Harry would never remember how he managed to score so well on his first year exams, given the lack of studying he did in the days leading up to them. Perhaps it was the result of his hard work over the entire year, but whatever the case, it did not erase the fact that he spent those last few days tracking Quirrell even more fiercely than before. After he had dismissed the other members of the Student Council for the last time before their exams, Harry began working on a way to capture, if not kill, Voldemort and his host.

He tried using his Cloak to sneak into the Restricted Section in order to search for something that could contain a spirit, but had to abandon the idea after Madam Pince increased security around it to prevent troublemakers from taking advantage of the exam rush to try the same.

Neville, Hermione, and the twins seemed to be concerned about the fact that Harry was tiring himself out with his watching Quirrell, and more than once they suggested going to McGonagall or Dumbledore, but Harry just shrugged them off. People in the wizarding world still flinched when they heard Voldemort's name spoken ten years after his supposed death; what would they do if they found out that he was right in the same place they were? And besides, how could Dumbledore have failed to notice that his enemy was right within the walls of Hogwarts when the whole defense setup (Archer pointed out that Harry was generalizing things, but he ignored the spirit) was built as a trap for the person? Harry's temper always rose whenever he thought about how Dumbledore was putting the students of the school at risk with his actions.

Quirrell himself seemed to be even more jittery as time passed, possibly a result of not getting his unicorn blood fix due to Harry's interference. More than once, Harry caught an attempt at mind magic made on him that he threw off with Archer's assistance, and he always spotted Quirrell giving him looks of hatred whenever the man thought Harry wasn't looking. Now he knew, the attempt on his life during his first Quidditch match had not been in revenge for the troll, it was in revenge for Voldemort's defeat in Godric's Hollow. One night, Harry spotted Quirrellmort's dot heading into the Forbidden Forest again, but he was unable to do a thing to stop it with Percy and the other prefects putting Gryffindor House in lockdown so they could study. It was aggravating knowing that another unicorn was about to die while he was forced to stare at books and notes.

You can't save everyone, Harry. No matter how much you want to. Archer told him solemnly, but he could tell that the heroic spirit was also regretting being unable to do anything.

You told me that being a hero means trying anyway! Harry retorted.

All you will accomplish is getting yourself injured or killed! Archer snapped back, making him flinch. Discretion is the better part of valor, haven't you heard that before?

Then what should I do, Archer? Tell me!

"Harry?" Harry blinked and looked up. Hermione was looking at him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Forcing a smile, he nodded. "I'm fine. I'm feeling a bit tired, so I'll head up to sleep first." He collected his books and went up the stairs.

Minutes later, Harry was once against standing in Archer's world, and he was shouting at the older man.

"Why aren't we doing anything? I know some of your swords are powerful enough! You can beat Quirrell, beat Voldemort!"

"I might. But not you." Archer said firmly. "No matter how much you've trained, your body is still that of a child's. Your chances of winning aren't good."

"What if we shoot him from afar?" said Harry frantically. "You could do that, right? Right?"

Archer materialized the bow in his hand. "I could, but you can't."

"WHY NOT?" yelled Harry.

"This bow is built to fire Noble Phantasms, it's special. It's not something you can easily wield." He planted the bow in the ground, placing a hand on the other end. "And it's taller than you. How do you expect to shoot Quirrell when you can't even hold it properly?"

Harry was speechless.

"And you haven't thought about what else is involved. Can you imagine what would happen if your friends saw you shooting Quirrell?"

"Then I'll just-"

"Shoot him from afar so no one sees you?" Archer said sharply, letting the bow disappear. "There is no place in the castle when you can fire off a proper arrow without being seen. Outside of the castle? You need something strong enough to penetrate the bounded fields. And what if the arrow you use isn't enough? Will you use a stronger Noble Phantasm? What if someone else gets caught by the blast?"

Harry clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

"I know you want to do something, but think before you act." Archer looked out over the vast expanse of blades. "I made that mistake many times, and always ended up regretting it afterwards."

"...inside my trunk is the horn of a unicorn that was killed by Quirrell and Voldemort. How do you think I feel knowing that another one of those beautiful creatures is going to get killed tonight because I can't do anything?" Harry said, furious.

"..." Archer just looked at him, almost pityingly.

"Well? Don't just stand there, say something!"

Archer held out his hands and materialized Kanshou and Bakuya, but unlike his previous versions of those weapons, both of them seemed to be leaking some silvery substances, and were cracked in places. "If you really think I don't know how you feel, then hold these."

"What are they?" Harry knew that for some reason, he could see the history of the blades he touched in Archer's world, which was why he avoided touching any of them save the normal ones Archer created for him during their spars.

"I attempted to weave my memories into these. I'll warn you now, what you might see isn't anything pretty."

Harry gave Archer one last glare, before reaching out and grabbing the handles of those two blades.

Regret.

Forced to kill those he wished to save. Forced to end their lives to save humanity from itself.

Forced to... betray his own ideals. And being unable to do a thing to stop it.

Harry tore his hands away from the weapons. Breathing heavily, he collapsed back onto his butt, staring at Archer with wide eyes of shock. Then he cut his connection to the world, vanishing from Archer's eyes, and spent the rest of the night curled up in his bed trying to forget what he saw.

When he rose the next morning, Harry stumbled down to the Great Hall for breakfast, before escaping out onto the grounds to avoid talking to anyone. He walked around the castle, passing by the greenhouses, the lake, avoiding the Whomping Willow's range, until he finally came to a stop outside Hagrid's cottage. Harry stared at the dark windows for a while, before turning to leave.

"Hey, Harry. What yer doin' here?"

Harry turned around to see Hagrid emerging from the forest.

"I just felt like taking a walk." Harry said dully.

"Wanna cuppa tea? Jus' came back from patrollin' the forest, myself."

"Okay."

Harry sat in the big chair watching Hagrid putter about putting the kettle on and preparing cups. Once the hot tea was before him, he took a few deep breaths of the herbal scent.

Hagrid set down the teapot and gave him a look over his own mug. "You look like yer aren' sleepin' well, Harry. Bad dreams?"

"You could say that." The boy mumbled dully.

"The unicorn, eh?" Hagrid chuckled, but his voice was sad. "Its death must've affected you."

Harry would have corrected Hagrid, but Archer's existence was a secret that he never told anyone, and didn't intend to. Instead he remained silent.

"Well, I've got good news for yer, Harry. The centaurs told me that the unicorn herd moved deeper into the forest, and they'll be protectin' them, too."

It took a while before what Hagrid said registered in Harry's brain. "What?"

"Whatever's been huntin' those unicorns, it won' get them now." Hagrid said confidently. "No more unicorns're gonna die, Harry."

The boy wasn't sure how to react at first, but eventually he simply sagged in relief. So no unicorns died last night, and even if he wasn't able to stop Quirrell from going into the forest, it would be okay. It would be okay, Harry told himself again.


On the morning of the first day of exams, Draco, whose grades had yet to overtake Hermione's outside of Potions, finally made his move.

"I think I'm ready, Harry. What do you-" Hermione was talking to Harry, but he wasn't really paying attention.

LOOK OUT! Archer's voice roared in his mind.

Despite having not heard his voice for a while, Harry instinctively grabbed the girl and pushed her to the floor, just as a dark purple curse sailed through where she was standing a moment ago. Rolling off the shrieking girl, Harry pulled off his book bag and threw it into the way of another curse, causing an explosion of parchment and ink that made the crowd scatter and scream. His eyes spotted an older Slytherin student pointing a wand at them, and Harry growled angrily.

"JUST WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" Professor McGonagall yelled, causing everyone to go still.

The student made to put his wand away, but Harry was faster. He drew his wand and fired off a powerful Stinging Hex, hitting the teenager in the hand, eliciting a yelp and causing him to drop the wand, which clattered on the floor.

"Mr Potter! What are you doing!" McGonagall rounded on him, but Harry didn't flinch, keeping his wand trained on his opponent. "Put your wand away!"

"No." Harry spoke coldly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor! And it will be a detention if you don't PUT. YOUR. WAND. AWAY."

"He tried to curse Hermione, Professor." Hermione gasped at what he said, and the old witch frowned at hearing how one of her best students had been targeted.

Harry shot off another hex, hitting the ground between the Slytherin's hand and his wand just as the teenager was trying to reach for it.

"MR POTTER!" McGonagall looked extremely furious.

Seeing Dean near the Slytherin, Harry caught the dark-skinned boy's eye. "Get his wand, Dean. It's evidence."

"Ri-right." Dean did as he was told, and Harry finally lowered his wand, but still watched the older boy in case he tried anything.

"Mr Thomas!" McGonagall glared at her other student, who shrunk back, but held onto the incriminating wand.

"Professor, I believe it's possible to check the last spell cast?" Harry said as he helped Hermione to her feet. Hearing that she narrowly avoided getting hit by a curse had unnerved the bookish Gryffindor, and she held onto him tightly.

McGonagall's lips pinched together, but she stalked over to Dean and snatched the wand out of his hands. Placing the tip of her wand to it, she spoke the incantation, "Priori Incantato."

Harry didn't recognize the shape of the swirly pattern that came out from the Slytherin student's wand, but McGonagall evidently did, because she looked like she wanted to expel the student very badly.

"Mr Dreyton. See me in my office. Immediately." Anyone who heard her speak right then knew that McGonagall was beyond furious, and the boy paled visibly. "The rest of you, into the Hall. Now!"

Harry spared a glance for the remains of his book bag before he shook his head and entered the examination room with the rest of his year mates. Hermione looked like she wanted to say something to him, but first they had an exam to deal with. Privately, he thought it was a lucky coincidence that he hadn't carried any of his important notes right then. Picking up the Anti-Cheating Quill they were provided with for the exams, he scanned it to inspect the charm on it.

Harry.

Yes, Archer? I'm about to take an exam here. Harry still had yet to discuss Archer's past with the spirit, and their relationship had gotten slightly cool after not talking to each other for so long.

Look at Draco.

Harry glanced over at the blonde, then took a closer look. That...

Draco had been frowning at him, but his eyes flickered between Harry and Hermione. Clearly, Harry's rescue of Hermione wasn't to his liking. It wasn't hard for Harry to make the connection.

THAT-! Harry's fist clenched tightly.

"Mr Potter, please do not break the quill." He looked over the edge of his desk to see Professor Flitwick frowning at him disapprovingly.

Harry's grip relaxed, and he looked down. The Anti-Cheating Quill had snapped in his hand when he had squeezed it too tightly. Flitwick repaired it and moved on.

You should calm down, said Archer calmly, if you think about it... you were at fault.

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"Mr Potter, behave yourself!"

Harry looked around, but the other students didn't meet his eyes. "Oh, sorry Professor."

The terms of your wager with Draco did not restrict him from attempting to prevent Hermione from taking the exams, and if she didn't, she would naturally score below Draco, and he would win the wager.

That's...

"Turn your question papers over. You may begin."

Focus on your exam for now, Harry. Archer said, before his presence faded out.

Archer? Archer! Harry gritted his teeth, before giving up and doing as the spirit told him. He wanted to talk to Archer, to discuss what he had seen of the hero's memories, but apparently it wasn't going to happen just yet.

After the exam, the Gryffindors crowded protectively around Hermione and escorted her back to their common room. She didn't waste any time in scolding him for his outburst in the exam hall.

"I know you don't like attention, Harry, but you didn't have to snap at everyone." She told him in a patient tone of voice.

Huh? Oh... she misunderstood the 'what' I said as a 'what are you looking at'. Before Harry could say anything, Fay interrupted.

"That's no way to talk to the person who saved you from getting cursed, Hermione!"

The girl looked down. "Sorry. I've been trying to break that habit, but..."

"We know, you fall back into it sometimes. But why would that slimy Slytherin try to curse her?" Lavender spoke up this time.

Harry wasn't sure how to put it across to the rest of the Gryffindors; Hermione was sure to react unfavorably.

Tell them. It's best to get it out of the way now.

Are we finally talking again, Archer? Harry's expression darkened slightly.

Don't be a stubborn ass. Just tell them, it won't be as bad as you think.

Harry grumbled in his mind, but went along nonetheless. "Guys, I have something to tell you..."

Like Harry expected, Hermione didn't take the news too well; she gave him a stern talking-to in a manner reminiscent of McGonagall, going on for nearly half an hour before she finally relented and let him off. But like Archer expected, the overall reaction wasn't that bad, as the other Gryffindors vowed to protect one of their own.

However, while they didn't have to do much since the story had leaked out to the teachers (Harry only said that he had a bet with Draco on Hermione's results, not mentioning the costs involved), prompting a separation of the two Houses for the period of the exams, the relationship between Slytherin and Gryffindor fractured even further despite Harry's attempts to prevent it. Harry knew that Archer wasn't infallible, but he couldn't help but blame the spirit for not predicting this outcome. Yes, he was at fault for not applying proper restrictions to the wager, but to see his Student Council idea face such a setback...

There were just too many things for him to take care of: Exams, the Student Council's purpose, Quirrellmort, Harry couldn't deal with it all at once. So he met up with Draco and bluntly told him to help keep the peace.

"Or what?"

Or I'll punch you across the face for trying to curse a friend of mine. "Or even if I put you as the leader, no one will ever follow you apart from the Slytherins." Harry said, not letting his thoughts show on his expression.

"You were the one who didn't name the proper terms," accused Draco.

Harry winced. "I know. But you're just damaging the reputation of Slytherin House with this action. That's not what we want."

Their talk went on for quite a while, but Harry finally won when he pointed out how the House of hot-headed idiots would jump at the chance to attack in retaliation for any attack Slytherin made, possibly causing a full-out war that nobody wanted; the costs would offset the gain he was shooting for. Draco didn't like it, but he eventually agreed to stop Slytherin from making any offensive motions if Harry would do the same for Gryffindor. It took a lot of fast-talking from Harry before he managed to calm down the lions, but an uneasy peace was eventually forged, giving him the breathing room he needed.

The exams themselves weren't too hard; Harry didn't think he did as well as he could on the theory portion of his papers, but at least he filled out every single question, even if not all of them were correct. But it was the practical portion he shone in; Professor Flitwick's test of making a pineapple tapdance across the desk was simple, while Professor McGonagall gave him an approving smile to match Archer's pride in him, with the snuffbox he transfigured from a mouse having an elegant design of a crossed Kanshou & Bakuya. For Sprout, they had to demonstrate how to prune a few separate plants and collect the respective parts that could be used in Potions without harming them.

When Snape chose the Forgetfulness potion as the potion to brew, Harry smirked; striking at Slytherin House with Quidditch was one thing, while attacking the man himself was another. Applying his accumulated knowledge and magecraft allowed him to finish five minutes before everyone else, and he made sure to swagger up to the Potions teacher in a manner that caught everyone's attention. The Slytherin Head of House heard about how Harry had caught one of his snakes in trying to curse Hermione, and glared unpleasantly at Harry. Just before he reached Snape, Harry lifted the vial in his right hand to his mouth, before lowering it and looking around in a befuddled manner, blinking oddly. Then he turned and started heading for the door, ignoring Hermione's frantic hiss along the way.

"Potter!" Snape ground out.

Harry stopped and looked at the man curiously. "Yes... er... who are you again?"

You're overdoing it, Harry. Archer sighed.

"Don't play the fool with me, Potter! I know you didn't drink that Forgetfulness potion. Hand it in, I'll be deducting marks for this charade."

"Oh, okay." Harry approached Snape and held out the vial in his right hand. "Here you go."

The two of them looked down at the empty vial, watched by the rest of the class.

"It's empty." Harry said, his voice filled with wonder at the mysterious existence of the empty vial in his hand, holding it up to his eye so everyone else could see.

Snape didn't have the same reaction. Rather, his was the opposite. "I can see that, you stupid boy. What have you done with it?"

"Maybe I drank it. I can't remember if I did." Harry licked his lips as though trying to taste a residue on them. "Hey, if I did, and I can't remember it, that means it worked, right?" (1)

Snape turned a nice shade of puce and swelled with anger even as some of the braver students chuckled in amusement, but before the man could say anything, Harry gasped and held out his left hand, which had the vial filled with Forgetfulness potion in it. He had pulled a simple switch to transfer it from his right hand to his left.

"Oh, of course! I remember now~" Harry exaggerated the realization in his voice, "I accidentally got a bit on my lips and forgot I was carrying it in my left hand. Here you go, Professor Snape. It's got my name written on it and everything, properly labeled, just the way you wanted, oh yes!" He thrust the vial into the man's hand.

Archer sighed. You're overdoing it again.

As Harry made for the door, he heard a clinking noise behind him, and saw the vial on the floor. It was clear that Snape had tried to break it, but he hadn't counted for Harry's Reinforcement. "Be careful, Professor Snape. Careless hands like that aren't good for a Potions Master..."

Once he was outside the room, Harry made his way over to the place where McGonagall was invigilating one of the upper year's student, patting the additional vial inside his robe pocket. While he knew from talking to the older students that only the OWLs and NEWTs mattered, he didn't want his foster parents to question why he scored so poorly on Potions. Despite McGonagall's actions for the past few weeks, she at least knew of Snape's grudge against Harry, and would most likely help. If not, well... at least he got some personal satisfaction anyway.

The practical for Defense Against the Dark Arts was a stroke of luck for Harry since Quirrell held a simple question-and-answer session for the whole class. He didn't want to imagine what might have happened if it had been one on one like with Flitwick or McGonagall, it might have resulted in a deathmatch. As things were, Harry thought he might have suffocated from the smell of garlic when Quirrell stood close by him for nearly half of the whole period. Archer theorized that Quirrell was reliant on unicorn blood because most possessions tended to be deteriorative to the host's body, and the garlic smell was to cover up the usual stench of that effect. Harry joked that Quirrell, who was said to have a way with trolls, was using garlic to hide the fact that he hung around trolls for so long that the smell rubbed off on him-

Actually, Harry later decided, that was a reasonable explanation. He passed it on to the Weasley twins and Lavender Brown, who would disseminate it to the rest of the school in short order.

The last exam was History of Magic, and Harry felt that fate was throwing him a bone by giving him a test on Gaspard Shingleton, the inventor of the self-stirring cauldron, and the person he researched in order to make the enchanted stirrers he created for Neville to practice with. One hour of answering questions about that man and the charms involved, and Harry was done with exams. While he knew that there was still Quirrellmort (the name kind of grew on him the more he used it) and Council work to deal with, the evaporating tension was infectious, and Harry let himself join in with the cheering of the others when Binns told them to stop writing and roll up their parchments.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be." Hermione was saying as they followed the rest of the crowd out onto the sun-soaked grounds, "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

"That's our Hermione." Parvati said with some fondness. "You're sure to win your bet with Malfoy now, Harry."

"Yeah." Harry couldn't help but glance back at the castle, wondering what Quirrellmort was up to.

"By the way," Lavender suddenly stuck her face in from of his, causing Harry to jerk back in shock. "What is the Student Council planning next?"

"Er, well, that... Quidditch!" Harry blurted out without thinking, the first thing coming to his mind being the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor plot.

"Huh? Quidditch? But we already have the usual Quidditch matches coming up..." The other people who were listening, Gryffindor and otherwise, all mumbled agreement.

Harry looked around at the disappointed faces. "Ah, no, I mean... we always play among the students, right? How about we play against the teachers instead!" He came up with the idea on the spot.

He didn't expect it to suddenly transform the entire group of people into a bundle of excitement as word spread throughout the place, and he had to call a sudden meeting of the Council to prepare for the thing. Draco and Hannah were just as excited, and he quickly delegated duties to them like who was in charge of the tryouts and stuff. Professor McGonagall was shocked when she saw all the students indoors instead out outside like they normally were after exams, but once somebody explained things to her, agreed that the idea of a student-teacher Quidditch match was a favorable one, and gave Harry a nod of approval.

Part of Harry knew that he still had Quirrellmort to deal with, but it was hard to focus on that when everyone kept coming to him demanding information about the latest Student Council undertaking.

"Let's make it only open to first through fourth year," decided Harry.

"Why? Everyone wants to have a chance against the teachers." Draco demanded. He had been acting subdued after realizing his mistake in trying to win the wager, but Quidditch still excited him like it would any wizard child.

"You have to think of those taking OWLs and NEWTs, Draco. Besides, we're supposed to be in charge of the first years only, remember?"

"But they want to," repeated Draco, "We can use that to get more support for this Council, instead of just being restricted to first years. That's how it works, right?"

"Yes it is. But do you really want those students coming after you later blaming you for their poor grades?" Harry had considered this happening after the wager fiasco.

"As if that would happen. It's their fault." The Slytherin scoffed.

Harry just gave him a 'how stupid are you?' look and held it until Draco flushed and looked away. One of the things Harry had encountered in his work as the Student Council president was how stupid people could act given half-information, and with Draco accompanying along on some of those times when he had to explain things, both of them were very familiar with what Harry was saying.

"Take Percy Weasley for example," Harry reminded the rest, ignoring Draco's muttering about blood traitors. "He's one of those who would act that way, don't you think?"

"The most stiff-necked fellow I've ever seen." Su added her opinion of the person they all knew, and the others murmured their agreement.

"Now let's move on to the next part, I want to finish this before lunch." Harry ordered.

While Harry might have been an excellent Seeker, he wasn't really that much of a Quidditch fan, and thus wasn't really interested in the overall event. Because of that, after a bit of decision making as to what rules and tasks were involved, he pushed the duties onto his colleagues under the excuse that they needed to learn the ropes themselves, with a meaningful look at Draco.

After they left, Harry busied himself tidying up the place before leaving the room. That's done. Now, about Quirrell...

"Harry!"

The boy in question cursed his luck and turned around to see who was calling him this time. Hermione and Neville came puffing up to him - the pair really were unused to intense physical activity - looking like something really bad had happened.

"What's the matter, guys?"

"Ha...Hagrid... he said..." Neville was doubled over, wheezing.

"Breathe deeply, Neville. Get some oxygen in first before you speak. Hermione?"

Neville nodded, but his expression said he had no idea what oxygen was. Meanwhile, Hermione spoke.

"Professor Dumbledore's left the castle." Hermione rushed out breathlessly.

"Uh... huh? So?"

"Hagrid said..." Neville finally recovered enough to speak properly. "The centaurs had a message... what is fake... is real!" The boy grabbed Harry's robes, alarm on his face. "The Stone, it's not fake, it's the real one!"

"What?" Harry whispered. That's impossible, it can't be the real one.

"And with Professor Dumbledore gone," Hermione broke in, "Quirrell's going to make a move on the Stone! We tried to tell Professor McGonagall, but she wouldn't listen to us! She said that nobody would be able to steal the Stone!"

Harry felt extremely cold. If what the centaurs said was true, then Voldemort had a very high chance of getting the Stone. Comparing Dumbledore and Voldemort, both were powerful wizards in their own right, so the former's trap for the latter may or may not have worked. And even if it worked, who was to say that Voldemort couldn't have broken out of it, given time? He tried to think of a way to stop Voldemort, but thoughts kept whirling through his head, too fast for him to lock down on anything firm.

"Harry, what do we do?" Hermione begged.

"I'm thinking. Give me a second!" Archer...

Yes, Harry?

If worse comes to worst, what are my chances?

You will be going up against someone with far more experience than you, capable of throwing spells beyond your ability to block. There is no way you can win in a direct battle.

Then I have to avoid confronting him directly, Harry decided, My objective is to prevent Voldemort from getting the Stone... His eyes widened.

"Harry?"

"We get the Stone first."


While Professor McGonagall might have denied the fact that anyone could have gotten through the defenses that were already in place, she apparently took the warning to heart, because whenever Harry checked the Map (under the guise of toilet breaks), there would be a teacher patrolling the area. Thankfully, none of them were Quirrell; his fearful attitude worked too well if the rest of the faculty had no confidence in his ability to protect the Stone. Not that he would have made a move during the day in any case; Harry's Quidditch idea had caused most of the outdoors crowd to migrate indoors despite the warm weather, and with the number of students running around the place, any hint of a break-in, and the whole group would rush for a look. That gave Harry and his friends time to plot and plan.

"Right, defenses." Harry rapped out. "As far as I can guess, Dumbledore is keeping this strictly in-house. So that means anything we encounter is most likely something thought up by the faculty."

"How do you know?"

"Don't you find it odd that even after a troll got into the 'safest place in Britain', we don't have any officials investigating?" Harry asked rhetorically, ignoring Hermione's squeak at the reminder of what happened on Halloween. "Right? So faculty-based defenses."

"That means, at least Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, maybe Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Hermione guessed.

Harry nodded; normally he liked it when she caught on quickly, but right now he was focused on the current issue instead. "I'm not sure if the electives will be used, though. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy..."

"I don't like it, Harry. What if the defenses are too powerful? You might get killed!"

"If there's something I can't get past, then I'll just hide out there until Quirrell comes through, and ambush him while he's preoccupied."

"But-!"

"It's either that, or we let him get the Stone." Harry said quietly. "Hermione, listen. If it was just a matter of stopping Quirrell, I'd lie in wait outside the door to backstab him when he comes out, or even attack him right now. The only thing is that I don't think it'll work too well, since any thief would be prepared for resistance. Not to mention that we're only first years, up against an adult who knows so many more spells than us."

The bushy-haired girl was staring at him.

"What?"

"You're hiding something, Harry. What is it?"

How does she know? "It's..." Harry bit his lip, trying to think of how to break the news to them. "It's not Quirrell who's after the Stone."

"But you said!"

Harry cut her off. "He's going after it, yes, but it's someone else who's making him get it."

"Who?" asked Hermione, just as Neville gasped in realization.

"Y-you don't mean... You-Know-Who?" The chubby boy whispered fearfully.

Hermione glanced at him. "What are you talking about, Neville, You-Know-Who's dead."

Neville shook his head. "The night we went into the forest, after Harry ran into the thing that was killing unicorns, one of them said something... he said that there was someone who... who was waiting for the chance t-to rise again."

Hermione waited for Neville to elaborate, but when he didn't, turned to Harry. "Just what are you keeping from us, Harry?"

"I don't know, okay? All I have are suspicions that may or may not be true." Harry acted frustrated. "Fine, you want to know what the centaur said, then here..."

He told her about what Firenze explained about unicorn blood and the curse it bestowed on those who used it to prolong their own lives. Then he went on to talk about the warning Firenze had given about the Stone and the one who was after it, before finally pointing out the obvious fact that Voldemort had 'died' without a body, making him the most likely suspect in the whole issue. By the time Harry was finished, Hermione was just as pale as Neville was.

"We have to stop him. We have to." Hermione said, almost to herself.

"Since we're decided on that, then let's get back to planning."

It was a race against a time limit as they tried to figure out what sort of defenses they would face-

"Wait, you two plan on coming with me?"

"Of course! We can't leave you to face this alone!" Next to her, Neville nodded, shaky but resolute.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Archer interrupted first.

You'll just waste time. Compromise with them, don't fight them.

Harry shut his mouth and glared at the two of them. Hermione just stared stonily back.

"Fine, but the first sign of trouble, I want you two to go straight to the teachers, okay?" Hermione tried to argue, but he glowered at her even more. "Okay?"

"Fine..."

Coercion works too, admitted the spirit.

They split up to deal with their separate tasks, almost reminiscent of the time the dragon group was working on getting rid of the dragon. Hermione would look into possible Charms and Transfiguration that would work as defenses; Harry suggested animation charms as a good place to start. Neville went down to the greenhouses, to look for anything that might have been moved recently as a clue to what Professor Sprout was using as her part of the Stone's defenses. It was the right thing for him to do, considering that Neville's excellence in Herbology earned him Sprout's favor and permission to enter some of the more dangerous greenhouses. They weren't sure about what Potions would entail, but decided to leave it for later.

As for Harry, he went down to Hagrid's. According to Greek mythology, Orpheus lulled the Cerberus guarding the underworld to sleep with his music, but he had no idea whether it would truly work or not, and between relying on a book in the library and simply asking the man who had been raising the beast from young, Harry and Archer both agreed that the latter was the better choice.

"Oh, hey Harry," The man himself was sitting outside his home, whittling at a piece of wood, with a bowl of peas next to him, "How was yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Hagrid. I just need to ask a few questions."

Hagrid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's this about now, then?"

"Fluffy. Did you tell anyone how to calm him down?" Harry knew better than to ask a direct question.

"Well o' course not! This abou' the Stone again? Dumbledore has it safe, Harry, don' worry yer lil' head about it."

"Really? You didn't mention Fluffy to anyone else besides us?"

Hagrid put down his whittling project and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "There was that stranger..."

Harry frowned. "You mean the one that carried Norbert's egg."

"Yeah, that's the one..." The man's eyes grew misty. "Wonder how's Norbert doin'..."

"Hagrid," Harry interrupted impatiently, "The stranger. You mentioned Fluffy to him?"

Hagrid's face twisted into a frown as he tried to remember. "He told me he didn' want the egg to go ter any old home... so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."

Harry felt that chill go down his spine again. Why hadn't he seen this coincidence before? "He asked about Fluffy, didn't he." It wasn't a question; Harry would if he had been in that stranger's shoes.

"Well, yeah." Hagrid admitted. "How many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece of cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play a bit o' music and he'll go straight off ter sleep-"

Harry facepalmed even as he heard Archer's tired sigh in his mind.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" Hagrid exclaimed in horror. "Forget I said it!"

As if I could, thought Harry."Hagrid, I think you better warn the teachers. If that guy knows, he'll probably make a move now that Dumbledore's gone."

"Wha- wait, what d'yeh mean, Dumbledore's gone?" Hearing that bit of news seemed to have rattled the large-sized man greatly.

"I mean he's left, he's not here right now." Harry said heavily. "McGonagall won't believe us, but she'll probably believe you."

Harry and Archer had discussed this line of thought before. He didn't want to out Quirrellmort just yet, because that would mean setting more people in the line of danger. Since Quirrellmort hadn't made a move in all the time Dumbledore was here, it probably meant that the man wasn't at the full power Voldemort was said to possess before his 'death', and thus kept a low profile to avoid confrontations he could not handle. However, Archer's advice about how cornered rats would bite had impressed on Harry the need to do the same. At the very least, he hoped that the increased security might delay Quirrellmort (The 'mort' seemed to be adding a sort of musical quality to the name that made him want to use it instead of just 'Quirrell') from moving until Harry could get there first.

"O-okay..." Hagrid finally agreed.

When the trio of students met back in the Gryffindor common room, it was to find that they had moderate degrees of success.

"One of the Devil's Snare is gone." Neville reported. "The ground looks as though it was carefully transplanted away, not gotten rid of."

"Devil's Snare?" Hermione said suspiciously. "That hardly seems like the right thing to use to defend the Stone."

Neville shrugged helplessly. "It was the only thing I found out of place between Greenhouses one to three. If something from four to six was used, I have no idea."

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry interrupted the girl before she could question any further.

She huffed, but started talking. "As far as I know, there's just too many possibilities for Charms and Transfiguration to be used in the protections."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"That's it?"

There are limits to everyone, Harry.

"That's it." Hermione sounded depressed. "I'm so sorry, Harry. You were relying on me for this, but I'm just useless!"

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Hermione." Harry soothed. "It just means that I won't get all the way to the end."

However, Harry's enlistment of Hagrid backfired, as Professor McGonagall called them into her office and told them off for pulling the gamekeeper into their prank. Knowing that Quirrellmort could be using this time as an opportunity to break through the defenses, Harry fought down the urge to blast McGonagall back (stepping on Hermione's foot to keep her from protesting too much), and simply accepted the point deduction.

"Why wouldn't she believe us?" The girl complained as they headed down to the Great Hall for dinner.

"Because they think they're always right." Harry said quietly.

"But no one is."

"Yet before you met me, you believed nearly everything you read. Those books are written by people, Hermione." Harry went on. "They think they're right, because they're more experienced."

"That's..." Hermione sighed. "I think I understand what you're trying to say, Harry."

"Experienced enough to think that nobody would go where they're told not to." Harry muttered sarcastically. "Especially for a school full of rebellious children."

Hermione frowned at him, but still wore that troubled expression. Her blind trust in teachers and authority was taking a severe beating today.

They passed a thin woman draped in several gauzy shawls, wearing several pieces of jewelry, bangles and beads, but the most prominent feature about her was her eyes, which were magnified to several times their size through the thick glasses she wore.

"Bad things comes in threes... trouble is coming..." She muttered as they passed her, sounding not entirely in her right mind.

"Who was that?" Hermione looked over her shoulder as the woman tottered out of sight.

"Sybill Trelawney, the Divination teacher." Harry replied. Bad things in three? That's superstition...

But when he looked up at the teacher's table and saw the four teachers there with the exception of Quirrell, he actually began to believe in it a little.

"Where's Quirrell?" Neville was quick to notice as well.

"Oh no." Hermione was standing stock-still as she noticed it for herself. "Oh no no no..."

Suddenly the two of them felt arms around their shoulders. "Oh no, guys, we forgot that thing up in our rooms." Harry was speaking quite audibly. "Let's go get it quick. We've got time, dinner can wait."

The three of them made an about-turn, and left the hall at a hurried pace.

"That was amazing, Harry!" Neville breathed.

"Save the compliments for later. We have work to do." Archer, Harry called.

I'm here.

Harry blinked as the memories of blades flashed through his mind, blades that Archer was readying for any upcoming conflict. Quirrellmort's probably gone in already. What might I face?

Archer must have sensed Harry's urgency, because he didn't try to make his host think for himself, but provided the answers directly. He's working within a limited time frame, so there is a lower chance of him laying any traps. Have you checked the Map?

Not yet. Wait a moment.

Once they returned to the common room, Harry told the other two to wait for him while he went up to get the Invisibility Cloak, and used that opening to consult his Traced Map along the way. He could see Quirrellmort's name entering the chamber where Fluffy's dot was, and... it disappeared?

No, he simply went to a different level. That part of the map. Archer directed. If you look over there, he's currently going through a series of chambers-

That are only one way. He can't leave traps because he has to go back out by the same way, and quickly. Harry stared at the dot. What sort of defenses are these? He's practically walking straight through without pause!

Don't waste anymore time. Go.

Harry rushed back down the stairs with the Cloak, before remembering Hagrid's words and grabbing the flute the man had given him as well, and went to reunite with the other two. As they did, he started a loud conversation about what they were going to eat for dinner, within hearing distance of several portraits, and the other two played along. But the moment they reached one of the few corridors without any portraits, Harry threw the Cloak over them and they began heading for the third floor corridor.

They knew that Quirrell had already gone through, but seeing the door ajar added a whole different perspective.

"I don't blame you guys if you want to go back now." Harry whispered.

"Don't be stupid," Hermione rebuked him.

Neville nodded. "We're coming."

Harry reached out and pushed the door open, giving him his second look at Fluffy. This time, the dog emitted growls, sniffing madly to try and locate the unseen intruder. Harry took a deep breath, and began to play the flute. It wasn't really much of a tune, but the beast's eyes started to droop almost immediately, its growls ceasing, then stumbling, until it finally slumped to the floor, fast asleep.

Hermione and Neville slipped the Cloak off and approached the trapdoor. They met each other's eyes, before grabbing the handle and pulling it open together. Then they froze, staring down. When Harry advanced forward, still playing the flute, he reacted the same way. Now he knew why Quirrellmort had vanished off the Map.

Beneath the trapdoor was darkness so deep, not even his eyes could see the bottom.

"What can you see?" Hermione asked them.

Harry shook his head, while Neville said, "Nothing. I-I think we have to jump down."

They exchanged looks, before Harry pointed at himself, still playing the rough instrument.

"You want to go first? But it could be dangerous!" Hermione protested.

Harry's response was to thrust the flute into her hands, Reinforce his body, and step over the edge. There was a brief sensation of a rush as gravity pulled him down, piercing through cold, damp air, until- THUMP. He landed feet first in something soft. It took him a moment to recognize what he landed in, but once he did, Harry fought out of the tendrils that were wrapping around him and made it to the corner of the room.

He had found out where the missing Devil's Snare was. Looking up at the small square of light, Harry called out to his friends. "Soft landing! Jump together!" At the same time, he readied his wand.

The sound of the flute cut off, and moments later, two dark shapes landed on the plant as well.

"Devil's Snare!" Neville gasped, recognizing the plant instantly.

They needn't have worried, because Harry launched a jet of Hermione's Bluebell flames at the plant, causing it to pull back its tendrils from the pair, allowing them to struggle free and join him by the wall.

"Why did you make us land on it?" Hermione demanded breathlessly. "You could have gotten rid of it first, right?"

"And then you both would have broken your legs from the fall." Harry told her flatly.

"Oh. In that case, thanks Harry."

Harry led them down the stone passageway he had spotted earlier, following it downwards. It was extremely dark and quiet, even with his senses turned to maximum, Harry could only hear their footsteps on the damp stone floor, their breathing, the water trickling down the walls, and...

"What's that rustling sound?" Neville said it first. His experience with magical plants seemed to have given him good ears with which to detect some of their actions.

Metal... feathers... Archer identified. This could be Transfiguration.

When the trio emerged out into a brightly lit chamber, as tall as the height they fell through the trapdoor, the first thing they noticed were the brightly moving specks in the large space above their heads.

"Are those birds?" asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

Harry shook his head. "They're keys. Keys with wings on them. And one of them," He pointed at the large heavy door opposite the place they entered from, "Probably opens that."

"Will they attack us?" Neville whispered.

Harry had a hunch they wouldn't; Fluffy, then Devil's Snare, the whole thing seemed too easy. "Only one way to find out."

Before either of them could stop him, Harry dashed straight across the room, but stopped halfway when he didn't encounter any response in those keys. After one curious glance upwards, he continued on before beckoning to the other two once he reached the door, and waited for them to join him. While they walked cautiously across, Harry analyzed the door, and found it sealed with a charm specifically meant to prevent the Alohomora charm from working. The other two looked worried when he informed them about the lock preventing their advancement.

"How are we supposed to get those- Look! Broomsticks!" Hermione pointed at the wall on the left side of the chamber. "We've got to catch the key to the door!"

Or not. Harry strode over to the broomsticks and grabbed one. But instead of mounting it, he snapped off a few of the twigs at the end and returned to the door.

"What are you doing? We got to catch the right key!"

"Hermione, let him focus." Neville sensed his intentions, and stopped the girl from distracting him.

Harry's research into the Alohomora charm had identified it as a spell that embodied the concept of a 'Skeleton Key', and the charm on the lock was a direct counter to that concept. Thus, the lock could only be opened by the physical key that fitted the lock...

Or a lock pick.

Transfiguring the twigs into the metal shapes he needed, Harry inserted them into the large keyhole and triggered the mechanism, before rotating the pieces to turn the lock. It opened with an audible click, and he pulled the door open. He resolved to thank the twins for teaching him the basics once he got out of this place.

"That's brilliant, Harry!" Hermione squealed.

The next room was pitch black, but as they stepped in, light flooded the place, illuminating the giant chessboard in the center of the place. Whoever made this definitely scaled things up directly, Harry thought, looking up at the chessmen that towered over them.

"Whose do you think this is?" Neville whispered, clearly afraid to cause a reaction by speaking too loudly.

"Flitwick's, perhaps. McGonagall's a Quidditch fan, and she can transfigure wings on those keys. Flitwick knows animation charms, and plays chess, if I recall correctly." Harry guessed.

"Do we have to play our way across?" Hermione asked.

"Wait here."

Harry advanced cautiously, walking across the chessboard. The moment his foot stepped over the halfway line, each of the pawns suddenly drew two wicked-looking scimitars (Hermione let out a small scream at that), crossing them with their neighbors to bar his way.

"Damn." Harry muttered as he stepped back, causing the pawns to revert to their initial state. He was only average at chess; perhaps he should send the others back and play across by himself?

Wait, Harry. Put your foot down across the line again.

Harry did as Archer advised, causing the pawns to react.

Now lift it up, but keep it across the line.

The moment he lifted up his foot, the pawns reverted. Realizing what Archer was driving at, Harry tested it out a few more times, almost as though playing switch on, switch off. Five repetitions later, Harry walked back to rejoin his friends.

"What were you doing, Harry?"

"Let's go get the brooms. We just have to fly over the chessboard."

Another challenge cleared, thanks to thinking flexibly. Harry thought he could almost sense some animosity as they flew over the white chessmen, but they remained totally still. Even when the three of them landed on the stone floor behind the board, there was no reaction.

"This is too easy. I don't like it." Hermione commented. "What's next?"

Harry tried to recall what he saw of the Map. Another... three chambers. "Snape... and Quirrell's, I reckon."

They quieted down as they approached the next door. Harry looked questioningly at his friends as he put his hands on the door. They nodded, and he pushed it open. At first, he wondered why this door had to be pushed open when the previous door had to be pulled...

Then he realized it was because the creature inside was probably too stupid to try pulling, as a familiar, disgusting smell made their eyes water and pinch their noses. Hermione shrunk against Harry when she saw the troll, even larger than the one Harry had taken on, unconscious on the floor with a bloody lump on its head. Putting a finger to his lips for silence, Harry led them around the troll and through the next door, which had to be pulled open.

Unlike the previous rooms, this one looked almost innocent with the seven bottles arranged in a straight line on a long table. Harry ventured a short distance, then suddenly noticed the smell of prana, masked under the stench of the troll. He whirled around, but was too late to stop Neville from crossing the threshold. Purple flames burst up from the ground, sealing the passage off, just as black flames appeared in the doorway leading forward into the final part of the area.

"Damn!" cursed Harry.

Neville tried to apologize, but Harry waved the boy off and approached the table.

"Look!" Hermione grabbed up the roll of paper lying next to the bottles. They gathered to read it, or hear her read it out loud.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our numbers hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
(Harry looked away to groan at how dramatic wizards made things)
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly poison tries to hide,
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend.
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione released a great sigh (Harry realized that she had read it all out without taking a single breath), and smiled widely.

"Brilliant," said the girl, "This isn't magic, it's logic, a puzzle."

Harry nodded. "I thought it was too easy... actually, the defenses are quite well thought out, now that I consider it."

You don't consider it a test? Archer asked.

Oh, I do, it's just that there are other factors to consider. "Most wizards tend to specialize... Devil's Snare is simple, so simple that most would forget how to deal with it, especially after a long fall. The key room... you have to be good at flying to deal with that. Or maybe a Summoning Charm."

"Wait," Neville interrupted, looking confused, "I thought you said the defenses were well thought out?"

"Of course I did. Except most wizards would just go straight through thinking that what they see is what they have to deal with. Know animals, know plants, fly well, play chess, fight a troll, now logic." Harry counted the points off his fingers. "One would need to be skilled in various fields to get past them, and how many people do you think are skilled like that? Dumbledore probably accounted for the thief working alone." And assumed that the thief was stupid.

He suddenly shook his head. "Except it's too easy."

"What do you mean?" demanded Hermione.

"Why even have the right key? Why play chess? Why even have the right potion? Why make them do something just to get past, instead of setting traps in those tasks? The defenses are good, but still fake overall. The real trap is probably through there," Harry nodded at the black flames.

"So..." Neville said uncertainly, while Hermione gasped and began reading the rhyme again.

Harry looked at the table and the potion bottles on them. He analyzed them while Hermione tried to figure out the clues, and arrived at the answer before she announced it. He knew which two weren't poison or wine, and given that one of those two were at the far end of the line, the clue regarding those on opposite ends probably meant that it was the one meant to help the drinker go back through the purple flames.

Leaving the one to enable the drinker to move forward in the smallest bottle. Only enough for one person.

"This is the final chance to turn back." Harry said quietly. "To be honest, we're out of our depth here. Quirrell got through all of those challenges, by himself. He's clearly better than he let on, and definitely too much even for the three of us."

They met his eyes, scared, but standing firm despite it.

"You two go back." Harry told them. "Warn the other teachers, maybe Dumbledore if he's returned. If they won't act before, they will now, because a student is at risk."

"You can't put yourself in danger like that, Harry." Neville started to object, but the white-haired boy shook his head furiously.

"No! Those adults won't act until somebody gives them the kick in the ass they need! Well, I'm giving them that kick."

Hermione didn't even object to his language. "But Harry... what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

Harry closed his eyes. Voldemort WAS with Quirrell. "I'll be fine... I got lucky once... maybe I'll be lucky again." And I've got a heroic spirit on my side this time.

Suddenly, Hermione dashed at him and flung her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly in a hug.

"H-Hermione!" He felt very embarrassed by the close contact.

"You're a great wizard, Harry..." Hermione released him, blushing deeply. "Books! Cleverness! You've showed me that there are more important things... bravery... and righteousness, and..." She stepped back, biting her lip. "Be careful, Harry..."

Harry looked over at Neville. "You two be careful. Remember the brooms, and the flute for Fluffy."

The other boy nodded, his chin set. "Got it, Harry."

He watched them take drinks from the rounded bottle at the end of the line, shivering and describing the sensation as ice flooding their veins before passing through the purple flames, heading back the way they came. Harry didn't waste any time after that; after emptying the bottle of any remaining potion, he used the three poison ones to top it up. If Quirrellmort relied on it to go back, then he would get a nasty surprise.

You do know that you have a high chance of dying, don't you? Archer said, almost conversationally.

But it's the right thing to do. Better than letting Voldemort rise again.

Archer chuckled, and for the first time in weeks, their relationship felt the same way it always had. Go then. I'll support you.

Nodding, Harry threw his head back and swallowed the contents of the small bottle. Hermione and Neville were right, it did feel like ice filling his veins. He realized with some surprise that this was his first time taking a potion, and its effects were startling, to say the least. What he perceived as his magic core, and Archer referred to as his od, was altered slightly, somehow imbuing his body with the resistance to the black flame, which he tested by sticking his arm into. He wasn't sure whether it would be wise to Reinforce his body in this state, so he released it for the time being, focusing instead on readying himself.

"Let's do this. Synchro... start." Harry said, and walked into the flames.

The feeling was odd, and Harry wasn't sure he could breathe in it; he didn't try to, in any case. But another step, and he was through.

Quirrell was there, in his usual purple turban. "I'd wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"Quirrell." Harry nodded. His wand was in its holster, but his hands were free and ready to wield blades. Inside, Archer took note of the distance between them.

"You don't seem surprised to see me." The man observed. "But then, you were quite intelligent among those in your year."

"Did you know that you don't normally stutter through your lips?"

"Hmm. An oversight, but I have no further need of my guise as the p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell."

"You're doing it even now." Harry pointed out.

The possessed man growled. "Think it's funny, Potter?"

"A little." Harry admitted, then changed the subject. "What about the Quidditch match? Revenge for the troll?"

"Certainly. Thanks to your meddling, I was forced to call off my attempt to get past that damnable three-headed dog. It couldn't even bite Snape's leg off properly."

Harry didn't meet the man's eyes, but shuffled a little closer. He spotted something familiar behind Quirrell, something he never expected to see here. The Mirror of Erised. "That mirror..."

Quirrell turned. "This interesting-"

Now! Harry flooded his limbs with prana in an instant and struck. Both boy and spirit knew that a sneak attack was their best possible chance. There was a slight lag as his mind took a moment to comprehend the blueprint Archer was feeding him, and project the blades out into his hands, but they materialized in time for him to swing.

However, the man wasn't caught unawares so uneasily. He turned back almost as quickly, and flung out a hand towards Harry.

"AAARRH!" Quirrell cried out when the blade in Harry's right hand sliced deeply into the man's palm, but he accomplished his intent before the second blade to stab him in the body.

Harry found himself flying back, the recipient of a wandless Banisher. He crashed into the ground a large distance away from Quirrell, and the momentum slammed him into the wall of the chamber. Before Harry could do anything, ropes suddenly sprang out of thin air and wrapped around him, and a bolt of light struck his body and caused his weapons to fly out of his hands.

"Aaah..." The man moaned in pain, cradling his wounded hand. "Master..."

"Fool!" The whispery voice came from Quirrell himself. "You let him wound you!"

"I'm sorry, Master... I'm sorry..." The man grovelled.

Harry watched Quirrell mutter something over his hand, before straightening up with the wound no longer on it. Wandless magic... that's supposedly really rare... what happened to his wand anyway? Is the possession the reason for both of those? He can't use his wand, but he can use wandless magic? So that's why he never taught any spells!

"Damn you, Potter!" spat Quirrell, giving him an ugly look. "Perhaps a dose of pain shall teach you-"

"Enough!" The voice, which Harry was sure belonged to Voldemort, snapped. "Do not... waste my time... any further..." It sounded weaker this time.

"Of course, Master. It shall be as you say." Quirrell gave Harry one more hateful glance before turning to the mirror. "Mark my words, you'll die later, Potter."

Harry just lay there on his side thinking furiously. He tested the bonds around his body; if he Reinforced himself fully, he could probably break free of it, but Archer's experience told him that Quirrell would notice before he could fully free himself, so he discarded that idea. He couldn't even cut it off with a Traced blade since they were completely around his arms and legs. On the other hand, both Harry and Archer didn't miss the fact that Voldemort sounded weak, and weaker after he stopped Quirrell from doing God-knows-what to Harry.

Suggestions, Archer?

Nothing for now. The spirit sounded troubled. What do you know of wandless magic?

Nothing much. But supposedly it's not easy to control... it's likely that he's restricted to spells that aren't too complicated.

Pushing, pulling... if he had a wand, he's not using it.

Quirrell continued to examine the mirror, muttering to himself in frustration. "I don't understand... is the Stone in the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry and Archer continued to discuss what to do in Harry's head. If Quirrellmort could get the Stone without a wand, then Harry and Archer were most likely done for. The best thing to do would be to buy time and hope his friends managed to get help quickly. Thinking quickly, he decided to ask about the voice... anybody would be curious about a disembodied voice speaking.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt.

"Use the boy... use the boy..." Voldemort moaned.

Quirrell rounded on him, and Harry fought to keep the glee from showing on his face.

"Yes... Potter, come here!"

He clapped his hands once, and this time Harry could actually detect the disconnection of the prana that marked the ropes vanishing. He got to his feet, a grim expression on his face.

"Come here," repeated Quirrell, backing away out of Harry's reach. "And if you try anything, it will be the last thing you do. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Archer?

Do it. Play along for now.

Harry sensed that Archer had a plan, but didn't question any further in case Quirrellmort got tired of waiting. He stepped in front of the mirror.

Unlike before, he didn't see Archer, his parents, and his friends. And despite knowing that Quirrell was standing right behind him, he didn't see the man either. He saw only himself, standing resolutely in an empty chamber. Then a moment later, his reflection smiled at him. As Harry watched on with only minimal surprise, his mirror self reached into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. Then it winked at him with a twinkle in its eye, and replaced it back in the pocket. Harry almost started when he felt a weight drop down into his real pocket. His nose itched fiercely as a powerful smell of prana hit him; the centaurs were right, the Stone was the real one.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Dumbledore you old codger...

"Well?" He heard Quirrell's impatient voice demand. "What do you see?"

Harry considered what would work best. Best defense is a good offense, as they say. "I see you failing to get the Stone." He smirked.

Pain blossomed in his right shoulder, and Harry grunted, clutching at the spot Quirrell had fired a spell at. It felt like a Stinging Hex, but much more powerful.

"Think it's funny, Potter?" Quirrell hit him with another hex, this time dropping Harry to his knees. "You know nothing of my Master's power! You're just a child!"

Harry! Archer's voice was filled with worry.

This pain is nothing, Archer... Harry clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from screaming.

It was a long time since he felt pain of this level. Even the muscle aches he got from overtraining weren't anywhere this bad. And this pain was only a fraction of what he experienced when he summoned Archer.

And Harry could remember that pain very well. He compared the past to the present, and found the present insignificant. He could make a move now, but he had to wait. He had to. Even when another Banisher threw him away from Quirrell, Harry didn't cry out.

"Let me speak to him... face... to face..."

"Master, you're not strong enough!" protested Quirrell.

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harry pushed himself up on an elbow, and watched Quirrell unwrapping his turban. He wasn't sure what to expect at first, but then his mind rebooted itself enough to realize that Voldemort had said the words 'face to face'. Still, it was just too unreal to-

Okay, Harry decided when he saw Quirrell turn around to expose the back of his head, seeing IS believing. Now I've seen a man with two faces.

The face on the back of Quirrell's head could not be called human. It had a terrible quality to it, white-skinned with no nose, and Harry felt a slight bit of revulsion at being watched by those scarlet eyes. It was a testament to Archer's experiences that he hardly batted an eye at Quirrellmort's appearance.

Don't falter, Harry. Archer said calmly. Keep your mind on your enemy. And don't meet his eyes.

Harry blinked, before straightening up further. Archer was right, he could not afford to get distracted at a time like this.

"Harry Potter..." The face breathed.

Harry didn't say anything. He was busy thinking about how to beat Quirrellmort. The man himself had a powerful advantage with his wandless magic, but right now, the man's body was faced away from Harry, exposing his back. If it wasn't for Voldemort facing him directly, Harry would have attacked instantly.

"See what I've become?... Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I share another's body... but there's always those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, this past few weeks..."

"But you haven't been getting it for a while, have you?" Harry guessed, and was proven correct when he saw Voldemort's already ugly expression twist further.

"No thanks to you!" The face spat. "But no matter... once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

Harry frowned. "It's fake, you know." He tried to bluff.

"You lie! I can sense the magic on you!" Voldemort spat.

So Voldemort could sense magic as well, Harry realized. But then he recalled a few other things. Voldemort was weakened. He needed unicorn blood to sustain himself. He hadn't been getting any for a while. It was a risky plan, but Harry didn't think he had any other alternative.

"Who are you anyway?" asked Harry.

"Nobody has told you of me? Of the greatest Dark Lord ever?"

"Who's the one lying now? You don't look so great." Harry goaded.

"POTTER!" Quirrell roared, and made to turn around.

Voldemort hissed angrily, and the man froze. Then those grotesque features shaped themselves into a mockery of a smile. "Brave, aren't you... I always value bravery..." Quirrell's feet began to walk backwards, approaching Harry, who shuffled back slightly to pretend fear, when he was actually digging his feet in for a charge.

"And besides, what's your name? Nobody ever said what it is."

The face started to laugh, but Harry's next line silenced it just as quickly.

"It's like a riddle, so maybe I'll call you Riddle." It was stretching things a bit, but it gave Harry the chance to use Voldemort's real name.

Quirrellmort froze. "My name is... Voldemort." The face hissed, in a deadly tone. "Not whatever pathetic-"

"Riddle." Harry repeated.

"You dare..."

"Well, you said you valued bravery, didn't you?" Harry was on a roll; this was almost like giving Snape lip. Come on, where's the help... somebody come already...

But Harry apparently went too far with his attitude, as a sudden Banisher threw him back against the wall. He cried out, having been taken by surprise, and slumped forward to the floor. His back ached, even through the Reinforcement. Before he could do anything, he flew back into the wall again. And again. And again. Harry's head smacked back against the wall a few of those times, and he struggled to think. He could hear Archer shouting in his head, but he couldn't make out what the spirit was saying through the signals his body was sending him as it slid down against the wall. Before him, he could make out a trio of figures approaching him.

"Yes, boy, your parents were brave too... I killed your father first... and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother... needn't have died... she was trying to... protect you..." Voldemort's voice, slightly fuzzy but distinct enough for Harry to hear, approached. "Now give me the Stone... unless you want her... to have died... in vain..."

But in his current mental state, Harry only registered one part of the speech.

Die.

He was going to die.

He was going to be killed.

He didn't want to die. Didn't want to die.

Harry's hand slipped into the pocket. It found the item within, gripped it. It felt right...

"Yessss..."

He didn't want to die.

His hand began to draw back out. Archer was saying something, but the words didn't make sense.

Voldemort was going to kill him.

Harry didn't want to die.

Conclusion...

He...

"I tire... Quirrell..." Voldemort sounded extremely weak.

Weak? Harry tried to recall what he wanted to do. It involved weakening that thing... Riddle, yes, that was its name.

"Master!"

"Take the Stone... and kill him."

Kill. That word again. It meant something to Harry. Something very crucial.

He had to...

Something clamped onto Harry's neck, and suddenly he felt a powerful warmth spread across it. His vision sharpened; Quirrell was howling, clearly in agony.

"Master, my hands... my hands!" The man's hands were blistering even as he moaned over them. Somehow he could not touch Harry directly.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" The face on the back of the man's head screamed.

Voldemort was going to kill him.

So he had to kill Voldemort first.

Prana pumped through Harry's magic circuits as he moved. His hand pulled free of his pocket, the energy spreading down the limb and into the object in his grasp.

Reinforcing his arm.

Reinforcing the pencil. One of those he always carried around.

And he threw it. Straight into Quirrell's head.

Harry had tried Reinforcement on nearly everything he owned at one time, and he found that with pencils, with their graphite core, it was more effective when he filled the core before he worked on Reinforcing the wood, especially since the carbon could take more prana. And that was what he did now, except he practically blasted prana into it.

But as with every object he poured too much prana in, the pencil broke, fragmenting from the inside out.

Just as it was penetrating its target at the high velocity Harry flung it at.

Harry stood there, braced against the wall, breathing heavily as he watched Quirrell's headless body sway slightly, before it fell over with a wet-sounding thump. Blinking, he wondered why his vision seemed to be failing him, as darkness ate inwards from around the edges. His legs didn't seem to have any strength, and he felt himself slipping downwards.

Falling into darkness. Was that someone else coming in through the flames?

Then Harry knew no more.


(1) One of my most favorite lines from BajaB's Harry the Hufflepuff. I tried to avoid direct lifting, but that line was already so simple that I couldn't think of any way to change it.

The lockpicking and use of the broomstick were also seen before in more than one fanfic, so I can't really say they're original either. I just went into slightly more description.

Well, there's some slight deviation from canon. Quirrellmort entered earlier because he was more desperate with the lack of unicorn blood, but still waited for Dumbledore to leave. Other than that, McGonagall still didn't believe them, they got through the challenges, except not the way the canon trio did.

According to canon, the chessboard is McGonagall's, but only the students say it (Percy Weasley during the last minute points), and we know how the Hogwarts rumor mill tend to include false information. Personally, I felt that wings on keys were more Transfiguration, while the chessmen were the target of animation charms, and I decided to write it in.

Quirrell scene... well, just put your thoughts in a review.

PS. I went to this Harry Potter exhibition in town recently, and saw some of the items that were used in the movies. One of the things that caught my attention was the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, which contained a recipe for Polyjuice Potion. Now, as readers of the book know, Hermione found the recipe in Most Potente Potions, and the potion itself took at least a month to brew. Yet when I peered closely at the textbook (Snape's handwriting is bloody hard to read), the ingredients didn't match totally, and the instructions made no mention of the brewing period. Just mentioning this.