The sheer audacity of Chaser's plan - and its success - had kept the five talking all week, on and off. Seeker responded with something along the lines of "Wish I'd thought of that", while everyone could feel Rose's eyeroll as she muttered something about "Bloody Gryffindors…"

Marigold found herself scolding Chaser for taking such a risk, only to learn that - as expected - his Hermione had already given him a thorough scolding of her own.

It was a side comment, made almost without thought, that caught Spellforged's attention. "Wait a second, back up. What do you mean, Hagrid is taking Fluffy home?"

"Well, you know that corridor on the third floor? The murder hallway? The one we're to avoid if we don't want a painful death? Well, apparently, Hagrid had a trained Cerberus named Fluffy guarding something there." Chaser didn't get the big deal, he and Ron had given the hallway a wide berth after finding the three-headed dog one late night.

"We had one too," said Marigold. "I haven't bothered with it, and no one has said anything."

"So did we," said Rose. "Crabbe and Goyle found it in September, and soiled their robes doing a runner." She paused. "And now that you mention it, no one has said anything since November."

"Well," said Chaser, "Whatever it was guarding has been moved, so they brought the dog back to the forest with Hagrid. Percy made a big deal about it, we were locked into the common room when they moved her."

"So, to review." said Spellforged, an edge creeping into his voice. "You defeat Voldemort, again. And the next week a priceless item being guarded by at least a 4x-class creature is suddenly relocated. Mari and Rose have already dealt with their Quirrells, so if their corridor is empty…"

Seeker picked up the thread. "But ours is still guarded… Merlin, they wouldn't?"

Spellforged sighed. "They might. The question is this - were they setting a trap for whoever wanted to possess a teacher and enter the school, or did they specifically target Voldemort?"

"And if they targeted Voldemort," said Rose, "Then someone knew that he didn't die all those years ago. And we have a problem."

Over the next few days, Marigold and Rose both checked the third floor corridor. Seeker and Spellforged visited the hallway as well - and confirmed the group's fears.

"Empty," Marigold said, without preamble.

"Same." Said Rose.

"Not mine," reported Seeker. "Fluffy wouldn't have been my first pick for names with that one, no sir."

Spellforged was quiet. This was exactly what father would want to get called in for - but the more he thought about it, the more he talked himself into doing something… well, Gryffindor.

Rose caught it. "Spellforged, this isn't a confunded troll."

"I know, I know." He replied. The others began to discuss what the cerberus might be guarding. Rose, meanwhile, wondered whether Spellforged would go it alone again.

oOoOoOoOo

Whether intentionally or not, Hagrid himself gave Spellforged the key to passing Fluffy. The small wooden flute, an unexpected christmas gift, served him well. Once Hagrid had carved it slightly to change the register, it worked for many old goblin tunes - songs Spellforged knew by heart. It took only a few minutes to lull the creature to sleep.

The trap door was unlocked. Spellforged dropped down.

The devil's snare, that he had not expected. He pulled out the dagger his father had given him for his birthday, this past summer, as a gift. Goblins who leave their home warren will usually receive such a gift, as they make their way in the world. Rarely were such blades enchanted, as his had been, but being Director of Gringott's gave Ragnok some privileges.

Sending a pulse of magic into the blade, Harry watched as it lengthened, narrowing slightly as it did so. When it was a foot in length, he began trimming the snare. A few judicious cuts, and he was free.

The next room brought him to a set of flying keys, one of which probably unlocked the door. After this summer, he could probably just unlock the door directly, using Goblin magic - but that was, as yet, a trick beyond his training. Harry Spellforged knew just two spells of the Goblin discipline, both useful for even the most junior of tellers in Gringott's.

The first would lockdown a room, useful for capturing a fleeing thief or securing a vault. The second, though - that would detect and reveal glamours and compulsions. Gringott's liked to know who they were dealing with, after all, and that people doing business were acting on their own.

He couldn't dispel those glamours, nor could he end an imperius - he wasn't at that level, and knew it. But when there was a real key enchanted to look like the fake ones? That, he could handle.

Spellforged held his hand up to the cloud of keys and spoke the incantation. Nothing happened. Wait a second, there, above his head - one key was glowing purple. A quick broom ride brought him in reach easily, and before long the door was open.

The next room almost stopped him. Almost.

Seven statues stood at one end of a board, in a pattern of four and three, with an empty row in between. The statues were separated in each row by one space, highlighting that they stood on what looked like a chess board. Unlike a chessboard, however, there were no other pieces - just armored soldiers. The squares they stood on were red, and a matching set of squares at the other end of the board were green. Above the far door, the only marking was a green circle, below which was the phrase Gluais air an taigh.

Beside the board, there was a stone pillar. The top of the pillar was angled, and on its face was carved a chessboard. Seven spaces on the left were green, while seven on the right glowed red. Spellforged tapped one of the red spaces with his wand, and saw the corresponding statue rotate a quarter turn - along with another, unrelated statue that rotated in the opposite direction. Now, he saw that the other statues faced different directions, and for each one he rotated, two turned.

A yellow square was glowing, at the bottom of the panel. Spellforged touched it, and all seven statues stepped forward.

Gluais air an taigh. It was Gaelic. Move along home. Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall.

Cracking his knuckles, Spellforged began rotating his pieces. The odd number meant that there was some combination of turns that would get them all where they needed to be - facing the green. Then he could march them across, before turning them and swapping the rows.

It was a masterfully crafted puzzle, involving strategy, transfiguration, runes, and patience - both for the crafter and the player. This could not be a trap for Voldemort, he thought. The man would blast his way through. As he continued to manipulate the pieces, the thought bothered Spellforged, but he set it aside.

It took just over forty minutes to work out the patterns and solve the puzzle. Once all seven soldiers stood on the green tiles, they raised their swords, and the far door opened. Spellforged drew his still-lengthened dagger and stepped through.

And found a troll.

Spellforged almost attacked before he realized - the troll was in stasis. Perhaps there was a trigger in the room, or failure to complete the puzzle in the previous room would unleash the creature. However it was planned, the result was a very quiet Ravenclaw sneaking past the frozen troll.

The potions puzzle was the simplest one he had found - after he detected the glamoured poison. Which also bothered him, somewhat - if this were truly intended as a defense, then use seven bottles of poison! Use all the poison, then leave a failsafe to allow access to the item by its keeper. Either this is important enough to properly defend, or it isn't. Again, Spellforged wondered who these traps were actually for. One drink of the correct potion, and he stepped through the flames.

There, in what seemed like an unused classroom, was an ornate mirror. Spellforged approached it, blade in hand.

In the mirror, Spellforged saw himself, surrounded by his parents. His birth parents, clearly, followed by adoptive - and how wonderful it felt to see Lily Potter hugging Anna Sullivan, while a grinning Ragnok shook hands with James Potter. All four looked at the tall Ravenclaw with obvious pride.

Then other figures appeared beside him. A Slytherin girl with black hair stood on his right, while a red-haired Gryffindor joined him on his left. Both were flanked by two raven-haired lions in quidditch gear - Seeker and Chaser.

Spellforged did not notice that they wore his face. He knew them, as them - who else could they be?

He watched himself in the mirror, and saw his reflection mouthing a phrase in the Goblin tongue. He needed no translation, for he knew it by heart - its English version graced the walls of his home. /Thief, you have been warned, beware./ His reflection's face was not unkindly, the smile still reached his eyes, as his arms wrapped around his 'sisters'. But his eyes were intent - this was another test.

/I seek no treasure for my own. Voldemort comes to steal the item. I would secure it with the Headmaster./

Reflection Spellforged looked at him, weighing him. The others, he noticed, were watching him closely as well. His reflection then spoke again. /Would you swear on it?/

Spellforge scoffed. /I just did./

The reflection nodded. That was the correct answer - the Goblin answer. Spellforged felt a weight in his robe pocket, and reached in. He pulled out a red stone, glowing faintly with its own internal brilliance. His eyes went back to the mirror, where his reflection grinned at him.

oOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore looked up when his office door opened, admitting Harry Spellforged and Professor Flitwick, his head of house. Flitwick carefully closed and latched the door behind him, before taking a seat next to Harry.

"Gentlemen, good afternoon. What can I do for you today?"

Spellforged looked at his head of house, who returned the look and nodded. Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a small item. Standing, he placed it in the centre of the Headmaster's desk with a resounding THUMP.

It was the Philosopher's Stone.

Dumbledore's eyes grew wide as Spellforged spoke. "Headmaster, we have a problem." He nodded to the stone, now in the Headmaster's hands, as it was examined. "I assure you, this is the authentic stone, retrieved from the mirror about, oh, forty-five minutes ago."

The Headmaster sighed. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you?" He then looked at Spellforged. "May I ask who accompanied you through the obstacles?"

Another glance to Flitwick. "I chose not to place my friends at risk, sir. Besides, some of my tricks work well for one, but multiple people would have gotten in each other's way. I made the attempt on my own."

Dumbledore set the stone back on his desk. "Well done, then, Mister Spellforged. Seventy-five points to Ravenclaw, I should think." Flitwick and Spellforged just looked at him, neither acknowledging the points. "Is there another matter?"

Spellforged sighed. "Mister Hagrid provided the Cerberus. Professor Sprout and the Devil's Snare. Professor Flitwick and the keys. Professors Babbling and McGonagall for the logic puzzle, which likely would have triggered Professor Quirrell and the Troll if bypassed. Then we had Professor Snape, and a simple potions puzzle." He nodded to the Headmaster. "And finally, the mirror, which I assume was your own work, sir." He received a nod in turn from Dumbledore.

"It was." Dumbledore replied. "May I ask how you defeated the mirror, Harry?"

"Of course," replied Spellforged. "My reflection challenged me, and I stated that I wanted the item to secure it with you. Then he asked me to swear an oath. Any other wizard would have done so, and failed the test." Off Dumbledore's look, he grinned. "It's a cultural thing, sir. If a Goblin publicly says something, they either know it to be true or believe so strongly that it is true that they willingly risk their honor. A Goblin who would not swear to the truth of a statement would not make that statement. So when he asked if I would swear an oath, I gave the only answer I could - that I just had."

"Remarkable." Said Dumbledore. "Well done, then."

"Thank you, sir." Spellforged acknowledged. "Guarding treasures is sort of our thing, we Goblins, and my reflection demonstrated that. Unfortunately, If this were a vault, then all but the final protection was insecure. Each could be bypassed by a first year student, if given time and patience. So, protecting the item was not the primary goal here." He looked closely at the Headmaster. "If the goal was to test a student or students, well done - I quite enjoyed it, and apart from the moderate danger at some points, others might do the same. The logic puzzle, in particular, was inspired."

"If, on the other hand, the obstacles and the mirror were part of a trap, perhaps for someone else, then we may have a different problem altogether." Spellforged looked at Professor Flitwick.

"Albus," the Ravenclaw head of house began. "Mister Spellforged asserts that Professor Quirrell is possessed, and that there is evidence to suggest that he is possessed by you-know-who himself. Maybe a shade of the Dark Lord, maybe just the Dark Lord's spirit, but either option is bad."

Dumbledore turned white. Spellforged watched his expression carefully - this was one meeting he would definitely be recounting to the five. He couldn't be sure, but there was something in the man's eyes that suggest something less than shock. Did he know?

"My recommendation, sir," said Spellforged, "is that you render Professor Quirrell unconscious and then administer the Draught of the Living Death to keep him in stasis, until you can find a way to separate him from Voldemort. If Voldemort realizes that Quirrell is captured, he will do a runner and we are chasing a ghost."

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, absently. He turned to the professor. "Filius?"

Flitwick looked at his Headmaster. "Albus, I wish I could refute Mister Spellforged's logic, but I cannot. Quirinus has done little out of the ordinary, but it is as if his entire personality changed over the last few weeks of summer. That would fit a possession. And then you have the matter of the attacks in the forest, which might be explained by someone trying to maintain a long-term possession." he sighed again. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I must concur with Mister Spellforged."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will take it under advisement, Mister Spellforged." He saw the ravenclaw begin to object, and raised a hand. "Let it stand that we cannot make such a decision until we are ready to implement it, lest we warn our target. The professors and I will take any necessary steps. I would ask you to let the matter be, Harry. Agreed?"

Spellforged nodded. "I can do that. Thank you, sir."

"No, my boy, it is we who should thank you." The office door unlocked. "If there is nothing further, your head of house and I need to make plans."

Rising, Spellforged nodded. "Just one question, sir. If I may, why me?"

Dumbledore rose as well, looking at the boy. "I'm sorry?"

"Why the Potters, rather. Why did Voldemort attack us? Why is he here again?" Spellforged lifted his hair, indicating his scar. "Why does my scar hurt when I look at Quirrell?"

Dumbledore looked at the ravenclaw for half a minute. The boy is so young. Even so, he is wise beyond his years, he could handle the prophecy. But then he carried that thought forward. But could his father? In the end, Albus Dumbledore gave the only response he could.

"Ah, well. That, my boy, is a conversation for another day." The Headmaster smiled his most grandfatherly smile. "Some answers are long in coming. Perhaps we will find yours together."

"Perhaps so. Thank you, Headmaster. Professor." Spellforged acknowledged both men, before turning and leaving the office. As the door closed, Flitwick's expression hardened.

"Albus, we need to talk." Dumbledore sighed, resuming his seat.

oOoOoOoOo

In the corridor, Spellforged sighed and rolled his shoulders. Despite his comments to the Headmaster, it had been a long day's work for the first year. But the day was not yet over.

Pulling a small mirror from his robes, Spellforged looked down. He smiled at the activation phrase, for who would call their father by his title?

/Director/, he said. A moment later, his father's wrinkled visage appeared.

/Son?/ the Goblin leader responded.

/We need to talk./ Spellforged said, simply.


A/N: Thank you again for all of the feedback, and for the (50!) follows and favorites and reviews and whatnot.

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