Chapter Eighteen

"Really, Malfoy. Ponder this; if it is wise to 'know thine enemy ,' is it not also wise not to let 'thine enemy' know you?" He smirked at the surprised blond. "I see nothing of disadvantage to me about gaining the trust of others while keeping my own purposes concealed."

Malfoy looked at him for a moment. "You know Potter, you're not quite as thick as I thought. Almost intelligent, even, for a ghost at any rate.'

"I'm flattered," Harry answered, his voice thick with sarcasm. Then, nodding to the boy, he began once more on his way. "I'll see you around Malfoy," he concluded, glancing over his shoulder, before disappearing around the corner. He couldn't help but be amused as he made his way up to Gryffindor tower to meet with the twins that the Malfoy boy showed no signs of having picked up on the fact that Harry's description of practical ways of dealing with others might refer to him just as much as anyone else.

Despite having woken up for long enough to have a brief conversation with Harry, Hermione still spent most of her time asleep, or unconscious- he wasn't sure which of the two terms was most accurate. Madame Pomphrey wasn't letting in visitors, and though Harry was almost certain he would be allowed in, as the staff had limited, if any control over the ghosts, he was spending this particular evening on quite different pursuits. As entertaining as Hogwarts could be, he had come here for a purpose- to keep an eye on Quirrel. On this particular day, he was leafing through a book on magical artifacts, in the hope of finding a mention of some sort of stone. So far, unfortunately, he hadn't had much luck. The first chapter, which he had actually read, rather than flipping through as he was doing now, had given over-views of various magical objects- pensives, rememberalls, sneekoscopes, and other fairly common items. The closest thing he'd found had been a reference to a wizarding game called 'gobstones.' He rather doubted that was what he was looking for, however, perhaps because it would be utterly preposterous for anyone, especially a pair of murderous fiends, to go to such trouble to steal a common game that could probably be bought easily at Diagon Alley. Beginning to flip through the next chapter, Harry paused at a glimpse of an odd black and white sketch that seemed to show an antique mirror, with someone kneeling before it, gazing into it with the oddest facial expression, a sort of mix of longing, sorrow, hope, despair, spirituality, and greed. Despite it's irrelevance to any sort of 'stone,' he stopped to read the brief explanation.

"ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYTON WOHSI

I SHOW NOT YOUR FACE, BUT YOUR HEART'S DESIRE

The Mirror of Erised is undoubtably on of the intriguing, unique, and deadly artifacts known to the wizarding world. Named for the first word of the inscription engraved into it's frame, the mirror's purpose is also made clear.

Though seemingly harmless, many have been unable to pull away, and, entranced by what they see in it's surface, have wasted away before it, forgetting all else."

Harry wondered, for a moment, what he would see, where he to look into it. Truly, he had no idea. And yet. . . he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Perhaps because he feared how far he might go to gain his hearts deepest desire, after glimpsing it. Maybe because he feared to know he could never gain what he saw there, or to gain it and be disappointed. Or perhaps because the last thing he wanted was anyone, or anything, telling him what he desired. Somehow, despite the confusion, the search meant something, and wandering and getting to know the world meant something. He had no desire to let some mirror take that away.

He'd become rather spoiled, he thought suddenly, to have already become so accostemed to the comforts here that he'd feel a need for anything unnecessary for survival.

Harry replaced the book on the shelf after flipping through a few more pages. He wasn't seeing anything helpful here, so perhaps it was time to try a different approach. He'd try that tomorrow. For now. . . he had something else to look into.

"Greetings, Baron. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Young Potter." He nodded briefly to Harry. "Quirrel headed for the third floor as soon as everyone left, as you guessed he would." He paused for a moment, as if waiting for something.

"Game's up, Potter. Tell me whatever it is you know, or think you know."

"Finish telling me whatever information you gathered first."

"An why pray tell, would I do that?"

"I highly doubt it's anywhere near as important as the information I posses. You'll suffer more than I will if you refuse to comply."

"Unless I demand my favor."

"Which you would hardly waste on information you could get anyway."

"I'll make a Slytherin of you yet, Potter," remarked the Baron in a tone that sounded almost fond."Very well.

"Snape headed him off, and got his leg bitten by the dog."

"So Snape knows, or suspects, something." Harry nodded thoughtfully, "And Quirrel knows that Snape doesn't trust him. He'll be even more careful in the future, so we'll have to keep a close eye on him."

"Potter," snapped the Baron impatiently, "details. NOW."

"Patience, patience." Harry chided, smirking. "I overheard a sort of conversation in Riddle Manor during the summer, between Quirrel and voice, presumably Voldemort. They were discussing how to steal a stone, among other things."

"Riddle Manor?" the Baron gave him a searching look. "Definitely Voldemort, but what in Salazar's name were you doing at Riddle Manor?"

"That, your Bloodiness, is irrelevant to the issue of my suspicions. Therefore I'm under no obligation to answer."

"You came to Hogwarts because of what you heard."

"Of course. They mentioned me briefly, after all.

"Somehow, knowing you, I'm not surprised."

It wasn't until late the next day that Harry finally cornered the Malfoy boy in order to try out his new idea for getting information.

"Malfoy?"

"What now, Potter?" the blond sneered.

"What do you know about Dumbledore?"

"That he's a muggle-loving old fool. Why?"

"Just snooping. Any chance you'd know of any sources I could investigate?"

"Not in particular. There's probably something in the library."

"And of course that will help me."

"Couldn't you get one of your Gryffindor pets to look it up?"

"Granger's in the hospital wing, remember? And I figured that, being from a proper pureblood family, you'd be more knowledgable, but I guess I was wrong. . ."

"Fine, Potter. I'll owl father and ask, if only to get you to stop bugging me. But honestly, I don't see why you bother. You're dead incase you hadn't notice."

"You, honest? In your dreams, Malfoy. And, incase you hadn't noticed, I still have some influence in the world. The assistance is appreciated, however. See you around, Malfoy."

The blond watched the ghost-boy float off. He couldn't help thinking the "boy-who-lived-only-to-die-in-a-house-fire was a rather remarkable person, that even as a ghost he had more character and presence than many of the living.

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Many thanks to:

Manatheron, Wraith, Nights SilhouetteGoddessofDestiny419Anders1illusionaric,Fate, 1derland pixiesuckers loveLachwenPsychicLunarSwifferLady Rebecca of the Night Walkers and Element HoldersLenJadeFroBoy