Finding a magical mirror that may have shown your parents was no easy thing to forget. The image haunted Alexander greater than he cared to admit. He was torn between feeling disappointed that he hadn't looked once more in the mirror or relieved that he had stepped away. He wondered how the mirror knew that it was his parents. People may have known his mother but no one had a clue who his father was. Alexander longed to speak to Grandfather about it but, once again, his pride prevailed and the silent communication continued between the two.

Harry, it appeared, felt the same way and Alexander could not blame him. Harry told them about his recurring nightmares.

'It's sort of hard to explain,' Harry divulged in a troubled tone. 'There's this green light and then my parents are gone.'

'What, just like that?' Ron stared.

'Yeah. They disappear in a flash. It happens every night.'

Alexander was silent, quietly mulling over Harry's words before asking, 'is there anything else you can remember? Something else in the dream?'

Lines formed on Harry's forehead. 'Actually, yeah. There's also this high voice – laughing, I suppose. Just before they're gone.'

Ron shivered. 'That's bloody creepy. I wouldn't fancy seeing that every night.'

Alexander shot a side-glance at Ron. Sometimes, he could be very thoughtless. Alexander had a slight hunch that the laughter in Harry's dream originated from the same psychopath that murdered Harry's parents. Otherwise, who else would it be? He chose not to relay this information to Harry as to not cause him even more trouble than he already had. Yet, it was disturbing to think that Harry was reliving his parents' deaths every night.

'I think,' began Alexander while Harry and Ron gazed curiously at him, 'that the mirror triggered something to do with your parents. Some memory, perhaps.'

'You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,' said Ron, and Harry shrugged.

'Yes, but this is different,' remarked Alexander, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest.

'Different how?'

'Harry's not obsessing over the mirror – he's fixated over a nightmare caused by it.'

'Whatever,' Ron shrugged with a wave of his hand, 'either way, it's not a good thing.'

'Is it every night?'

'Yeah, ever since,' Harry replied.

'Go to Madam Pomfrey,' Alexander suggested and immediately Harry shook his head. 'She'll help you to sleep better. It'll help get rid of your nightmare at least.'

'No, I'm fine. I don't need help,' Harry refuted.

Alexander fought the urge to roll his eyes. Harry Potter was so stubborn when it came to looking after himself.

'Fine – then ask Snape for a Dreamless Potion.'

Harry looked as if he'd rather go toe-to-toe with Fluffy than ask Snape for anything.

Ron snorted through a mouthful of toast. 'I'd rather take the nightmares myself.'

∞ ϟ 9¾

When Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts at the beginning of January, Alexander was split between feeling glad that one of his best friends was back yet also guilty that he hadn't discovered anything to do with Flamel. She'd been counting on them but the mirror and the holidays caused Alexander to forget about the research. It was as if he'd disappointed her somehow, causing his stomach to churn.

Hermione's reaction to their night-time escapade was as expected. She was horrified at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row.

'If Filch had caught you!' she screeched, mouth agape.

'Yeah, well, he didn't,' shrugged Ron.

'Still – that was very risky, Harry,' she complained, then turning to Alexander, 'and you. I thought you would have put a stop to it at least.'

Alexander placed his palms up in defence. 'Hey, I tried. It's not my fault Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here,' he pointed with his thumb, 'don't listen.'

Harry looked somewhat sheepish and Ron grumbled but Hermione didn't seem to hear him.

'Did you at least find some headway with Nicholas Flamel,' Hermione asked hopefully.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably. 'Uh, no, not yet.'

Hermione sighed in discontent. 'I would have thought you'd found something out.'

'It's like the man is a ghost. He doesn't exist.' Alexander rubbed a hand over his temple.

'I wish I knew where I saw his name,' Harry groaned in frustration, 'I'm sure I've seen it somewhere.'

'Don't worry,' reassured Hermione, 'now that classes have started, we'll start looking again.'

Alexander realised how nice it was to have Hermione back again. Sure, Harry and Ron were still his best friends and great fun to be around, but Hermione's presence added something that he couldn't fully explain.

Once term started, they went back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of them because Quidditch practise had started again. Wood made the team play longer and harder practises. Fred and George complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, more so than usual. Every evening, Harry arrived in the common room, shivering and dripping wet from the rain, his face weary with tiredness.

'If you ask me, Wood needs to take a chill pill,' Alexander observed, sitting on an armchair. His Charms essay was perched on his lap.

The good armchairs by the fire were claimed back by the older years, much to Ron's chagrin. The redhead tried to protest but a sixth-year simply grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off with a gruff 'move.' Alexander had laughed at Ron's disgruntled expression so much that his sides began to hurt.

'Tell that to his face, then,' Ron smirked at him.

'Hmm, no thanks, I'd rather not be forced to listen to his ranting.'

Harry, however, admitted that Wood's practises were helping with his nightmares.

'What, they're gone now?' Ron asked, face alert.

Harry shrugged. 'For the most part. They aren't as bad when I'm tired from training.'

Alexander's tone was hesitant. 'Well, that's a good thing, I guess.'

'Absolutely,' Harry replied with a fatigued smile. 'I'm off to bed now. Good night.'

Alexander watched as Harry trudged upstairs to the dormitories. He didn't know what to think of Harry's method of dealing with his nightmares. It seemed to be helping Harry so it couldn't have been too bad. Shrugging internally, he turned back to his essay.

∞ ϟ 9¾

One evening, Alexander was watching Ron and Hermione play chess. It turned out that chess was the only thing that Hermione lost. Harry and Ron thought this was beneficial for her.

'Hermione, one of your pieces is defenceless,' Alexander pointed.

'What?' Hermione, alarmed, spotted her unprotected knight.

'You don't need to tell her!' snapped Ron, glaring at him.

'She's already losing,' Alexander said, leaning back into the armchair.

'Yes, thank you, Alexander,' Hermione retorted, her voice aggravated. 'Your support is comforting.' Her head barely raised from the chess set and her hair was much bushier.

Alexander didn't think Hermione liked losing very much. Wow, she's touchy, he thought.

Harry entered the common room and approached the three; his hue was deathly-pale.

'Don't talk to me for a moment,' said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, 'I need to concen —' He caught sight of Harry's face. 'What's the matter with you? You look terrible.'

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told them about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

'I somehow doubt that Quidditch is Snape's new and sudden calling,' Alexander said dryly. 'This isn't a coincidence.'

'I know,' Harry agreed.

'Slimy git,' muttered Ron disdainfully.

'Don't play,' said Hermione at once.

'Use an excuse. Say you're ill, for instance,' said Alexander. 'They can't make you play if you're puking all over your broomstick. Sticking your finger down your throat helps.'

'And how do you know that?' Hermione glared at him.

'Just a suggestion,' he mumbled.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't; he did it once to get out of a maths lesson in primary school but he wasn't going to admit that to her. He'd never hear the end of her lecture if he did.

'Pretend to break your leg,' Hermione proposed, biting her lip thoughtfully.

'Really break your leg,' said Ron.

'I can't,' sighed Harry miserably. 'There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all.'

Alexander winced. Talk about pressure. There was no way out for Harry. He was going to have to play.

'You'd think Wood would have a back-up Seeker for how obsessed he is with this match.'

'It's not his fault,' Harry defended. 'No one wants to try-out for Seeker.'

Ron nodded with a grimace. 'Yeah, Fred told me the Seeker last year had to go to the Hospital Wing with several broken bones. It wasn't a pretty sight.'

'Well done, Ronald,' sighed Alexander, 'you just made Harry feel better.'

'What?' echoed Ron's confused voice.

At that moment, Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop up to Gryffindor Tower.

'Neville!' burst Alexander over the sounds of jeering, 'what happened to you?'

Hermione was the only one who leapt up and performed the counter-curse.

'Trouble walking, Longbottom?' sneered a fourth-year, and Neville turned crimson.

'Oh, piss off, Jones!' snapped Alexander.

'Alright, calm down, Laurent, we're only joking.'

Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. Hermione leads him over to sit with them.

'Malfoy,' said Neville shakily. 'I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on.'

Alexander gritted his teeth. 'I'm gonna kill that blond ferret.'

'No,' Neville shook his head nervously, 'I- I don't want you to get into trouble.'

'You're my friend, Neville, it'll be for a worthy cause. Besides, it'll be worth it to see Malfoy brought down a peg or two.'

'No, Alexander,' Hermione said severely. 'You'll only get yourself into trouble. Neville, go to Professor McGonagall!'

'Report him!' urged Harry.

'I don't want more trouble,' Neville mumbled.

'You've got to stand up to him, Neville!' burst Ron. 'He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.'

'There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that,' Neville choked out.

'Don't listen to such rubbish,' Alexander snorted. 'Of course, you're brave, Neville. It's the blond ferret who's too cowardly.'

Harry pulled out a Chocolate Frog. He offered it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry. 'You're worth twelve of Malfoy. The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.'

'Uh, there's nothing wrong with being in Slytherin,' Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Harry threw him a look. 'You know what I mean.'

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. 'Thanks, Harry . . . I think I'll go to bed. D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?'

Harry took the card from Neville. Alexander wished he could have done more to stop Malfoy. The blond ferret only picked on Neville because he was too cowardly to go against someone who could stand up against him.

'Dumbledore again,' Harry mentioned, 'he was the first one I ever —'

Harry suddenly gasped and Alexander was curious to know what caught his attention. Harry stared in disbelief at the card.

'What is it?' he asked.

'I've found him!' Harry whispered. 'I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here.'

Alexander's previous tiredness vanished; he was much more alert after Harry's exclamation and leaned forwards, fingers gripping the armrests. Ron and Hermione were equally stunned.

Harry continued, voice rushed and enthused, 'listen to this: "Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel"!'

'Alchemy?' breathed Alexander. 'Isn't that an ancient practise?'

'Apparently not,' said Harry, wide-eyed.

Hermione jumped to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework. 'Stay there!' she said before sprinting up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

The three boys barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

'I never thought to look in here!' she whispered breathlessly. 'I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.'

'Light?' said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

Alexander's lips quirk up in amusement. He, too, was gazing intriguingly at the book Hermione was skimming. Wasn't alchemy a medieval practise by scientists of the period who said they could turn metal into gold?

At last, she found what she was looking for. 'I knew it! I knew it!'

'Are we allowed to speak yet?' said Ron grumpily.

'You've found Flamel, right?' Alexander asked, already knowing the answer.

Hermione nodded, ignoring Ron's comment. 'Nicolas Flamel,' she whispered quite dramatically, 'is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!'

'The what?' said Harry and Ron.

Alexander rolled his eyes.

'Oh, honestly, don't you two read?' Hermione scoffed.

'So, the Stone is real?' Alexander spoke in a rapid tone.

'Yes! The Stone exists. It's what Fluffy is guarding.'

'If anytime in the next few minutes, you'd like to tell Harry and me what you two are jabbering on about, that'd be great.' Ron mumbled.

She pushed the book towards them. 'Look — read that, there.'

The three boys leaned over to read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

Alexander's mouth dropped open as he turned to glance at Hermione whose eyes were lit up in excitement. Harry and Ron were still reading. Alexander was astounded. He'd never felt so young in his life. And he thought Grandfather was old.

'See?' said Hermione. 'The dog must be guarding Flamel's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!'

'A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!' said Harry.

"Well, no wonder Snape's after it!' Alexander remarked. 'Anyone would want it.'

'And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,' said Ron. 'He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?'

∞ ϟ 9¾

The next morning, Harry concluded his fate in the Quidditch match.

'I'm going to play,' he told Ron, Hermione, and Alexander. 'If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them – it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.'

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry as if he were walking off to his death.

'Sure, as long as we're not wiping you off the field,' said Alexander, causing Harry to swallow heavily. In a more serious tone, he warned, 'be careful. I wouldn't put it past Snape to not try anything.'

∞ ϟ 9¾

When they wished Harry good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, Ron and Hermione appeared as if they were wondering whether they'd ever see Harry alive again. Way to cheer him up, you two, Alexander internally sighed.

'Don't worry, Harry,' assured Alexander. 'You'll win this.'

Harry gave a weak half-smile and thanked them before stepping inside the changing rooms.

The three of them, meanwhile, made their way up to the Quidditch stands and found a place next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match.

'Hello, Neville,' Alexander greeted.

'Er, hi, Alex. Why do you guys have your wands?'

'No reason. It's become a habit to have it with us,' he was quick to reply and Neville accepted this.

The three of them had made a plan days before the match that they would not allow Snape or anyone, for that matter, to harm Harry. Ron and Hermione had been secretly practising the Leg-Locker Curse by getting the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville. The blond ferret was useful for something. Alexander scanned through books that had anything to do with curses and jinxes. He had a few ready and hoped they'd work well enough.

'Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis,' Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

'I know,' Ron snapped. 'Don't nag.'

Hermione gasped and pointed with a finger. 'Look, Dumbledore's in the crowd!'

A flash of silver beard indicated that she was right.

Ron sighed in relief. 'Harry'll be fine now. Snape can't do anything if Dumbledore's watching.'

'Let's hope he doesn't,' muttered Alexander quietly as to not attract attention. 'But, just to be on the safe side, we should still be prepared.'

Snape was a blur of fury as the teams marched out onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.

'I've never seen Snape look so mean,' he told them. 'Look — they're off.'

The team launched into the air on their broomsticks. Alexander's heart raced as he scoured the air, one eye on Harry and the other on Snape.

'Ouch!' Ron's voice rang.

Malfoy had swaggered up to where Ron was sat, smirking delightfully. 'Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there.'

Alexander groaned. He was not in the mood for the ferret. His patience was already running thin from worrying about Harry and being angry at Neville's jinx.

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. 'Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?'

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk.

Malfoy, it seemed, was looking for a fight. 'You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It's people they feel sorry for. See, there are Potter and Laurent, who've got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.'

Clenching his jaw, Alexander breathed deeply to reign in his ire. Ron, unfortunately, was struggling and had turned as scarlet as a poppy flower. If this were a cartoon, Ron would have steam bursting from his ears.

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy. 'I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy,' he stammered.

Alexander smiled proudly. Go on, Neville.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, 'you tell him, Neville.'

'Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.'

'Piss off, Daddy's boy,' rebuked Alexander, just in time too before Ron threw a punch. It would have been glorious, of course, but now was not the time for Malfoy's goading to get under their skin – not when Harry's life was on the line.

'What's the matter, Laurent? Scared Potter's gonna do us all a favour and fall to his death?'

Malfoy's next words caught his attention fully.

'It's a shame Antoine Laurent has you as a grandson. I'm sure he could've done much better. With you and your mother.'

Alexander furrowed his brows. 'What are you talking about, Malfoy?'

Malfoy's eyes glinted maliciously. 'Who could blame him? Antoine Laurent having a blood traitor as a daughter. How. . . disappointing.'

Alexander swallowed, and his nails dug into his skin so deeply that he could've drawn blood. Malfoy must be lying, right?

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry. 'I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word —'

'Alexander!' said Hermione suddenly, 'Harry — !'

Hermione's voice brought him to the attention at hand. Shaking off his turbulent emotions, he squinted for a flash of red.

'What? Where?'

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her fingers crossed in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

'You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!' taunted Malfoy.

Before Alexander could blink, Ron snapped; he threw himself on top of Malfoy, wrestling him to the ground.

'Ron, no!' Alexander yelled.

Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Crabbe and Goyle were throwing punches at Neville who did his best to fight back. Yelps and shouts of pain sounded. A particularly nasty punch caused Alexander to brandish out his wand. He pointed his wand at the muscle set gorillas and spoke in a clear and quiet tone. Crabbe and Goyle flew backwards onto the floor. Their heavy bodies didn't stand a chance; as they hit their head on the floor, Crabbe and Goyle became unconscious. Malfoy panicked now that his safety nets were gone. He thrashed around heavily as Ron punched every inch of his body while Neville assisted.

Alexander grinned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 'Go on. Punch the ferret's face in.'

All of a sudden, the stands erupted.

'Alexander! Ron! The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!' shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

'We have?' Alexander blinked. That was quick. Harry must have set a record.

The Gryffindors in the stands were hollering, yelling, cheering at the match. Hermione, with a wide beam, hugged him suddenly. Alexander, startled with the abrupt hug, came to rest them on against her back in a clumsy embrace. Hermione was much too excited to mind. She pulled back and grabbed his wrist, dragging him along with her.

'Come on, let's go meet Harry.'

As the Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, Snape spat bitterly on the ground. It was the most chaotic yet satisfying match to happen.

∞ ϟ 9¾

'Harry, where have you been?' Hermione squeaked.

'We won! You won! We won!' shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back.

'Well done, mate. Knew you could do it,' grinned Alexander.

'You should've seen us on the stands,' raved Ron. 'I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville gave him a few bruises! He's out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin!'

'Steady on, Ron,' said Alexander in an amused tone. 'But he's right, Harry. It was truly magnificent.'

'Alexander knocked out Crabbe and Goyle single-handedly! Whatever spell you did, they're in the Hospital Wing right now.'

Alexander smirked. 'Thought it'd be more effective to use a wand instead.'

Ron's cheeks went slightly pink. 'Yeah, forgot about that. Caught up in the moment, you know. Anyways, Harry, everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.'

'Had a whole hamper's worth of food, those two,' said Alexander, and Ron agreed hungrily.

'Never mind that now,' said Harry nervously.

Harry had an uneasy expression that caused the grin to slowly fade from Alexander.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this. . .'

The three followed Harry, making sure Peeves wasn't inside. Harry related all he saw and heard when he disappeared for a few minutes after the match.

'So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy, and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'— I reckon other things are guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —'

'Wait, Snape specifically asked how to get past the dog? You're sure?' Alexander interjected.

'Yes, Snape wants to get past to get to the Stone.'

'So, you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?' said Hermione in alarm.

'It'll be gone by next Tuesday,' groaned Ron.

Alexander ran a hand through his hair. 'Putain d'enfer! Another thing to add to our plate of worries.'

'Language!' hissed Hermione.

A thought niggled in the back of his mind. Why would Snape give himself away to Quirrell? Surely, if he wanted to steal the Stone, he'd keep it a secret rather than broadcast his intentions.