A/N: And, as promised, another chapter much sooner than the last! Thanks, all, for the reviews. I love to know what people think. Chapter 11 is going to be quite a long one… but until then, enjoy this!

Chapter Ten: The Discovery

The next morning at breakfast Granpa announced to the school that the third floor corridor was off limits to students, for unspecified reasons. Everyone was too busy with the news to focus on something like that, however. Ron was flashing the Daily Prophet at Dean and Seamus. "Look, mate – been a break-in at Gringotts!"

"Gringotts?" Dean asked. He was gulping down pumpkin juice and stuffing his face with as much as he could chew. "Whuzzat?"

"Gringotts is the wizarding bank," Seamus explained. "Except it's really the only bank we have, not like all the different Muggle ones. Run by goblins, you know. There's a branch in most cities."

"My brother Bill works for Gringotts in Egypt. He says there's never been a robbery." Ron snorted. "Guess he was wrong... And look, the Prophet says they may have a lead on finding Harry Pottter! They say some bloke in Canada got a look at a boy with a scar..."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that, I say. Me da thinks he's hiding in Asia."

A few seats down, Neville, Hermione, and Herodos had their heads together, as Harry and Hermione explained to Neville what had happened the night before. "... and the dog's going into a room to guard the other exits," Hermione finished.

"So, they're protecting whatever was in that vault?" Neville blanched. "It must be very valuable – or very powerful. I've heard of weird old artefacts that can kill the wizard that touches them... or books that can entrance you; there's one I've heard of that you can never stop reading. What if it's something like that?"

"I do not think Granpa would hide something evil. He would destroy it." Harry glanced down at the other first years, making sure they weren't paying any attention. "There is one more thing. I did not mention it because I did not want others to hear. Granpa spoke of his friend, Nic Flamel. I do not know him, but the professors are not to speak his name around students."

Hermione frowned. "Flamel? That sounds familiar... I'm not sure why..."

"He must be important, if the professors can't even say his name." Neville shivered. "There's only one wizard whose name we're not allowed to say..."

"Oh? Who's that?" Hermione asked. She turned and looked at Harry. "You promised you'd tell me everything about the wizarding world. Why is there a wizard whose name you won't say? That's just silly, unless it's a bad word, or something. There was a boy at my old school with the last name of Butz, and people teased him awfully -"

Neville cut her off, shaking his head. "S'not that. It's just... he did some terrible things. He killed a lot of people, and his followers did worse. He was the most evil wizard of our times, and he was defeated by a little baby..."

"What? Oh." She sighed. "It's the one you were talking about last night, Harry, isn't that right? Voldemort?"

Across the table from her, Neville gasped and waved his hands. "Shh! Don't say the name! We call him 'You Know Who.' Just call him that!"

Hermione sniffed loudly, unaware of the stares that Neville's frantic movements were drawing. Neville's flailing hand hit a glass of pumpkin juice, which tumbled over and spilled across Harry's lap. "I don't understand!" Hermione's voice was getting louder with her frustration. "Why in God's name can't we say the name Voldemort?"

There was a loud crash; at the Ravenclaw table, someone had dropped their plate to the ground as Hermione loudly called the name. Down the table, there were clanks of silverware hitting platters. The few first-year Muggleborns were looking around in confusion, and Hermione had her arms crossed. Harry, still dabbing at the spill with his napkin, sighed. "The English think that saying the name will bring the dark wizard back."

"That's preposterous! Fear of a name simply increases fear of the thing itself!" She turned to address Ron, Seamus, and the confused-looking Dean. "You lot all think that saying 'Voldemort' is going to bring the chap right here?"

"Not me," Dean muttered.

Ron gulped. "Bloody hell, Granger, stop saying it!"

"Why don't you say it, then, Dean?" Hermione rose to her feet, glaring at the other Gryffindors. Harry noticed Granpa and Papa whispering at the Head Table, and Papa was gesturing wildly. At the other end of the table, Professor Quirrell had fallen out of his chair and Uncle Re was trying to revive Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to have fainted. Meanwhile, Aunt Min was setting her glass aside and looked to be heading toward them. "Go on, Dean. Show Weasley there what a load of rubbish the whole thing is."

Dean shook his head wildly. "No way. Look, everybody's staring at you. Why don't you just calm down and stop saying – whatever it was you said, and just eat your breakfast..."

"This is so silly. Neville, you look like you're about to faint over a simple name." Hermione threw up her hands, and turned to address the Ravenclaw table. "Here – just watch, he's not about to show up at the Great Hall. Voldemort, Voldemort, Volde -"

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. She was bearing down on their end of the table, her face as red as the tartan on her hat. "Please, do stop that! Look at the commotion you're causing!"

Hermione scowled and took her seat. "But Professor, it's just a name! I don't understand why people are so frightened of -"

"As you are Muggleborn, I've no doubt you'll be forgiven for this outburst, but if you'd been alive to see the terror and destruction that he caused..." She shuddered, and Harry felt a bit embarrassed for having told Hermione the name in the first place. True, in Greece, it didn't matter if Kyrios Voldemort's name was uttered – but, he'd never attacked anywhere outside the British Isles. "Thousands of witches and wizards died, Miss Granger. The destruction cannot be counted in Galleons. Our best and brightest could not find a way to stop him – but one boy did. Alone, after his family had been murdered in front of his eyes, a one-year-old child managed to destroy him, simply by living."

The rest of the Great Hall was starting to go back to the food spread out before them. Dean scooted down to listen to the rest of the story, however, and Harry noticed many of the others listening in. By then, Granpa reached the group. He perched on the bench next to Harry, and across from Hermione and Dean. "Many wizards believe that Harry Potter will return in glory to the wizarding world to confront the Dark Lord and to destroy him again, once and for all. He is a hero to them, though I've little doubt that he's just a normal child... much like yourselves." Granpa winked and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, his eyes glinting in some sort of mischief. Auntie Min looked exasperated.

"He's supposed to be our age, right, Professor?" Neville asked. "I... well, we've sort of all been wondering why he isn't here, if he's still alive. He'd come to a wizarding school, he'd have to."

Auntie Min gave a snort and rolled her eyes. She marched off toward the Head Table. Granpa, however, merely reached around Harry to pat Neville's shoulder. "I have the... feeling that Mr. Potter is a great deal closer than you'd imagine." He straightened up and gave Hermione and Dean a smile. "Now, then. You know the story. And while I agree that fear of a simple name is a ridiculous tradition to be maintaining, you may wish to hold your tongue, for the sake of your fellows... though perhaps saying the name more often would help to decrease that fear?" With that, Granpa ruffled Harry's hair and wandered back to the Head Table, whistling a jaunty tune to himself.

Dean shook his head. "Well, I'm sure not saying it," he muttered, shooting a glare at Hermione.

Hermione sulked. With Dean still there, and Ron still listening in, Harry couldn't bring up Flamel again – however, his mind had moved to other things. Instead of Flamel and Fluffy, he was thinking back on the infamous story of Harry Potter... and the odd looks Granpa kept sending his way whenever the Boy Who Lived was brought up.

------

It was well into October by the time Harry had a chance to think on either of his mysteries, again. Hermione managed to get in a few minutes in the library, searching for Nic Flamel, every so often, but even she was too busy to waste much time on it. He was amazed by how much homework the professors could expect them to finish, and what with trying to understand a foreign language, he was worked twice as hard as everyone else. After all, a translation spell could only take him so far. In class, lectures were still in English, and soon he'd be required to write papers in English, too.

However, the weekend of the first Quidditch match of the season, Harry managed to finish his work before Neville and Hermione. They were still stuck on the Potions assignment, and Hermione wanted to work her way through it alone. So, instead of waiting around for them in the Common Room, Harry headed off to the library.

Madame Pince shot him an angry glare, but didn't object to his presence as he headed toward the yearbooks. Harry pulled 1977 off of the shelf and retreated to a study carole to search for his mother's husband.

The yearbook wasn't what he expected. The first ten pages were full of pictures of smiling faces, but as Harry flipped back to find the index, he found a dedication page, instead. "This book is dedicated to the twenty-eight Hogwarts students and their families who perished in the sneak attack on Hogsmeade, October 5, 1976." The pictures were of those who died. The rest of the pages were black and white, just lists of names from each class and House.

With a long sigh, Harry went about scribbling down the names of every James in every House. For all he knew, James had been older than his mother. He hadn't a clue what House the man had been in... and really, Papa hadn't mentioned if James was a Hogwarts student at all!

He had a start, though. Eleven names. Five of them were in Papa's class, even: two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and a Hufflepuff. And his mater's name was there, buried among the others in the seventh-year Gryffindor class list.

Harry smiled and traced her name. Lily Evans. He had a start. All he had to do now was track down the marriage records... if he could ever figure out how.

The answer came to him at Halloween. Hermione and Neville were talking about their familes, when Neville brought out his box of pictures and memories. They were all in Neville and Harry's room, as the others were still down at the feast. Neville pulled out a little clipping of newspaper. "This is my mum and dad's marriage announcement. See?" He passed it to Hermione. "Harry Potter's da was a groomsman."

"Marriage announcement?" Harry asked. He put down his textbook and scooted over next to Hermione. "This is a common practice in England?"

Neville shrugged. "Well, lots of people do it. The picture's rather small, though. You can barely make out Mum's robes. It's the only wedding picture of theirs I have, though."

Hermione peered at it. "It looks as though she's wearing a dress out of the Middle Ages!"

"My grandmother says that was the style, that year. Classical Italian. Wizarding fashion always circles back a few centuries." The whole wedding party was smiling up at the camera, waving. Neville pointed at a tiny, dark-haired figure. "That's Mr. Potter."

Harry squinted. If he tried, very hard, he could imagine the man had glasses. "Do you think – many other families would have announcements?"

"I suppose... why?" Neville took back the paper and put it away. "You looking for your mum and dad's? Weren't they married in Greece?"

"No," Harry said shortly, fighting down a blush. He didn't want Neville to know about his parents not being married. He didn't know how a Muggleborn would take it – according to Papa, Muggles were notorious for births out of wedlock, but Papa didn't much like Muggles – but he knew Neville would be shocked. "Er – As I am not from England, I wonder much about the – traditions that you have." Frankly, Harry hadn't a clue whether or not there were wedding announcements in the Greek magical press. He never bothered to read the paper; that was something old people did.

Hermione sighed. "Let's play exploding snap. I don't much want to think about it all. It's another month and a half before we get to go home. I miss my parents."

"You're lucky, Harry, getting to see your dad all the time." Neville sighed and touched his box lightly. "I only get to see mine a few times a year."

"It is not all that lucky," Harry replied, thinking of the puzzle Papa set for him. "At least your father does not give Potions assignments."

Neville gave a dark look. "He doesn't do much at all."

"Well," Hermione said brightly, "maybe you can both come and stay over Christmas holiday for a few days. You can see how Muggles live." She passed over her deck of cards. "C'mon, Harry, you can deal first."

-------

As curfew approached, however, Harry couldn't get the thought of marriage announcements out of his head. One of the Jameses on his list certainly had to be the one – he hoped. And since his mother had been English, it seemed fairly likely that her announcement would be in the Daily Prophet, like Neville's.

He refused to wait. Harry hurried down to the library and ran over to the references, ignoring Madame Pince's squalk of protest. The back issues of the Daily Prophet seemed to be bound in wide folders, and the possible dates – anywhere from Mater leaving Hogwarts in 1977 and Harry's birth in 1980 – took up half of a shelf. There wasn't even an index!

However, as he was reaching for the first volume, Madame Pince caught up to him. "Herodos Snape! Curfew is in five minutes. I'm closing up the library, and reference materials may not be checked out, so don't bother to ask!"

Harry glanced up guiltily. "But – Madame Pince, it is a very important -"

"No!" she snapped, pointing to the door imperiously. "Out. Now. Get back to your rooms, Mister Snape, before I'm forced to tell your father. I'm sure whatever punishment he'll come up with will be worse than mine, though if you don't leave immediately, you may run into Argus Filch on you way back..."

That was enough to make him cringe. Argus Filch, a squib with a nasty temper, directed the efforts of the army of house-elves. When he was little, Harry was unfortunate enough to have a few run-ins with the man. For most, one meeting was enough. "I will be back tomorrow," Harry murmured. With one more longing glance at the stacks, Harry fled.

He wished he'd kept a closer eye on the time. If he ran into Filch, or any of the other professors, in the halls now, he'd be sure to get a detention. That was something he didn't want on his record. Enough detentions, and he hadn't a chance of making prefect in a few years – and that was something his father certainly wanted of him. In his own time at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had been a prefect.

Harry thought he caught sight of someone rounding the corner up ahead. He ducked behind a drapery and held his breath, even though the dust started to irritate his eyes.

It was worse than he could've expected – Papa's distinctive, measured stride echoed down the corridor, accomanied by one other. "I thought your part of the defenses was already in place, Lupin."

"Living creatures, even Dark creatures, need to be fed, Severus," Uncle Re said. "Even Hagrid's monstrosity. He seems to like me, however."

Papa snorted. "Perhaps he senses you're just a vicious as he is."

Harry could imagine Uncle Re's scowl. "Honestly, Severus. You don't have to be rude about it. Catching this disease wasn't exactly my choice."

"And you've been working here five years without an incident – yes, I know." Papa took a loud step forward. If it had been Harry, Papa would have called it a tantrum. "You're not to be up there, you know. Third floor's off limits. You're supposed to take another staff member with you... or had you forgotten?"

"I'd been planning on it," Uncle Re snapped, "but Quirrell disappeared just as it was time for it. He was supposed to bring the meats, as well. I had to do it myself."

Papa snorted. "Next time, find another staff member... or Headmaster Dumbledore might have a few questions to ask you."

"Honestly, Severus – it's no wonder you've not had a woman since Harry was conceived. You're disagreeable enough to scare off anyone." Their voices were growing softer, as were their footsteps. Hopefully, they'd be out of hearing range in a few moments. Harry was afraid the dust would make him sneeze.

He heard one more parting comment, however. "At least I 'had' one, as you so eloquently put it. The way I've heard it, your eyes are on other prey."

Uncle Re's response was lost to the echoing halls. Harry slipped out from behind the drapery and dusted his robes off, trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Uncle Re and Papa could be quite ridiculous when it came to insults. He wondered why they bothered to speak to each other, anymore.

Harry was so consumed with his thoughts that he failed to notice the professor coming up from around the next bend.

He caught only a flash of Quirrell's turban before a stinging pain hit him, centered on his forehead. Harry let out a hiss as he fought to stay conscious, and slumped against the wall. Professor Quirrell didn't appear to notice him – the man walked forward a few paces and seemed intent on continuing on his way, in the same direction as Papa and Uncle Re. Harry shuffled slowly toward the bend in the corridor.

And then, suddenly, Quirrell halted in the middle of the hall. A dreadful voice echoed from somewhere; Harry couldn't quite pinpoint it. "HE IS NEARBY!"

Clutching his forehead, Harry ducked around the corner. He could hear Professor Quirrell whimpering. "Th-there is n-n-no one," Quirrell stuttered. His words were so disjointed that Harry could barely understand.

A footstep sounded, then another, seeming to come closer to where Harry was crouched. He glanced around, frantically – a door was propped open, still. Filch likely missed it on his locking tour of the castle. Whatever the thing was, it was probably creeping up on Quirrell. Harry couldn't decide whether to call out and warn the Professor or run away.

His choice was made for him. "St-stop!" Quirrell shouted. A light was slowly growing brighter around the corner. Harry supposed it was the Assistant Defense professor fighting off the creature. He had to be capable, otherwise Granpa wouldn't hire him. Therefore, Harry had no qualms at all about ducking into the open classroom and closing the door until just a crack of light remained.

Harry crouched down and peered through the crack. After a moment, the light dimmed and finally disappeared. Footsteps started up, again, but not the slow pounds that had frightened him. There was another glow, as well – this one, a soft, blue light. Professor Quirrell shuffled past the crack in the door, holding his wand up to light his way.

He let out a quiet breath in relief. The monster was gone, then. Quirrell had done his job, and now it was time for Harry to get back to his dormitory before someone else happened along.

However, he had one problem – in his haste to escape, he hadn't a clue where in the castle he'd ended up. He turned around to figure out what room he was hidden in... only to realize he hadn't a clue. It was large and mostly empty, probably another of the abandoned classrooms Papa talked about. The only object was in the center of the room, half-covered by a tarp.

Never one to pass up a mystery, Harry crept forward and gave the tarp a tug. It fell away to reveal a tall, slim mirror, decorated in golden spirals. Across the top was a message written in English characters, but Harry couldn't decipher it. Whatever it said, it certainly wasn't English. Harry stepped forward and looked deep into the mirror.

He let out a loud gasp. There were people standing behind him! But when he looked over his shoulder, no one was there – the room was still empty. He looked again: Papa was standing to his side, grinning widely. Papa never grinned, but this reflection was well groomed and wearing robes of a vibrant blue. Standing on Harry's other side was someone even more spectacular – his mother. She was glamorous, her ginger hair falling in curls down to her shoulder. She beamed over to Papa, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. Her hand was settled on Harry's shoulder, and he could see the wedding band there: one matched on Papa's hand.

They were happy. And Harry found himself grinning, as well, even as the image of Mater smoothed down his hair. She wasn't there, not really – he knew that, it was a magic mirror, and he couldn't feel her hands – but it looked so real. "Mama?"

Normally, he would've been embarrassed by the way his voice cracked, but Papa ruffled his hair. Papa gestured, and Uncle Re came up from behind them. He slapped Papa's shoulder in a friendly manner, and they laughed silently in a manner they never managed in real life. Uncle Re then leaned over and gave Mater a hug.

Behind his family, Harry could see Granpa and Auntie Min and Aunt Merinae, and all of his cousins, all finally together. And James, with his mussy hair and glasses, was nowhere in sight. "I'll be back!" Harry promised. This was something Neville had to see – and maybe, together, they could figure out what it meant.

As soon as he saw the tapestry, he realized how to get back to Gryffindor Tower, and he ran as fast as he could, ignoring even the threat of Filch. No one was left in the Common Room, and from the clock, it was a good half hour after curfew. Harry couldn't imagine he'd spent that long standing in front of the magic mirror. However, none of that mattered – he'd promised his family he'd be back, and he would.

He rushed into his dorm room, at the top of the staircase, and threw open the curtains of Neville's four-poster bed. Covering his mouth to make sure the other boy didn't make noise, Harry shook him roughly. Neville struggled to get away. "Shh! You must come! See what I have found!" Harry whispered.

Neville stumbled out of bed, and Harry narrowly saved him from knocking over the pile of books on his bedside table. Harry grabbed Neville's school robes and threw them around the other boy's shoulders, then half-dragged him down the stairs.

Once they were in the Common Room, however, Neville finally seemed awake enough to protest. He stopped short of the Fat Lady's portrait and shook his head. "Harry – what in the bloody hell are you doing? It's after curfew, we'll get in trouble!"

"You must see! Mater – she is beautiful, she is in the glass!" Harry slipped over into Greek and back, without realizeing it, in his excitement.

Neville shook his head. "Harry... I can't understand half of what you're -"

"Does not matter. Be quiet, follow me," Harry snapped. He snagged Neville's wrist and pulled him along viciously.

After a moment's struggle, Neville decided to follow silently. Harry didn't think to wonder why Filch hadn't shown himself yet. They flew down the halls, ducking through the shortcuts of Harry's childhood, and finally ending up in front of the propped door. "Here," Harry murmured. "Go in."

With a long-suffering sigh, Neville followed the command. He didn't seem entranced by the nearly empty room or the glinting mirror in the middle, though he seemed exasperated as Harry made certain the door was closed behind them. "It's a mirror. So what? This is a load of rubbish, and I'm bloody tired."

Harry scurried up and planted himself in front of the mirror. Mater was still there, chatting silently with Papa and Uncle Re. "See? There is Mater."

From the side, Neville looked on. "Harry – er, the mirror is... reflecting you. Like a mirror is supposed to. Your mum's not in there."

"No. Perhaps – you must stand here." Harry grabbed Neville's shoulders and dragged him directly in front of the mirror. Peering over Neville's shoulder, Harry could still catch a glimpse of his Mum; this time she was smiling pleasantly down at Neville.

Neville let out a loud gasp. "Merlin..." He choked. "It's – it's my mum and dad... and they're okay, now... they're fine, they're talking and walking around, and they're not in the hospital -"

Harry looked more closely, but all he could see were his own parents. "You do not see Mater and Papa?"

"It must be the future," Neville whispered. "The mirror must show the future – my parents will be cured, and everything will be okay."

Harry sighed and stepped back. "Not the future. Mater is dead."

"Then what is it? What does the mirror show?" Neville didn't look away for long enough to talk.

"You may each have a guess," came a voice from behind the pair. They both spun around, and Harry blanched and he saw Granpa standing there, a stern look on his face. "I will answer your questions, and then you must go off to bed."

He must've been there to clean up after the monster Quirrell slayed, Harry realized. He shouldn't have been so stupid – of course Granpa would come around to make sure the castle was secure. But Granpa was smiling at Neville. "Does it – does it show people their families, the way they remember them best?" Neville asked. "It showed Harry his mum, and it showed mine before – before they -" Neville broke off.

Granpa's smile turned sad. "No, Neville, though I'm not surprised that is what you saw in the depths of the Mirror of Erised... You, Herodos. What do you think it does?"

"It shows whatever we want?" Harry ventured. He wanted very much to know his mater, and he wanted Uncle Re and Papa to be friends, and he wanted Papa to stop trying to be scary and to be nice instead. In the mirror, they were all true.

"Not quite," Granpa explained, "though you're very close. It shows us our deepest desires." Granpa took a few steps forward and crouched before them, putting himself on their level. "You both want your families whole and intact. Sometimes – sometimes, that is what I see in the mirror, as well. But this mirror is dangerous. Many have wasted away staring into its depths, unable to give up the merest sight of what they crave. Don't look for it again, boys. I will have it moved in the morning. This was not to be its resting place, anyway, but as you have stumbled upon it... things must be sped up."

Harry sighed and glanced over his shoulder into the smile of his mother. "We will go to bed, Granpa."

He reached forward and pulled Harry into a hug. "I miss her too, Harry, but it is time to accept that she can never come back." He reached over and rubbed Neville's shoulder. "And you, Neville... the doctors are doing their very best. Perhaps, someday, what you saw in that mirror will be reality... but it is best to dwell on here and now, not the somedays. I knew your parents well, and I can assure you – they are proud of you. Even if they cannot express it in words, they are proud of the fine man you'll become."

"Thank you," Neville whispered, and sniffed loudly.

Granpa clapped both of them on the shoulder and stood up. "Now then, bed for you both. This time, I will not penalise you for wandering the corridors after curfew – but next time, I will not be so lenient. Keep that in mind before any other after-hour antics."

He escorted them back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry lingered in the doorway of the empty classroom, giving the mirror one last glance, until Granpa pulled him away. He slept fitfully, and his dreams were of falling into the mirror, into a world where his mother still lived.

Granpa was as good as his word. The next morning, when Harry went to check, the mirror was gone.