Hazel did as Dumbledore asked—she did not go looking for the mirror again. For the rest of Christmas, the invisibility cloak stayed tucked safely away in her trunk. She had to admit, that for all she had been happy to see her parents, it had messed with her mind. There had been multiple nights where she awoke in a cold sweat after having a dream where her mum and dad collapsed to the floor, dead in a flash of green light.

Hermione and Daphne met Hazel in the library the day before term started, just after they returned. The three girls had not arranged it, but instinctively knew to wait for each other there. It wasn't as if it was a difficult thing to know—they seldom met anywhere else. It was a testament to just how eager the girls were to see each other that all three headed there as soon as the students all returned from break.

"My father knew all about Nicolas Flamel," Daphne said, practically bursting to share. "Said he was the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone—we, of course, know all about it, thanks to that ridiculous book you found, Hermione. I swear it listed everything magical thing in existence smaller than a breadbox."

"So we don't need to look through any more books for him," Hermione said.

"I swear you're a nutter, Hermione. You actually sound disappointed. Now we know, and now we can start doing things for fun, like—"

"Looking through those books was fun!" Hermione protested.

"All right, you guys," Hazel said with a laugh. "Differing definitions of fun aside, we know who Nicolas Flamel is now, and what that package is."

"But why does it matter?" Daphne said.

"Because someone might try to steal it," Hazel said. "We should go and investigate the third-floor corridor, see what protections they have on it."

"The corridor that guarantees dying a painful death?" Daphne said. "No thank you. I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing, protecting something that important."

"Just like a student would never almost die," Hazel muttered. "Come on, you guys. It wouldn't hurt just to take a peek—we can be really careful."

"Hazel, I don't like the sound of this. Professor Snape was really hurt when we found him outside the corridor. Besides, we'll get caught and be in loads of trouble," Hermione said.

Hazel told them about the invisibility cloak and her nighttime wanderings. Hermione covered her face with her hands, unwilling to believe she had been caught by the headmaster and received no punishment. Daphne only grinned at the thought of Hazel leading the wheezy Filch on a wild chase. They had both gasped when she told them about the mirror—Hermione was fascinated by the complexity of the magic, and Daphne wondered what the mirror would show her. Hazel told them that the mirror wasn't so wonderful, that it had made her more sad than happy or knowledgeable, but omitted the part about her recurring nightmares.

But only when Hazel said she was going to the corridor with or without them did they agree to come. Hermione did so despairing how many points they would lose and Daphne did so with a roll of her eyes.

"If you get me killed," Daphne said. "I'm coming back from the dead just to kill you."

Hazel and Daphne snuck up to Gryffindor Tower later that night—that way they didn't risk Hermione getting caught. To the Fat Lady's consternation, Hermione came bursting out of the portrait hole around midnight, flustered. "I've only just managed to get away—Lavender kept trying to get me to let her braid my hair, all while insulting me! As if I didn't have better things to do!"

"Like sleep," Daphne said.

"Shut it," Hazel said. "We'll all be back in bed soon enough. Quick, Hermione, get under the cloak."

It was quite tight with the three of them under one cloak, but they managed. Hermione stepped on Daphne's toes and Hazel could scarcely see, as both Daphne and Hermione were much taller than her and she was stuck behind them. They moved slowly, painfully, but they eventually reached the third-floor corridor. They paused for a moment outside the door, looking around to make sure there was no one to witness them going through the door.

Daphne pushed the door open and led them down the corridor. Hermione lit her wand. Hazel trudged on behind them, standing on her toes, trying to look over their shoulders and see what was so special about this corridor, that Dumbledore had warned them all away from it. She already knew that it likely hid the Sorcerer's Stone, but why here? What protections did he place on it, that could kill a student?

At the end of the corridor was a locked door. Daphne pulled on it and turned around with a shrug. Hazel took a step back to look at the bigger girl, pulling the cloak up from her ankles. Daphne shrugged. "It's locked," she said. "Best we head back now, before we get caught."

"Honestly," Hermione said. "Are you a witch or not? Alohomora."

The door's lock clicked.

The three girls stepped inside.

A formless black mass lay across the floor. The sound of soft breathing filled the room. The creature stirred in its sleep, sniffing the air. Hazel squeezed between Daphne and Hermione, curious to see what the creature was. She gasped when she caught sight of it properly—a giant, three-headed dog!

"Let's get out of here," Daphne murmured. "That's a cerberus, and I don't fancy waking him."

"That's all?" Hazel whispered. "A three-headed dog, protecting one of the most powerful artifacts of all time?"

"That's all?" Daphne said, her voice cracking. "It's a cerberus, Hazel!"

"I know, but isn't that a little…well, inadequate?"

"It's standing on a trapdoor," Hermione said. "I doubt that's all. Come on now, Hazel. We don't want to wake it up."

"No, we don't," Daphne said. "Let's go."

"Alright," Hazel said, stifling a laugh. She turned to open the door, but found it locked.

"Alohomora," she tried.

No lock clicked.

"Hermione?"

Hermione tried.

No lock clicked.

"Brilliant," Daphne said. "Just brilliant. We're stuck here with a murderous cerberus until someone finds us. That is, if they ever find us—that thing could eat us in one bite!"

"Let's just stay under the cloak. If it doesn't see us, we'll be fine."

"It's a dog," Hermione said. "Or something like it. It can smell us."

"Let's just stay calm," said Hazel. "We don't know if it'll even wakeup anytime soon."

The dog snorted in its sleep.

*HP*

There was a knock on his door in the night, pulling him from his sleep. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and grabbed his wand from his nightstand. It was never a good thing when someone knocked on his door at three in the morning, be they a student or another member of staff. It always meant someone was having some sort of crisis, or a Slytherin had been caught out of bed. And it always meant someone was about to meet a very angry Severus Snape.

Muttering to himself, he stormed out of his bedroom towards the door to his quarters, nearly tripping over a stack of books in the dark. He rubbed his bleary eyes, cursing whatever fool who had decided to wake him up at this ungodly hour.

When he threw the door open, he found Dumbledore standing there yet again, his blue eyes sans twinkle. He looked quite serious for a man in a ridiculous, pink nightshirt. Then again, Severus couldn't say much while wearing his own worn, grey one.

"Quirrell is making his move," he said. "I added protections to the corridor—he is presently locked in with Hagrid's Fluffy."

"We'll find him in pieces," he said, following Dumbledore out the door.

They moved swiftly through the deserted halls. Dumbledore was spry for his one-hundred years, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to reach the third-floor corridor. Snape trailed behind him, clutching his wand, hoping he would get a chance to hex the irritating Quirrell into oblivion and find out precisely why the man made his Dark Mark twinge. It was not every day he had the opportunity to curse someone with Dumbledore's permission.

When they reached the door to where the cerberus was being kept, Dumbledore drew his wand and opened the door, humming a waltz. Severus wondered if the old man had finally gone mad but said nothing. He hoped the cerberus was asleep—even with Dumbledore, he didn't fancy facing the beast that had nearly killed him again.

To his relief, the three-headed dog remained asleep. He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and looked around the room. No Quirrell. Tentatively, he moved towards the trapdoor; the beast had its paw on top of it. A quick Revealing Charm showed that the wards on the trapdoor were still intact—no one had gone through it, that he could tell.

"Should we go on?" Severus asked the still-humming Dumbledore, who was gazing into the farthest corner of the room.

"I think not," he said, not moving his gaze. The twinkle was back in his eyes, and a smile touching the corners of his mouth. "I rather think that this was just a bout of innocent mischief making."

"Mischief making?" Severus said, incredulous. "You mean a student—then they're still here!"

"Oh, that they are," Dumbledore said, clearly enjoying himself. "Miss Potter, Miss Greengrass, Miss Granger—if you could take off that admirable cloak. The gig is up, as the Muggles like to say."

And then the three white-faced girls appeared out of nowhere, Potter clutching a silvery cloak in her hands.

Fury ignited in Severus's chest. How dare they—how dare the girl do this! The blasted girl must have a death wish, coming here with her two friends. He had told her to be careful, that someone was trying to kill her, and she goes the one place in the castle she had been warned not to go. And worse, after his promise to keep watch over her, he had been none the wiser—she had made him and his promise look foolish.

"Miss Potter," he hissed. He had eyes only for the girl cowering in the corner.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps this is a discussion best had in your office. We are, after all, in the company of a creature even more cantankerous than yourself."

"Fine," Severus snarled, stalking across the room, grabbing Potter by the top of her robes. He pulled her towards the door, her two friends following faithfully behind.

"I'll leave this in your capable hands, Severus," Dumbledore said before striding out the door, smile still on his face.

When they reached his office, his temper had not improved—it had only worsened. The girl could have died. Of all the foolish things! She had not been a troublemaker thus far—he had thought her nothing like her father—but this was such a Potter thing to do. This was the height of idiocy, and he had expected better of the girl.

Perhaps he shouldn't have. She was a Potter after all.

He stormed across the room to the corner where the girl stood, pale-faced and shaking. He didn't know if it was from him or the cerberus. He didn't care. He leaned forward, towering over the diminutive girl. He had eyes only for her, not caring about Granger and Greengrass. It was the girl's cloak, he was sure—how many times had James Potter ambushed him from under it—and therefore this was her fault. Granger was too much of a stickler for rules, and Greengrass had a sense of self-preservation—this hare-brained scheme smacked of Potter.

"Which of you fools," he snarled. "Had the brilliant idea to go into that corridor?"

Greengrass and Granger exchanged a look, while Potter looked at him defiantly. "It was my idea, sir. Daphne and Hermione tried to talk me out of it."

He took in a sharp breath of air. Lily would never have done something so stupid. Lily would be ashamed—oh, how he could hurt the girl, telling her that. But then he would have to reveal his secret to the girl, and that wouldn't do. So he snarled the first thing that came to his mind.

"How like your sainted father you are, Potter," he said. "He too had no regard for the lives of others. He too was a fat-headed bully, arrogant, convinced of his own superiority. I had thought you better than that, but clearly I was wrong. You are nothing more than a stupid little girl, just as awful as your father before you."

Tears shone in those hated hazel eyes. He felt something like glee, tearing down James Potter's daughter, seeing tears swim in those hateful hazel eyes, even if he had to hurt Lily's daughter to do it.

"I-I—"

"You're an insolent, worthless little brat," he said, not finished. "I have no need to listen to your inane prattling and even less interest in your crocodile tears. Save your simpering apology for someone else, Potter, because I. Don't. Care."

The tears were flowing down her face now.

"One-hundred points from Slytherin and a month's worth of detention with me, every night. Fifty more points from Slytherin for you, Greengrass, and fifty points from Gryffindor. Now get out my sight!"

*HP*

Hazel threw herself into the one thing left to her—Quidditch. Everyone else in Slytherin, except for Daphne, hated her. She was shocked Snape hadn't taken her off the team. She was equally shocked the Quidditch team didn't seem to mind her presence, unlike the rest of Slytherin House. They still defended her and helped her—Adrian had hexed Malfoy for saying it was too bad she hadn't died with her parents. Everyone in Slytherin hated her and Daphne for losing so many points in one night, for a reason they wouldn't explain. No one knew why they had gone into that corridor, only that they had.

She was grateful her friends stood by her, at least. Hermione was quite upset as she had become even more of a pariah in Gryffindor, but she forgave Hazel. She said that's what friends do.

With the match against Hufflepuff fast approaching, they were practicing more and more. She had often trudged into her detentions with Professor Snape covered in mud and sweat. He had made snide remarks about her looking like she had come out of a pigsty, but at least he had refrained from insulting the father she had never known. She hated that she had cried in front him, but his words had been unexpected and cut deep. It hurt even more that he had started treating her as he did the Gryffindors, varying between icy indifference and cruel, biting sarcasm.

The one adult she had in her corner, and she had thrown it away out of curiosity over something that wasn't any of her business.

She was only glad her month of detention was almost over. Then she wouldn't have to see the man every day and be reminded of what she had lost.

The day of the match, she walked down to the pitch with Hermione and Daphne. The three girls were even more inseparable since their run in with the three-headed dog. As it happened, Snape had written their parents. Daphne's father had responded with a quiet aplomb, warning her she would be punished further at home if she pulled another stunt like this—Daphne said she was glad it was her father and not her mother who responded, as Mrs. Greengrass would have sent a Howler. Hermione's parents had sent her a disappointed letter threatening to take her out of Hogwarts. Hazel wondered what the Dursleys had done—probably burned the letter on sight or expressed disappointment the three-headed dog hadn't eaten her.

"Good luck, Hazel!" Hermione said, giving her a hug. "I'll be cheering for you."

"A Gryffindor cheering for a Slytherin," Daphne said. "We are an odd bunch."

Hazel tossed her head back and laughed, before entering the locker room and changing into her robes. When she exited again, Flint clapped her on the back, causing her to lurch forward.

"I don't expect you'll have a problem this match, Potter," he said. "Professor Dumbledore is here, and Professor Snape is refereeing. No one will be able to curse your broom."

With all that had been on her mind, it had not even occurred to Hazel that her would-be murderer would try the same thing again. She had been too busy trying to keep up with her homework, Quidditch practices, and detentions. Whoever was trying to kill her would have to be really thick to try the same thing again, and even stupider to try it under Professor Dumbledore's nose.

When the game began, she soared high into the air, far above the Hufflepuff seeker, a handsome third year named Cedric Diggory. She did a few loop-the-loops to let off her nerves—everyone was watching her, wondering if last match's drama would be repeated.

Snape blew the whistle and awarded Slytherin a penalty when one of the bulky Hufflepuff Beaters hit a Bludger at him, which he only narrowly avoided. He didn't look very at home on a broom. Hazel wondered why he was bothering to referee at all—while he had promised to keep an eye on her, she doubted he still cared anything for her after the incident with the cerberus. Perhaps he had arranged to be referee before she had made a mess of everything.

A flash of gold pulled her from her recollections—it was the Snitch! Slytherin was already seventy points ahead, so she could catch the Snitch without any worries about losing the match. She raced forward towards the little, golden ball, determined to reach it before Diggory, who was trailing a little way behind her. She pitched her broom into a steep dive and pulled out of it, Snitch in hand. A smile split her face—she had caught the Snitch in less than five minutes. It was now fluttering weakly in her hand. She had earned back the points she and Daphne had lost on their ill-fated excursion. Snape blew his whistle again.

When she landed back on the ground, Diggory offered her his hand, which she shook. "That was a good catch," he said. "I don't know if I could have managed it in such a dive, and I've certainly never caught the Snitch so early in a match." He flashed her a winning smile.

"Thanks, Diggory," she said, blushing.

"Cedric," he said.

"Cedric."

Dumbledore strolled across the field, his ostentatious, purple, star-spangled robes trailing through the mud behind him. His eyes twinkled and he was smiling at her.

"Well done," said Dumbledore, so quietly that only Hazel could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror…been keeping busy…excellent… and no more adventures with Hagrid's dear Fluffy…excellent indeed."

Snape landed on the ground, wobbling a bit as he found his footing. He looked at Hazel and opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but promptly shut it again. A small part of Hazel wanted to go and apologize to him, but she squashed that instinct. This was a time for celebration—apologies could wait. She mounted her broom and joined Flint in his celebratory lap before flying out of the stadium, towards the Forbidden Forest.

*HP*

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

Severus scowled at the timid man before him, his Dark Mark burning on his arm. This fool was connected to the Dark Lord, somehow. He took a menacing step forward, backing the quivering Quirrell into a tree. Quirrell shot a panicked glance over his shoulder, looking around wildly.

"Yes, Quirrell," Severus said with a nasty smile. "There are werewolves in this forest, even a coven of vampires somewhere deep within it. I'm sure I could arrange for you to meet them."

"No! I-I mean I d-don't know why…thought we c-could have arranged some p-place b-b-better to meet," he said.

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Severus. "Students aren't supposed to know about the stone, after all. 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 another step toward him. They were so close they were nearly touching now. His Dark Mark was on fire.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. Tell me about your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting." A branch snapped somewhere above them, but neither man paid it any mind.

"B-but I d-d-don't—"

"Very well. We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

He turned his back on the fool, when he heard a hiss. "Sseveruss," it said. He turned around, his face paling beyond its usual pallor.

"I should say the same of you, Severus," Quirrell said in a voice very unlike his usual quavering tones.

"Let me ssee him," the voice hissed again.

"Master, no! You are not strong enough!"

"I am sstrong enough to adresss a wayward sservant," it whispered.

And then with shaking hands, Quirrell began to unwrap his turban. Severus stood there, frozen in shock and horror, unable to look away. The Dark Lord couldn't be here with Quirrell—he simply could not be. Dumbledore would have known. But then again, Quirrell had been to Albania this summer…where the Dark Lord was rumored to be. And Dumbledore, much as he liked to pretend to, did not know everything.

He slammed his Occlumency shields in place, forcing himself to remain calm. If this was somehow the Dark Lord, as he felt was increasingly likely, then he would certainly die if he did not prepare himself. If only he had suspected, had been able to devise a plan with Dumbledore, he would know what to do! He had faith in his abilities as a natural improviser, but he feared ruining the bigger picture by revealing too much or too little. Everything he had told the Dark Lord during the war had been carefully selected, designed to make him seem the faithful spy while passing on nothing of import.

For the first time in ten years, he found himself standing face to face with the Dark Lord.

He averted his eyes from his former master. To look into the Dark Lord's eyes without invitation was pure folly—the twisted man saw it as a challenge and could bring even Severus to his knees with the force he could put behind a mental invasion. No, even as little more than a shade, the Dark Lord's eyes were dangerous.

A wheezy laugh came from the back of Quirrell's head. "I am terrible, am I not? Forced to subsist on the meager talents of this mediocre wizard. Yes, if only it had been you who had found me, Sseveruss. We could have done great things."

His heart pounded in terror—it was all he could do not to take a step back, turn around, and run. He had no desire to have the Dark Lord possess him.

The Dark Lord laughed again. "You are safe, Severus. I am too weak to change hosts yet again. It took some doing to possess our dear friend Quirinus…he was most unwilling, at first. Now look at me, my wayward child."

Knowing better than to disobey, Severus looked straight into the milky white eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Let your lord see where your loyalties lie," he wheezed.

Severus showed him the drudgery of working at Hogwarts—the endless papers, the dunderheaded students, the foolish pranks, the bullying. He showed the Dark Lord his recent cruelties to the Girl Who Lived. He showed him his endless arguments with Dumbledore, the frustrations he felt when the old man just twinkled at him and ignored his complaints. He kept everything else hidden behind a hastily constructed wall, one he knew would topple if the Dark Lord so much as looked at it—

A grin broke out on the Dark Lord's terrible face. "I'll admit, Severus, I never valued as I should. Even Lord Voldemort makes mistakes. After all these years, you remain loyal to me, even close as you have been to that old fool."

"I knew better than to abandon my post, my lord," he said. "You instructed me to stay at Hogwarts, so—"

"Silence," the Dark Lord said. "You forget yourself, Severus. You do not speak unless I invite you to."

Severus opened his mouth to reply "yes, my lord," but thought better of it after being told to be silent. Instead he opted for an odd twitch that resembled a nod.

"I should think that we will do great things, now that I have my most faithful servant back at my side. I can see the loyalty and determination it took to stay by the great mudblood lover's side for a decade, my loyal servant, even if it distracted you from finding me and returning me to my former glory. I shall forgive you this sin, once you repent of it. Repent, Severus."

"You have my sincerest apologies, my lord."

The horrible grin returned. "Now Quirinus, let us show him what it means to repent."

Severus stiffened, knowing what was coming. Repentance to the Dark Lord was always accompanied by punishment. Quirrell turned around, gripping his wand tightly, manic gleam in his eyes.

"I have longed for this opportunity, Severus. Crucio."

The force of the spell sent him tumbling to the ground. He resisted screaming, for a time, instead twitching on the ground as his body spasmed in pain. But it was too much. It was pain unlike he had felt in a decade, pain beyond endurance, and he was screaming, screaming—

The Dark Lord only laughed.

After what seemed an eternity, Quirrell ended the curse. His tongue was bleeding—he had bitten it while thrashing around on the ground. Blood pounded in his ears. He shook as the aftershocks of pain ran through his system. Slowly, haltingly, he pushed himself to his feet, determined not to give Quirrell the satisfaction of seeing him laying prostrate before him. He suffered because the Dark Lord commanded it, but would not allow Quirrell to have any further power over him.

Quirrell turned back around, so that Severus was facing the Dark Lord once more. "Good, Severus," he said. "Very good. Now, I have instructions for you. I see that you have no fondness for the Girl Who Lived. But you are her Head of House. She will naturally look to you for guidance…foster this connection, my most faithful, so that when the time is right, you may deliver her to me. That is your task. Quirinus and I shall continue to endeavor to get to the stone—it would not do for the old fool to suspect you are involved in the plot as well. Now tell me, Severus, what protections have you put on the stone?"

"A logic puzzle you are more than equal to, my lord."

"Yes…you always were very clever. But cleverness can be outdone."

"Indeed, but we must use what talents we have," Severus said.

The Dark Lord laughed, a high and cold sound that raised bumps on the back of Severus's neck. "Yes, but you are rather more talented than most. I'll admit, I'm disappointed your protection was not something more…grand."

"The old man would not let me use any dark curses to protect the stone."

"I did not ask for your excuses."

Severus kept his eyes trained on the ground. Inviting the Dark Lord's disappointment was never a good thing, even when he was in good humor; he would sometimes accept explanations, but more often saw them as excuses. He felt the Dark Lord's milky eyes on him, contemplating what actions to take for his failings. He closed his eyes, silently praying that he would not be subjected the Cruciatus Curse yet again.

"Yet I find myself tiring, Severus…I am but a shadow of what I was. With the stone, I shall construct myself a new body and be whole again. You have your task—disappoint me, and you shall feel Lord Voldemort's wrath. Quirinus," he said.

With that command, Quirrell rewrapped his turban, covering the Dark Lord's terrible face. Quirrell redonned his fearful façade and walked away, leaving Severus standing there, wondering just what it was he was supposed to do now.