If you're reading this, much love. This release is coming because it is A.) New Years, and B.) Tom Marvolo Riddle's birthday. On this day, 31 December, 1926, Voldemort's story began. So... Happy Birthday to the worst guy in fictional history, and have a happy new year!

ENJOI

…

"Hey, check it out," Travis pointed at some hourglasses on the far wall of the Entrance Hall. "When did Gryffindor lose a hundred and fifty points? They're last in the House standings."

"Yeah, and Slytherin's now third, behind Hufflepuff?" Brian asked.

"Wait, they actually have a way for us to keep track of the House Cup standings?" James Dean asked, looking up. "Oh hey, look, we're in first place!"

"Yeah, and its all thanks to you, love!" a seventh year Ravenclaw gushed as she walked past. "You are a points making machine!"

"I am? How do you know?" James inquired, quizzical.

"Yeah, the Heads of House publish weekly totals and put them under our hourglasses," another older Ravenclaw explained as he walked up to the board under the hourglass and leafed through it. "Look, you're the top scorer of points for... pretty much every week of school!"

"Oh, wow," James muttered, and shrugged. Looking to Travis and Brian, he asked, "Breakfast?"

"Sure," they chorused, and Travis led the way into the Great Hall.

They walked in as a subtle sort of chaos was overtaking the Hall. Whispers were abound, The entirety of the Gryffindor table was in an uproar, and the staff table was filled with ignorant teachers, except for a lone Professor McGonagall, who sat straight backed and staring holes at...

Harry, Hermione, and Neville.

Harry looked so ragged and depressed James wondered if he should be worried about their parents. Hermione was red faced and puffy eyed, while Neville looked fit to burst into tears. Ron, who seemed to know what was going on, stayed with them and looked to be trying to cheer them up, while Gryffindors sitting near them were all abandoning their seats and looking at them in disgust.

"Beautiful morning, eh?" James asked as he sat across from Harry, who barely looked at him. "Should, uh... should I be worried?"

"No," Harry murmured through his hands as he slapped his palms to his face. "You have nothing to be worried about. Its us who should be worried."

"Bed bugs in Gryffindor Tower?" Travis theorized.

"You let one rip and it smells like death?" James proposed.

"Oh," Brian muttered, his eyes looking distant. "It was you guys."

"Yeah, it was us guys," Hermione sniffed as she stood and stormed out of the Hall, almost sobbing.

"Jeez, what did we say?" James asked, incredulous. "What was it 'you guys' did?"

"They overheard Malfoy saying he was gonna get you guys caught with the dragon at the tallest tower," Ron explained. "I told them you weren't even going to be there, that Charlie and I agreed on the far side of the lake instead... but they didn't listen to me and went to save you all anyways. Neville heard it, too, and he went off to try and stop all of you... well, McGonagall caught Draco, then Neville, and then these two out of bed. She docked them all fifty points. Each."

James stared, dumbfounded, at Harry, who stared back at him. "Harry, I told you we were handling it."

"Uh huh."

"And we handled it."

"You did."

"You should've realized when Ron said that wasn't right that we were setting Malfoy up."

"I should've."

"But you didn't."

"I really didn't."

"So... what did we learn?"

"Listen to you when you say you have something under control."

"Well, yes, but no, not really," James reached across the table and rapped on Harry's head. "Use this more often, and a little more critically. As soon as Ron said Malfoy was going to the wrong place, you really should've realized what was going on."

"Okay."

"Eat breakfast."

"Nuh uh."

"Look here you little screw up, you ain't gonna make up a hundred and fifty points on an empty stomach, so you better get to chowing or you're gonna get into even more trouble."

…

Harry did not take his twins advice. He had mandated that he was no longer getting into nobody's business from now on, dousing the light of adventure from Ron's eyes. He wouldn't even go sneaking around under the invisibility cloak with James, going so far as to declare James sole owner of said garment. He tried to resign from the Quidditch team, but was chewed up one wall and down the other by Oliver Wood, who then made Harry run a lap around the Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain for even considering it.

He and Hermione became cloistered during class, not answering questions and failing to even try to win the points back, making their classmates even angrier at them. Neville was so spurned he could be found crying in between classes, and it had started to grate people's nerves.

James kinda understood why, too. Neville was starting to become a crybaby that nobody wanted to prop up anymore. He, Travis, and Brian felt bad, but all agreed that maybe being forced to pull himself out of his own wallowing would do him good, so they left him alone. Luckily, they had Snape's replication potion to distract them.

They had finally finished their first batch. It wasn't much, and James still needed to figure out a way to cut down the production time, but they had six bonafide bottles of replication potion, with the seventh being sacrificed for a test trial. The Wiggenweld potion, which was one of the two potions that was left over from when James and Travis healed Ron's bite, was replicated perfectly. James even nabbed Ravenclaw more points when he donated both the original vial and the Replicated copy to Madam Pomfrey.

The three Ravenclaws were now happy to just be in the homestretch. The year had been crazy, dark, and twisted, and while the adventures were fun, and the pranks amazing, they were ready for some R and R on the homestead. They had managed to pry Kiara out of her self imposed exile, but as the day of exams drew closer, she grew more and more anxious.

"Because of my da," she explained finally. "I... don't wanna go home."

She wouldn't tell them more, but the three understood the meaning. Brian, himself, understood all too well. It was in the quiet moments after class, when they were in their favorite spot in Ravenclaw Tower, that he untucked his shirt and lifted, showing them the slice and burn scars on his lower abdomen.

"Uncle Ray didn't like it when the Jets would lose," he explained. "He liked to drink a lot and take his anger out on me. It didn't matter if it was the belt, his cigarettes, or his own body. Sometimes, Granny would come into his bedroom and watch while he did it. I think she found some sorta gratification in it, watching her son torture her grandson. She always had this... look, in her eye, like watching took her back to a time where she was happy. So... to get away from it, I did what she did, but just by... I dunno, making stuff up in my head to get lost in. Sometimes, I'd get so far into daydreams that I didn't even feel the pain."

James and Travis nodded in understanding. They had known, to an extent, at least, without him ever saying a word to begin with. Kiara, however, stared at the scars in shock.

"I don't remember much about my mom and dad," Travis confided as he folded his books in his bag and leaned forward, a distant look in his ocean blue eyes. "But from what I can remember, they were druggies. I dunno what it was they took, but it had something to do with needles and lighters. Dad was black, mom was white," he pointed at his hair. "Where the blonde comes from. Dad caught mom doing... something, I dunno what, but it ticked him off so bad... I don't really remember that night too well, but the only good thing from that night was the cops in brown shirts and round hats carrying me away from their trailer. They were nice. Friendly. Happy. I decided from then on, I was going to be like them. Not my parents, who were cruel, selfish cowards. I was going to be like those cops. Strong, friendly, protectors."

Kiara was trembling at this point, still unable to speak as they shared their own traumas with her.

"The orphanage was all I knew as a kid. There was a lotta janky crap going on, but I didn't get mistreated at the orphanage, per se," James finally added. "I think Mother Agnes had a lot to do with it. Worst I ever got was a caning whenever I did something too far outta line or refused to say my prayers. But I saw what some of the other kids went through at the hands of some of the clergymen and members of the congregation..." James shuddered. "I'll never be able to look at red wine the same ever again, and I'm just really happy they all considered me too freaky to take to the backrooms. I holed myself up in the library a lot to get away from the moans and screams. That's something my perfect memory never lets me forget. The screams. I still remember what each and every one sounded like. Every syllable, grunt, high pitch and low key, all to a T. The books let me fill my head with something else to remember, something else to think about instead. "

They didn't know if it was their stories, or the fact that she actually had something in common with them, but Kiara finally broke down and sobbed quietly. Nobody else heard or saw, but the three wrapped their new sister in an embrace, letting her beat her fists and flail her head and cry the pain out as she languished in the comfort they provided.

It didn't matter if she didn't tell them the whole story. She didn't have to. Pain... knows pain.

…

"What is taking so long, Quirinus!?" Voldemort raged.

"m-m-m'Lord, its taking longer than I expected to find a servant of yours that is dispensable-"

"Perhaps we should just use you, instead!" Voldemort threatened, making Quirrell quiver.

"Harming me h-h-h-harms you, Lord! We mustn't-"

"My own council I'll keep on what I mustn't do, Quirinus," Voldemort sneered. "You are a pawn in this game. You knew it from the start."

"Yes, Lord," Quirrell trembled.

"Now, tonight... we must go to the forest... one last time."

Quirrell gazed down at his graying, skeletal hands and sobbed. The unicorn blood was taking its toll on him, rendering him weak and feeble and dying. The memory of the sweet, tangy taste of unicorn blood filled his mouth as he sobbed, now fueled by his addiction to it despite his wishes otherwise.

"No... please... not again!"

..

James was on his way to meet up with everybody in the library. They had finally managed to find the time to all study together for the finals coming in less than a week, but before he made it their, he overheard Quirrell cry out.

"No... please... not again!" Quirrell cried.

Running to the classroom James heard it from, he noticed the far door to the class was open, but before he could investigate, he was almost bowled over by the professor, who James had to latch onto to keep from falling over. As soon as his hand latched onto his arm, Quirrell shrieked in agony and all but shoved James from him, before fumbling with his turban.

"Ahhh!" Quirrell screamed as he saw James Dean hit the floor.

"What the hell, Professor?!" James demanded, rubbing the back of his head. "You trying to gimme a concussion?"

Quirrell, gray skinned and almost dead looking didn't reply, but simply bolted in the opposite direction. Lisa Turpin and Padma Patil, who were behind him, ran and helped him to his feet, dusting him off.

"You alright?" Lisa asked, the shorter girl looking at him with concerned blue eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good," James scoffed, shaking his head. "You see that? The hell is with him?"

"It looked like you hurt him," Padma observed as she flicked a bit of dust off the back of his robes.

"All I did was hold his arm to keep from falling over," James defended.

"You must have a strong grip," Lisa joked with a giggle.

"Not quite," James laughed, holding up a skinny arm. "But thanks for the help."

They went their separate ways, and James bolted for the library. He ignored Pince's hollering about being quiet and slammed his bag on the table. Taking the final seat in between Harry and Kiara at the table, he leaned forward and gave them a conspiratorial look.

"I think... I think Quirrell's broke."

"So Snape's done it then!" Ron whispered hoarsely.

James shook his head. "I dunno. I didn't see Snape. The only proof I have is hearing Quirrell scream while in a classroom and say something about... 'not again.' I think he's close to cracking, though. He ran out of the classroom, bowled me over, and screamed like he was in pain when I grabbed onto him for balance."

"If Snape's behind this, and he's cracked Quirrell, then whatever's defending the Stone is gonna be easy pickings!" Travis muttered.

"We need to stop this," Ron declared, the light of adventure in his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione huffed.

"Then go to Dumbledore," Harry dismissed, looking up at them only to say this before turning back to his Charms book.

"Go to Dumbledore?" James scoffed. "You mean the guy who for whatever reason set us up to find a mirror that he himself said was dangerous? The old coot who knows how Snape feels about us, and how we all feel about him? He'd laugh us off as trying to get Snape fired."

"Yeah, and the rest of the staff ain't gonna believe us either," Brian pointed out, shaking his head. "Flitwick would probably throw a clot if we went to him, McGonagall would have us crucified for even knowing about it, and Hagrid is deadset on the theory that nobodies trying to get it at all."

Hermione was beginning to look convinced, but Harry rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me," a tall, slightly chubby Gryffindor prefect interrupted, walking up. "Granger? Potter?"

"Yes?" Hermione answered.

The prefect offered them slips of parchment. "Professor McGonagall wanted me to give these to you. Its the details on your detentions."

…

Harry, Hermione, and Neville had left for their detentions at around eleven that evening, and the four Ravenclaws and Ron were all bored. James and Ron stared at the wizards chess board, but even their pieces seemed lazy and unenthused. Kiara was nestled up on one of the couches, reading her charms book in a desperate attempt to cram for the upcoming exam. Brian was trying to teach Travis a few chords on the guitar, but Travis wasn't really picking it up and they were getting frustrated.

"Oh for crying out loud," Travis groaned, flinging James's Dreadnought guitar beside him with a huff. "You wanna just go follow them like we all know we want to?"

They all fell silent as they thought on it.

"Yup," James Dean finally said, standing.

"I'm in," Ron quickly agreed.

"How are we gonna do it?" Brian asked as he stretched. "We can't all fit under the cloak."

"Maybe we can use brooms?" Kiara suggested.

James grinned at her. "That sounds like a plan."

…

They were all dressed in black. Ron had to borrow some of Travis's clothes, and Kiara had to awkwardly shift into some of James's, but he had to admit, she looked good in a Megadeth t-shirt and jeans.

"Keep 'em," he told her. "Make ya look like one of us."

They then took stock of their inventory. Hooded jackets, cloth masks, whistles for communicating, and binoculars were all passed around for spotting. Travis made sure to bring along his trusty knife, while Brian slung his wand into a makeshift, duct tape holster around his left forearm. Ron brought along an old pair of motorcycle goggles and propped them on his forehead, and James adjusted his leather messenger on his right flank, it being loaded down with various odds and ends he had Fred and George get him from Zonko's Hogsmeade branch.

Soon, they were all raiding the broom shed. James nicked Harry's Nimbus 2000, as everyone else just grabbed random brooms. Looking out from the threshold of the broom shed's door, Travis made sure the coast was clear before leading them out to a spot that couldn't be seen from the castle. With a hand gesture, Travis had them all kick off, and they were in the air and flying slowly amongst the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, spreading out for maximum line of sight.

"Masks and hoods up," James ordered. "Last thing we need is whoever's in charge of this stupid expedition to see and know who we are."

It was darker than anticipated, as the moon was waning into a new phase. They did all they could to duck and weave through the thick canopy, but it became apparent that they were going to make too much noise, so James and Travis led them down below the canopy. Using the shadows afforded by the highest hanging branches, they were able to make better, quieter time.

They had been searching for about ten minutes at that point when a high, inhuman scream abruptly pierced the darkness. They scrambled to where the scream erupted, and spied Malfoy getting his ear chewed off by Hagrid, of all people, who was dragging said brat by one arm and hauling a wicked looking crossbow in the other. A quivering Neville, crying and sniffling, trailed behind them with Fang at his side. They all formed up on Travis and James as they silently drifted after the group, until they were led straight back to where Harry and Hermione were waiting, shivering in their robes and looking terrified.

"What was it?" Harry asked Hagrid. "Werewolves?"

James scoffed at the stupid question. "Werewolves can only change under a full moon, you moron," James muttered quietly.

"No, it was this little bully," Hagrid answered as he dropped Malfoy and shone his lantern around the clearing they were in. "We'll be luckeh ter catch anythin' a' all wih' all the ruckus you caused! Neville's staying with me. Sorry, Harry, but I think you can stand up to Malfoy a bit better than poor ole Neville there."

"It's alright Hagrid," Harry rumbled as he stalked off into the forest, leading Fang and a pale Malfoy off into the brush.

James tapped Travis on the shoulder, and then pointed with two fingers at Brian and Kiara. "Take them, follow Hagrid."

He looked to Ron and nodded, leading the Gryffindor off to trail Harry. The minutes trickled by as the two boys and Fang meandered around the forest. Ron and James Dean drifted along after them, snaking through the branch and bramble. Harry found a splotch of silvery fluid, and motioned to Malfoy, who began to look sick, to follow as Harry followed the silvery trail.

Harry and Malfoy were incredibly quiet, James had to give them credit. Harry was learning to not clob-hop his way through everything, and Malfoy was actually taking Harry's lead in that aspect. The forest grew thicker the deeper they got in, however, and the thicker it got, the harder it was to step lightly or fly into something, slowing the collective progress to a crawl.

"Look," Harry mumbled as they came to a clearing, thirty minutes or so later. A horse, with shimmering, silver-white coat lay on it's side, legs sticking out in macabre fashion. Its mane, a glowing platinum, splayed out across the ground as it gasped its dying breaths. James realized with a flinch that is was a unicorn, its horn caught in some brambles.

That was when a hooded figure fell out from the shadows, quietly, and stalked towards the dying creature. James could feel his heart break as the cloaked figure reached out with pale, naked hands and grabbed the poor, innocent creature by the rear of its elegant lower jaw and violently twisted it.

The crack echoed throughout the trees, and James and Ron both turned away from the sight, grimacing. The figure then stooped down, putting its mouth to a grievous wound on the unicorn's lower neck and began to suck and slurp.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered in rage.

James Dean agreed with that assessment. He felt bile surge up his throat and his anger began to boil his blood. He'd read about unicorns and the they were the magical epitome of purity and innocence. It was said that to lay eyes on one was to evoke awe and bring out the best in people, and that to see one die was akin to watching everything you know burn. The author had failed to gloss over what murdering one looked or felt like, and James could understand why, now that he had witnessed it.

It was taboo. Worse than taboo, it was a sin. Not just any sin, either, it was an absolutely evil, downright capitol crime. His hands began to shake, and he had to hold on to Ron's arm to keep them both from doing something stupid. Ron held onto James's wrist as he, too, fought to control himself.

"Aaaaaaagggh!" Malfoy finally screamed, unable to handle it.

Malfoy made to bolt, but the cloaked figure, shocked, flicked his wrist. The tree right in front of him, which was the tree James and Ron both were using for partial cover, exploded. Ron grunted and grabbed a hold of the Nimbus, but James had already jumped from it. Ron tore off for more distant cover, Nimbus in hand, while James, on pure instinct, jumped from tree trunk to trunk before crouching on a somewhat stable tree limb. Ron thankfully used his head and blew into his whistle as hard and long as he could, filling the darkened forest with the low pitched, high decibel sound.

Malfoy and Fang, now showered in wood chips and splinters, cowered under the yellow-white flesh of the shattered tree while the cloaked figure stormed towards Harry, who was grasping at his head in agony. Seeing no other alternative, James sprang into action.

"Stupefy!" he roared as he dove from the tree limb, landing in a controlled shoulder roll, as his dad had taught if they ever fell from their broom. The figure, with the only trace of color besides black on it being the silvery unicorn blood dribbled down its front batted his spell with a wave of the hand, stopping its advance as it analyzed its new, masked enemy.

The tumble was enough to keep James from truly injuring himself, but his shoulder felt bruised from the fall. The adrenaline masked most of his pain, however, and he didn't wait for the cloaked figure to retaliate.

"Stupefy!" he cast again, this time from a stable position. The spell was a bit stronger this time, and impacted despite the figure trying to block it. It made it take a step back, but it didn't blow it away like it should have.

The figure reared back to counter, when a loud, thundering war cry filled the clearing. A centaur, tall, broad shouldered and muscular, burst into the clearing next to James and reared back, front legs kicking at the figure. Falling back, the figure almost lost its balance, but seeing it was outnumbered, jumped. It drifted up and floated backwards, back to the shadows from whence it came.

James's shoulders slumped in relief as he caught his breath. The clearing smelled of musky wood, kicked up dirt, and a tangy, sweet smell that came from the unicorn. James rushed to Harry's side, who was now on his hands and knees grasping his scar.

"You alright? Are you hurt?" James asked.

"Wh-who are you?" Harry asked, looking at him with distrust.

James pulled his mask down for a second and winked, before yanking it back on. "C'mon, stand up," he urged as he dragged Harry up by the armpit. They stood, and James supported his weakened twin while the centaur checked on Malfoy.

"He'll be fine," the centaur spoke to James as he marched forward, motioning to Malfoy. He was easily seven feet tall, with his long, silvery blonde, willowy hair falling gracefully down his naked back. He was a lithe sort of muscular, with wiry, well defined muscles and a sharp, but strong face bejeweled with fierce blue eyes that seemed to sparkle in the dark. His palomino hindbody was well kept and flawless, giving James the presumption that this guy took care of his appearance.

"That's a shame," Harry muttered. "He nearly got us killed."

Malfoy, insulted, merely pursed his lips and looked down in shame. He then turned and ran away, Fang following after him. They let him run.

"I know who these ones are," the centaur said, motioning to Harry and Draco. "But I know not you. I am Firenze. State your name."

"I'm, uh," James trailed off, trying to disguise his voice by sounding a bit gruff, not entirely trusting of Firenze. "I'm a friend."

"A friend who cannot trust one with his name, is a true friend naught," Firenze said stoically, one of his front hooves pounding the earth.

"Trust isn't exclusive to friendship, especially in the beginning," James responded, honestly just trying to sound mature and philosophical. "I did just jump in to save innocents, and attack the one who desecrated a noble creature."

Firenze mulled that statement over, and nodded. "I concede the point, Friend."

He stepped forward and, in a rather human way, extended his hand. It dwarfed James's own by orders of magnitude, but he shook it firmly and held eye contact with Firenze the whole time.

"And is Harry Potter alright?" Firenze turned to Harry with concern. "This forest isn't safe for the likes of one such as you."

"I'm fine," Harry responded hoarsely, still holding onto James for support. "What-what was that thing?"

Firenze turned and regarded the corpse of the unicorn, downcast. "Tell me, Harry Potter. Do you know the uses and properties of unicorn blood?"

James and Harry both shook their heads.

"We've only ever used unicorn hair and horn in potions," Harry explained.

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn. Such simple, elegant creatures are they, who are the embodiment of purity and innocence. To kill such a pure, defenseless being isn't just a crime against life, its a crime against nature itself. To drink the unicorn's blood is a step towards immortality and rejuvenation, but at a terrible cost. It condemns you, punishes you with a cursed, painful, agonizing half life the moment the sweet, piquant blood touches your very lips."

"Then why drink it?" Harry asked, looking confused. "Who could possibly be that desperate?"

"Surely death would be a better alternative," James added.

"Oh, but it is, unless all you require is something to keep you alive long enough to find or obtain something else, something that can lift you from your cursed state. Tell me, Harry Potter, do you know of anything hidden at your school that could achieve such a goal?

"Harry's eyes went big. "The Philosopher's Stone!" he declared. "Of course, the Elixir of Life! But... who would want..."

Harry trailed off. Firenze nodded as James and Harry both realized who was truly after the Stone. "The understanding has reached its peak. Do you not know of any other who has lied in waiting, clinging to life in unnatural shade, for the chance to capture their former strength, power and glory?"

They shook their heads.

"So you think its Voldemort," James stated neutrally.

"I cannot propose another," Firenze agreed. He turned and looked up at the stars above and stomped his hooves. "Mars... is brighter than usual tonight, friends."

"The God of War," James breathed, and Firenze turned and looked at James. "From a certain point of view, Friend. To the Romans, yes, the God of unabashed, bloodthirsty war. To others, a Harbinger of trials to come. Either way, I doubt this will be the last time any of us who have met tonight will come face to face. I trust we will be standing beside one another when that day comes."

"Count on it," James assured, holding his hand out to shake Firenze's. Firenze once again took it.

"I believe it is time to get Harry Potter back to Hagrid," the centaur then declared. "He is not fit to walk, so please, help him on my back."

"Sure," James nodded.

Firenze bent down, and with a little effort, James helped his weakened twin brother onto Firenze's back. The sound of thundering hooves filled the clearing, though, and three more centaurs burst into the clearing. The first two, one a black haired brute, the other, a ginger maned young adult, stomped up to Firenze in anger, drawing their bows and pounding their chests.

"Perhaps you should make yourself scarce, Friend," Firenze told James. "I do not speak for the rest of the forest, but to me, you are always welcome here, Hawk of the Night. Stars guide you back to when we meet next."

"Right," James bowed in compliance as he stepped backwards into the brush and away from the clearing. The three hostile centaurs glared daggers at him as he retreated, and when he was sure he was bathed in complete shadow, he bolted in the direction Ron had baked off in.

"Here, mate," Ron called from above a minute later, descending to give James Harry's Nimbus 2000.

"Thanks, bro," James muttered as he slung himself on. "You see all of that?"

"Bloody hell, but I did. You-Know-Who is really out here? And I thought all centaurs were proud, brutish blokes."

"Guess that one breaks the stereotype," James shrugged. "Where's everyone else?"

"Dunno," Ron replied, shaking his head. "They didn't respond to the whistle."

"Dammit," James cursed quietly. "Let's get outta here. I've had enough of this forest."

…

Luckily, they had all managed to get back to the Gryffindor common room without difficulty. James's group made it back first, and were seated on the couches by the fire, in shocked silence, when Harry, Hermione, and Neville got back. Neville didn't want anything to do with their conversation and bolted for his room. Harry didn't ask why James was in the forest, as both of them were left reeling from the implications of what they had just learned.

"Okay," Ron said finally. "What the bloody hell just happened."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "Why do you two-" she pointed at James and Harry, "-Look like you've seen a ghost?"

"Because we did," James muttered, burying his face in his hands.

"Explain?" Travis asked, looking confused.

Harry explained, with trembling hands and shaky breath. Ron and James were the only other ones who weren't shocked, as they'd been there. Kiara shuddered and leaned against Brian, who wrapped an arm around her even as he lost all color in his face. Hermione had become rooted to her spot and was frozen, as if she had been petrified. Travis growled.

"Great," he scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "So the big bad that tried to kill you is back for round two?"

"At the very least in spirit," James muttered. "According to Firenze, he's barely a shell, clinging to life by the short hairs."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, frowning.

James and Harry shrugged, but Ron piped up. "Well, based on what I saw, he looked almost like a ghost. When James dueled him-"

"You dueled him!?" Hermione screeched, slapping James across the back of his head.

"What was I supposed to do, ask him over for tea and crumpets?" James asked, faking an English accent.

"Anyways," Ron continued. "He didn't even use a wand, he just batted the spells away with his hand. I've never seen anything like it."

"It explains a lot, though, doesn't it," Harry postulated. "Snape is trying to steal the Stone for Voldemort."

Silence fell over the group again as the implications sank in. James still wasn't fully convinced Snape was behind all of this, and he was beginning to have his suspicions about Quirrell. The more he thought about it, the more the cloaked figure in the forest seemed to look like him. And what was it Quirrell said in that classroom earlier? 'No, please, not again?' What if he was talking about not wanting to drink unicorn blood again? He certainly looked like he was living a cursed life; in the past few months, he had turned so skeletal, he was looking more like a holocaust survivor than a Hogwarts teacher.

James turned to regard the dying embers of the crackling fire, hoping that it wasn't foreshadowing some other kind of sinister end.

…