Chapter 9 – Out of Time

These exams, Harry and the rest of the first years were told in nearly every lesson in the first couple of weeks after Easter, would be key to their futures. The results would show them where their skills lay, where they were naturally talented, and where they would have to try harder.

Of course, the majority of the first years completely ignored these warnings as the days outside started warming enough for lunch breaks to be held eating on the banks of the lake, rather than in the library. Most, with the exception of Hermione.

'Is it two beetle eyes to one porcupine quill, or three?' she said as much to herself one morning over breakfast as she ate with one hand and turned the pages of her well-worn potions textbook with the other. 'And remind me later, Harry, to look up alternative wand movements for cheering charms... Professor Flitwick hinted that it might come up in the exam.'

Harry exchanged an exasperated look with Ron. 'Hermione,' he said tiredly, 'you realise that you have two months before the exams?'

The comment had the opposite effect to that which he had intended. 'You're absolutely right, Harry.' she said, abandoning her bacon and snapping shut her book. Slipping out from behind the bench, she said, 'I better look that up now, whilst I still have time.' She looked at the two boys expectantly, her textbook now under one arm. 'Well, aren't you coming?'

Ron stared at her like she had grown an extra head. 'Two months, Hermione!'

'Suit yourselves.' she said with a huff, 'But don't blame me when you both fail!' and with that she practically ran out of the great hall, presumably towards the library.

'Mad, that one.' Ron said sagely, shoving a fork-full of scrambled egg into his mouth. Harry nodded, amused. The magic that Hermione was concerned with might have been simple, but Harry had found himself impressed with her eagerness to learn. He had resisted answering her many questions in the interest in maintaining the ruse that he was just an average first year student, but every so often he had to hold himself back from trying to nurture her curiosity. The girl needed no help from him, he knew, but it was still challenging to stop himself wanting her to be best she could possibly be. Today however, he had his own problems.

Quirrell, he had discovered, lived a very quiet life. For the last couple of nights, Harry had snuck out under the cover of his invisibility cloak to search for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Wishing the entire time that he had the Marauders Map, Harry had managed to catch Quirrell leaving his office and had followed him through the castle to the DADA teacher's quarters. It was a short walk, through little-used corridors and one secret passageway that Harry hadn't discovered until the fifth year of his original timeline.

A plan was starting to form in Harry's mind. If he was going to follow Ginny's advice and get Quirrell to attack him, he had to somehow entice him to do it. Insulting the man was unlikely to work, or if it did, it was a move so out of character for 11-year-old Harry, with Quirrell so well thought of around the school, that it was likely to raise eyebrows. It might even give Voldemort the idea that, somehow, Harry knew he had been there in Quirrell's head all along.

No, the only way Harry could think of doing it was to make himself so juicy a target that Riddle would snap at taking the chance to rid the world of Harry Potter, and the only way to do that was to appear vulnerable and for Riddle to think he could easily get away with it. Quirrell's innocence was valuable to Riddle, and Harry knew he wouldn't risk it unnecessarily.

Of course, killing a student would cause suspicion to be thrown around. Quirrell's meek persona might well put him above suspicion, but it would be a risk, and extra protection would be placed on the Philosopher's Stone, which was counter to Voldemort's aims. That meant timing would be important.

The best time, Harry decided, would be to appear to Quirrell just before he attempted to steal the stone. The same day and after Dumbledore had been sent away, if possible. That way, Voldemort would have nothing to lose in killing Harry, as he could steal the stone probably before Harry's body was even discovered.

The problem was, the path that Quirrell took to and from his office was short. Too short for Harry to set a trap. He toyed with perhaps ambushing Quirrell between his office and the great hall, the professor had to eat after all, but any route that Quirrell could take would be much too open and public. Except by chance, Harry couldn't see a scenario that would work.

Harry jabbed at his baked beans with annoyance. Then there was the problem of appearing vulnerable enough to present an irresistible target to Quirrell. Short of throwing himself down a set of stairs, which might legitimately make him vulnerable, he couldn't work out a way of appearing genuinely so defenceless that it was worth the chance to for Riddle to have Quirrell kill him on the spot. The fact that his magic still wasn't strong enough to cast a proper shielding charm was a problem too.

It was a frustrating problem, and one that had so far evaded him. The only thing that gave him any comfort was the knowledge that he had until the exams started to think of a plan, as Quirrell wouldn't make his move until then.

Or so he thought.

It was a couple of evenings later when, after a rather entertaining Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Harry and his friends were once again sitting at the Gryffindor table in the great hall, eating their way through a feast as they recounted their favourite moments.

'Did you see how that bludger caught Stephens?' Fred was saying loudly to anyone who would listen. 'It almost took his head clean off!'

Ron nodded vigorously his agreement. 'It looked like his nose exploded!' he grinned from ear to ear. 'It was so awesome!'

'That's just horrid.' Hermione grumbled, her own nose buried in a textbook as was usual these days. 'I don't know why you're all so fascinated with that barbaric game.'

'You'll never understand, Hermione, unless you make the effort to play.' Harry said, conscious that he might have said something very similar to his son, Albus, not more than a year ago.

'I don't play, but I like it.' Neville put in.

George slapped Neville about the back forcefully enough to almost knock his face into his plate of mash potato. 'That's because you've got good taste.'

'It's because he listens to people like you.' Hermione mumbled.

'It's because,' Ron said emphatically, 'Quidditch is the best sport in the world!'

And that settled it, it seemed, as conversation turned quickly back to which of the particular injuries that occurred throughout the course of the match had been the worst. Hermione continued her dinner-table studies and Harry entertained himself by throwing dirty looks at Draco across the great hall. It wasn't until the dessert course was in full swing when the revelry was broken by the arrival of a tawny owl in the rafters. Even Hermione looked up.

'That's unusual.' she said. 'Normally the mail comes in the morning.'

'It's a ministry owl.' Ron said after the briefest of glances. 'Dad has them flying in and out of the house all the time when he works from home.' he said as way of explanation under Hermione's gaze. 'I'd know one anywhere.'

'It's going to the headmaster.' George noted. 'I wonder what the ministry wants with him this time.'

As Harry watched Dumbledore take the note from the owl's leg and read it with a puzzled expression, he realised that he knew precisely what it was that the ministry wanted. The note would ask that Dumbledore rush to the ministry on some important errand that couldn't wait till morning.

The problem was – it was much too early.

Dumbledore leaned towards McGonagall and said something quietly. He handed her the note and she peered at it, frowning.

The original note, sent by Quirrell, had come at the very end of term. Harry had completed all of his exams, and it was only after Hagrid had given away how he had acquired Norbert's egg that they had finally worked out what had happened.

With a nod, Dumbledore rose and left the Great Hall, using one of the smaller unobtrusive doorways at the teachers's end of the room. Harry looked along the line to where Quirrell was sitting, talking with Professor Trelawney. Watching closely, Harry saw the defence professor's eyes follow the headmaster from the hall, before he went back to his conversation. It might have been Harry's imagination, but he was sure he saw Quirrell smirk briefly – a look very out of character for the man.

'Probably just another problem with the goblins.' Angela Johnson said from beside George. 'My Dad works in the Ministry's treasury department – seriously boring, I know.' she grinned, 'But he says that the goblins have been a nightmare recently, ever since that Gringotts break-in last year.'

'There was a break-in?' Hermione perked up. 'When?'

'Last September, just before term started.' Harry put in, shrugging. 'I only know because Hagrid and I visited my parent's vault the same day and I thought it was weird when I read it in the Prophet. Oh, we didn't see anything.' he added, noticing the inquiring looks from nearly everyone in earshot. 'Not that I would've noticed anything unusual, anyway. It was my first time in Diagon Alley, and I'd never seen a goblin before. Everything was unusual to me!'

He put on a cheery smile and attempted to join in as conversation turned towards how horrid goblins were, a conversation that horrified Hermione, but behind his smile his mind was whirring.

What had he changed? If Quirrell was acting early, Harry must have changed something more important than he realised. Had the duel in the forest where Harry, Ron and Hermione had saved the unicorn affected things? Perhaps, without the sustenance he would have received form the unicorn blood, Voldemort had been forced to move up his plans. It was an oversight that Harry kicked himself for not foreseeing, although he couldn't see how he might have avoided it either. If they hadn't defended themselves, any one of them might have died, along with the unicorn.

But how did this change Harry's own plans? He still hadn't come up with a way of getting Quirrell to attack him, and without a plan in place, the only other method of preventing Quirrell from getting the stone was the old fashioned way. Getting himself through the 3rd floor corridor labyrinth and facing Quirrell in the mirror room. Harry considered himself to be an accomplished and skilled wizard, but the thought of running that gauntlet by himself seemed daunting, even if he knew precisely what he'd be facing, and although he knew and remembered taking Ron and Hermione through the gauntlet the first time, he just couldn't bring himself to put them in that position again. They were both only eleven years old, after all, and reminded him too much of his own children. The thought of putting James, Albus or Lily in the same room as Fluffy made Harry's stomach turn.

Movement up at the teachers' table caught his eye as Quirrell finished his conversation with Professor Trelawney and stood from the table. The professor nodded shyly towards Professor McGonagall as he passed her, stumbling briefly on some unseen obstacle before he made it to the same door that the headmaster had used minutes before. Harry had to hand it to Quirrell, he was exceptionally good at assuming the unsuspecting and bumbling persona he had created since returning from Albania. As the sole person who had seen Quirrell's true unmasked personality, it was hard to reconcile the two. The man was a talented actor.

Harry itched to raise himself from the table and rush to the 3rd floor corridor, but forced himself to remain in place for the time being. Quirrell wouldn't move immediately, Harry told himself. The professor would need to wait until Dumbledore had actually left Hogwarts's grounds before making his attempt on the stone, plus Harry's abrupt departure from the table halfway through dinner would raise eyebrows. Dessert would be served in five minutes or so, at which point Harry could excuse himself a lot more easily.

And so the minutes ticked by as Harry's skin crawled. He attempted to join in with the conversation again, it having turned back to the recent quidditch match once more, but the task ahead of him took all the fun from it, and he couldn't concentrate on anything that was being said. Something must have shown on his face, as Ron remarked loudly at how ill Harry looked.

'It wasn't that bad an injury, Harry.' the boy said, taking Harry's pale face as a sign of squeamishness. 'I've had worse flying at home.'

'Yeah,' Fred chimed in, 'Last year he flew his broom into the side of the shed!' he said, eyes full of glee. 'He broke his leg in two places!'

'It was magnificent.' George agreed, 'Bones pointing every-which-way.'

Harry winced. It was a story that Ron had never told him, not even in the original timeline, but given how proud Ron was about his flying ability, and how haphazard his technique was, it didn't surprise him either.

Ron sighed heavily. 'I spent the night in St Mungo's whilst my leg fixed. Mum fed me the Skele-Gro herself.'

'Bet she enjoyed that.' Fred said with a grin. 'Taught you a lesson though, didn't it?'

'Yeah,' Ron agreed, 'Never trust you or George for flying tips!'

Angelina Johnson laughed. 'Isn't that just a given? How you two don't fall off your brooms every time you fly is beyond me.'

'It's beyond us too, Angelina.' Fred said, somewhat proudly. 'But you don't question genius.'

Hermione looked like she was about to object to the corruption of the term 'genius', but at that moment the desserts manifested themselves on the table and all conversation lapsed for a couple of minutes as the students dug in. Harry scooped himself some pumpkin ice cream and ate it as quickly as he could. The resulting brain freeze was as good a warning as he was going to get with regards to rushing into things too quickly.

His bowl empty, he slipped out from under the table. 'I need the toilet.' he said to Ron and Hermione as way of explanation as they looked his way. Ron was only halfway through his first piece of apple pie, and Harry knew his friend would look to have at least one additional piece before returning to Gryffindor Tower. 'I'll see you back in the common room.'

'Wait a moment, Harry. I'll come with you.' Hermione said. The girl rarely ate dessert, a hangover from being raised by dentists. Harry kicked himself.

'I'm going to the bathroom, Hermione.' he protested desperately. He couldn't have her tagging along, but even as he watched she was collecting up her textbooks and swinging her legs out from under the bench.

'Don't be silly, Harry.' she chided. 'I can still walk with you back to the common room. The bathroom there is just as close as any of the others.

That wasn't technically true. Harry knew a shortcut that led to a bathroom within twenty paces of the Great Hall, but he hadn't discovered that route until his fourth year, and as a result hadn't revealed it to his friends just yet. Her argument was, to the majority of those present, bullet proof, and Harry wasn't quick enough to think himself around it.

The next second she was standing next to him, clutching her books to her chest. 'Well, let's go then.' she said, impatiently waiting for Harry to move.

Without any other options available to him, Harry waved goodbye to the table and started the familiar path back towards Gryffindor Tower, Hermione in tow. His mind raced as he tried to come up with an excuse to divert off track or double back, but nothing came to mind that Hermione wouldn't immediately shoot down as idiotic or expose immediately as a lie. As the Fat Lady came into view Harry couldn't help but glance down at his watch. How much time had passed since Dumbledore had been summoned? How long ago had he left? Was Quirrell at the 3rd floor corridor already?

'Tangleroot.' Hermione said as they approached the Fat Lady's portrait. The Fat Lady smiled kindly at them as she swung open and Harry followed Hermione over the threshold and into the warmly lit common-room. A few students had evidently either skipped dinner or left early as they were dotted about, either singly or in pairs, working on homework, playing gobstones or, in one case, sitting close enough together on a sofa that Harry felt uncomfortable even looking at them.

'Right, well.' Hermione said, plonking her books down on a coffee table loudly enough that the two lovers were startled out of their activity. 'I'm going to work on Professor Flitwick's assignment.' she said, pulling quill and ink out of thin air, 'When you're finished upstairs you should join me.'

Harry sighed. He had hoped that perhaps Hermione was planning an early night, but if she was doing homework then she was likely to be up for at least a few hours. There was only one thing for it.

It was time to get his father's old invisibility cloak out.

The 3rd floor corridor was deserted when Harry arrived. With the invisibility cloak secured around his small frame, he patrolled the area for a few minutes before working up the nerve to check on Fluffy. The large three headed dog sniffed curiously at the door as it cracked open, but Harry was able to confirm that there was no musical instrument in the vicinity of the trap door, which was secured under one of Fluffy's oversized paws. Quirrell hadn't arrived yet.

That gave Harry a bit of time to plan. He was certain that Quirrell was on his way, despite the fact that it was too early in the timeline. The thought that perhaps Quirrell was testing to see if a false summons would get Dumbledore out of the castle went though Harry's mind, but he decided quickly that Dumbledore wouldn't fall for the same trick twice, and that Quirrell was smart enough to know that. Once the owl had been sent, Quirrell had forced his own hand. He would have to act now, or risk alerting Dumbledore to his plans.

So, Quirrell's attempt would be soon. Harry estimated that Dumbledore would be diverted by only an hour or two, depending on how convincing the summons was, and at least thirty minutes of that had passed already. But how could Harry interrupt the professor? Harry's plan hadn't changed. He still thought that confronting Quirrell and have him attack Harry before entering the 3rd floor corridor was the safest and most efficient way of dealing with the problem. All Harry had to do was get the man to touch his skin, and his mother's blood magic would take care of the rest.

But how to do that? Harry had been racking his brain for months now, and he hadn't come up with a plan he was entirely happy with. Still, Harry did have a little more information than before. At this time of day he knew the direction that Quirrell would approach from – his office. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office was on the 2nd floor, and thanks to Harry's intimate knowledge of the castle's layout, he knew that Quirrell was likely to use a particular secret passageway to reach the 3rd floor. The passage was hidden behind a tapestry only a couple of paces from Quirrell's office, and emerged from an alcove housing a suit of armour in sight of Fluffy's door. The passage itself was tight, and Harry considered surprising the professor inside it, but there would be little chance of escape if anything went wrong, and he quickly dismissed it.

However, that didn't mean that Harry couldn't be waiting for Quirrell at the top of the passage. The 3rd floor was off-limits to students, even the parts on this side of the locked door, so Quirrell would be forced to 'deal' with Harry. Whether that was by escorting him to another part of the castle such as the Gryffindor common room, or perhaps Professor McGonagall's office, or trying to somehow take Harry out, it should at the least delay Quirrell, and perhaps give Harry an opening to lay a hand on Quirrell's exposed skin.

It wasn't the best plan, there were plenty of things that could go wrong, but as time ticked by and nothing else came to him, Harry settled down in the alcove beside the secret passage to listen for Quirrell's approaching footsteps. With sweaty fingers, Harry gripped his wand, frantically trying to decide how powerful a spell he trusted his body to produce if pushed. It had been a while since he had really tested his spell power capabilities and Harry thought that perhaps an extra 6 months of growth might have helped strengthen him a little. It had been something he had planned to test in the coming month, but Quirrell's advanced plans had scuppered that.

Harry's mind drifted off as he ran through increasingly absurd possible scenarios when he was jerked back to reality by a sound. Footsteps were approaching from the hidden passage. It was Quirrell. It had to be.

Getting to his feet, Harry retreated into the corridor and removed the invisibility cloak, stashing it safely in the leg of a suit of armour. Wand in hand he waited, just out of sight of the hidden exit, for Quirrell to emerge.

And emerge the professor did. Walking confidently, his own wand in hand, the Professor strode from the alcove and directly towards the 3rd floor corridor's locked door. Harry didn't hesitate, and threw his weight at the man, glancing off Quirrell's surprisingly solid hip as he made contact. Harry went flying, landing hard on his wrist. Pain jolted up his arm, causing him to lose grip on his wand. It skitted away across the flagstone floor, well out of reach.

Well, that had been disastrous.

'What?' Quirrell cried, somewhat angrily. 'Watch where you're going!' he said, his tone of voice completely different to that which he had affected for the entire year. Gone was the stuttering and hesitation, replaced with cold confidence.

'Sorry, Sir.' Harry said automatically. He clutched at his wrist, fearing that it may have broken, but it seemed relatively in tact. Perhaps just a sprain. 'I didn't see you.'

Quirrell, it seemed, was in no mood for excuses. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded. 'This corridor is off-limits to students.'

'Sorry, Sir.' Harry repeated. 'Got lost on my way to the common room. I was just leaving when you...'

'Enough, Potter!' Quirrell snapped, his voice echoing down the deserted corridor ominously. It was a command so at odds with Quirrell's usual demeanour that even the Professor seemed stunned for a moment.

'It matters little what brought you here.' he continued, 'But I will not turn down a chance so opportune as this to do what I failed to do before. Goodbye, Harry Potter.'

Harry's eyes widened as Quirrell rounded his wand on him, and a familiar spell started forming on Quirrell's lips. This was it, the end of the road. Harry had miscalculated, and so soon too. In desperation Harry raised his hand and shouted, 'Flipendo!'

There was a loud bang and Harry felt the warmth of a passing spell on his cheek. The stone floor beside him seemed to explode and Harry was flung to the side. Dazed, he looked around and was surprised to see Quirrell getting to his feet a few meters away. The Professor seemed shocked, although otherwise unharmed, and his angry gaze soon fixed on Harry's prone position.

A snarl erupted from the Professor's lips and he made to step towards Harry, but he suddenly stopped, his attention turned elsewhere. Harry's own ears were ringing, so he could only speculate, but the explosion had been loud, and it was likely to have drawn anyone nearby. He watched as Quirrell sneered at him and then stride quickly over to the locked door, leaving Harry behind. Bruised, ears ringing and vision somewhat blurry, but alive.

Harry had almost regained his feet by the time the footsteps that had chased Quirrell off arrived, and Harry was surprised to see Ron's already lanky frame appear from around the corner. The boy's wand was in his hand, as was Neville's, who appeared at his shoulder.

'Blimey!' Ron exclaimed, looking at the cracked flagstone. 'Told you it wasn't another troll, Neville.'

Neville seemed to sigh with relief at the sight of a deserted corridor, his wand lowering, before he noticed Harry getting to his feet. 'Hey, who's there?' he called into the darkness.

'Hi, Neville.' Harry groaned as he bent down to retrieve his wand. It was undamaged, and Harry tapped it to his wrist, which immediately felt better. 'Fancy seeing you two here.'

'Harry?' Ron said, 'What are you doing here?'

Harry scratched the back of his neck. He hadn't accounted for this. 'Hi Ron. Nothing much, just out for a stroll.'

'That's a lie!' called a voice from behind Ron and Neville. Harry groaned as Hermione's frame came into view. 'He snuck out of the common room under his cloak!' she said, eyes narrowing as Harry went to argue with her.

'I saw your foot leave through the portrait, genius.' she admonished, before Harry could say anything. 'I had little choice but to try and follow you.'

Harry looked at his friends, wishing there was an easy way to explain everything, but knowing there wasn't. He was keenly aware of the fact that Quirrell was now ahead of him. He'd have to get rid of them quickly.

'I don't have time to explain now.' he said, turning from them and heading towards the door that Quirrell would have undoubtedly locked behind him. 'Just go back to the common room. I'll explain everything later.'

Naturally, Ron completely ignored him, and instead jogged to catch up.

'Not likely.' he said. 'This is the 3rd floor corridor, and you know something about it! I want to know too.'

'We should all go back to the common room!' Hermione pleaded. 'Harry, why are you even here?'

Harry ignored her and flicked his wand at the door, attempting to cast Alohomora wordlessly in his haste. It failed. Waving his wand again, Harry tried a different unlocking charm, but it failed too. He stepped back and shouted 'Bombarda!' and the corridor was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of woodchips, stone dust and the smell of burning. As the dust settled, it was clear that the lock had been completely obliterated.

Rushing through, a sleepy Fluffy raised her three heads in Harry's direction. He flicked his wand at the harp Quirrell had used to calm the Cerberus and it started to play a rudimentary but melodic tune and Fluffy's eyes drooped and then closed.

'Merlin's beard!' Ron swore as he entered the room behind Harry. The volume of his voice caused one of Fluffy's heads to snarl in a sleepy way, but it didn't stir further. Harry shot Ron a warning look and the boy nodded his agreement to keep quiet.

Hermione appeared a moment later. 'A Cerberus...' she whispered. 'What's this doing in a school! Harry, what the hell is going on?!'

Eyeing the trapdoor, Harry paused to consider his options. Quirrell had gone. It was an opportunity lost, but all things considered it seemed that his friends' arrival might have been a little bit more than fortuitous. His mother's magic might still protect him, but who knew what would have happened if Quirrell had had a second attempt at killing him. A panicked wandless spell wasn't likely to have worked a second time.

No. Quirrell had escaped Harry's trap, or perhaps it was the other way around, but there was no rush now. Quirrell was once again ahead of him, and if everything went as the last time they had done this the traitorous professor would get stuck in the mirror room just like before.

He had some time, but what options were open to Harry now? Harry considered trying to send his friends away again, but the prospect seemed unlikely given that they had now seen Fluffy. They might agree to leave if he went with them, he supposed, but that couldn't happen. He didn't have that much time.

As much as the idea pained Harry to admit, there seemed only one thing that Harry could do.

'It's Quirrell.' Harry said breathlessly, 'Professor Quirrell. Professor Dumbledore is storing the Philosopher's Stone at the end of this corridor. It's been here all year because Dumbledore thinks someone's trying to steal it. I know who that is now! It's Professor Quirrell!'

'The Philosopher's what?' Ron exchanged a lost look with Neville, who shrugged. Luckily, Hermione was up to speed in no time.

'The Philosopher's Stone, Ron.' she explained slowly, as if trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. 'I've read about it. It's a legendary substance that's said to create the Elixir of Life.'

'I've heard of that!' Neville put in. 'It's a really powerful healing potion. But, what would Quirrell want with it?' he pondered, 'Is he sick?'

Harry snorted. 'You could say that.'

'But that doesn't make any sense!' Hermione protested. She protested so loudly that one of Fluffy's not entirely small eyes blinked awake for a moment. All four children paused, holding their breath until the soothing harp music put the Cerberus back to sleep. When Hermione continued, it was somewhat sheepishly.

'If Professor Quirrell was sick, and Dumbledore had access to the Elixir of Life, I'm sure he would let Quirrell have it. There's no reason he'd have to steal it.' She shook her head. ' And anyway, how do you know Quirrell's trying to steal it. How do you even know what's being kept down here?' She eyed Fluffy wearily.

'Yeah!' Ron chipped in. 'And why didn't you tell us?'

Harry sighed. He might have some time before Quirrell could get his hands on the stone, but he didn't have nearly enough time to explain everything properly. Plus, if he started explaining what was really going on in too much detail, he might accidentally reveal other secrets that they couldn't possibly find out about. Not yet, at any rate.

And yet, there was no way that they were going to let him get away without any sort of explanation now.

'Dumbledore.' he said, finalising a lie in his head. 'Last week he got called away to the ministry, but he thought it might be a diversion. As he was leaving the castle we passed and he asked me to check on the third floor corridor every so often, especially if I saw him leaving the castle again. He explained what was being kept here, but not who was trying to steal it – he said he didn't know. You all saw Dumbledore was called away this evening, so I was on my way up to check when Quirrell attacked me.'

'It that what he was doing?' Ron exclaimed, 'I saw Quirrell had his wand out, but I thought that he was healing you or something. Not attacking! He's the DADA teacher for Merlin's stake!'

'It was a bit weird, how fast he disappeared when we arrived.' Neville admitted.

Hermione wasn't convinced. 'But, Professor Quirrell? Ron's right, he's the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher! If, for whatever reason, the headmaster has the Philosopher's Stone in the castle, Quirrell should be protecting it, not stealing it!'

'On the surface of it, I realise that it might not make sense, Hermione.' Harry acknowledged, 'but it's happening. And with the headmaster away at the Ministry, someone's got to go down and stop Quirrell getting that stone.'

Ron scoffed. 'And that someone's you?'

'Yeah, Ron. It's me.' Harry snapped, frustrated beyond measure. All his planning, his decision to keep his friends out of it, all now ruined.

There was a moment of silence where only Fluffy's surprisingly loud breathing could be heard. At some point, the harp had stopped. Harry flicked his wand and it started up again.

'Not without us.' Neville said eventually, his voice soft but forceful.

'Nev...'

'No, Harry. Neville's right.' Ron interrupted. 'I don't know why Quirrell wants that stone, and frankly, I don't care. But if you're going up against him, you're going to need some help.' He fixed Harry with a steely gaze. 'Hermione?' he said, without looking at her.

'Ron, I…' she faltered. 'We'll could be expelled!'

Ron shot her an angry glare.

'But, of course, I'm in too.' She conceded.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl and she shrugged. 'We've already broken into this room. I can't see how much more expelled we can get. And anyway, you might need someone with more than three braincells.'

'Hey!' Ron shouted, loud enough to draw a sleepy growl from all three of Fluffy's heads.

As the music put the massive dog back to sleep, Hermione crossed her arms in satisfaction. 'I think I've proved my point.'

Harry thought, for a split second, of refusing their help. They were only kids, after all, and it was a miracle that none of them had been seriously hurt the first time. But he realised that he wanted them there. They were, at the end of the day, the closest thing he had ever had to real family, and it was the adventures like these that had cemented those relationships.

'Fine.' he said, 'But be careful. There's no knowing what protections the teachers might have put on the stone, and Quirrell is the DADA teacher. He's not going to be a pushover.'

'Harry.' Neville said seriously. 'We're eleven. No fully grown wizard is a pushover for us.'

Harry grinned. 'Good point. Let's go.'