Tuesday 11 February, 1992:

The start of a new term at Hogwarts brought about yet a heavier workload for the Fifth Years, in preparation for their OWLs at the end of the school year. In the Slytherin common room, it became normal to see the Fifth Years still scribbling away on parchment or practising spells at midnight. It was even beginning to affect Lena – not the content of the homework itself, but the sheer amount of it. And combined with the fact that over the Christmas holidays she had decided to help Maggie and Rolf with their homework, this meant that she had very little time to dedicate to discovering what it was that the three-headed dog was guarding.

Sometimes, she was tempted to just use Legilimency to force herself into Quirrell's mind and see what it was he was after. However, Lena never used Legilimency if she could help it: firstly, because although she was good enough to break through the defences of most witches' and wizards' minds, she lacked the subtlety to do it undetected; and secondly, it was a violation that she found herself uncomfortable committing except in the most extreme circumstances. Furthermore, in the case of Quirrell, she was unsure how well-trained in Occlumency he was, and she didn't want to draw any more of his attention to her than was already devoted.

So Lena had been back at Hogwarts for about six weeks before her first real breakthrough in the mystery of the three-headed dog's presence came. She was in the library, finding references for a History of Magic essay about the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards. Lena usually sat in the aisles between the bookshelves when she was working in the library, instead of at one of the tables, preferring the privacy it afforded her. On that day, she was sat cross-legged on the floor leaning against a shelf, and transcribing some quotes from the book into her essay. The aisle she sat in had one more aisle between it and one of the tables, and she was briefly distracted from her essay when she heard some students sitting down at the table. She quickly surmised from how young their voices sounded that they were probably First Years, and returned her focus to her essay. However, about ten minutes later, she was distracted again by what one of the voices was saying.

"I'm telling you, Hermione, Nicolas Flamel can't be that famous a wizard if we've looked through a hundred books by now, and he hasn't been mentioned in any of them."

Lena's head snapped towards the direction the voice was coming from, surprised. Why on Earth would a First Year be interested in who Nicolas Flamel was? She closed the book she was looking through, stood up, and placed it back on the shelf. She gathered her things into her bag, and quietly moved towards the table.

There were three young Gryffindors sitting there, arguing with each other in voices which Lena assumed they thought were much quieter than they really were. There was a girl with bushy brown hair and a boy with flaming red hair facing her direction, and a boy with messy black hair who had his back to her.

"But I know I've heard the name before," insisted the dark-haired boy. "I just can't remember where."

"Besides," added the girl, "I don't think Hagrid would have been so cross with himself for letting Flamel's name slip if he wasn't someone important." She sighed. "I'm sure we'll at least find a mention somewhere." She picked up a book entitled Greatest Magical Inventions of the 20th Century and opened it.

"Well, you're probably not going to find him in there."

The three heads immediately turned to face Lena, who was leaning against the shelf, an expression of mild interest on her face. She quickly recognised that the dark-haired boy was in fact Harry Potter, but didn't allow any sign of her recognition to show. The mistrust and apprehension of the three Gryffindors, however, was very visible.

The redhead scowled at her. "What do you want?"

Lena, who identified him as being Percy Weasley's younger brother, was somewhat impressed by his confidence.

She sighed theatrically. "In an ideal world? To be able to do my homework in the library without the distraction of a bunch of loud First Years prattling to each other." The bushy-haired girl's face flushed, obviously embarrassed. "But if that's too much to ask for," continued Lena, "I suppose I could settle for ending your noisy dispute by telling you who Nicolas Flamel is... providing that would be of no inconvenience to you?" she sarcastically finished.

The three First Years look at each other for a moment, before turning back to her.

"And why should we believe whatever you tell us?" said Potter suspiciously.

Lena raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but hanging around the library so I can deliberately misinform little Firsties about notable figures in Wizarding history isn't the way I've earned my terrifying reputation."

Potter appeared to have registered the use of his name, but didn't seem surprised that Lena knew who he was. "Okay," he said warily, "then who is Nicolas Flamel?"

"Possibly the greatest alchemist to have ever lived," answered Lena, "and the inventor of the Philosopher's Stone."

Apparently, this didn't mean anything to the two boys. The girl, however, gave a small gasp.

"You've heard of the Stone, I take it?" Lena said to her. The two boys looked at their friend curiously.

The girl nodded. She said hesitantly, "I've come across it in... my readings."

"So what is it?" Weasley asked her impatiently.

But it was Lena who answered. "One of the most powerful magical artefacts in the world. Not only because it carries out the primary function of alchemy – to turn any metal into gold – but because it can create the Elixir of Life."

Potter frowned. "What's–"

"A potion that extends the life of the drinker."

"Extends for how long?" questioned Potter.

Lena shrugged. "As long as you keep drinking it. In Flamel's case, it's kept him alive for over six centuries."

Potter stared at her in disbelief. "You're telling me that there's somebody alive today who's over six hundred years old?"

Lena smirked at him. "I told you that you wouldn't find him in a book about magical inventions of the twentieth century. Mind you," she added thoughtfully, "you could have learnt all that from his Chocolate Frog card."

"He's on one of the cards?" said Weasley, surprised.

"Of course he is. He's an incredibly important figure in Wizarding history. Actually, I'm pretty sure he's even mentioned on Dumbledore's card."

A look of realisation flashed across Potter's face. "So that's where..." he muttered under his breath.

At the same time, an odd expression crossed the bushy-haired girl's face. She cleared her throat. "I imagine, then," she began, in a too-casual voice that immediately roused Lena's suspicion, "that a lot of people would want to take the Philosopher's Stone from Nicolas Flamel, so they could use it for themselves?"

Lena cocked her head slightly. "I believe," she said slowly, "that there have been attempts to steal the Stone. But none have been successful."

"It must be very well guarded," said the girl in the same too-casual tone. But the two boys must have clued on to whatever meaning she was trying to convey, because the three of them exchanged a significant look.

But Lena almost missed this, as a realisation dawned on her. 'Of course,' she thought to herself. 'That's what it's guarding.'

"We should be getting to dinner," said Potter abruptly to his friends, standing up. The other two followed his lead, and the three of them began to walk off. However, Potter stopped, and looked back at Lena.

"Erm, thanks," he said awkwardly.

Lena distractedly acknowledged him with a nod, before turning around and heading back into the aisles of shelves. Finally, she was getting somewhere.

"That's what the dog's guarding: Flamel's Philosopher's Stone!" said Hermione excitedly, the moment the trio exited the library. "He must have known that somebody was after it, and he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

Ron, however, was frowning. "I don't get it."

"Flamel must think that the Stone's in more danger than it has ever been before," Harry said to him, "and like I told you, Hagrid said that Hogwarts was probably the only place safer than Gringotts–"

"That's not what I'm talking about," interrupted Ron. "I meant I don't get why Lestrange would be so helpful – especially to you."

"What are you talking about?" a confused Hermione asked, and Harry remembered that she hadn't been there with them when Percy had told them about Lena Lestrange. He quickly filled her in on what they knew.

Although clearly horrified, Hermione still retained her rationality. "But there's no actual proof that she's harmed another student?"

"Maybe not," said Ron, "but it's a fact that her parents were supporters of You-Know-Who. So why would she help Harry? What does she get out of it?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "Maybe she wanted me to know that the Stone is at Hogwarts."

"Why?" asked Ron. "And anyway, how would she know that it's here?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, she probably could have figured it out; all she would have needed to do was go to the third-floor corridor and see the three-headed dog to realise that something was being guarded. And maybe she wants me to know because she thinks I might go after it, and get myself killed in the process."

"Or," said Hermione, dropping her voice as they passed a group of Ravenclaw girls, "she could be one of those people who think that because You-Know-Who couldn't kill you when you were a baby, you could be a powerful, Dark wizard in your own right. And she wants to see what you do with that information as a, a test of sorts."

"Well, whatever her motives are, they can't be good," declared Ron as they approached the Great Hall. "And I think we should keep as far away from her as possible."

Hermione nodded in agreement. But although Harry knew what Ron had said made sense, he couldn't help feeling a strange pull towards the enigmatic older girl.

Lena didn't go to dinner; she was too caught up in her discovery of what exactly was being hidden at Hogwarts to feel hungry.

She couldn't believe that the Philosopher's Stone had never crossed her mind while trying to figure out what Dumbledore was protecting – after all, it was common knowledge that the headmaster was friends with Nicolas Flamel.

She briefly wondered how Potter and his friends had come across Flamel's name, but then she remembered what the girl had said: Hagrid. Obviously, the Hogwarts gamekeeper was the staff member who'd sourced the three-headed dog, and she knew he was friends with Potter, as she'd once seen the boy and his friends leaving Hagrid's hut while coming back from a picnic lunch with Maggie and Rolf. In any case, Lena was glad the three young Gryffindors had known the name, otherwise she might never have figured out what the hidden magical object was.

As she paced up and down a secret passage on the second-floor, Lena's thoughts turned to Quirrell. Obviously, the Philosopher's Stone was a highly desirable object to most people. But to go after it while it was under Dumbledore's protection – well, it was sheer madness. And even if he did get his hands on it, Lena had read enough about the Stone to know it wasn't simple to use: it required very powerful and intricate magic to use its alchemic functions, not to mention creating the Elixir of Life. Was Quirrell really that skilled a wizard?

Lena stopped in her tracks as a thought occurred to her. What if Quirrell was just someone else's pawn – an employee of a more dangerous wizard or witch? The night he had let the troll in, Snape had seemed aware that Quirrell was after the Stone, which, Lena assumed, meant Dumbledore already had suspicions about the DADA professor. So why wouldn't he just deal with Quirrell right from the start?

'Because he thinks there's a bigger fish to catch,' Lena answered her own question. 'And letting Quirrell go on could lead him to whoever his master is. And better the devil you know...'

She leaned against the wall of the passageway, running a hand through her hair. So who was Quirrell working for? But as soon as she asked herself the question, the obvious answer occurred to her.

A powerful, dangerous wizard who Dumbledore would be eager to find. One who would desperately want to get his hands on the Elixir of Life.

Lena took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Of course,' she thought. 'Who else would it be?'

And now Quirrell's fascination with her made sense. She was the child of his master's most loyal followers. Perhaps he had even asked Quirrell to report back to him any information he could gather regarding his former pupil...

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. A sick feeling took over her stomach as thoughts of Lord Voldemort engulfed her mind.

Friday 10 July, 1981:

Lena's protective mental barrier barely lasted three seconds before Voldemort overcame it. The familiar presence took over her mind, and for a few seconds, Lena was completely powerless. Then she felt him withdraw.

She scowled down at the floor, annoyed with herself. She wasn't progressing anywhere near as fast she wanted to be in her Occlumency training.

Voldemort chuckled, and Lena couldn't help but glare at him when she looked up. But this only seemed to amuse her teacher more.

"Don't be so harsh on yourself," he gently chided her once his laughter had subsided. "As I've told you from the beginning, Occlumency is an advanced form of magic. It takes time to become proficient."

"I've had ten months," she grumbled. "And I still can't block you out for more than a few seconds."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You are five years old, Lena," he pointed out. "That you can withstand my attacks for any amount of time at all is more than impressive."

Lena gave him a withering look. "Most five year olds are idiots. Your comparison is hardly flattering."

"Does my praise really count for so little with you?"

"I'd rather you tell me what I was doing wrong."

"Fine. You need to be about ten years older," he said flatly.

Lena glowered at him. "Anything a little more achievable than that?"

Voldemort sighed, and leaned back on his hands. "You're a child, Lena," he said patiently. "A very young child whose brain is still developing. Yes, you have an extraordinary amount of focus that allows you to accomplish things that most children could never dream of, but you have to recognise your physical limitations."

Lena looked down, and absentmindedly drew patterns on the carpet with her finger. Finally, in a small voice she said, "It's not fair."

"What isn't?"

She looked back up at him with a miserable expression. "That I can't do things no matter how hard I try, just because I'm young."

For a moment, Voldemort regarded his small pupil with a softness that nobody else would have thought him capable. He moved closer to Lena. "I know it's frustrating. But you must realise that you're still achieving incredible things."

Lena bit her lip, then hesitantly held out her right hand so the palm was facing up. She shut her eyes and screwed up her face in concentration. A second later, a small blue flame flickered to life in her hand. She opened her eyes and watched the flame.

Voldemort smiled at her. "Exactly. And you learnt how to do that when you were only four–"

He stopped abruptly as Lena cupped her left hand over the flame. She held it there for a few moments, before removing it. The flame was now a small ball of blue fire. She extended it to Voldemort, who after a moment's hesitation reached out and took it from her. He examined it for a moment.

"I never taught you how to do that," he murmured.

Lena shrugged. "I figured it out a few weeks ago while I was practising. I've been using it as a reading light at night."

Voldemort passed the fireball back to her, and she closed her fist around it, extinguishing it. She then began to twist a lock of her long hair around her fingers.

"I know I can do lots of things other children my age can't do," she said quietly, staring down at her lap. "I know I can even do things that some adult wizards and witches can't do." She let go of her hair, and met Voldemort's gaze. "But that doesn't mean I can't want to do more." She paused. "I just want to be better."

At first, Voldemort simply gazed back at the young girl. He suddenly reached out his hand, then paused. For a moment his hand hung in mid-air. Then slowly, his hand moved towards Lena's face, and gently pushed the lock of hair she'd been playing with back behind her ear.

His voice was barely more than a whisper. "And that's why I'm here. To help you be better than anyone else. And you are in no way disappointing me."

"Even though I'm rubbish at Occlumency?"

He smiled wryly. "You're not rubbish at Occlumency. I just happen to be very, very good at Legilimency. And the fact you haven't mastered it yet doesn't disappoint me."

"But I'm–"

"Lena."

The girl paused, and looked at her teacher. He was gazing at her intently.

"I mean it," he said. "I don't believe you could ever disappoint me."

Lena didn't know why, but Voldemort's words made her heart feel strange – it felt like it was swelling, and there was a sudden warmth inside her she wasn't used to. Unsure of the sensation, she pushed it away, and simply returned the smile her teacher was giving her.

"I forgot to ask," said Voldemort suddenly. "How was the funeral?"

Druella Black, Lena's maternal grandmother, had passed away the previous week, and the funeral had been held yesterday. It was the first funeral Lena had attended.

She shrugged in reply. "It was fine. I mean, it's not like we were close, anyway," she muttered.

It was true: Lena had never felt any particular kinship with Druella, and as far she could remember, her grandmother had never done anything to remedy that.

"Aunt Narcissa cried, though," continued Lena. "She was really upset. And then at the, the thing after, she–"

"The wake?"

"Yes, that. She and Mother got into an argument about their other sister, what's her name..." She racked her brain. "Um... Andromeda, that's it."

Lena had only found out her mother had another sister last week, after the news of Druella's passing. All she knew was that her Aunt Andromeda had married a Muggle-born (or a 'filthy Mudblood', as her mother had described him) straight out of Hogwarts, and that the rest of the family hadn't talked to her since.

Another question, however, had been plaguing Lena since her grandmother's death – one she wanted Voldemort's opinion on.

She cleared her throat. "Sir?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering," said Lena carefully, "what do you think happens after we die?"

It was clear Voldemort had not been expecting this question. He stared at Lena, a strange expression on his face.

Worried about his reaction, Lena quickly added, "Because I know some people come back as ghosts, but most don't. So where do they go?"

Voldemort stared at her for a few moments longer, his face oddly tight. It made Lena feel nervous, something she wasn't used to when she was around Voldemort.

To Lena's surprise, he ran a hand through his slicked back hair, a gesture she'd never seen him do before.

"The honest answer," he said, "is that I do not know."

Lena waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she persisted. "But surely you have a theory–"

"It is unimportant," interrupted Voldemort . "And unnecessary for you to dwell upon it." His voice was cold, something Lena wasn't used to hearing during her lessons. She couldn't help shrinking back slightly. Voldemort noticed her reaction, and his expression softened. "You need not concern yourself with the matter, Lena," he said. "Focus on your life, not your death."

But Lena wasn't prepared to give up the issue yet. "But isn't death the one thing that's a certainty in our lives?" she countered. "So why do we know so little about it?"

Voldemort paused, before replying quietly, "It doesn't have to be."

Lena furrowed her brow. "What do you–"

"There are ways around it."

"Around death?' retorted Lena, sceptical.

Voldemort smirked. "For very powerful wizards, such as myself." He momentarily paused, regarding Lena. "And perhaps for you, too."

Lena didn't know how to respond. Voldemort's words swirled around her head. After a short while, she was able to form words again. "When could I start–"

Voldemort interrupted her with a chuckle, and answered her unfinished question. "When you are much older," he told her, firmly but not unkindly.

Lena scowled at him. "Is there anything I can do now?" she asked, unable to keep a degree of bitterness out of her voice.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You could keep practising Occlumency," he said lightly. This prompted Lena to give him an even dirtier look, but this only made him chuckle again.

However, as he watched his student concentrating on her mental defences, and even as he prepared to break through them, there was an unmistakable fondness in his eyes.

Lena rested her head back against the passageway wall, breathing heavily. After her conversation with Newt on Christmas Eve, she had been able to put her thoughts of Voldemort aside with a reasonable degree of success. But now, the memories of her lessons flooded back. This time, however, she didn't try to push them away.

She had never thought Voldemort was dead. But she hadn't been sure if he would resurface again during her lifetime. After his downfall, she had remembered what he had said: "There are ways around it". So Lena had researched the possibilities of immortality, initially not finding any answers. It hadn't been until that first time Aunt Valeriya had taken her to Mykonos and she had met Markellos that she had first discovered Horcruxes. Once she'd understood the basic principle behind them, she had immediately decided that was what Voldemort had spoken of – after all, murdering others to prolong his own life was very much the Dark Lord's style.

'But it mustn't have worked how he'd hoped it would,' thought Lena. 'Whatever happened with the Potters, he survived but was left... what? Powerless? Too weak to continue the War?'

Briefly, she wondered in what state the Boy-Who-Lived had left his parents' killer. Did he still have a physical form? Or was he more like a ghost?

That was why Voldemort wanted the Philosopher's Stone, Lena understood – he thought the Elixir of Life could return him to his full strength. And then he would rise again.

A mixture of emotions crashed like a tidal wave over Lena, leaving her unsure how she felt about the possible return of Lord Voldemort. She took a deep breath, and shoved the emotions aside as she stood back up. She figured that if she went back to the Slytherin Dungeon now, she could get there before the rest of her housemates and make her way to her and Maggie's dormitory undisturbed.

Lena was walking along the first-floor corridor when she abruptly halted. She was just a few feet away from the unused classroom that held the Mirror of Erised. Unconsciously, she moved closer to the door.

Since returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays, Lena had not gone back to the room, not wishing to repeat the experience she'd had prior to the break. But now, a sudden desire overwhelmed her – a desire to see Voldemort as he was now. Before she realised what she was doing, her hand was on the doorknob.

However, as she started to turn it, she paused, unsure of herself. Just seeing him in the Mirror last time had been enough to make her sick. What if this time she saw something worse? What if–

'No,' she told herself, not allowing her next thought to finish. 'You grew up. You know better now. That's not who you are.'

Before Voldemort's downfall that fateful Halloween night over ten years ago, the only future Lena could see for herself was one with her beloved teacher in it. A future in which they worked together to push the boundaries of magic further than anyone ever had. In the weeks following his fall, Lena had desperately waited for Voldemort to return, certain that he wasn't dead, like many others were saying. But he didn't come back, and Aunt Valeriya became her new mentor and opened up Lena's mind to new perspectives, possibilities, opportunities. But most of all, her new life had made her reflect back on Voldemort, and her relationship with him. And these reflections had concluded by creating an internal conflict in Lena that years later she still couldn't resolve.

'Enough,' Lena scolded herself. 'Just go in, and look in the Mirror. Either you can handle what you see, or you can't – but you won't find out until you just do the bloody thing.'

Determined in her course of action, she was about to turn the doorknob when she remembered how dark it had been in the classroom the last time. Reaching into her robe to grab her wand, she stopped as an odd urge overtook her. Instead of taking her wand, she held out her hand, palm facing upwards, and concentrated hard. It had been a while since she had done this, but after about seven or eight seconds, a blue flame appeared in her hand. She shaped it into the glowing ball she used to use as a reading light. Satisfied with it, she held it out in front of her as she opened the door, and stepped through into the classroom.

The fireball illuminated the room well enough that Lena didn't have to strain her eyes to see. Calming herself with a deep breath, she looked in the direction of Mirror.

This time, what she saw made her frown – but not because of what was in the reflection.

For there was no reflection to see.

The Mirror of Erised was gone.