ATTENTION: The next chapter has also been posted, so you can just go straight on after you finish this one! Merry Early Christmas! (You can also skip this one if you don't want to watch the Quirrell encounter!)

Chapter 6: The Seventh Chamber

Severus Snape strode quickly down the corridor. Moonlight shone through the occasional window, illuminating his path. The final exams were over, and most students and teachers would be relaxing after the stressful week. Snape would normally be relaxing on his own, far from the rest of the staff, but this year was different.

Professor Quirrell had aroused Snape's suspicion almost immediately. The man spent every waking moment behind his Occlumency shields, and his chambers were heavily warded at night. Just what exactly did he fear within the castle? For such a supposedly talented wizard, Quirrell was weak-willed and easy to intimidate. He was either pretending, or something he'd found in Albania had broken his will.

Yes, there was no doubting it was his trip to Albania that had brought about this change, but he refused to speak of it. What horrors could a man encounter that would turn him into a stuttering, nervous wreck?

Unless, of course, it was an act. Snape knew all about maintaining a cover story while under pressure. So he'd pressured Quirrell, bullied him, coerced him, looking for the slightest crack. But the man held himself well. He spluttered and shrunk under Snape's gaze, but he never said more than he meant to. But was it from perfect self-control, or was there nothing of value within Quirrell after all? These doubts had haunted Snape throughout the year, to the point where he'd brought his concerns to the headmaster.

Dumbledore had shown very little interest in the idea at first, but after the troll incident, he started paying attention. That entire episode was handled so poorly by Quirrell that Snape was certain it happened on purpose, and he knew Dumbledore was coming around to the same thought. Quirrell had displayed none of his purported talent with trolls, which was even more incriminating as he had easily brought a troll in as his part of the Philosopher's Stone's defences. How is it that this one troll would get out of hand, when the other was contained without any issue whatsoever?

Quirrell was up to something.

With Dumbledore aware of the inconsistencies as well, Snape didn't think Quirrell would dare try anything. Whatever his plan was, only a fool would defy Albus Dumbledore in his own school.

Which was why Snape was hurrying to Quirrell's office. McGonagall had informed him only minutes ago that Dumbledore's presence had been requested in London, and he had already left the school. If ever there was a perfect opportunity for Quirrell to further his goals, this would be it.

Snape arrived at the entrance to Quirrell's office. It wasn't warded, but it was locked. Snape drew his wand and burst through the door. The office was empty, but there were papers on the floor and a strange smell in the air. Quirrell had left in a hurry. Snape walked forward carefully, his wand out and constantly searching for the slightest disturbance that might indicate a trap.

The smell grew stronger as he neared the messy desk in the centre of the room. Snape sidestepped slowly around it, though something was nagging at his memory. On the other side of the desk, there were a few drops of silvery liquid. The smell was distasteful and, even worse, distracting from the problem at hand, so Snape drew up his Occlumency shields in order to concentrate.

His memory became clear at once, and the smell became even more disgusting as he realised what the liquid was.

Unicorn blood.


Harry stared out the Gryffindor common-room window.

Most students had already gone to bed, since lights out was in a few minutes. The Watchers of the Stone had no such luxury. Hermione sat on the couch with her nose in a book, while Neville and Ron practiced a few Shield Charms nearby.

"Why tonight?" Ron asked for the third time. "We haven't stayed up on lookout for the past week, so what makes tonight different?"

"Because, Ronald," Hermione replied patiently, "This is logically the most opportune time for someone to go for the Stone. Everyone is exhausted from celebrating the end of exams, including the teachers. Even Filch would be busy cleaning up on the ground floor, leaving Fluffy's door completely unwatched."

Ron yawned and turned back to Neville. "You'd have to be mad to lose sleep messing with a three-headed dog."

"I think, from Voldemort's perspective, the reward outweighs the risks," Harry said quietly, not looking away from the window. He didn't need to see Ron and Neville to know they cringed at the name. It was so peaceful out there.

A loud throat-clearing got everyone's attention. Percy stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase leading to the boy's dormitory. He was in his striped pyjamas and had his arms folded in a stern manner. "Why aren't you four in bed?"

"We still have a few minutes until lights out," said Ron irritably. "Did you get out of bed just to come and bother us?"

"No, I came because everyone can hear you shouting 'protego' over and over again." Percy scowled at his brother. "Just keep it down and go to bed." The Prefect's gaze shifted between Harry and Hermione. "And that means all of you. Don't make Professor McGonagall send you off again. She's probably more exhausted than you are."

Harry gave a flat look and silently turned back to the window. His gaze shifted to the stars, and he noticed a bright red speck standing out among the white specks. It had a curious glow about it, but it seemed different from the other stars. Harry leaned on the windowsill, his nose almost touching the glass.

"It's Mars," Hermione whispered beside him. He hadn't noticed her approach. "The bringer of battles." That didn't exactly put him at ease. Hermione's hand slipped around his, and together they watched the stars.

The rings began to vibrate.

Neville and Ron gasped behind them, but Harry just closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed that this night, at least, would play out the same as before. In fact, everything this year had played out too familiarly for comfort. Hermione might think it was a good thing; that it would make their foreknowledge more useful, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were excuses. Surely something big would have changed after everything they'd done this year. Had none of their actions affected Quirrell's plans? It was disturbing to contemplate. Were they doomed to live out the same lives as before, just with slight differences?

No. Hermione's voice was as firm as steel, as it always was when he started thinking like that. I tested the Trace, remember? We're going to get work done over the summer, and then you'll see just how much of a difference we're making. This year was fortunate to have played out in almost exactly the same way, because it means we have a familiar base on which to plan big changes. Trust me, Harry.

Harry wasn't fully convinced, but there was no time to worry about it now. He didn't want to be proven wrong by Voldemort regaining his body in their first year. Turning to his friends, he drew his wand. "Let's move." They nodded and pulled their wands out as well.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Percy, stepping out of the boy's dormitory staircase. He crossed his arms and glared at each of them. "Lights out was precisely three minutes ago. I gave you an extra three minutes to go up to bed, and you repay me by sneaking out?"

Harry was only half-listening, he'd pulled the invisibility cloak from his robe pocket and was walking towards the portrait hole. "We really can't stay to chat, Percy."

"STOP!" Percy bellowed. "Do you have any idea how many house points this will cost us? How do you think Professor McGonagall will respond when you four lose Gryffindor the House Cup?"

"This is a bit bigger than that," Ron snapped, before following the others out into the corridor.

Once the four of them were under the invisibility cloak (they had to duck and squeeze in close to make sure their feet weren't visible), they set off for the third floor. Percy shouted at them from the portrait hole, but none of them listened.

The Watchers of the Stone moved as quickly as they could without revealing themselves. It wouldn't do to have Filch drag them away while Quirrell was busy with the Mirror of Erised. Even worse, they could run into Snape, who certainly wouldn't believe they were out of their beds for very good reasons.

Their rings had stopped vibrating as soon as they left the common-room, apparently satisfied that their warnings were being heeded. The Grand Staircase was helpful for once and they reached the third floor without interruption.

At the door to Fluffy, Harry pulled the cloak off. "Everyone stay calm and we'll be fine," he said quietly. The others nodded, and he pushed the door open.

Inside, the great, three-headed dog sniffed and growled before clambering to its feet. A discarded harp lay near the trap door. At least this part wasn't going to be a problem. With a flick of his wand, the harp floated into the air and began to strum on its own. Fluffy immediately began to sway, its growls softening, before rolling onto its side and starting to snore.

"Well that was simple," whispered Ron. "How'd you know it would fall asleep like that?"

"Hagrid let it slip once," replied Harry. Technically true.

Hermione walked over to the trap door and opened it. "It's quite a drop." They gathered around the hole, peering into the darkness below.

"Listen," Harry said, feeling compelled to speak. "It could get pretty nasty down there." Hermione shook her head ruefully. She'd probably been expecting this. "If anyone wants to back out now, I won't think any less of them," Harry continued, giving Hermione a stubborn glare.

"We're wearing the rings, aren't we?" said Neville, raising his chin. The amount of pride in his eyes gave Harry a surge of affection for his friend.

"We're the Watchers of the Stone, Harry," Ron added seriously. "We'll stop whoever it is, whatever the cost."

Harry looked to Hermione as well, though he knew he didn't have to. She smiled at him. "I'll follow you anywhere, Harry."

"I wouldn't want to do this with any other people in the world," Harry said firmly, meeting each of their eyes. Then he stepped over the hole and dropped like a needle into the black.

Had he fallen for so long the first time? Displaced air buffeted him as he tried to twist his body so he wouldn't land on anything important. The Devil's Snare rushed up to meet him, and he braced for impact. He hit it with force, but the springy plant easily absorbed his momentum.

With three more soft smacks, the other Watchers landed around him. This time, Harry was aware of the vines subtle slipping around his limbs. "Bloody hell," exclaimed Ron. "How deep does the school go?"

"I don't think even the founders could tell you that," Hermione replied, raising her wand arm to keep it free from vines. "But I think we have more pressing matters." She nodded at Ron's torso, and he looked down to see a thick leafy tendril had wrapped itself around his torso.

Neville moaned as he too was taken by the plant. Harry simply sat there calmly, watching them. "What is this thing?" Ron shouted, trying to rip the vine away.

"Devil's Snare," replied Hermione without the slightest trace of concern. A jet of blue flames shot from her outstretched wand into the centre of the plant. Harry imagined the Devil's Snare screaming on a frequency they couldn't hear, though he didn't know if it actually could. The plant retreated from the fire, freeing them. "It doesn't like fire," she added. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. Was that a little cockiness he detected in her voice? Her sudden blush told him all he needed to know.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said as though addressing the group, but he was looking at her.

"Yes, it will likely get more difficult as we continue," Hermione agreed primly, leading the way over to the door leading into a dank passageway. Ron and Neville were rubbing at their limbs where the vines had held them.

"Two down," said Ron.

Neville grimaced. "Hopefully we can face the next one on our feet."

Just before they reached the door leading to Flitwick's flying keys, Harry stopped them. All three of his friends looked exasperated. "Harry, we're already down here. If you're about to tell us it's going to be dangerous–" Ron began, but Harry was shaking his head.

"No, I know you're all on board. I just think we should get a plan together. As far as I can see, there are three possible people we might encounter down here." They were listening attentively now. "If it's Snape, we stun first and ask questions later. If it's Quirrell or somebody else, spread out to either side of me and keep your wands on them. If it's Voldemort…" Ron and Neville stiffened. "I want him to myself." They nodded, faces hardening. Hermione gave no sign indicating what she thought of his speech, instead pushing the door open.

The glittering charmed keys fluttered around the top of the tall, arching chamber. Harry marched over to the next door and jabbed his wand at the lock, murmuring under his breath.

"I think – are those keys?" Neville said disbelievingly.

"No, they're birds…" Ron squinted upwards. "No way! This must be Flitwick's one."

"I agree," said Hermione. "Which is why I think you're wasting your time, Harry. Flitwick had days, maybe weeks to work on this place."

Harry gritted his teeth irritably before taking some deep breaths to quash his anger. Hermione was right – as always – and while Harry could detect the first layer of magical defences on the door, it would take more time than they had to get through it and the subsequent layers. "Alright," he said evenly, "I suppose we're doing it the way it was intended, then."

Hermione was already walking over to the broomsticks against the wall. "We'll need to coordinate our movements to trap the right key. Harry's the Seeker, so he'll be the one to grab it."

"Er," Ron and Neville looked at each other, "Which key is it?"

It was Harry and Hermione's turn to exchange glances. "We don't know." Damn, they were getting ahead of themselves after all. "Do either of you have any ideas?" asked Harry with a shrug, acutely aware of the seconds ticking away. Surely they'd saved some time on Fluffy and the Devil's Snare… but how close a schedule were they working to here?

Neville kept peering up at the swarm, but Ron got a thoughtful look on his face and walked over to the door. "The key would match the lock, right? So we need a big silver one – maybe a little battered or old."

Harry shivered a little at hearing Ron's words repeated almost exactly as they had been the first time. A spike of focus from Hermione in his mind stopped him from getting side-tracked, however. "Everyone mount up, the sooner we find it the better."

Soon, the Watchers were drifting slowly around the upper reaches of the room. The keys avoided them, flitting between each flier without coming too close. Even knowing exactly what the key looked like, Harry still had to search for it with everyone else. Fortunately, he wasn't the youngest Seeker in a century for no reason, and after some careful manoeuvring, they managed to trap and catch the key.

Every minute was agonising now. They were wasting time! If Voldemort regained his body, what would they do? No, he wouldn't be able to do it straight away; he'd need to brew the potion first. Quirrell could be intercepted even if he got the Stone. Maybe they should just wait? Set some traps? Was that the rational thing to do? Annoyingly, he found himself craving Hermione's opinion. He wanted to reach a conclusion on his own for once.

You still have the chance, Hermione's voice replied, because I don't know. If you want to stay here and set traps, we'll do that. If you want to push on and fight Quirrell again, then that's what we'll do. I don't have all the answers.

Harry jammed the key into the lock, still unsure, and they progressed onto McGonagall's giant chess set. The tall chessmen stood like sentinels in the dim light.

"You must be joking," breathed Ron. "D'you suppose we have to play to get across?"

"Looks that way," said Neville nervously. "It better not be me. I'm rubbish."

"So am I," said Harry.

Hermione just looked at Ron expectantly. His ears went red. "A-are you sure? I mean, this is important."

"You're amazing at chess, Ron," Harry said patiently. Hermione and Neville agreed.

"Yeah, but this… it looks like we'll have to take the place of the pieces… someone could get hurt if I screw up."

"You've got the ability, Ron," said Neville quietly. "But the sharpest sword is useless in the hands of a coward."

After a deep breath, Ron nodded grimly. "Harry, take the right rook's place. Hermione, the right bishop. Neville, I'm sorry mate, but you're the bloody queen." The boys gave each other a grin.

"What about you?" asked Neville.

"I'll be the left knight."

The pieces Ron had indicated all walked off the board as the Watchers took their places.

The game began. With time and experience on his side, Harry was able to keep track of the game, though he still didn't understand some of the moves. It occurred to Harry that even after all these years, chess still didn't come as naturally to him as it did to his eleven-year-old friend. It just seemed to click with Ron in a way Harry had never experienced. Granted, the fact that before traversing the time-stream, he hadn't touched a chessboard in five years probably played a part, but still.

Their pieces flew around the board, giving as good as they got. Neville was the most active next to Ron, saving Harry and Hermione from tight situations several times. As the game went on, Harry watched Ron's expression slowly darken. Would this end the same way as well?

"There's only one way I can end this," Ron announced. "I'll have to sacrifice myself."

"No!" Harry growled. Damn it, something had to change! They were firmly attached to destiny's railroad right now, and something had to change or he was going to lose it!

Ron shook his head. "It's gotta happen. Neville, you'll be able to move four spaces diagonally towards Hermione, and you'll checkmate the king."

"Are you certain there's no other way?" Hermione asked worriedly, glancing at Harry, probably feeling his growing panic attack.

"I'm sure." After a mutual nod with Neville, he steeled himself. "The sharpest sword," he said softly, before making his move.

The enemy bishop smacked Ron to the ground and dragged him off the board. Neville darted across to his square, and the king threw his crown at their feet. The three remaining Watchers looked desperately over at their unconscious friend. Harry's hands were shaking, and he was close to needing Occlumency to keep control. Wide, livid eyes glinting scarlet – Cedric falling to the ground in a flash of green light – Sirius falling through the veil – not again not again not again –

"No," said Hermione. Her wand flicked, and Ron levitated into the air and floated over to them. She laid him on the floor and drew her wand over his head, muttering under her breath. Harry and Neville watched, their hearts in their mouths, as Ron stirred and opened his eyes.

As Neville crouched to help his friend sit up, Hermione gave Harry a strong, piercing stare.

Is that a big enough change for you? Her voice echoed in his skull.

He stared back, his breathing returning to normal. Big enough for now.

I told you, if we can make small changes, we can make big changes. It-will-not-happen-again!

Harry knew she was talking about the awful memories that flashed through his mind moments before. When his hands finally stopped shaking, he felt wearier than before. Are you ever wrong?

Often. I still cringe about how I handled that 'hubris' problem months ago. It was my fault you got hurt by the troll.

Before he could vehemently deny that, she turned back to the others. Ron was a bit unsteady on his feet, but other than a lump on his forehead, he seemed fine. Harry supposed McGonagall was a bit unlikely to make a defence for the Stone that just straight up murdered anyone who wasn't good at chess.

"Are you alright to go on?" Neville asked Ron.

"Yeah, I'm fine… was a bit dazed for a minute, but everything's clear now." He shook his head. "I don't really want a rematch though, so can we get out of here before they get impatient?" The chessmen weren't doing anything threatening, but their heads followed the Watchers as they finished crossing the board and went through the next door.

The stench hit them as soon as they entered the room. Quirrell's troll was passed out on the ground with a welt on its head. Ron touched his own forehead and winced. "Do you think Snape made the troll sacrifice itself on the chessboard?"

Nobody answered as they stepped over the sausage-like fingers and edged around to another door. "How many is that?" Neville whispered.

"We've done Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, and this must be Quirrell's chamber. That leaves…"

"Snape," Ron and Neville snarled together as Harry led the way into the potions chamber. Fire sprang up behind them and in the passage ahead, sealing the exits.

The various bottles sat on a table, accompanied by Snape's riddle. Hermione read it aloud and set about thinking it over again.

"They're probably all poison, and the key's under the table," Neville said, crouching to have a look. He rose a second later, shaking his head.

"That's thinking like a Slytherin, alright," said Ron. "The fire might be an illusion that only burns you if you drink one of the potions."

They started trading increasingly abstract plans-within-plans, to the point where when Hermione announced she'd solved the riddle, it took them a few seconds to notice. She picked up the bottle that would allow them to progress onwards and tapped it with her wand. The bottle split and became two, then four identical bottles.

"Once we drink these, we'll need to go straight through the flames," said Hermione, handing out the bottles. "Whoever is trying to steal the Stone will be there, so we need to be prepared to act decisively."

"Do you all remember the plan?" Harry asked, preparing to uncork his potion.

"If it's Snape, stun him without waiting," said Neville.

"If it's Quirrell or somebody else, spread out and get ready," said Ron.

"If it's Voldemort, stand back and let you take him," said Hermione, her eyes seeing straight into his soul.

"Right," said Harry. "Bottom's up."

Together, they swallowed the icy potion and stepped through the flames.

The Mirror of Erised stood in the centre of the chamber, reflecting Quirrell's irritated expression. Harry walked forward, only dimly aware of his friends spreading to either side of him. His scar prickled as he stared at the back of Quirrell's turban. If only we didn't have the Horcruxes and knots holding us back… I could end it right here. We could just go through school normally. It was an attractive fantasy.

The four Watchers held their wands towards the would-be thief. Ron and Neville's faces were painted with surprise, but their hands were steady. Hermione was in a half-crouch that Harry recognised from the beginning of their duels together. He had no idea how this was going to play out.

We should focus on our goals, he thought, hoping Hermione was listening. Kill Quirrell, protect the Stone.

There's a problem, she replied. Should we destroy him with spells, or should we get him to touch you so your mother's protection can kill him?

Whichever way it works out. Harry thought that was a non-issue.

If you destroy him with your mother's protection, he will become aware of it and take it into account when he plans his rebirth. The question is, how can we use this to our advantage?

Harry gritted his teeth. Why didn't you bring this up before?

Because I didn't think of it before! I'm not infallible!

Alright, I've got a plan.

"Quirrell!" Harry growled. "You're the one trying to steal the Stone!"

Quirrell turned and gave the children a condescending smile. "And what is this? Dumbledore's last line of defence?"

"We're the Watchers of the Stone!" Ron snarled, showing his ring.

Laughing derisively, Quirrell snapped his fingers. Harry and Hermione whipped their wands through the air, banishing the ropes as they appeared. Ron and Neville, who had probably been waiting for Quirrell to draw his wand, were caught and bound tightly. Quirrell smiled deeply. "Perhaps there is some truth to the stories I've heard of your duelling club. But stunning spells and shield charms won't save you here, Potter. You and your friends are far too nosey to leave alive. Though I must say, it was very helpful of you to get stomped on by my troll at Hallowe'en. You drew Dumbledore's full attention in moments. If it weren't for Severus's intervention, I might have seized the Stone that night."

"Snape stopped you?" said Neville disbelievingly, forgetting to struggle against his ropes for a moment. He had been more open to the idea of suspects other than Snape, but that was a far cry from believing that Snape was on their side the whole time.

Hermione twisted her wand, and the ropes around Ron and Neville disintegrated. They quickly raised their wands again. Quirrell watched with a mocking smirk. "How did you draw Dumbledore away tonight?" she asked.

"A simple forged letter from the Ministry of Magic. It was easy. The old man is losing his touch," said Quirrell dismissively.

"You think you could fool Dumbledore?" Hermione laughed harshly. "You, who was so easily recruited by a far lesser wizard?"

Quirrell's smile vanished. "My master is the greatest wizard to ever have lived, girl. My imminent success is proof of that."

"You didn't fool Dumbledore," Harry said. "He's suspected you all year. He's probably returned from London by now, walking through the corridors, coming here to get you!"

A flash of nervousness crossed Quirrell's face. "And how would you know that?"

"They are… stalling… lying..." rasped another voice coming from Quirrell's turban. Ron and Neville gasped in horror.

"Yes… yes, of course master. The Stone… how does this blasted mirror work?" Quirrell waved his hand at the Watchers, catching them in four body-binds that Harry and Hermione didn't bother blocking. He then turned back to the Mirror of Erised and began waving his fingers over it.

Harry waited until Quirrell began murmuring under his breath before quietly breaking the body bind. Hermione did the same for herself, Ron, and Neville. Together, they raised their wands once more. Harry felt no desire to continue the charade.

His Cutting Charm slashed across Quirrell's back, spraying blood across the Mirror and floor. Two voices roared in pain. It wasn't a full-strength one, but it was still a deep cut. Quirrell's turban unravelled as he collapsed against the Mirror. Ron and Neville recoiled in horror from the bone-white, red-eyed face glaring back at them. Harry watched its features contort in pain with animalistic relish.

"Voldemort!" he roared, running forwards. He wanted to do this with his bare hands again. Even as the prickle in his scar grew more and more pronounced, he maintained his resolve. I'm not a child this time! I can take it!

Quirrell was struggling to his feet, soaked in blood, when Harry collided with him, slamming him into the Mirror. It didn't shatter, but then an eleven-year-old body only has so much momentum. Harry held the back of Quirrell's neck – or the front of Voldemort's – and drew his wand back, as though about to finish him off.

The blistering skin under his hand made it clear that wasn't necessary. His scar felt like it was splitting open as Voldemort and Quirrell screamed, one from pain and the other for blood. Quirrell tried to draw away, but he was against the Mirror and had nowhere to go. Harry reached around and pressed his hand against Quirrell's face, and the pain intensified tenfold. Unconsciousness beckoned, but Harry drew back before it could take him.

Harry stumbled away from Quirrell, watching him shriek as his body burned from magic far greater than he had ever known.

Hermione was suddenly at his side, clinging to his shoulder. Ron was on the other side, slipping an arm around Harry for support. Harry realised he was unsteady on his feet, and gladly accepted their help. The Watchers stood together, watching Quirrell's last, agonising moments.

"Come away from him!" called Albus Dumbledore, striding through the flames and dispelling them. "Come away, now!" Harry let himself be steered towards the entrance. Dumbledore crouched before him and took his head in his hands, blue eyes searching green. Harry felt the tingle of medical spells on his skin, and saw the relief in Dumbledore's serious expression. At some point during the examination, Quirrell stopped screaming.

"You have been very brave," Dumbledore said quietly, which created great contrast with the lack of sound from the other end of the room. "All of you." The headmaster looked around at the others.

"Is… is You-Know-Who dead?" asked Neville, his voice cracking.

"No. He has left the school, though, for he cannot harm us without a body. Come. There is nothing more for us here." Dumbledore gently herded them back through the entrance.

"But sir," said Hermione, "What about the Stone?"

"It is safe. I think it is time I had a very overdue chat with a very old friend."

"Nicolas Flamel."

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed."

Harry just walked silently, feeling numb after the pain from before. He focused on not walking like someone who'd just been smacked by a troll. It was over, and it was just different enough to give him hope.

When they emerged back into the castle proper, Professor McGonagall met them, her face white with worry. "I received your Patronus, Albus – what has happened?"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said soothingly, "Please accompany Mister Weasley and Mister Longbottom, along with Miss Granger, to the hospital wing. I do not believe they are hurt, but I would prefer that Poppy looked them over herself."

"We want to stay with Harry," Neville said firmly. Ron nodded in agreement, and Hermione took Harry's hand. He felt a great surge of love for each of them.

McGonagall looked about to admonish Neville for talking back, but Dumbledore just smiled. "I suppose you should all come with me, then. I do not believe I possess the power to separate friends who have been through such an ordeal." He turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, if you will kindly alert the other heads of house that an unsuccessful attempt to steal the Stone has been made, I would be most appreciative." Dumbledore lowered his voice. "Professor Quirrell has taken a leave of absence."

They left McGonagall looking shocked, and followed Dumbledore down the corridor. Harry noticed his friends were still crowding around him a bit. "I'm alright, really," he insisted.

"No offence mate, but you just punched You-Know-Who in the face," said Ron. "There's no telling what kind of curses he might have put on you."

"I could feel – I saw you were in pain," Hermione said quickly. "I think you almost passed out from the strain."

"It was my scar," said Harry, rubbing it idly. The pain had faded with Quirrell's life. "I think it's connected to Voldemort somehow." Dumbledore remained silent as he led them to his office, but Harry knew he was listening intently.

"Don't say his name," Ron muttered automatically, looking around as though Voldemort was hiding behind an alcove.

"We just faced him, Ron. The real him. He'll hate us no matter what we call him, so why bother giving him the satisfaction of knowing you're scared of his name?" Harry said, meeting his friend's eyes intently.

"Yeah," Neville agreed softly. "He's the one who fled, not us. He should be scared of our names."

After a few moments, Ron took a deep breath. "Voldemort," he said loudly, "Is a wanker." Dumbledore pretended to hum while the Watchers held back laughter.

"Voldemort is a prick," said Neville, a grin spreading across his face.

"Voldemort is an utter fool," Hermione said, giggling slightly.

"Voldemort," Harry said, smiling broadly, "Just got his arse kicked by a bunch of first-years."

They laughed openly now, leaning on each other as they followed Dumbledore. Harry couldn't see his face, but he had the distinct feeling that the headmaster was smiling.

Inside Dumbledore's office, the four kids took their seats on one side of the desk, while the headmaster took his place on the opposite side. He considered them for a moment over his clasped hands.

"You have been through something that would make most adults faint at the mere thought, yet you have recovered well enough to laugh about it afterwards," he said. "This shows tremendous strength of character. I want each of you to know that your bravery and loyalty to each other is inspiring." They all sat a little taller, even Harry. "I also know that it would be futile to request to speak to Harry alone."

Harry shrugged and smiled tiredly. "I'd just tell them everything anyway." What time was it? It was probably well past midnight by now, surely.

"As I thought." Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "I imagine you must have some questions for me. I will answer truthfully, or not at all. You have my word that I will not do the latter without very good reasons."

"Why did my scar hurt so badly when I was touching Quirrell?" Harry asked immediately. His exhausted mind was more interested in seeing what Dumbledore would come up with than finding any real answers.

"When your mother gave her life for you, she gave you a certain protection from Voldemort that he cannot fathom. It is the reason his Killing Curse rebounded on him, that night," Dumbledore replied simply. "You are correct in believing your scar is a link between you and him, and while I know it was painful to endure, I can assure you it was a thousand times more so for him."

Harry was shocked. He hadn't expected the plain truth. "And why did he decide to try and kill me at all?" He decided to push it.

Dumbledore was quiet for a few seconds. "Alas, Harry, I must save that answer for another time. If you do not discover it yourself first, of course." Harry tried to look thoughtful, but inside he was a little irritated. The prophecy didn't matter to him, but the fact that Dumbledore was keeping information back despite Harry's maturity being leagues above the average eleven-year-old annoyed him.

"He must have seen me as a threat for some reason. Could he have had foreknowledge of this night, somehow?" Harry felt a spike of alarm in his mind from Hermione. You're straying into dangerous waters, Harry.

"I do not believe that he did," said Dumbledore, "But I promise to tell you all that I know another time."

Harry fell silent, thinking. "Professor," Ron piped up, "What was with that mirror in the last chamber?" Dumbledore cheerfully began to explain, but his eyes kept drifting back to Harry.


For once, Harry Potter didn't underestimate the power of the rumour mills. He went to bed knowing the entire school would be buzzing by breakfast, and he wasn't disappointed. The Watchers of the Stone went down to the Great Hall together, and they drew eyes and whispers from almost everyone.

"Is this what it's like for you every day, Harry?" Ron asked, his ears red from the attention.

"More or less," Harry shrugged.

"I'm glad I'm not famous."

Harry laughed and dug into his eggs on toast. He was feeling a lot better with the summer holidays on the horizon. Maybe they really would be able to get a lot of work done before the second year started. Lucius Malfoy… the diary… maybe get a few knots out of the way – even a Horcrux or two, if they were lucky. Without the Trace, there were so many possibilities! He was sure he could persuade Hermione to help him break out Sirius early. Maybe they could arrange it so that Pettigrew 'accidentally' revealed himself in public… it would have to be very visible, or Fudge might find a way to make it disappear to save himself the embarrassment. Come to think of it, Fudge was going to be a different problem altogether.

"I've got plans for him," Hermione said quietly. She looked pleased that Harry was feeling better.

"Glad to hear it. What do you think of my priorities?" Namely, killing Lucius first.

I was unsure at first, but it may actually work out very well, Hermione's voice said, I've already integrated it with my plan for Fudge. "Your instincts are usually right, Harry," she said out loud.

"Hey," said Ron, "Have either of you seen our rings?"

"I know I left mine on my bedside table, but it's gone." Neville patted his pockets hopefully. "I wouldn't lose it."

"I took them back while you were all sleeping," Hermione said casually, munching on some toast. "They didn't really have a purpose anymore."

"Oh." Ron slumped a little. "I s'pose." Neville didn't look too happy either.

Hermione laughed and upturned a small pouch over the table. Four black rings tumbled out. "I put some new spells on them to make them useful again." Ron and Neville eagerly grabbed their rings back and put them on, and Harry did the same, albeit in a more dignified manner. "If one of us is in trouble, just squeeze the ring between your thumb and forefinger and whisper 'I need help'."

"That's brilliant!" Ron looked awed. Neville tried it out, and their rings began to vibrate at the same time. Harry looked down and saw a little white word had appeared around the edge: Neville. He and Ron went to show each other at the same time, but only Harry's had the word on it.

"Why doesn't Harry's have Neville's name appear?" asked Ron, frowning.

"It does. The words can only be seen by the wearer." Hermione was looking so pleased with herself that Harry couldn't help but laugh. She really was brilliant.

Neville looked worried. "What if someone steals it? Would they be able to see who's in trouble?"

Hermione huffed, her cheeks pink. "There are ways to fix that, but I did want to get some sleep last night, thank you very much."

"It's fine – it's great, really!" Neville said hurriedly.

"I'll work on them when we come back next year. For now, only use them in emergencies, not if you run out of toilet paper or something." The boys laughed.


Dumbledore looked out over the Great Hall, feeling simultaneously satisfied and malnourished. The events of the previous night were still at the front of his mind. Professor Quirrell had not only been after the Stone as he and Snape suspected, but had harboured the most dangerous dark wizard in history within his very body. To say it was disturbing was to call the sun warm. Dumbledore had suspected Quirrell for some time, but he hadn't realised the depth of the man's corruption. Even if young Harry hadn't dealt with him, he would have been beyond recovery.

Harry Potter.

Would the surprises ever end?

Hermione's little slip confirmed his suspicions – they were communicating through Legilimency. How else could she claim to have 'felt' Harry's pain when he touched Quirrell? But that was the least of it. Harry had seemed almost uninterested as Dumbledore explained the nature of the Mirror of Erised, and how the Stone could be retrieved. Did he see it for what it was; a trap for those who were too weak to actually chase their fortunes? Or had he already deduced it somehow? No, that couldn't be the case; Dumbledore had detection charms around the Mirror before it was moved into the seventh chamber. He would have known if any students stumbled across it.

Dumbledore personally examined Quirrell's body earlier this morning. There had been a nasty, long gash cleaved into the man's back, very different from the burns that had killed him. Harry had used the Cutting Charm for violent purposes before against the troll. It seemed he valued finding alternative uses for simple spells. Resourceful, but also telling. The boy had tried to kill Quirrell the moment he saw Voldemort's face. The boy was willing to kill.

It made him feel old, thinking about it. Harry had every right to want Voldemort dead, but it was still sad seeing a child who was prepared to do the deed. James and Lily would not have wanted this, but what could be done about it?

Harry was laughing with his friends about something down at the Gryffindor table. A lesser mind might consider the boy's ability to move on from traumatic events so quickly as near-sociopathic. Dumbledore believed no such thing. Harry's heart was good; there was no evidence suggesting otherwise. But even the best of men can be taken by righteous anger in times of great emotion, and the events down in the seventh chamber certainly fell under that category.

This enigma of a boy was going to be out from under Dumbledore's direct gaze until next year. It almost frustrated him, but time had taught him patience, even for the most interesting problems.

Besides, Harry was unlikely to do anything interesting while away from school. Without magic, he would be safe from his own machinations as much as anyone else's. Hopefully next year, he and Miss Granger would see fit to include him in their plans a little sooner, assuming it proved to be as eventful as this year.


Gryffindor brought home the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, since Harry was well enough to fly in the final match. For once, he'd been able to just relax and enjoy the game, and ended up catching the snitch in the first few minutes once the Chasers had had a bit of fun. Ravenclaw wasn't too upset by the loss since it at least kept the cup out of Slytherin hands, and the teams had a joint celebration after the game for a well-played match. After dealing with bad blood from the Slytherins all year, it was refreshing to be on good terms with a whole other house.

More than a few students came to Harry and Hermione to ask if there would be any final self-defence classes, but neither of them felt like fighting again so soon. They assured those who asked that the classes would resume next year.

On their final day at Hogwarts, the former Watchers of the Stone were taking a long walk around the lake. Harry had a thick leather photo album tucked under his arm, a gift from Hagrid. Ron and Neville were displaying surprising tact and walking a little ahead of Harry and Hermione, sensing that the two wanted to talk. Harry held Hermione's hand, and for the first time he didn't hate himself for it. That was new.

"Why do you think Snape refereed that Quidditch match?" Harry asked quietly, looking out over the water. It wasn't as beautiful as it was at night in his opinion, but it was still a nice view.

"I don't know for certain," replied Hermione, fiddling with his fingers absently. "But I believe he or Dumbledore may have come to the conclusion that the troll incident was targeted at you. Snape could have refereed the match as a precaution."

They walked in silence for a time. Neville shoved Ron and started laughing about something. Ron shoved him back and soon they were both howling. Harry smiled as he watched them. Despite some of the setbacks they'd faced, their first year had turned out alright.

"Harry," Hermione began hesitantly. "Are you... willing to talk about, well, our ongoing prank?"

"Huh?" Harry turned away from the boys. "Prank?"

"The one we're both… playing along with."

"Oh." Harry felt the self-loathing surge within him, but was surprised when it didn't hit as hard as it normally did. "Yes, I guess."

"Do you want to continue it?" she asked in a small voice. He caught her eye and she looked away, the faintest blush on her cheeks.

"I get the feeling you do," Harry said dryly. She looked down at her shoes, heat spreading to her neck.

"Don't think poorly of me, Harry. I've been with you for so long, I can't imagine being apart." He thought that was a little corny. "Corny, is it? I know for a fact you feel the same way," Hermione said haughtily.

"That's cheating," he spluttered. No, I don't.

Yes you do, replied a sing-song voice in his mind. Hermione had an impish look about her.

Harry hardened his passive defences, but the damage was done. "Look, I don't know how things will turn out," he said finally. "But I… want to continue to play along. At least for now." Before she could say anything, he hurriedly continued. "And if I think something different to what I say out loud, I want you to just ignore it until I choose to say it." He dropped his defences.

"Okay," she replied, smiling brightly.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. The memory of a little piece of paper with Love, Hermione written on it suddenly came to mind.

Hermione hummed as she walked.


Harry watched the countryside roll by as the Hogwarts Express chugged back to London.

"You've all gotta come to the Burrow," Ron said, slapping Neville on the back and grinning at Harry and Hermione. "I'll send you an owl once I've asked Mum."

"Can you send it at the start of August? Harry and I are planning to spend the first month studying for next year," said Hermione.

"Already? Bloody hell, you two never stop, do you?" Ron barked a laugh. "Alright, it'll just be me and Neville till then."

"I'll have to ask my Gran," Neville said uneasily. "Maybe we can have your family over for dinner first, so she can get to know you? She can be pretty… strict."

"Good idea." Ron's grin faded a bit. "We're… we're not the most… I mean, we aren't rich or anything, if that matters."

Neville shook his head fiercely. "It doesn't," he said firmly.

The boys turned red as they noticed Harry and Hermione smiling at them. They coughed and scratched their heads before launching into a Quidditch conversation that they'd had a hundred times before.

There was no trouble from Malfoy on the train, surprisingly, though the four of them kept their wands handy just in case. Even when Hermione explained something about jurisdiction, they refused to put their wands in their trunks.

They went through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in pairs, and were met by the Weasley family on the other side. Ron introduced them all, and Mrs Weasley looked delighted to see her son had made so many close friends. Neville's grandmother strode over and Neville did the same for her. She was perfectly civil, with a straight back and severe face. Mrs Weasley was introduced in turn, and Harry and Hermione took advantage of the slightly awkward conversation by moving a few metres away.

"How are you going to deal with the Dursleys?" she asked quietly.

"I've been thinking about it. The status quo just isn't going to cut it this time." Harry bit his lip. "But I don't want to be on bad terms with them constantly, either. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe for one second that they will somehow become better people, but I'm going to try and make it far less painful to live with them. For my own sake, you know?"

"Good. I always hated knowing you were going back to them. Do you have a plan?"

Harry was aware of Hermione's parents slowly walking over. "They think I'm a waste of space – a freeloader. Maybe if I bring some money in, they won't be as quick to put bars on my window."

"Where would the money come from?" Hermione raised an eyebrow suspiciously. She already knew.

Harry's face burned. It's not like a huge supermarket chain is going to miss a few hundred quid every now and then.

Hermione didn't reply, instead turning to greet her parents. She introduced Harry to them, and he did his best to look like an innocent, embarrassed eleven-year-old. It really wasn't hard.

Uncle Vernon walked over, looking disgusted that Harry had shown up. He gravitated closer to the Grangers than the Weasleys, as it was clear who was more comfortable in Muggle attire. "Let's go, boy," he grunted. "Already wasted enough time waiting for you."

Harry shifted his grip on Hedwig's cage and his trunk, then turned to say goodbye to the others.

"See you in August, mate." Ron clapped him on the back.

"Hopefully I'll see you there too, Harry," Neville said, looking a bit daunted at the prospect of convincing his grandmother.

"Sure thing," Harry grinned. He looked to Hermione just as she collided with him in a great hug that almost knocked him over.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered in his ear before planting a kiss on his lips. Harry was distinctly aware of the Grangers, the Weasleys, Uncle Vernon, and Neville's gran watching. Ron and Neville sniggered at his expression.

They parted and, with his face burning harder than ever, Harry stumbled after his uncle.

The drive home was about as enjoyable as lying in a puddle of mud, but the memories of his 'first' year, of the tight-knit group they'd created, kept him smiling even as the familiar sights of Privet Drive flashed past.

"I want none of that nonsense around here, boy," Vernon growled as he was forced to help Harry lift the trunk out of the car. "I'll be locking away all of this junk until you go back."

"But I'm required to study over the holidays. They work us really hard," said Harry, gently picking up Hedwig's cage.

Vernon snorted through his moustache. "Not my problem."

"But if I don't send any of my work in, they'll have to come and check up on me."

That got Vernon's attention. He looked around at the neighbouring houses and hurriedly dragged the trunk inside the house and up to Harry's room. Harry followed as meekly as he could. Vernon dumped the trunk in the middle of the room and drew himself up like a hot air balloon. "You can study in here with the curtains drawn, and if you make one peep, you'll go without dinner for a week. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry put Hedwig's cage on the desk.

"Good." Vernon stomped out and slammed the door.

Harry immediately drew his wand and crouched on the floor next to his trunk. Hedwig hooted curiously. "I'm checking out the protective spells on the house," Harry explained quietly. "We need to establish any limitations before we can figure out how to get past them." He stayed there for a while, occasionally murmuring something under his breath. He wasn't using any actual spells until he knew for sure that there was no other charm on the house that would detect magic. It was more a matter of focus: sort of seeing through the wand, looking at his surroundings.

Harry sighed in relief. The blood ward Dumbledore created was still in place, miraculously. Harry didn't know why it hadn't broken; perhaps because Harry had fully expected to return to the Dursleys at the end of the year, it was still considered 'home', even if he had mentally moved on long ago. So would it break when his body turned seventeen again? It clearly used different rules for judging age than the Trace. Harry shook his head to stop himself from delving too deeply into the problem. Not important. All that mattered was that Privet Drive was a safe area to work from.

He sighed and tossed his wand on the bed before pushing his trunk against the wall so it wouldn't get in the way. It was starting to sink in that he was going to be seeing a lot more of this house. We need to clear Sirius's name soon. I don't want to come back here more than I have to. Distracting fantasies of living with Sirius kept him occupied well into the evening.

Harry stayed in his room until dinner, when Aunt Petunia called him down angrily. He immediately received a series of insults for not helping prepare the food or set the table, which he beared in silence. Dudley started a game of kicking Harry under the table every time he tried to take a bite, while Vernon boasted loudly of a big drill sale he'd made this week. The kitchen windows were strategically left open in case the neighbours were listening.

After dinner, the Dursleys retired to the couch while Harry cleaned up. Once they were all in the living room, Harry closed the windows and drew the curtains. With a wave of his hand, the dishes floated over to the sink and started washing themselves, the cutlery worked together to scrape any remaining food scraps into the garbage, and the pots and pans waited patiently in line. Within two minutes, the table was clear, the dishes were washed, dried and put away, and the same went for the pots. Harry gave a little smile at how easy it was. Wandless magic was imprecise and required more focus to use, but simple cleaning charms were well within Harry's skill level.

When Petunia suspiciously poked her head into the kitchen to see why the cleaning noises had stopped, she found Harry carefully drying a glass before putting it away. He hung the dishtowel on the rack and walked past Petunia to join Vernon and Dudley on the couch. From Petunia's stunned silence, she could find no fault in his behaviour.

He watched T.V. silently, not really taking it on board. This apparently suited the Dursleys just fine, and they chatted as though he wasn't there. Harry had thought this would be one of the hardest parts – pretending to be weak and subservient – but it really wasn't so bad. It was sort of like a penance for the crimes he would have to commit before all of this would be over.

Once Vernon was on his second glass of wine, he began to talk about the 'freaks and oddities' he'd seen at King's Cross Station that day. "– wearing the most ridiculous clothes, completely out of their heads," he ranted. Petunia nodded in agreement and glared at Harry as though it was his fault. "All I wanted was to get out of there – probably contagious, you know – but he was busy chatting like we were on his time and not mine." Vernon jerked his head in Harry's direction.

"I was saying goodbye to my friends," said Harry, but everyone ignored him.

"And then he started kissing some scruffy-looking girl right in public like we were in bloody Paris. Probably caught whatever she had – I was surprised we weren't rushed into quarantine straight away." Vernon wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"You kissed a girl?" Dudley said, flabbergasted. "You?"

"Her name is Hermione. She's my girlfriend," Harry replied.

Petunia sniffed. "You wouldn't want to kiss a girl like that, Dudders. Honestly, kissing at age eleven! No doubt her family is in shambles, living in a shack somewhere."

"Her parents are dentists," said Harry, but again nobody listened.

"Dudley's busy working hard, not slacking off playing with messy little girls," Vernon said proudly, slapping his son on the back.

"Working hard? You have a job?" Harry asked Dudley.

Petunia rushed to answer for him. "He doesn't need one. He's far too young and he's focusing on his schoolwork like a good boy." Dudley preened under his parents' praise.

"You could stand to get a job," growled Vernon. "You've been living off my hard-earned money, and now you're making fun of Dudley for having his priorities right, you ungrateful little –"

"Alright," said Harry. It was as good an opening as any. "I'll start looking for a summer job tomorrow. Maybe something at night so I'm too tired to be a bother to you during the day." The Dursleys were a little taken aback.

"You do that," said Vernon, turning the volume up. After a few minutes, Harry quietly excused himself and went up to his room.

What was a believable night job for a kid? Harry couldn't think of a single one. He could tell them that he was working at a magic store, but that would likely make things worse rather than better. Housekeeping? He certainly had the experience. But who would hire a kid to clean their house at night? Perhaps he could make up a story about a man who worked the nightshift and wanted someone at his house in case burglars came. That could work, but what if the Dursleys wanted details?

It was interesting trying to think of creative ways to fool them, and Harry spent an hour or two just lying on his bed, running through different possibilities in his mind. However, in the end, he decided the most effective method would involve memory charms. It was quick, relatively simple, and could be adjusted to fit his lies. With luck, he wouldn't even need to forge memories for them at all. They'd never gone out of their way to learn about his habits before.

Harry listened to the thumps of everyone going to bed, and watched the light turn off in the hallway. He got up and turned his own light off before sitting on the edge of his bed. He was feeling too energetic to go to sleep yet. I can do anything! There was nothing stopping him from Apparating to the Burrow or Diagon Alley or anywhere he felt like.

Really, he could even go see Hermione. She probably wouldn't want to do anything tonight (he could almost hear her voice lecturing him about getting a good night's sleep) and he didn't want to seem over-eager to start their assassination campaign. Hermione would probably think he was deranged for looking forward to it.

"I already think you're deranged," said a voice near the wardrobe. Harry was so startled that he fell off the bed with a thud. He snatched his wand up to silence the room. "I already did that." Hermione dispelled her Disillusionment Charm and beamed at him. He couldn't help but grin back.

"Not many people can sneak up on me, you know," he said, giving her a hug.

"I'm honoured to be one of the few who can," she assured him with a giggle.

"When did you get here?" Harry held her at arm's length. She was wearing midnight-blue clothes which seemed a bit fuzzy to his eyes.

"I Apparated over as soon as my parents were asleep. I thought I would have to wake you up." She noticed him squinting at her clothes. "Oh, I charmed some of my clothes to blend into the night a bit better. Just a precaution."

"Disillusionment Charms aren't enough?" He knew the answer as soon as he asked.

"I don't have to refresh this. Now, are you ready?"

"What are we doing first?" Harry pulled his jacket on and took Hermione's hand.

"Housekeeping," she said determinedly.


A/N

Being stuck in school has cost them a lot of time, so the next few chapters are going to be quite busy.