THE MAN
WITH TWO FACES
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.”
“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.”
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
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