5/?

*

Harry dropped the letter, giving Ron a terrified glance. The redhead stared at his friend, concern dancing in his brown eyes.

"Harry?"

"It's Sirius," Harry replied, feeling dazed. "My dad said he's gone mad and is...coming here."

"What?" Ron grabbed Harry's arm, looking panicked. "Harry, what do you mean, he's gone mad? And why the devil would he come here?"

"How the hell should *I* know?" Harry retorted, pushing himself up from his seat. "He's gone mad; what he does doesn't have to make sense. Come on, I have to tell Dumbledore-"

"*Professor* Dumbledore already knows about this, Potter." Snape drifted from behind Harry, smirking darkly. "You have no need, in fact, to worry at all about this. Potter, if I hear that you have tried to do *anything* in relation to this, I will be forced to give you another detention. I don't approve of *heroics*, Potter, especially when other people have the situation firmly under control. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Harry replied, feeling very out of his depth. Snape gave him another smirk, and then wandered toward the staff table. As he passed Remus, Snape trailed a light finger along the man's back. Remus shivered, but kept his gaze aimed down at his plate. And Harry returned to his own food, feeling that everything was wrong and completely out of control.

*

However, Harry found his own assumptions to be very wrong. Easter passed without a sign of Sirius, and the only noticeable thing that happened after that was that Remus became more and more irritable, especially as spring became more and more apparent, and on the last day before exams, he actually snapped at a student. Neville had asked a simple question about the goblin rebellions, to help review for their History of Magic exam, and Remus, in an unprecedented outburst, screamed at the boy.

"And why do you expect me to give you all of the answers? Haven't you had *weeks* to study? If you don't know it now, Neville, you're never going to know it, and you might as well *fail* your final! In fact, why don't the lot of you leave? I can't teach you anything now; just go!"

In contrast, Professor Snape had been growing steadily more cheerful until the same day, he actually complimented Harry's Reflection Potion.

"Look here, everybody. As you can see, Harry's potion is showing a reflection of his thoughts, in this case, his friends Weasley, Granger, and Malfoy. It's a perfect reflection, indicating the potion is exceptionally well-made. Good job. I think you'll do well on your exam."

"I don't get it!" Harry said to Draco as they left Potions. "He *hates* me! I can't understand why he'd be so happy, anyway! I mean, what's he got to be happy about?"

"Either he's come into a lot of money, or he's getting laid," Draco retorted, glaring at Harry. "Either way, it's nothing I want to know about. Look, Harry, we're all under a lot of stress, and I know about how you broke down *early* in the year. How about we get through our exams, and then you can worry about Professor Snape? Look, there's Granger. I'll leave you be." He stalked off, muttering about insane Gryffindors, leaving Harry to deal with Hermione, who, in the final weeks before exams, had reached a fevered pitch of studying, re-checking facts, and insisting that anyone who appeared free help her with studying. It was a nightmare, and Harry wavered between being relieved that it was almost over, and being panicked at the continual new heights Hermione's insanity reached.

As he went to bed, he worried that maybe Draco was right: he *was* losing his mind again. In a moment of weakness, he opened 'The Book of Ages', and found a pair of quotes facing him.

"There is a time when you must stop weighing your concerns against the benefits and just make a choice."

"Trust your heart. It is the only thing that will never lead you wrong."

*

So Harry muddled through his exams, his worries about Remus, Sirius, Snape, and the Philosopher's Stone all working to confuse him. History of Magic, oddly, was the worst. With Remus pacing the room like a caged wolf, occasionally growling at students or kicking his desk, Harry couldn't concentrate on what had happened the day before, much less a century ago. After his last exam, Astronomy at midnight, Harry found his mind, and spirit, feeling empty, drained. He spent that day with Neville and Ron on the edge of the great lake outside the castle, reclining on the grass, watching the clouds. Well, Harry and Ron were. Neville was raving about his latest plant, a little vine that had a habit of bursting into flames at the slightest provocation.

It was when Hermione appeared, still carrying half a dozen books and a notebook, and asked Neville a question, that everything snapped into place.

"What's gotten you in such a good mood, Neville?" Harry didn't hear Neville's response; instead, he heard a prissy voice belonging to a certain blond answering in his mind:

'Either he's come into a lot of money, or he's getting laid.'

"Snape!"

"Harry? What the hell is wrong-"

"I finally got it! Snape's been planning to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and he's been forcing Remus to help him get at it!" Harry was sitting up, waving his arms frantically. "No! Listen! Professor McGonagall *told* me the Philosopher's Stone is in the school, so I know I'm right about that. But she told me each of the teachers has contributed to the protection of the Stone, and so anyone who wanted to steal it would need to get information off of each one of the teachers...no one would trust Snape, so he's been forcing Remus to help him get the secrets. Look, I know I'm not crazy-Snape wants something out of the Stone, and I think he's convinced Remus that the Stone can offer *him* something, too. Come *on*, we need to find Dumbledore!"

The three other students followed Harry, Hermione especially looking doubtful. Harry led them through the halls of the castle, feeling panic rising. From Professor Flitwick, he knew that only a person who could make the Stone should be allowed to use it; if anyone got their hands on the Stone...

"Mr. Potter, what are you looking for?" Harry froze at the sound of McGonagall's voice. The teacher, standing as tall as possible for a woman of her stature, stood before Harry, arms folded. "You are rushing down the halls without regard for your fellow students, and I must insist that you slow down and explain-"

"Dumbledore," Harry gasped out, panting. "We're looking for Professor Dumbledore."

"Well, I'm sorry, Harry, but he's gone off-grounds with several other professors because of some rumors of a dangerous beast in the Forbidden Forest. Can I help you instead?" Harry looked into the stern face, and knew that she wouldn't listen, that she wouldn't understand or believe the urgency.

"I...never mind," he muttered, backing away. "I was just...going outside."

"I see. Well, enjoy your day. We will be handing back grades soon, but until then, you can rest all you want. Go along. Don't worry; I won't let things get out of control before Albus returns."

Harry nodded, mute, and let his friends lead him back towards the lake outside. Hagrid was sitting out there, throwing dead rats to the giant squid in the lake. He nodded as Harry approached.

"Hello, Harry, hope yer doin' well. I hear exams are over, you'll be goin' home again soon."

"Yeah," Harry responded, sitting next to Hagrid. Hermione sat on the other side of the huge man, and Ron and Neville held back, whispering to each other.

"Hagrid, you know a lot about wild animals, don't you?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you deal with all of the animals and other various beings around Hogwarts, right?"

"Certainly; yeah, I know all abou' those types o'things. Why?"

"Because I've been reading about *canis tricapita*...Cerberi, you know. And all of the texts talk about how fierce and untamable they are. But it's a given fact that some have been tamed, so the question is: how do you tame a Cerberus?"

"Ah, that's a good question. It varies from beast to beast, but there's always a trick. Like fer example, there's one I met, mean as they come, but you play'im a little tune, and down he-actually, forget I said that." Hagrid stood up, looking harried at his audience.

"Why, Hagrid? What-"

"That thing in the corridor," Harry said eagerly. "That's how you-"

"SHUSH! Keep it down, Harry! I don'know how you know about Fluffy-"

"Fluffy? FLUFFY? It's a bloodthirsty beast!" Harry snapped.

"Yeah, well, no one know how ter get past Fluffy 'cept me an'-"

"Dumbledore, right?" Harry asked. Hagrid snorted.

"'Course not. He made sure no one knew how to get at...something, not even himself. No. The only other one who knows Fluffy's secret is Professor Lupin."

"Lupin?" Harry's blood chilled. "But he..." Hermione gave Harry a sharp look. 'Later,' she mouthed.

*

In the common room later that night, right after dinner, the four were gathered in a small circle. Although Harry was the most adamant, the others were beginning to see his way.

"I don't understand why," Hermione said, shaking her head, "But Professor Lupin's been acting weird, and...it makes sense, what's going on. But what can we do about it?"

"Go after him," Harry responded. "Get the Stone before he can. If he and Snape are working together, they probably have all of the secrets, and that means we have to act fast."

"What do you mean by that?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's not like we can sneak out of here tonight and sneak into the third floor corridor!"

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "As long as no one sees us, we'll be fine." Hermione looked ready to open her mouth to object, but Harry cut her off. "And no one *will* see us. Look." He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak from beneath his robes, and grinned at them. "We're going in and we're going tonight. Are you with me?"

"No," Hermione responded. "I can't sit by silently and let you three go off on a suicidal mission without help. I'll run interference from here, so no one suspects." She sighed. "If you go now, I'm sure no one will suspect where you've gone." Suddenly, Hermione let out a muffled sob. "And I hope you guys can take care of yourselves...it's going to be really dangerous! And-look, take this!" She shoved a book at Harry. He glanced down at it incredulously.

"Hermione, do you expect me to take a break tracking down a wizard who may be armed and dangerous to look up *notes*?!"

"It may come in handy!" Hermione retorted. "Look, just...discretely. Go." She tossed the cloak over Harry, and then nodded at Ron and Neville. "Good luck, you guys. You'll need it."

*

Harry had only used the cloak once, and that was in the middle of the night. Trying to walk through the halls of the school in the evening when school life was still in full swing was much harder, especially because you had to make sure no one saw or touched you. It was a nerve-wracking trip, with every step haunted by the chance of discovery. But finally, they reached the door, slipped inside, and listened to the door lock behind them. Harry pulled off the cloak, and then turned to Fluffy.

The dog was fast asleep, a white harp on the floor next to it. The dog's paws were resting on a wooden trap door, which was still ajar.

"We're too late!" Ron whispered, his hand clenching around the simple wooden flute Harry had been able to dig up for him. "Snape's already-"

"Just play!" Harry snapped.

"Right." Ron lifted the flute to his lips, and began to play. The melody was not exactly tuneful, or even pretty, but it did. The dog shifted slightly, murmuring as it continued to sleep. Its paws were no longer covering the trapdoor, so Neville stepped forward, frowning, and then glanced at Harry.

"I think you should go first."

"What? Why?"

"This was your idea!"

"My idea? We have to do this to save the world!"

"Oh, honestly; *I'll* go first!"

"NO!" Neville and Harry dove for the trapdoor just as Ron disappeared down it. Neville leapt down first, and Harry barely after him. He could've sworn he heard the sound of teeth clamping together just behind his feet, but it could've been his imagination. But with that jump, his choice was made.

*

Harry fell onto something cool and soft; the surface underneath him twined and twisted comfortably. He heard a noise at his right, and turned, trying to see in the perfect darkness.

"Ron?"

"Hey, Harry. Soft landing, huh?"

"You're an idiot, Ron. Your playing was keeping the dog asleep. At least we did land on this plant. Huh. Lucky."

"Lucky?" Neville's voice, high-pitched and squeaking, came a good distance ahead of Harry. "Look at what you're standing in!"

"What?" Harry reached to pull out his wand, but something restrained his hand.

"Ron, get some light!" he snapped, fighting against some binding; Ron grunted in agreement, and made a movement to the side. But he shouted a moment later, angrily.

"I can't, Harry! My arm-"

"Oh, the hell with it!' Neville growled. "Incendo!" There was a burst of flames that shot from the end of Neville's wand, scorching the moving vines Harry and Ron were seated on. The flames licked at the edges, causing the vines to pull away from the two boys, recoiling from the light and the heat. In that moment's respite, both ran from the plant. Once they were standing by Neville's side, Harry managed to gasp out,

"What was that?"

"Devil's Snare!" Neville said. "I should've thought you would have been able to deal with it..."

"Sure, we can deal with your potted plant, Neville," Ron replied, panting, "but this is a thousand times bigger!"

"Well what do you expect?" Neville asked. "This plant is guarding the Philosopher's Stone. Of course it's dangerous."

"Well, come on," Harry muttered. "We're wasting time." He led them through a high archway into another room. There was a pool of light around the entrance, and a pile of six torches. On the ground, a message was inscribed. Harry glanced at the message, fidgeting for a moment with his glasses. "It's instructions. 'Here you face a challenge of strategy and planning. Six lights you have, and six only. A single path will lead you to safety-to stray is to bring death. There are eight torch-holders along the correct path, and only seven along each of the incorrect ones. Beware the depths, and choose your path wisely.'" He turned his gaze into the darkness of the room, examining it for a long time. Then he turned to his friends.

"So, any ideas?" Ron pulled out his wand, muttering, but nothing happened. Neville, however, began to fumble through his robes. After a minute or two, Harry tapped the blond boy's shoulder. "Neville, you all right?"

"Yes," Neville answered. "I'm looking for something-ah!" He pulled a small paper packet from his robes and held it up to Harry's face. "Here. Powdered darkweed root. You remember the bulb I got? Well, the powdered root has the unique ability of allowing the user to see in the dark. Come on, we don't have all day." Neville poured out some of the powder, and blew it in Harry's face.

"A-CHOO!" Harry's sneeze was forceful, on account of the teaspoon of powder that found its way into his nose; but Neville, shocked by the sudden action, dropped the packet. It bounced out of the circle of now-blinding light and off of the edge of what Harry now saw as a platform over a very deep pit. Neville, however, leapt after the packet, stretching his hands out over the abyss to grab it from what he must have imagined was stone. "No, Neville!" Harry grabbed the boy around the waist, dragging him back. "That's the edge of a cliff, and that's the danger. If we don't make the right steps, we're doomed."

"Well, that's great!" Ron yelled. His fists, clenched at his sides, were white and very tense. "Neville and I can't see; how are we supposed to do this?"

"Well...just hold onto me, and I'll lead the way," Harry explained. "I...I can see the pathway. This won't be hard." And he could see the perilous stone pathway splitting and twisting over the deep pit. Rather than wondering how Dumbledore could fit a pit in a third-floor room, Harry focused, planning a path across to the door on the other side of the room. "Come on." He grabbed Ron's hand; Ron in turn grabbed Neville's. Harry, as an afterthought, grabbed the torches, and then started on his chosen path.

*

It was very quiet; Ron and Neville had both fallen silent the moment they had entered the darkness, and Harry found it nearly impossible to work up the energy to speak. He passed a split in the path, and checked to make sure he was on the right path. But he suddenly couldn't see the exit, or the way he'd planned out before. He tried to open his mouth to shout a warning, but he couldn't. Instead, his feet kept moving along the stone walkway. He fumbled with the torches, panicking as he continued to walk. He jammed the torch into a holder, the second he had seen in the darkness. The torch flared to life, and there was another circle of light around them.

"Are we there yet?" Ron asked nervously.

"No," Harry whispered. "I couldn't stop moving-had to find the exit again, reorient. This place is playing with my mind."

"There must be a Disorientation Charm on this place," Neville said, awed. "The torches must negate the spell over short distances. We need them to get across, because otherwise, we could get lost...and make a wrong turn."

"Right," Harry answered. "But there's only six. We have to conserve." He glanced ahead, confirming that he was leading them in the right direction, and then tightened a grip on Ron's hand. "And we need to go." He led them again into the darkness, pacing his steps, watching his direction, trying to make sure that he was going exactly where he wanted to. It seemed like he'd been walking for hours when he suddenly lost his way. Fumbling, he reached out and shoved a torch into a holder close at hand. But when he did, his heart fell when it illuminated to reveal another torch barely ten feet behind him.

"No...it-I can't concentrate in here." He turned to Ron and Neville. "If I can't get us this far without getting lost, how will we ever get out of here?"

"Let me lead," Neville answered.

"What? You can't see!"

"Which is the point!" Neville responded. "I knew one method off of the top of my head to see in the dark, and a fully-trained witch or wizard would know at least three others. Being able to see in the dark is a liability here, because the Disorientation Charm curses your eyes! In fact, I bet I can find my way better not being able to see than you can with the powder in your eyes." Neville's blue eyes were glittering with hope and...achievement. The way he looked, Harry could see Neville was positive he knew what he was doing. And if Neville was sure-

"All right, Neville. You better be able to do this. We're putting our faith in you, right, Ron?"

"We went down a hole, *past* a three-headed dog named Fluffy. We landed in Devil's Snare and almost got killed. Now we're letting a kid lead us through a dark room over a deep pit...with his *eyes closed*! Fine."

Harry stepped back, and let Neville take the lead. He felt Ron's hand tightening around his as Harry closed his eyes. He might as well get into the spirit of things; besides, it made Harry more comfortable not to see where he was going.

"Okay, you two. I'm going to keep talking, because silence seems to make it easier to get disoriented. Let's keep walking forward, one step in front of another. I really hope you had the right path, Harry, because I really don't want to die. You know, my Gran used to tell me riddles involving things like this. One of my favorites always involved statements that could be false, and you'd try to figure out which ones had to be true. Gran was really good at them, but-ow!" Harry snapped his eyes open, and felt Ron step closer to him. Neville rubbed his nose as he stood in front of a-empty block of air. "Come on, give me a torch, Harry. I think we've got the door." Harry handed one of the torches forward, and Neville shoved it into a holder; the light that appeared illuminated a large wooden door.

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed, and stepped through. Harry gave Neville a thumbs-up, and then followed him.

*

"Bloody hell..."Ron murmured, head angled upwards. "It's a giant chess set."

"McGonagall," Harry stated, glancing at the board. "We have to play, don't we?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But I think *we* need to be pieces. Harry, replace the queen. Neville, take the queen's rook."

"And what about you?" Harry asked, as the queen and rook pieces, each a human's height, stepped off of the giant chess board. Ron pulled his robes close around him and walked deliberately towards the board.

"I...am going to be a knight," he responded. But as Ron took his own place, a thought struck Harry.

"Ron, these pieces are animated. Does that mean we're playing...wizard chess?"

"Uh oh." Neville was shaking in his square at the notion, and Harry would admit that the prospect made him nauseous. In wizard chess, the captured pieces were attacked brutally (somewhat reminiscent of the more violent video games his cousin played on the very rare occasions they visited), and although the pieces had magic to repair them after the game, people had no such protection. "I'll try to find out," Ron answered, and directed one of the pawns out into the board, where their "opponent's" pawn was already waiting. And it was wizard chess, as the opposing pawn skewered Ron's with a sickening crunch, tossing the impaled piece aside like a rag doll.

"Oh, god..." Neville whimpered, eyes fixated on the shattered, once-mobile statue discarded by the side of the board. Harry could only dredge up one thought.

"Everyone says you're second only to McGonagall at this school, Ron. I sure to god hope that they've been underestimating your skills."

*

It was a tense game. They all knew what was at stake, and it was harder to concentrate knowing what could happen to the individual pieces. Harry had to shout at Ron to remind him several times that losing his queen or queen's rook was *not* an option. As a knight, Ron did an admirable job, criss-crossing the board, taking pieces left and right. Harry could see Ron planning ahead three, four, five turns, and even so, the game was evenly matched.

They had been at it for a half an hour, Harry decided, when Ron's pace slackened. And finally, it was his move, and Ron stood still, staring at the board, eyes flicking across it desperately.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

"I can win," Ron answered; he sounded confident, but his voice was shaking. "I can win this game."

"So? Do it!"

"I have to make a sacrifice," Ron replied. "You see, Harry, if McGonagall's bishop moves, you can get into check-mate by moving three spaces forward."

"But how can you get it to move?" Harry asked. The long pause before Ron answered spoke of something very unpleasant, and Ron's words only confirmed the suspicions.

"I can check the king." Before Harry could argue, or respond, Ron moved himself-in a position to check the king, and directly in the way of the opposing bishop. The statue then glided forward, raising up its heavy mace.

"RON!"

"Stay there, Neville!" Harry snapped, his eyes fixated on his friend; Ron was staring blankly at the bishop, his arms held loosely at his sides. The bishop swung. The mace made a terrible crunching noise as it connected with Ron's side, throwing the boy off the edge of the board. Harry moved quickly after that. He leapt forward the three spaces, and pointed at the king. "Check-mate." There was a moment of tense silence, and then the king, and all of the other opposing pieces, shattered. Harry glanced towards where Ron had fallen, but then Neville was by his side.

"We have to keep going, Harry. We can come back for him." Harry nodded, numbly, and let Neville lead him into the next room.

*

The moment they stepped through the door, it slammed behind them. Harry had a brief glimpse of the room's outer wall-there were two other doors, identical and spaced equally around the circular wall. And then the wall began to spin. It whirled about far too fast to track with the eye, slowing after a few seconds. And then Harry and Neville were stuck in the room, with three equally-spaced, identical doors leading out. Neville stepped into the middle of the room, and suddenly, the doors flashed, once. One was suddenly an emerald green. Another was pitch black. And the third remained a dull brown.

"Harry!" Neville was kneeling over the center stone in the room. "It's another set of instructions.

"Three doors, all the same,

To leave this room, you must play a game.

Two lead to safety, one to your doom,

And only one to the final room.

Look upon these statements three,

And then you must choose wisely.

Remember, though, that I can lie to you,

And that one of these statements is not true.

Or perhaps two of these statements lie,

To make it easy on your mind,

One is false and one is true,

The third door is up to you;

Choose a door and step through,

And discover if your choice is true."

Neville glanced up, and then pointed at the doors. "They each have something written on them." He walked to the green door.

"This door leads forward only if this sign is false." Then to the black door.

"The green door is unsafe." And finally, he read the brown door aloud.

"The door to go backward is false."

"Logic?" Harry approached one of the doors. "How can we do-"

"Shush!" Neville snapped, shifting his gaze between the doors. "I think...no, I know. The black door is the way to the Stone. But I don't know which way is the way back."

"Well? How do we figure out?" Harry demanded.

"One of us tries to go back," Neville answered. "If it's the right door, that one gets Ron and tries to get ahold of Dumbledore." He didn't continue, because they both knew the other option. If only one of them survived the test, that one would have to remember to take the other door-if he survived.

"Well, who will go back?" Neville stepped towards the black door, gesturing to the green one.

"I'll go on...you can get Dumbledore." But the boy's voice was shaking, and Harry knew he was more terrified of facing down a full-grown wizard than the prospect of death.

"Neville, I'll go." Neville's sigh of relief was louder than he probably intended, but Harry grinned at him. "You're not a fighter. Make sure Ron's okay, and then find Dumbledore, McGonagall...anyone."

"Right." Neville turned to the two doors behind them, and then paused. "Wait. Harry...good luck." After a moment, he began to rummage through his robes, pulling out a handful of freshly-cut leaves, which he handed to Harry. "Take these. They protect against curses. And also...well, remember us when you're in there. Your friends, Harry, are your strength. We'll be with you in spirit. Remember that." Neville turned and stepped through the brown door. Harry waited a moment, but having no indication if Neville had survived, he had to go forward. So he opened the black door, and stepped through.

*

The room Harry entered next was totally black; as he stood there in the darkness, a voice erupted from all corners of the chamber.

"Before you we present a test,

The final and harder than the rest;

A native of darkness, and of enclosed spaces,

This monster will take you to terrible places;

To pass this test, you must pay a toll,

To conquer the darkness in your soul..."

Harry barely had time to recognize the voice as Remus' when a sharp crack cut through the air, and a pool of light formed around Harry. Before him stood a tall, athletic man, whose black hair was pulled into a neck-length ponytail.

"Sirius? I'm so glad to see you! Someone's trying to steal-"

"I could care less, Harry. Look, I didn't even want to come here, but James forced me to." The voice was flat, cold, and it physically hurt to hear Sirius using that tone towards him.

"Why are you here-?"

"I came to tell you, Harry, that I'm...retiring, I think works the best. You see, I don't want to be your godfather, especially because, well, I'm getting married." The last part was said in a pleasant, dreamy tone, and the horror that began to settle in Harry's stomach made it hard to concentrate as Sirius continued. "Her name's Maria-"

"STOP IT!" Harry screamed, clenching his fists and lunging towards Sirius. "YOU'RE LYING!" Sirius paused, looking startled.

"What? I'm not lying; I'm marrying this nice woman and forgetting about you forever-"

"You're not Sirius," Harry growled. "He loves me and can't just make a-a *decision* like that. He's part of my *family*, and you can't get rid of that!" Sirius looked entirely flustered, trapped, and absolutely shocked.

"But-"

"So get out of my way and let me go past!" Harry snapped. "Because I don't care who you are, but if you keep doing this, I'll curse you into NEXT WEEK!" Not-Sirius stepped aside, appearing very cowed (an expression very confusing to see on Sirius, of all people), and Harry stalked past him. It. Whatever. He grabbed the handle of the door ahead of him, swung it open, and stormed through. There was a long moment, and then a very short, shriveled gray creature that really resembled a very old man, stepped into the light. A man in a hooded robe stepped into the light, glancing down at him. He tapped the ground meaningfully with a very long staff that extended upward into the darkness.

I'M IMPRESSED. NO ONE'S EVER DONE THAT BEFORE.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't let this get out. I have...a reputation to maintain, you know."

OF COURSE. BUT THEN AGAIN, WHO WOULD *I* TELL? The man nodded, passed through the circle of light, and followed Harry through the door. The only thing worth mentioning about that is that the door had closed after Harry.

*

Harry stumbled into a very large, well-lit room, blinking reflexively to clear his eyes. The first thing he saw was the Mirror of Erised, the glass facing slightly away from him, but the carved message almost glowing in the warm light. Dumbledore obviously had been telling the truth when he'd said it was a bad idea to look for the Mirror again. But the next thing Harry noticed was the man standing in front of the mirror, frowning at it in obvious concentration. He was relieved to see it was not Remus, shocked to see it wasn't even Snape, but the real surprise came from who it *was*.

"Professor Quirrel?"

Professor Quirrel turned, smiling thinly at Harry. He folded his hands, still smiling. "Yes, Mr. Potter. It's me. I've been trying to get the Philosopher's Stone...and been having a terrible time with it! This stupid mirror-"

"But-but I thought that Snape was trying to get it with Professor Lupin's help!" Harry said, feeling very confused.

"Snape?" Quirrel chuckled dryly as he turned back to the mirror. "Snape doesn't have the balls to try and snatch the Stone from under *Dumbledore's* nose. No, Albus gave him a second chance he didn't deserve, and he doesn't dare risk that. And Lupin? What would make you think Lupin would try and steal the Stone?"

"Because he's really sick," Harry explained. "And it can make him better. And...on Halloween, he let the troll into the school and tried to get past Fluffy. He didn't, and I saw all of the scratches the next day!"

Quirrel's chuckle became a full-fledged laugh as he leaned against the mirror for support. "Remus? Oh god, you don't *know*? You've known him for eleven years, and you don't *know?* Harry, I assure you, there is no way Remus could have released a troll into the school on Halloween. Nor could he be here to steal the Stone tonight."

"And why not?" Harry growled at the wizard, feeling patronized and ignorant. "It makes perfect sense-"

"Except that no werewolf could manage such a calculated act of malice during the full moon. I find it impossible that you did not know this after eleven years, Harry, but very amusing. Now how does this work? I can see myself with the Stone, can see myself bringing it to my master-"

"Master?" Harry asked, a chill creeping up his spine. He'd never considered the fact that the thief was working for someone else.

"Of course! The power I needed to pass those wards, to break into Gringott's, I never had it! I know that two years ago, I could never have done this. After all, I'm just p-p-p-p-poor s-s-s-stuttering P-p-p-professor Quirrel!"

"But who are you working for?" Harry demanded. Maybe if he knew who Quirrel's master was, he could find a way to stop him. But Quirrel seemed to be reading Harry's mind, as he laughed, a cold, high-pitched sound. "Professor? What's going on?"

"Who, Harry, would be so desperate to seek to steal the Stone from Gringott's? From Albus Dumbledore himself? Who would desire life so much that he would strike down a unicorn and take upon himself the burden of a cursed life? You're a bright student, Harry. So tell me who it is who would risk so much for a *chance*, a *possibility* of acquiring this prize? THINK!"

"I don't...No-"

"To live a cursed life is better than a half-life, Harry. He took precautions to protect against his death, and even the curse that killed hundreds could not destroy him. And with the Stone, I will allow my master to return for GOOD!"

"You're not-"

"Yes, I am. Harry, my master is none other than Lord Voldemort!" Quirrel grabbed at a loose end of his turban and pulled it sharply; with the one tug, the turban fell from Quirrel's head, and Harry could see the terrible sight before him. On the back of Quirrel's head, there was no hair, but a face. A thin, reptilian face glared at Harry, with red eyes glowering at him.

"Hello, Harry Potter. Eleven years ago...I thought to destroy you, but it proved harder than I thought to kill...children." Voldemort smiled, and Quirrel walked backward toward Harry. "Perhaps I can finally...kill at least one of the children...I sought to destroy...so long ago. But first...you will help *me*...get the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore told no one...the secret of the final...chamber, but I know you have seen...the Mirror before. So, tell me...where is...the Stone?" Harry shook his head, forcing his lips closed. Voldemort snorted. "Quirrel! Bring him...to the...Mirror."

"As you wish, Master." Quirrel whirled around and grabbed Harry's arm. "Come along, Potter." He dragged Harry forward, until the two of them stopped in front of the Mirror of Erised. "Tell me what you see!"

Harry turned his gaze onto the mirror, expecting to see what he had before. But instead, he saw Ron in a hospital bed, talking quietly with Harry. Hope surged in his chest. Did this mean Ron was all right? If Ron was all right-

STOP WORRYING ABOUT YOUR FRIEND AND START WORRYING ABOUT WHAT IS IMPORTANT.

The voice spoke by Harry's ear, and bypassed actual thought. He banished his thoughts about Ron, telling himself that his friend was fine. Neville had found the right door, had gotten Ron to the Infirmary, and now...Harry had to find the Stone. Harry's reflection shifted; instead Harry saw himself, standing in front of him. The reflection grinned at Harry, and lifted its hand. 'Look,' it mouthed, 'It's right here.' The boy in the mirror was in fact holding the Philosopher's Stone, a gem of many shifting colors. He then slipped the Stone into his robes, and Harry, in the real world, felt something heavy and cool settle into his pocket.

"So? What do you see?" Quirrel demanded.

"I...I see Ron and I in the Infirmary. He came with me, and he survived getting attacked by McGonagall's chess set. He looks really happy-"

"Liar." Voldemort's voice drifted oddly from behind Quirrel's head. "You saw the Stone. Where...is it?"

"In my pocket," Harry replied, smugly. "And you're not getting it." He whirled, dashing away from Quirrel and reaching into his robe to pull out his wand. "OW!" The wand was scalding to the touch; Harry was sure he'd have blisters from touching it for even that split second. His wand, however, fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

"What...is this? A wizard...without a wand? How...hopeless." Voldemort was again facing Harry, moving slowly towards him. "I...feel sorry for you, Harry. Quirrel!" Quirrel raised his wand, at an odd angle, given his position, and Voldemort shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" Harry saw the green flash of light, and heard something over a loud roaring-a sound like a sword cutting through air. There was a scream over the roaring, and suddenly Voldemort-Quirrel was nearly on top of him.

"HOW? How could you survive?" Harry tried to struggle away, and as he did, three leaves, scorched black, fell from his robs to the ground. The dark wizard saw them, and his face snapped back to a calm facade. "Of course. The leaves of the Phoenix flower will...draw the power of curses unto...itself. But its power is spent, Harry. Avada...kedavra!" The flash of green light was more intense this time, and Harry could feel something drawing at him; he felt something pass very close to his face. But the light faded, and Voldemort appeared livid with rage. "What...power...do you have, Harry Potter...to allow you...such protection?"

"There are people who love me!" Harry snapped, and his was on his feet, running away from the dark wizard bonded to his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Something-the memory of Dumbledore, perhaps?-drew him towards the Mirror. And behind him, he heard Voldemort scream, and heard Quirrel's voice, steeped in rage, shout:

"Avada Kedavra!" The flash of light was blinding; Harry was thrown forward, felt the nick of a blade against the back of his neck, but above it all heard a scream of rage, fear, and pain.

As Harry slipped into unconsciousness, perhaps death, he thought of Sirius, lost and angry with the world, and hoped that whatever was hurting him would get better. It was the best he could hope for.

*

Harry snapped awake, flailing among the sheets in his bed. A calming hand pressed on his chest, and the soothing voice of Dumbledore rumbled through the room.

"Calm yourself, Harry."

"But the Stone-Quirrel! He was trying to steal the Stone, and...Vol-You-Know-Who! Professor!"

"Harry, calm down. I know. However, you do not need to worry any longer. You have proven extremely lucky tonight. Neville told me about your journey. It is a rare child who would willingly journey into the heart of danger to spare his friend the pain. And the strength of character you showed facing the Boggart-"

"Was that what that horrible creature was?" Harry asked, nervously. "It...looked like Sirius. And he told me...he didn't care about me any more..."

"Come, now, Mr. Potter. The Boggart preys on your fears and worries, drawing energy from your terror. I imagine Hermione may have had a hand in your studies this year, that you were able to fight off the Boggart."

"Professor, what happened in that last chamber? I remember looking in the mirror-"

"Ah. A wonderful enchantment. I dared not tell anyone the secret of finding the Stone, but I felt...it was right to tell you of the Mirror. Why do you think Quirrel could not draw the Stone from the Mirror, yet you could?"

"I don't know, Professor. I...all I could think about was getting the Stone before Quirrel could get it. It was really important that I find it."

"And what did Quirrel want?"

"He wanted to get the Stone and give...he wanted to give it to Vo-He-Who-M-"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. You looked him in the face; it is right to call him by his name."

"All right. Quirrel and Vol-Voldemort wanted to use the Stone for some other purpose. And I...I just had to have it, to keep it from them."

"Exactly. You may very well rival Miss Granger in some respects, Harry."

"But Professor! Voldemort-he tried to curse me. I don't-why aren't I dead?"

"Well, Harry. The curse Voldemort used on you-the Killing Curse-cannot be blocked or reversed. The only way to shield its effects is to transfer them upon something else. The phoenix is a useful creature to have, as it can take the full brunt of a Killing Curse without many ill effects. And the Phoenix flower's leaves...when a curse is cast, the leaves draw its power into themselves, negating the power of the curse. Normally, phoenix leaves can fight any curse, but the Killing Curse...the leaves' power could only help you once."

"But he cursed me again, Professor."

"Ah." Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing wink, and then continued. "I imagine that some other power protected you, Harry. I have heard of another person who survived the Killing Curse through a similar situation, and I think the reasons are the same."

"Neville?"

"Indeed. And you survived for the same reason he did-love. One's friends, family, can grant a great deal of protection to him against evil. But this power is weak compared to the power of the ultimate curse. Only the ultimate show of love could protect one from that dread magic." Dumbledore glanced at another bed, a small smile on his lips. "I heard tell that a young man put himself in danger to allow you to penetrate the maze further, and that a young woman placed herself in risk of punishment so that your journey could begin. It seems, Harry, that there are people who love you a great deal. And that love lent strength to Neville's gift, allowing it to protect you a second time."

"But Professor-there was a third curse." Dumbledore nodded.

"Ah. That, Harry, is explained far more simply. Magic is a great deal like light, sometimes. Some magic can be absorbed, refracted, reflected. And you, Harry, responded to very good instincts by running towards the Mirror of Erised. That magic mirror drew the magic of Voldemort's curse to it, and hurled it back at him. I am uncertain," he said in response to Harry's unasked question, "whether Voldemort truly lived when you faced him, so I do not know if the curse killed him. It did, however, destroy the man whose body he shared. I find it troubling, however, that the mirror was destroyed, as was the Stone. It seems that the magic of the Killing Curse is potent enough to even negate spells that are meant to be eternal. A terrible weapon, indeed." Then Harry remembered other things about the evening.

"Professor, Professor Quirrel said that Remus is...a werewolf. Is that true?" Dumbledore nodded, his face reflecting far more gravity than it had a moment ago.

"Yes. Since he was five, Remus Lupin has lived under that curse. It is a terrible burden upon him; do not give him pity or hate, Harry, or you would risk adding to that burden. Yes, Harry, your parents do know, as does Sirius. I believe they have greatly helped his trips through his cursed life. I hope that you too, will give him aid."

Harry nodded, mulling the information over in his mind. A number of things made more sense to him, yet he felt that some were still beyond his grasp. And then, Voldemort's words rose again in his mind.

'Perhaps I can finally kill at least one of the children I sought to destroy so long ago.'

"Professor? Voldemort said he had tried to kill me before. Why? And why did he feel the need to do so again?"

Dumbledore's face fell. He glanced to his left, as if consulting with a close friend. With a heavy sigh, he nodded his head. "Yes, Harry, I believe you must hear this. But so must Mr. Longbottom. Tomorrow morning, Harry, I will see you both in my office, and we will discuss this. Now...you must rest."

*

Harry half-awoke in the middle of the night to a voice. Sirius. His heart leapt, and he tried to call out to his godfather, but his body wouldn't respond. So he settled back to listen.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have better things to do? Or people?"

"Padfoot? What do you-"

"I don't want to see you, Moony. I've had enough pain this last year *without* having to deal with you right now. Okay? If we're both at James' sometime, maybe we'll find a chance to *discuss*."

"And that's another thing. You aren't serious, are you?"

"Of course I am. Who else would I be?"

"That's a petty response and you know it. I've lived there for twelve years-"

"It might have been prudent to think about that *before* you shacked up with *Snivellus*."

"Padfoot, you don't understand-"

"Yeah, I don't understand why *anyone* would find *Snape* attractive! Look, just leave, and I won't call Poppy."

"Paddy-"

"Sirius. You can't call me that anymore."

Harry didn't remember falling asleep after that, and later wondered if he'd actually dreamed the whole thing.

*

"Harry. Neville." Both boys were sitting in Dumbledore's office, trying to keep their attention off of the contraptions that dominated it. Gears, scales, and machines with no visible purpose, as well as the portraits of former headmasters, most of whom who were sleeping, covered the walls. "I have, rather unjustly, kept this information to myself, despite its...direct involvement with yourselves. You see, many years ago, eleven, in fact, I set out to hire a new teacher of Divination. I have to admit that I did not have much confidence; my best prospect was only considered because of her...distinguished lineage. It seemed to be a mistake, until the very end of the interview. This woman entered a trance, and spoke a prophecy, a true prediction. I...this prophecy was very hopeful, and...it involved one of you two."

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"We were never sure until afterwards. You see... 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...' Both of you were born in the end of July, and, well...your parents each fit the requirements." Professor Dumbledore folded his hands. "There was a spy who heard some of that prophecy, and determined to keep it from every coming true, Voldemort sought to destroy the both of you."

Neville was sitting in his seat, stunned. Harry found his mind whirling. But suddenly, Neville stood up violently, knocking his chair aside.

"Then why did *my* parents die?" he demanded, tears already forming in his eyes. "You say Voldemort wanted both of us dead; why did he attack my family and not Harry's? It's not fair!"

"Neville. Mr. Longbottom...Voldemort wanted to handle this personally, and he had a choice. Perhaps he could have chosen to track down the Potters first...although Sirius Black was one hell of a Secret-Keeper, and it would have been hard. Maybe he wanted to try the job that should have been easier. Or maybe he thought you were a bigger threat. But one thing is-was for certain. We thought that your scar made you the focus of this prophecy, indicated that Voldemort saw you as an equal. But now...Harry, why didn't you try to defend yourself from Voldemort?"

Harry flushed as the headmaster turned his attention onto him; he felt like he was being accused of something. "I...my wand felt hot, like it was burning."

"Correct. It seems that Sibyll's prophecy is not as simple as we believed. For as Neville's scar marks him as an equal of the Dark Lord, so does your wand. Sharing a core, your wands connect you and Voldemort in a way he surely understands." Dumbledore sighed, turning to the window behind his desk. "I think both of you should understand the danger you will be in during the coming years. You saw tonight that Voldemort is not yet gone from this world. He shall return, and you know that as long as you two live, you will be a threat to his power." He gave both boys a very sad look. "It is a terrible burden to place upon children of your age...but necessary. To know that Voldemort has returned, in some form or another, means it is important that you know this." He reached into his desk, and removed two small pieces of parchment. "Here is a gift that I believe will be a great help. If ever you need help, you must write a name on the paper, the name of the person you would like to contact. And then, the message you write on the paper will be transported to that person instantly. You may someday have a great need for this, you know."

As Harry stared at the paper, Neville took his sheet and scribbled something on it. Suddenly, glowing letters were floating in the air in front of Dumbledore. For some reason, Harry couldn't read them, but Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, Neville. It is a very good idea. Ah, and I believe that it is time for our end-of-the year feast." Harry froze halfway up from his seat.

"Professor? How long have I been...er, out?"

"Just under a week, Harry. You did have a rather unfortunate experience in that chamber. I...your friends should be at the feast, and quite glad to see you. Go along now."

*

Harry almost missed Draco's glance as he entered the Great Hall. The blond boy caught his eyes, inconspicuously, gave a small nod, and then returned to chatting with the other Slytherins. The implication was clear: we are not friends when others can see, but I'm glad you're not dead. The flying tackle he got from Hermione, too, was unmistakable.

"Harry! I was so worried when you got into the infirmary because Dumbledore wouldn't tell anyone *anything*, and Ron and Neville didn't know enough to know what was wrong, and I was spending every day in the library researching and Madam Pomfrey was starting to threaten to not let me into the infirmary, saying she didn't need a consultation, no matter where I found-"

"Thanks, Hermione. You're great. Now...could you let go?"

"Oh." Hermione blushed, releasing her hold on Harry. "Well, come on, everyone wants to know what happened. I mean, we all know you went in there alone, and you came back out, but...is it true that Professor Quirrel-?"

"Attention, please. I think we would like to begin this feast. First of all, there is the announcement of the points. Ravenclaw, two hundred thirty-two points. Gryffindor, two hundred ninety-three points. Slytherin, three hundred fifteen points. And Hufflepuff, the winners of this year's House Cup, with four hundred twelve points." He nodded at the Hufflepuff table, whose students clapped loudly. "But there is one other point. There is a great deal of speculation as to what happened a week ago behind the doors of the third-floor corridor. I imagine that many of you have heard a great deal about it, and while I am not going to tell you anything more, I would like to note three students whose actions have made a great difference in what happened there.

"First, Ron Weasley, whose skills at chess let him win a game against a chess set enchanted by none other than Professor McGonagall, deserves praise for his courage and self-sacrifice in playing.

"Neville Longbottom, too, deserves praise for wisdom and good judgment in the face of danger and painful choices.

"And Harry Potter...Harry Potter took chances when none would listen, led bravely through darkness and madness, and faced his greatest fears alone save for the strength of his own heart." Dumbledore gazed around the Hall, smiling at the Gryffindor table. "Godric Gryffindor believed that the bravest would receive the benefit of his education, and we can see in Harry and his companions great bravery, the virtue he held about all others. Like the other qualities of Hogwarts: intelligence, diligence, and...*creativity*, it is to be respected, and honored. A round of applause, please."

The clapping was deafening, and although the Slytherin students didn't clap, Harry thought he saw Draco give a tight smile.

*

And then they packed up, and Harry soon found himself on the train back home. Ron, Hermione, and Neville shared a compartment with him, chatting most of the way. Ron forced Harry to agree to come to his house for a little while during the summer ("Mum'd love to meet you; I've talked enough about you in letters home, she says."), and Hermione elicited solemn promises from all three boys to study for the upcoming year ("What with your going crazy and all of this running around saving the world, you barely got *any* time to study!"). Neville just gave Harry a brief hug as the trip reached its conclusion, and handed him a small drawstring bag ("If you have more nightmares, Harry. And...feel free to share it. It's not harmful, and I'm sure you know some people who might need it.")

It was far too soon when Harry stepped off the platform, and saw his parents and Sirius standing there. His godfather had a strained smile on his face, and his parents just looked happy, so Harry went to them with a shout, lugging his baggage behind him as quickly as he could manage. Home. He was happy to be there, but he suspected it wouldn't prove as exciting as Hogwarts. But perhaps it was for the best.