Ok, here is the last chapter, chapter 14. The one we've all been waiting for. Thank you soo much for your reviews, favourites or following. That's what actually making me write this, so thanks. XD. :) Your support mean everything to me, bad or good.

Here is the disclaimer as usual. My name is definitely not J. K. Rowling, I think I should know my name shouldn't I? I own none of these characters or rules of the fantasy. That all belongs to the famous Mrs. Rowling. I think you know by now, that my writing doesn't even match up to yours, let alone J. K. Rowling.

And finally, you get to finish the boring author note and read on for the last chapter. Tried to make it good, but... sigh... I don't know if I succeded. Please please please review, favourite and like. It would really brighten my day. Thank you.

Umm... Well, that's mostly it then. Here is the last chapter. Sorry if you don't like it.

"Anyway," said Hermione. "I think we ought to solve the riddle first, anyway." They muttered, tapped and finally Hermione deduced it.

"Its that bottle," said Hermione. "i'm sure of it!" They glanced at each other in excitement.

"Er, how are we supposed to drink from a nearly empty bottle?" asked Harry to the room at large.

"We could take tiny sips," suggested Terry.

"I think that only I should-" began Harry but he was cut of by Hermione.

"Oh Harry it's all decided," said Hermione. "We're going all together."

"But-" said Harry.

"No buts," said Terry firmly. "We're coming with you. We're friends." Harry never more valued their friendship so much.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly. Silence.

"Now are we going to get to the stone or not?" said Hermione. They laughed and they each took tiny sips from the bottle.

"Ready," said Harry, his nerves tingling with excitement.

"Ready," chorused the other two.

"1, 2, 3!" As one, they stepped into the flame. A cool, tickiling sensation engulfed them and they were in the final chamber. A mirror sat with strange writing on it. But what surprised them was who was standing next to it. A man who was pointing his wand at them.

It wasn't Quirrell. It wasn't even Lord Voldemort. It was...

Snape. Greasy hair, hooked nose and a billowing cloak. Harry's mind was numb with shock. How could it be Snape? How was this possible? Why was Quirrell not here and why was Snape here? Was they looking over the very person they never suspected and even gone after Quirrell? They had made a dreadful mistake... it was Snape, not Quirrell, no, it was Snape who was after the stone.

It was lucky perhaps, that they were all frozen in shock, as a red jet of light suddenly shot out and if they had moved further in, it would have surely hit them. When they had finally gotten out of their brief shock, they ducked and backed away. They all looked fearfully at Snape, but they were also surprised at the look of shock that was mirrored on Snape's face. Then suddenly it cleared.

"Ah," he said sneering. "How touching. I thought I would be expecting a certain man with a turban tonight called Quirrell tonight but how touching, coming disguised as the Harry Potter. You will be fun."

"Quirrell?" said Harry dumbly.

"Oh, don't play dumb," snapped Snape. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about Quirrell. Clever of you to assume the figure of Potter. I suppose that was you when I caught in the third floor corridor? Nice of you. Now... who do I have the pleasure of meeting your, ah, accomplices?" He inclined his head towards Terry and Hermione.

Harry's head was thinking furiously, the gears turning in his head. Snape thought he was Quirrell. Snape wanted something with Quirrell and had been expecting them but had found them instead. Snape believed that he, Harry was Quirrell in disguise. Whenever was Snape or Quirrell the one after the stone, he didn't care. All he wanted to do now was to get out of this room, away from Snape, and danger. He was an idiot. How could they have thought they would be this capable? They had gone rushing in, and could have told a grown up or teacher, but no, they had to run themselves straight into a truck.

Harry was starting to ponder how to escape, but he couldn't think of any. The more and more he thought, the more and more desperate he became, as he frantically searched for anything, anything that would help him. He had to keep Snape talking.

"So what do you intend to do?" said Harry, sparing time. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"You're stalling time, aren't you?" he sneered. "Not up to facing me eh? Quirrell? Well, I'll humour you then Quirrell. Let's see what you've got. Legilimens!" It was as if his head had been cleaved in two. Pain, unimaginable pain shot through him and suddenly memories of his mind came rushing into him that he himself could not control.

He was five, and he was running away as fast as he could from Dudley and his gang. Down the alleyway to the dustbins, no he was trapped, what was he going to do, he was caught and next second he was on the top of the school roof.

Ripper was barking madly at a tree Harry was hiding atop, the Dursley's and Aunt Marge was chuckling cruelly at him...

A hut, wands, famous Harry Potter, wizard, the stone, Nicholas Flamel, and Snape... Snape...

And as abruptly as this very unpleasant sensation came, it passed and he was on all floors, with Snape looming over him, a very calculated look on his face.

"It seems like I have misjudged you and Quirrell, Potter," he spoke very quietly. "Just like your pathetic father... poking in businesses you have no right too... no matter, just a miscalculation on my part, I assure you." And he raised his wand. Harry, Terry and Hermione who, meanwhile was all standing stock still in fright, suddenly all drew their wands, preparing to be cursed while defending themselves. Snape sneered at them and raised his wand.

"Stupe-" But he never completed his sentence, as someone else burst through to the room, firing stunning spells. He was a certain person who wore a turban. It was Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell ran into the room, his turban askew and his wand in his hand. Spells shot out from Quirrell's wand and they flew towards them. They hit Terry, Hermione and Snape. It was from sheer luck that it just missed Harry. Quirrell then raised his wand towards Harry, but then a voice seemed to issue from nowhere.

"No, he might be useful. Take his wand for now." The voice seemed to have come from Quirrell head! But Quirrell lips were not moving. And Quirrell stuttered. Harry suddenly recalled the vivid dream about someone speaking from the back of Quirrell's head. He half raised his wand. Quirrell cackled.

"You think you can out duel me with the dark lord on my side?" He cackled. Then he flicked his wand so Harry's was sent flying through the air. "Thank you so much Potter," He then waved his wand over Terry, Hermione and Snape. Ropes shot out from Quirrell's wand and binded them tightly.

"What are you going to do from them?" Harry's voice came out shaky and Quirrell smirked.

"Just tying them up Potter. If I wanted to harm them brutally, they would be long dead. Now onto business." He directed towards the mirror.

"You're going to get the stone, aren't you?" said Harry fearfully. Quirrell smiled.

"What else was I going to do child?" said Quirrell. "But no, not directly. You, Potter will, ah, have the great honor of doing that for me." Harry was desperate to bide time.

"I dreamed about Voldemort punishing you," he blurted out quickly. This proved to be a mistake. Quirrell turned upon him, his eyes flashing with fury. Ropes snaked out and binded Harry.

"DON'T SAY THE NAME!" Quirrell bellowed. "How dare you, half blooded creature, dare to say the name! Why, I wish I could kill you right now, but I can't... you are needed."

"Um... I suppose it was you who tried to jinx my broom at that Quidditch match?" Harry asked. Quirrell looked at him contemptuously.

"Of course it was me, idiotic child," he said, sighing. "I suppose you suspected me, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "What's happened to your stutter?" Quirrell laughed again, unnervingly.

"That was just an act boy!" he said. "Who would suspect p-poor- stuttering, Q-quirrell?"

"Then how come Snape was here?" asked Harry, confused.

"Oh, he probably suspected me, Severus," said Quirrell carelessley. "He probably spotted me at that Quidditch match. I had to revert to trying to kill you without my involvement. That dragon egg, Potter. Ever wondered where Hagrid got it?" Harry remembered. Hagrid had got it from a cloaked stranger. And to think they had never thought to even investigate it...

"But it didn't work, did it?" said Harry. "Hagrid managed to tame it a bit."

"I admit, that it was rather foolish," spoke Quirrell coldly. "However, that dragon was also charmed with a listening charm and a timed bombarda spell. If you hadn't accidentally destroyed it you would be dead right now."

"But I'm here, ain't I?" said Harry rather smugly, if truth to be told. "You didn't manage to kill us!"

"A lucky chance," snapped Quirrell. "Enough about this tomfoolery, Potter. Stop toying with me!" Harry knew that Quirrell meant business. He gulped. Quirrell didn't seem to have heard him. He was busy examining the mirror.

"Hmm," he said. He waved his wand over it, running his finger over the smooth mirror. He directly brushed against strange carvings that were engraved. "Oh this smells like Dumbleodre's doing," he said, chuckling. "Dumbeldore has carefully enchanted this mirror so that only the one who would want to get it, but not use it, would be able to get it. Quote an ingenious idea, oh yes. Very ingenious. But ah, not when you have Harry Potter as a hostage." And grinning evilly, he removed the ropes binding him and directed Harry towards the mirror with a mock Harry was defiant: he wouldn't look in the mirror.

"Oh, you need persuasion, do you Potter?" sneered Quirrell. "I have plenty. Have a little chat with my master, the greatest dark sorcerer and we will see." To Harry's horror, he began unwrapping his turban, layer by layer. Harry watched, too horrified to move as Quirrell stepped away so that the back of his head face Harry. What Harry saw would have made him step back in horror if his feet were able to move.

Snakelike, red, horrifying eyes which were slit like, pale white skin and a cruel smile playing about on its disgusting features. Lord Voldemort.

"H-harry P-ppotter," he hissed. "We meet again." Harry stumbled backwards, but Quirrell snapped his fingers and immobilised him. Voldemort chuckled very softly. "How very touching, very touching," he murmured. "Brave, just like how your pathetic parents died." Anger seeped through fear.

"My parents were worth 10 of you! Don't you dare speak of them like that!" he hissed , furious. Voldemort contemplated him for a moment.

"How did you survive the killing curse I fired at you that night?" he asked very quietly, but his word rang out. "How did you survive a curse, you were not to survive, a curse that is not block able, a curse that had never failed Lord Voldemort? Tell me, boy how did you survive that night? Tell me Harry, and I will reward you,"

Harry stared into the pitiless scarlet eyes, which were gleaming evilly. Then he spoke.

"I don't know how I survived," he said defiantly. "i don't even remember it!"

"Oh that can be very easily fixed," said Voldemort silkily. "I'll give you the memory." Without warning, his eyes bored through Harry. It was the second time that night, that Harry felt as though his head and been split in two. No, this was a hundred times worse than Snape's attack. But instead of relieving memories, a different one surfaced.

He glided towards the window and looked inwards, the family blissfully ignorant of his presence. The father was making colourful bubble out of his wand, while the small baby the mother was holding laughed. They were all alive, and well. But that was all about to change. Lord Voldemort would kill them all.

The father threw his wand onto the sofa and walked into the kitchen. The mother carrying the baby, went upstairs. He seized his chance. He pushed open the front door and glided inside. The father looked up, horror written in his features. He laughed to himself. He had not even had a wand in his hand. This was too easy, almost. Fools, they were to trust their friend so dearly. And now, they payed the price. The man shouted something.

"Lily, its him-" But his words were cut off.

"Avada Kedavra!" The jet of green light issued from his drawn wand, struck the man in the chest and James Potter fell to the fall like a rag doll losing its strings. Contempt and savage pleasure broke through him. One down, two to go. He ascended up the stairs to the next floor. A door stood shut on his left. The woman with her son must have heard the man stop speaking and feared the worst. He blasted the door aside effortlessly. The woman, with long red hair was standing over the baby which she had deposited in a crib.

"Please! Not Harry, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you stupid girl. Stand aside."

"Please! Not Harry! Don't kill Harry!"

"This is your final warning!"

I'll do anything, anything! Just not Harry! Kill me instead, don't kill Harry!"

Well, Voldemort thought. He had tried to bargain with Lily Potter. He had tried to spare Lily Potter's life, as his servant Severus had requested. Well, the woman requested to kill her. How could he refuse such an open offer.

"Avada Kedavra!" Lily Potter fell just like her husband, clattering to the floor. He stepped over he body and moved onto the boy. There seemed nothing special about him. Yet the prophecy, the prophecy. The baby had jet black hair, just like his father, a round chubby face and emerald eyes which gleamed, peering brightly at him curiously. He looked at the baby. It started to cry. Lord Voldemort had always hated crying at the orphanage. And, for the third time, the incantation was spoke, in the cold, high voice.

"Avada Kedavra!" The spell hit the baby, and he screamed. But then it rebounded, on himself. Pain, unimaginable pain, coursed through his body as he seemed to turn into a spirit. He fled, still in pain. The baby just screamed and screamed. A jagged cut that looked like a lightning bolt was carved on the boy's forehead, the reminder of the killling curse.

He was staring at Voldemort again, feeling sick. The pleasure at killing them, the pain. Snape had asked to spare his mother, Lily. Come to think of it, Snape had never insulted his mother, only saying he was like his father. Arrogant and stupid.

"Well then," said Voldemort smirking. "You can now relieved that happy memory. Now, I believe it is long overdue. Look into the mirror Potter, and tell me what you see!" Harry had no choice. He stepped in front of the mirror and looked.

There were his parents, waving at him, smiling and crying. Mum, Dad and his other relatives. It was exactly like last time he looked in the mirror. Until his Mum and Dad winked, and put a red blooded stone directly in his pocket. Harry felt a lump fall into his robes and went stock still. He had gotten the Philosopher's Stone.

"Well," said Quirrell, "what do you see boy?" Harry mustered up his remaining courage and replied.

"I s-ee my parents, they're waving and," Harry hoped that Voldemort and Quirrell didn't notice how his voice shook.

"He lies, he lies," Voldemort hissed. "You have the stone in your robe pocket, Potter. Summon it Quirrell." Harry tried to run for it, but the stone flew out of his pocket and landed directly in Quirrell's outstretched hands. Voldemort cackled.

"Well done, servant, well done indeed," he murmered. "You shall be rewarded of course." Then he looked at Harry.

"Your adventure and life ends here Potter," said Voldemort. "You were living on borrowed time. You should have perished that Halloween night. However, I will give you a chance to fight. They say Gryffindor are of brave and noble. Let us see then..." But Harry did not do anything. Voldemort laughed maddeningly, and Quirrell joined in, their laughter echoing around the walls. This was it. He was going to do.

"Come, then," spoked Voldemort. "Bring out your dragon. Your dragon bravery and fight me like a man Potter." He spoke in parseltounge.

Harry gave up. He knew he was about to die. But not without a fight. He rushed towards Voldemort, who was still on the back of Quirrell's head. He was blasted back, shockwaves running through him.

"A pity," spoke Voldemort very quietly. "Goodbye Harry Potter. Kill him Quirrell!" And Quirrell spun around, his wand pointing directly at Harry's rapidly breathing chest. This was it. Harry was going to die. He closed his eyes.

"Avada Kedav-" But before Quirrell could complete his deadly curse, a huge tumbling crash came from the ceiling followed by two all might roars. Harry opened his eyes and looked around. Hagrid's dragons had joined the fight.

They must have heard Voldemort speaking in parseltounge about dragons. Harry was at a loss at how they heard Voldemort speak. Perhaps dragons had extra powers? Quirrell had turned his attention to the two dragons who roared magnificently. Jets of fire rushed out at Quirrell and he blocked them with a type of shield. Harry could run now and escape. But he couldn't leave his friends and Snape behind. He could grab his wand now. Quirrell had accidentally dropped it and Harry scrambled to get it.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he whispered. Harry had only levitated one object at a time before, but surprisingly he managed to levitate them out of harms way. Most of the room
was destroyed, but the good thing was that the exit was still there. He levitated them over the threshold and was must about to follow when Voldemort noticed him.

"Kill the boy! The boy, kill him!" Quirrell lunged at Harry and seized him by the throat, but next second later, his hands were burnt and Harry was in agony. Quirrell couldn't touch him without burning his fingers. He jumped up and grabbed onto Quirrell. Quirrell screamed and tried to shake him off, but Harry wouldn't let go.

"Kill him! With your wand!" Voldemort shrieked. Quirrell raised his wand but then, a jet of flame incacerated Quirrell and all was left was a charred body. Hagrid's dragons ahd stopped breathing fire and were . They didn't attack Harry because they recognised him. But then, a misty dark cloud rose over Quirrell's head and Harry's scar split open. He collapsed into the darkness just as Albus Dumbledore went striding in, his wand aloft.

Harry Potter got out of the car, dragging his trunk and owl cage into number 4, Privet Drive. The school term had ended. Their first year was over.

When Harry had fainted in pain in that chamber, Dumbledore had come to the rescue. Terry, Hermione and Snape were revived. Apparently, teachers had arrived, after Quirrell wasn't found at his residence. They had headed down into the third door corridor to see Filch attacked. Naturally, they went down the trapdoor and were just in time to see Harry faint. Harry woke up in the hospital wing, and Dumbledore came in. Harry had explained what had happened. Dumbledore listened attentively all through Harry's recount. When Harry had asked what was the dark mist, Dumbledore looked very grave. Dumbledore said himself that they could only guess. Unfortunately, the stone was destroyed. It had burned along with Quirrell.

Madam Pomfrey, they school nurse, was kind, but, very, very strict. Harry had been flooded with gifts, sweets from the whole school. Apparently, rumours were spreading thick and fast. They never came close to the truth though. Terry and Hermione were eventually allowed to see Harry after arguing with Madam Pomfrey. Both were very relieved to see that Harry was well.

They had won the House Cup. Dumbledore had given Terry, Hermione and Harry 50 points each, but they would have won anyway.

So, they packed the trunks, and boarded the train back to King's Cross. They laughed, chattered and exchanged sweets. Hermione gave Harry her phone number, but Harry didn't think Uncle Vernon would allow that. Terry promised to write through owl. They were both shocked at the brusque manner of Uncle Vernon when he arrived to pick him up, a vein throbbing in his neck.

As Harry dragged his belongings through the threshold, he reflected on his whole school year. He couldn't wait for more. Every step he took was to misery at the Durselys, away from Hogwarts. Still, it was only a summer before he would go back again. What a long summer it would be.

Harry hoped that, next year, he would have a normal year. In the future, Harry would look back and think how futile that hope was.

The end.

How did it go then? Sorry for late update, life caught onto me and refused to let go. Whoah, this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Pity it the end chapter. Anyway, sorry but no sequels. I'm sorry if I disappoint you. Thank you all for following, favouriting and reviewing. Its these things that spurred me on to write this.

Stay safe, have a nice day and hopefully see you next time!

Sincerely yours,

LemonDrop119.

Ps. I might not be on this site for some time, I'm getting rather busy.

Pss. I'll try though :)