"Crucio!" Quirrell drawled, laughing over the high-pitched screams resounding in the room. It was not as pleasing to the ear as the blonde one's yells had been a minute earlier, but it was still a pleasure watching the dark haired menace writhe on the floor at his mate's feet. Even better was the fact that the veela continued to stare forward blankly, unaware of his little submissive's torment.

The dark professor held the spell for almost twenty seconds before regretfully cancelling it, knowing that leaving it longer would risk permanent damage to the brat. No matter how much he wanted to see the little boy suffer, he knew that killing him before his master had the opportunity for revenge would only earn him the dark lord's displeasure. He barely stifled a regretful sigh as the pained yells tapered off into ragged breathing. He however found some solace in enjoying the child's subsequent actions.

The man's lips twitched in amusement as he watched a small shaking hand reach over to the veela, weakly grasping the still boy's calf as Potter slowly raised an ashen face to his mate. It was obvious that the boy was seeking aid from his indifferent mate, not that Quirrell had any plans of removing the spell on the veela any time soon.

Speaking of which...

Quirrell whipped out his wand, sending a strong offensive spell towards the entrance the brat had run through. He half expected the mild explosion he heard, signifying that there had been no one for the spell to hit. The thought had run across his brain when a barrage of spells had not raced towards him when he had first cast the unforgivable.

The child never ceased to surprise him, Quirrell mused. It was something for which he had to give the boy credit. Somehow, Potter had found his way down here on his own, a truly admirable feat for one his age. The professor shook his head, seeing the asset such a boy could have made for his master when he grew older. It really was a pity that he would die before the night was over.

Shaking his head to rid it of thoughts of what could never be, he set about breaking apart the scene that would have caused someone of the light to weep. Quirrell however snorted at it, finding nothing endearing about Potter's actions. Waving his wand almost lazily while whispering an incantation, he sent the veela flying to a corner of the room where he landed with a painful thud. Potter's yell as his mate was ripped from his grasp was most gratifying for the man who smiled grimly at the sound.

The Potter brat started crawling towards the fallen boy, unable to stand as the effects of the Crucius curse was still strong. The professor chuckled darkly at the innocence of the child. Only the naivety of youth would make one turn his back to the enemy. Did the brat believe that he would not be attacked again? How wrong of him. Quirrell took full advantage of the open target the boy had made of himself, helpfully throwing the boy to his mate with a blast of energy. Potter landed painfully next to his mate, groaning even as he started to close the meagre distance between them.

Quirrell could have continued his game indefinitely and definitely would have had a hissing voice not have spoken up from within his turban.

"Stop fooling around Quirrell. You may assist me in destroying them after your task is completed. Get me the stone."

Quirrell's shock was almost palpable as he hurriedly caught the wand that had been about to slip through his fingers. How was it that his master was awake? The stasis spell he had used on him had been the strongest one his research had revealed. There was no way his lordship should have been able to shake off its effects, especially in such a weakened state.

His confusion was momentary however as his attention was diverted by that last detail. His master had managed to throw off the spell with a mere shadow of his former strength. His master was powerful indeed and that realisation sent a rush of pleasure throughout Quirrell and added a tone of reverence to his voice as he replied to the dark lord.

"Forgive my transgression master. The joy of punishing your enemies overwhelmed me."

"You must learn control Quirrell should you hope to continue in my service. I will punish you for your carelessness later, but for now, reveal me. I will have my body back now," the voice finished with a commanding edge to its tone.

Despite the mention of future punishment, a pleasurable shiver ran down Quirrell's spine at the thought of further aiding his master. "Of course my lord," he replied respectfully, pocketing his wand. He positioned himself so that his master's first sight would be the child responsible for his demise in a crumpled heap, reaching helplessly for his mate. It would surely please him. That thought brought a small smile to Quirrell's face as he reached behind him with long spindly fingers, unravelling of the turban.


The pain that was currently coursing through Harry's vein was incomparable to anything he had previously experienced. Not even the painful kicks of his uncle could match the pulsing pain and dull aches that seemed to radiate from within his very core. It was all he felt as he struggled to close the distance between him and the veela. However, no matter how much his body ached, it was incomparable to the ache in his heart as he remembered the indifferent expression on his mate's face when he had turned to him for succour earlier.

The child was hard-pressed to remember that it was a spell that was causing his mate to act in his current manner. That air of indifference that radiated from Draco usually signalled that the veela had no inclination towards whomever or whatever was around him. Never before, had it been directed in any form or fashion towards him and that fact stung. Previously, all of Draco's movements had been a total contrast to his normal behaviour, and thus Harry could reassure himself that it was the spell and not truly his veela.

However, seeing that familiar expression had convinced Harry there was some part of Draco from which the spell was drawing power. Perhaps the spell was simply bringing to the fore what Draco had been reluctant to reveal. Maybe the veela really did not care for him anymore and the spell was facilitating the expression of those thoughts. Harry's heart sank with the knowledge that he had run down here to save him, only to question whether the veela would be glad to be rescued by him.

Despite these dismal thoughts, Harry automatically moved towards his mate when he had been flung away from him, whimpering when he saw a rivulet of blood running down the side of his face. Even if Draco did not want him anymore, Harry still cared for him, despite the severe doubts he now had about the boy. His nature still called to him to check after his mate, although if he had the opportunity to give the matter thought, he would have realised that the pull towards his mate was weaker than before.

As he finally managed to plaster himself against Draco's side, using the edge of his robe to wipe away the blood, he heard a new voice chastising Quirrell. Before he could even think of turning to see who was the new person in the room, his scar burned fiercely, causing him to clasp his hand over it and hiss at the painful sensation.

The other aches in his body paled in comparison to this new hurt and he felt his vision blurring for a moment as he clutched a fistful of Draco's dirty clothes, trying to stabilise himself. The pain only seemed to rise with intensity and groaning he doubled over, moving his hand to press the scar against the cold stone floor, seeking relief. He would have preferred to have Draco's warm hand stroking it, but as it was not possible, he suffered alone with his mate barely an inch away.

The new voice continued to speak and with every word, the scar gave a throb that caused pained whines to escape from Harry's clenched teeth. The ground was offering little solace and as he twisted slightly, he felt his forehead glide smoothly along the floor. Puzzled at the lack of friction, he managed to open his eyes, hissing when he saw the smear of blood where his scar had rested. For the first time in his living memory, the lighting bolt scar was bleeding.

Somehow, he knew that whoever was chastising Quirrell was the source of his pain and that it would only stop once he was away from his presence. Moreover, judging from hearing only, he found that the voice seemed not that far away from Quirrell, almost as if they were standing right besides each other. Taking a shuddering breath, he used Draco's body as a prop to push himself up into a crouching position. Balancing carefully, he turned to investigate. He almost collapsed by what he saw.

Quirrell's turban was slowly falling away, and what was revealed was not the hair or even bald skin that one would expect. No, what was now looking at Harry through piercing red eyes was a grotesque grey, nose-less face.

A lipless mouth curled into a menacing smile as a hissing voice stated, "So we meet again Harry Potter."

At that moment, Harry realised who exactly it was that had imposed himself on the back of Quirrell's head. It was the man who had killed his parents, had tried to kill him. Looking at him with pure hatred was a being that according to the wizarding world was long dead but not forgotten. The man was had held the wizarding world under siege was regarding him, drawing wheezing breathes through the slits that was supposed to be a nose. Lord Voldermort was back, bodiless but very much alive.

Harry felt his world tilt dangerously.

Before he could think of anything to do, there was a loud clacking in the distance – the sound of feet slapping against slightly damp stones. Someone, no, many people were approaching and as the first one rounded the corner, Harry could not help but release a grateful sigh. His family had arrived. He did not have to face this monster alone.

Unfortunately, Harry was not the only one to notice the incoming arrival. With a hissed command, Quirrell manoeuvred his body so that he was facing the mirror while his master confronted the group of wizards and witch who now stood frozen in disbelief at the chamber's entrance. While Voldermort sneered at the shocked group, his host began an ancient chant; his eyes drifting close as he allowed the magic of the ages to flow through him. After a few moments, the mirror responded and a dim glow began to radiate from its surface.

The chanting broke the silence that had descended unto the room and in a swift movement, the light wizards had their wands raised and pointed at the two faced man, Albus moving to the fore of the group, his eyes a steely blue.

"Well, well, well. What do we have hear? A group of mudblood lovers and traitors here to witness my resurrection. How quaint," Voldermort hissed, his red eyes glinted.

Severus and Lucius flinched at the sound of the voice that they had been forced to serve so long ago. Dreadful memories of cruelty and punishment waved over them. The only thing preventing Severus from dropping to his knees was the hand that pressing itself against the small of his back even as another settled on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. The cold feeling that had enveloped him faded and with it his initial annoyance with Albus for having summoned the pair in the first place.

For Lucius, it was the warm feeling of his wife filling him that grounded him. Narcissa had immediately opened their bond fully the minute she had recognised those hate filled eyes, allowing feelings of warmth and reassurance to flood her husband. Despite her shock, she was far from being daunted. How could she be when her blood boiled seeing her two children huddled in a corner, Harry with his eyes filled with conflicting emotions and her own child prone on the floor, obviously still under the effects of the imperius curse.

No, her fear had only been temporary, quickly transforming into anger at the vile being who had somehow managed to survive. She would send him back to the dead where he belonged. It was that thought that had her raising her wand, pointing it directly at the head.

On her free hand, talons sprung out and the air crackled around her as her appearance shifted to her veela form as her more primal magic demanded to be released. She was skilled enough that she could use both parts of her magic simultaneously, and thus summoned them both to the fore. All her strength would be needed if Voldermort were to be defeated.

Harry flinched when after a prolonged pause, Quirrell's chanting broke off as he spun around to launch a spell at the new arrivals. As he had moved, those red eyes settled on him, sending another painful bolt through his scar. Thankfully, their eyes linked for only seconds before the face stared into the mirror, continuing Quirrell's chant. Harry breathed in relief as the pain receded considerably. The sound of shouted curses and hexes resounded around the room as both parties dodged and parried. Surprisingly the chant remained constant despite the jostling of Quirrell's body.

Harry's gaze drifted to the veela besides him and he stared at the blonde boy dully, noting his stillness. He flinched when a popping noise came from above his head, breaking his concentration. Peering upwards, he saw a kind of translucent barrier crackling as it slowly diffused a spell. The spell would not have hit him, he realised, but the rubble that generated from its impact with the wall certainly would have. He was thankful for the barrier, but where exactly had it come from?

"From me," came the answer to his unspoken question. Spinning his head, Harry watched his mother's form slowly materialise before him. Both of her hands were raised as if she was physically holding up the barrier and her brows were furrowed in concentration.

"Mummy?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"I'm sorry I took so long honey," she replied, showing him that he had her attention even though she was not looking at him. "Be strong now my darling, your dad's coming through now. He just needs a little more time to cross the planes."

An angry roar diverted his attention away from his mother. He looked to see Sirius standing defensively in front of a prone Remus. Severus was on one knee, clutching the shoulder of his wand arm, a pained expression on his face as he cast a spell towards the enemy. The headmaster was the only unfazed one as he continued his relentless attack although Harry could see the slight grimace on his face as his spells were dodged and deflected. The Malfoys stood at an angle behind him, attacking with equal enthusiasm.

"How is he winning?" Harry murmured puzzled. Quirrell was outnumbered and yet he was holding his own against the light wizard.

"Voldermort has connected with him," Lily stated a bit distractedly as she waved her hand to stave of another wayward spell. "He was always a master dueller and is lending his skills and magic to him...Daddy's coming," she finished a hint of pleasure in her voice.

True to her words, Harry started to sense another presence in the room. However, his father did not appear near to him, but instead materialised a small distance away from the two-faced man.

"Daddy?" Harry whispered in slight confusion. Why wasn't his father coming to him? The messy haired man threw his son a quick smile but did not otherwise respond. The man who had killed him riveted James' attention. He needed to remain focussed or he would never accomplish the task at hand. He had to wait for the precise moment when Quirrell lost concentration enough for...

THERE!

One of Albus' spells finally managed to connect with the enemy, throwing him off-balance. Regardless, the wrong-sided head continued its chant although a brief grimace crossed his face. James' focus was not primarily on the dark lord however, and in the few seconds it took for Quirrell to regain his balance, Harry's father surged forward, passing through the man and entering his mind. He was by no means strong enough to cause any permanent damage, but he had enough power to travel the lengths of his mind and pinpoint the part of Quirrell's consciousness that maintained control over the imperious spell on his son's mate

James was forced to accumulate the majority of his energy to attack the hold and after a brief struggle, Quirrell's grasp weakened considerable. Unable to remain any longer and hoping that he had done enough to help the veela-child; James exited Quirrell, his form little more than an outline now. However, it did not matter. He had considerably damaged the spell on the veela and he could only wait to see if the boy could overcome the last vestiges of its power on his own.

As he walked through Lily's barrier, he felt his son's eyes on him. Even as he knelt besides Draco, James stretched out a hand to ghost over his son's cheek in a caress, while he hovered his other over Draco's forehead. He felt for Draco's state of mind for a few moments before sighing in relief. Draco was slowly but surely overcoming the remnants of the spell. Sacrificing more of his power, James delved gently into Draco's mind, aiding his blonde son through the darkness back to reality.

He admired the progress the veela had made in trying to escape the spell. From what James could gauge, without his help, Draco would have broken free in a day or so. Unfortunately, there had not been the time for him to overcome it on his own. He could only hope that no lasting damage had been done to the veela-child. As James left Draco's mind, he felt a strong pull from the other plane calling him back. He was almost depleted of energy. Moreover, his mission was complete. All of the players necessary for the final battle were now in position. His task was complete, and soon Lily's would be too and she would rejoin him.

He shared a silent message with his wife who nodded at him, a silent reassurance that she would protect the boys for a few minutes longer before rejoining him. If it was up to her she would have stayed until her energy had become as depleted as James. Destiny prevented that however. There was only so much they could do to help guide the boys towards a happy future. But at the end of the day, it was up to them to make it a reality for themselves.

"I'm leaving now son," James whispered, smiling sadly at his son. "Be safe and know that you are loved."

James was drawn away after the last word left his lips and he found himself once again seated near to the angel of destiny, watching the events unfold from a distance. Destiny placed a hand on his shoulder, conveying her words directly to his mind. He sighed in relief at the knowledge that another possible outcome for the encounter was eliminated. There were only two left...one that would bring their son to them in the afterlife, or the other, which would give them the power needed to help his son enact the prophecy. He sincerely prayed that it was not the former. As much as he hated the burden that was placed on his son, he truly was the only one who could prevent the wizarding world from descending into chaos.

Harry did not have the time to mourn his father's leaving as he heard a pained groan from the boy a short distance away. His eyes widened and his breath hitched as his attention honed in on the veela. Draco's eyes were fluttering and his fingers slowly twitched until his hands were clenching and unclenching. Draco was waking up. The realisation sent mixed feelings through Harry. He was elated that his mate was returning to the land of the conscious, on the other hand, he would see first hand whether his thoughts regarding his mate were in fact a reality.

Thus it was with trepidation that Harry watched the veela's eyes open. The first thing apparent in their depths was disorientation as the blonde blinked rapidly as if trying to shake of the feeling. Once he had overcome the feeling, Draco's head turned slowly in an automatic search for his mate. Harry's heart clenched as the eyes met his own, and he saw the concern reflected in Draco's eyes. His mate was back, this was his Draco...but did he want him, truly want him?

"C-Cub?" the veela croaked, voice hoarse from his earlier screams. Added with the muck and grime all over him, Draco was a far cry from the elegant boy with whom Harry was accustomed. Despite this fact, Harry's heart tugged as the endearment washed over him. Despite the hoarseness, there was no hint in Draco's voice that would suggest that he was not wanted. There was none of the hatred, that menacing attitude from before and the child found himself responding to it, forcing aside the doubts he still felt. His veela was awake, and that was all that mattered.

Ignoring his own pain and doubtlessly causing Draco significant amounts, Harry flung himself on top of the veela, his shaking hands clutching the soiled clothing even as he buried his head in the crock of the veela's neck. He nearly sobbed as when Draco's arms encircled him in a tight-grip. The pair was reunited.

Although extremely reluctant to do so, Lily could not allow the boys to comfort each other for more than a few moments. Like her husband, her time on this plane was growing short as her energy drained from her. Only Albus was left fighting now, the rest of the group strewn across the floor, all unconscious. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before he too was taken down. Albus Dumbledore may have been the strongest wizard of his generation, but now the Hogwarts Headmaster was old. Albus had no place being on the frontline anymore and it showed in his wavering. It was to be admired that he had outlasted of the younger ones around him, but truth be told, he was nowhere near what he used to be. If he had been, there was no doubt that Quirrell would have been the one on the ground unconscious.

Drawing the remaining paths of destiny to the fore, she judged that she had at most a minute before Albus too was defeated. The similarities between the remaining paths ended there. Thus, it was with a reluctant heart that she called for the boys to separate. She could clearly see the effort it took for them to obey here, and it took a reminder about the state of affairs to get them sitting up and heeding her words. As quickly as possible with her time running out, she warned them that the battle would end soon one way or the other. She conveyed to Draco a spell for healing, along with her love for them.

The boys listened intently, though more than once she saw Draco's gaze move towards his fallen parents, the sight causing his eyes to darken and his grip on Harry to tighten. Harry responded strangely to his mate's emotions she realised as the child sent frightened glances upwards as he felt the tightening hold. She was unable to comment however as, true to her prediction, Albus was thrown backwards, before he crumpled to the floor. Her son whimpered at the sound yet made no move to seek comfort from his mate. Lily bit her lip but was never able to voice her thoughts as with Albus' defeat came her signal. Her time was now up on this plane. The rest was up to her sons. She vanished without another word to them.

The two pre-teens felt bereft without her reassuring presence. Lily was what was holding back their emotions. However, without her presence, the rage Draco felt at the sight of his fallen family and hurt mate returned in full force, causing his nails to sharpen and his eyes to darken until they were more silver than blue. His hair responded to his emotions as well, growing until it brushed against his collar. His voice as he growled contained a deeper edge to it, and so wrapped was he in his anger that he did not notice when his mate eased away from him with wide eyes.

Harry started to move away from his mate when he felt the rage radiating from him. It was not an emotion he typical associated with Draco, but to him, rage was always synonymous with pain and despite the comfort he derived from being at Draco's side, he was not going to stay near if there was a chance that the veela would lash out at him in anger.

He flinched slightly when Draco's face turned to him asking tersely, "You wouldn't happen to have my wand would you?"

Harry swallowed nervously at the tone before registering the question. Nodding slightly he pulled the veela's wand from within the fold of his clothing. Draco took it without comment, swishing it slightly until golden sparks shot from it. He nodded appreciatively, feeling the connection between himself and his wand strengthening. Harry perused the room for his own wand that had fallen out long ago. It was not too far away from his Uncle Remus but he made no move to retrieve it. Wiggling his fingers lightly, red and gold sparks erupted from it, the familiarity easing his tenseness slightly. He could get along well enough without his wand.

Draco paid no attention to his mate's actions as he directed his wand unto himself, whispering a mild healing spell. He groaned in relief as his pain lessened to a more bearable level. His eyes drifted towards the enemy, noting that they seemed oblivious to their presence as both Quirrell and Voldermort were now chanting in union, their voices rising to a fevered pace. Satisfied that they were occupied for the moment, he redirected his attention to his cub, not noticing the way Harry cringed slightly away from him.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked without preamble.

Harry swallowed before replying. "I...all over hurts, but my forehead is the worst."

Draco's eyes settled on the scar, which had crusts of drying blood around it, crinkling his nose in distaste. "Heal yourself," he ordered, before turning his thoughts to a plan of action.

Harry was stung by the obvious dismissal, before closing his eyes, trying to draw his magic forth. There was no immediate response. When his healing powers finally rose to the fore, it trickled through him instead of rushing forth. Harry found that he was not totally surprised by his magic's lacklustre response. He had realised a long while ago that certain parts of his powers were directly related to his veela and the bond they shared. His healing ability was one such aspect. He could not draw from their bond now as he was in a turmoil regarding his stance with Draco and thus his magic was mostly unresponsive. Well there was nothing he could do about that now, he thought with a huff, as he opened his eyes. Only the slightest edge had been removed from his pain and his scar throbbed with its usual intensity.

"It isn't working," he whispered, not meeting his veela's eyes when they turned on him.

Draco titled his head in confusion for a second before he shrugged in acceptance. "I suppose you're too scared to concentrate," he allowed. "Try to bear it for now Harry." His nod went unseen by the veela whose brows were now furrowed in concentration as he ironed out the last of his plans. Finally satisfied with them, he eyed the younger boy.

"Stay here. I am going to try to heal them."

"I can help," Harry offered softly.

Draco arched a brow at him. "Your magic isn't even working properly," he scoffed, not realising the effect his tone was having on the younger boy. "Stay here out of the way and leave everything to me." Without waiting for Harry's agreement, the veela turned and silently made his way to the fallen adults.

For some reason, the veela's statement irked the young wizard and a growing sense of irritation grew and replaced his fear. How dare the veela insinuate that he was useless because he could not heal himself? After all this time, did Draco not realise that there were many sides to his magic. How could he say that he had no control over his powers when even now angry sparks were dancing off his fingers? Harry gritted his teeth, sending a hot glare towards the veela before turning his back to him entirely. He rather much watch the two-headed man instead of seeing his mate...what was he doing anyway?

Harry eased himself into a better position to observe them. However, it only took him a few seconds to realise that the mirror was much more interesting. The glowing surface of the mirror was no longer flat, instead bulging outwards as if there was something trying to break out from within. Tilting his head slightly, Harry saw that there was a dark red stone pushing against the glass. It was beautiful he noted, taking in the detail of it. There were fine lines etched along its surface that vaguely resembled runes. Suddenly the boy was filled with a desire to observe the stone in more detail, to run his fingers along its surface and discover the meaning of the runes on its surface.

Maybe that was why Quirrell wanted it...to examine it as well. Somehow Harry could not see him admiring its beauty the way he would. No doubt, Voldermort would want to taint it somehow and Harry knew that that could not be allowed to happen. He wanted to do nothing more that admire the stone, perhaps use it as a paperweight for his parchments, that way he could watch it to his heart's content. Nope, Voldermort couldn't get the stone...he wanted it and wished that it was in his possession.

Thus he was extremely shocked when he saw himself appearing in the mirror with a mischievous grin on his face. Sticking out his tongue at the unaware Quirrell, he picked up the stone, and flicked it into the air. As it fell, it disappeared and Harry felt a weight in his pocket. As his eyes widened in surprise, his 'reflection' winked at him before disappearing. Harry's hand reached down to rub at his clothing and sure enough. He felt a rough outline that had not been there before. His wish had come true; the stone was now in his possession!