. He had been in tight spots before—this was just another challenge to face. His friends were counting on him, and Gryffindor needed this win.

He gripped his broom tighter, remembering Sirius' advice over Christmas: "Don't let them see you falter. The moment they know you're uncertain, they'll use it against you."

Taking a deep breath, Harry calmed his nerves. He couldn't afford to get distracted by the crowd. His focus needed to be on the Snitch—the game changer. He was the game changer.

With that thought, he began scanning the pitch, ignoring the sea of faces below. High above the field, Harry was alone with the wind and the sky. The stadium's roar faded to the background as he zeroed in on his task. He was the Seeker, and this was his moment.

Harry quickly realized that Quidditch practice and an actual game were worlds apart. The intensity on the field was palpable, and the Slytherin team played with a ruthless ferocity he hadn't anticipated. The Slytherin Beaters, with precision and malice, sent bludgers flying toward the Gryffindor players with clear intent to cause harm. It wasn't just about scoring—Slytherin wanted to dominate physically, too.

Fred and George Weasley, armed with their Beaters' bats, were no less aggressive, sending bludgers right back at the Slytherin team with just as much force. The game quickly devolved into something that felt less like a sport and more like a battle. Harry dodged a particularly vicious bludger aimed at his head, swerving his broom just in time. The Slytherins were clearly targeting him, trying to knock him out of the game before he had a chance to find the Snitch.

But Harry had been flying for years and had an intimate understanding of broomsticks, especially after spending countless hours working on broomstick designs and experimenting with flight over the past few years. He knew how to maneuver quickly and efficiently, weaving through the air with a grace that frustrated the Slytherin team.

Fouls were being called left and right, but it didn't seem to slow the brutal pace of the game. Slytherin played dirty, fouling the Gryffindor players as much as they could get away with. But Gryffindor wasn't innocent either. Desperation fueled their efforts as they retaliated in kind, pushing the rules of the game to their limit. Harry even spotted a few questionable moves from his own teammates—Quidditch wasn't just about skill today. It was about survival.

From high above the pitch, it was clear that this match was as much a mental game as it was physical. The teams weren't just competing for points; they were trying to break each other's spirits. Quidditch felt more like war than a sport.

As Harry flew, dodging bludgers and scanning for the Snitch, he understood why. The stakes were high for both sides, and for Gryffindor, this game could set the tone for the rest of the year. Winning meant everything. It was brutal, exhausting, and thrilling all at once. But through it all, Harry kept his focus. He had one job, and that was to catch the Snitch.

The question was, could he find it before the chaos of the game got the better of him?