Hermione entered the common room to find Neville and Ron huddled over a parchment. The fact that it was Sunday afternoon made her curious - while Neville might be working on homework, Ron definitely wouldn't.
"What's going on?" She asked, sitting down on the nearest chair. The boys looked at each other, then back at her.
"Ron was telling me about your research project, and thought I might be able to help." said Neville.
"Research project?" Hermione didn't understand, at first.
"The one about Nicolas Flamel." She turned to see Seeker Harry coming down the stairs from the boy's rooms. "I know what Fluffy is guarding."
Hermione started to ask about it, when she saw the coil of rope over Harry's shoulder. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're not."
"No," he answered, sitting next to her. "But we are."
"We are, what, exactly?" She asked, angrily. It was bad enough that he got into so many adventures, the least he could do is ask before dragging her along.
Harry gave her a grin. "We're going to stop Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone."
It took her a moment. Then she hit him. "Harry James Potter, you are not going to fight a Cerberus just to prove… whatever it is you want to prove."
Now I owe Rose another ten galleons, Harry thought. She had called it - and Hermione hit hard.
"Quirrell is into some bad stuff, Hermione." Harry said, quietly. "If he gets a stone that lets him have unlimited wealth and immortality?" He looked her in the eyes. "I can't let that happen."
"Besides," piped in Ron. "Harry has a plan for the whole thing." He handed the parchment over to her. She read the list of obstacles, her eyes growing wider and wider.
"Devil's snare? Flying keys? A logic puzzle? This isn't going to keep anyone out." She looked back at Harry. "What's going on here?"
"I have an idea." Harry said. "But I'd rather not say until we're through. It might be nothing. But it might be something."
"Then we need to know." She replied, crossing her arms.
"Maybe. But either way, the obstacles remain the same. And Quirrell is going to try this evening. So we need to go now." Harry kept his gaze even, looking at her. "I need your help, Hermione. Will you trust me?"
Harry could see the battle going on in Hermione's mind. She wanted to debate it, she wanted to know what he was worried about. But when it came down to it, this was Ron, Neville, and Harry. She trusted them. Her features softened.
"Of course, Harry." Then she got stern again. "But you'd better not get us hurt. Or worse, expelled." Neville snorted in laughter, matching the grins from Ron and Harry.
"Don't worry, Hermione." Harry said, rising. "We've got you. Besides, if we do get in trouble, you can say I tricked you into it."
"Prat." She responded, before leaving to put her bag away. Harry turned to Neville.
"You sure, mate?" He asked. Marigold and Neville were closer friends than he was with his own Neville, but he could see the lion underneath the timid scion of Longbottom. And their chat during Sirius' trial had been an enlightening one - when Neville was in his element, he was a force to be reckoned with. That his element was the nurseries and the Wizengamot just made the boy that much more interesting. He'd be a friend to keep, even without the long relationship between their families.
Neville was good people. And over the course of the year, they had finally managed to convince Neville of that.
"I'm good, Harry. I'd just be in the way after the first room." Neville pointed to the parchment. "Don't forget to get the roots. If it's like you say, burn from the wall to the center, so that it doesn't try to regrow. Then use the rope to get past."
"Can we do a sticking charm that will last that long?" asked Ron.
"Maybe." said Harry. "If not, there will be brooms."
Ron shook his head. "Hermione will hate that."
"Then toss her the rope after." replied Neville. He looked at Harry. "Someday you'll have to tell me how you found all of this out, Harry."
Because my brother already completed it? He thought. "You know Hagrid can get chatty, Nev. I just, well, maybe I encouraged him a bit."
"Uh huh. That'd do it." Neville nodded. He handed back the parchment, which Harry tucked away in his robes. "Good luck, Ron, Harry, Hermione." He nodded to the witch as she came down the stairs.
"Thanks, Nev." Harry adjusted the rope on his shoulder. "Ready?"
oOoOoOoOo
Fluffy was as scary as Spellforged had said. But the wooden flute turned out to be unnecessary, as there was already a music box playing when they entered the hallway. Opening the trap door, they saw the twisting vines of the Devil's Snare. They looked at him, and he nodded.
"Incendio" they both said, as quietly as possible, and gouts of fire shot from their wands. Harry couldn't see what had happened, but he could smell it. Ick.
When he approached the trap door, he saw a large hole in the layer of vines, just as Spellforged had described. He could also see the vines trying to regrow and close the gap, but the burned sections acted like cauterized wounds - the way was clear. Harry set the coil of rope down.
When they made it to the key room, Harry immediately saw the correct key - it had been damaged already. "He's already here." Harry said, simply, as he opened the door.
The next room proved that Spellforged had been correct. For here was no logic puzzle, no complex rune array driving a customized game board. No, here they found a simple game of Wizard's Chess. The perfect challenge for Ron Weasley.
Ron walked around the board, looking at the position, while Hermione and Harry watched patiently.
Hermione leaned over to Harry. "This isn't what you thought it would be."
He replied in kind. "How much chess do you think Hagrid plays? He's more of a cards man, I believe." They planned a chess game, and changed it to a logic puzzle when Spellforged went to Ravenclaw. Harry frowned. This is a test of us. But why?
He reached out to the link. Spellforged, you were right, we have a chess game.
Oh? Was the reply. Want me to help?
If we get stuck, sure. But Ron Weasley is a good player, and they can't have made it this hard. He's got it, I think. Harry watched Ron circle the board. I'll let you know if we need you.
Alright. Be careful. Harry felt Spellforged leave the link.
"I think I've got it," said Ron. "But we need to be the pieces, here and here and here." he indicated spots on the board. They took their places, looking back to Ron.
And the game began.
Toward the end, Ron realized that he'd have to sacrifice his 'piece' to win the game. Harry asked him to wait, while he relayed the board to Spellforged. Unfortunately, Spellforged couldn't see another way out, but suggested cushioning charms around Ron. When it was over, Ron was dazed but awake enough to insist that Harry and Hermione move on.
The dead troll gave Hermione a fright, but that was all it did. They moved forward.
The potions puzzle was just as Spellforged described it, and the clue was the same as well. Which meant that this bottle would take him to the mirror, and that one would bring Hermione back to Ron. He was pleased when Hermione got the correct answer.
"Are you sure, Harry?" She asked.
"Yep." he replied. "Even if Quirrell is in there, I know how to handle him. And the puzzle is no problem, either. Besides," he looked back at her. "We need to make sure Dumbledore gets down here. McGonagall didn't call him, did she?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, probably not."
Harry nodded. "Good thing I told Susan Bones, then. The meeting he was supposed to have was with her aunt - but she knew nothing about it, according to Susan. It smelled fake. So, her Aunt will get him back here double quick."
Hermione chuckled at that. Then, before he could turn, she hugged him. "Be careful, Harry." And then she was drinking her potion and rushing out the door.
oOoOoOoOo
"Ah, Mister P-p-potter." said Professor Quirrell. Harry could see the ornate mirror from Christmas, and in front of it was the turban-clad host of Lord Voldemort.
Harry ignored the prickling in his scar.
"Is Professor Quirrell still in there, somewhere?" Harry asked, without preamble. "Or did you kill him as well?"
The Professor's full attention turned to Harry, and the prickling became a low burning.
"So, boy, you're smarter than you look." The stutter was gone, as was the twitching and the slouch. "Good, I will enjoy this all the more. But first, you will come here and retrieve the stone." The man's wand was out, though not yet aimed at him.
"The mirror sees your desire, Voldemort." Quirrell's eyes grew wide, and Harry saw just a touch of fear there - perhaps the professor was still alive. "It knows what you would do with the stone. You have a key to the wrong door. The mirror will not grant you the power you seek."
"Power," Quirrell scoffed. "You know nothing of power, boy. Good, evil, these are just words. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."
Harry looked the man in his eyes, and saw a brief tremor there. "I defeated you when I was still in nappies, Voldemort. How powerful could you be?" His answer was another stabbing pain in his scar. Do not taunt the Dark Lord, Harry, he thought to himself, wincing.
"Powerful enough to kill your father, easily." Quirrell said, with a sneer. "Your mother needn't have died. But she would not get out of my way, so like all the rest of them, her life ended when she tried to deny me the smallest thing." His wand raised, aiming at Harry. "Now, if you don't want her death to have been in vain, you will retrieve the stone."
Slowly, Harry found himself walking to the mirror. There, he again saw his parents and the rest of the five. Spellforged nodded to him and said something.
"What do you see, boy?" Quirrell asked, impatiently.
Stall, Harry thought. "I see my parents, my grandparents, my whole family. An entire ancient house," he tilted his head, pretending to concentrate. "My reflection is asking me a question, but I can't read lips. I think it's a riddle."
He did not expect a flare of pain when he said that - Quirrellmort must be more impatient than he thought. "Answer him, boy. Quickly!"
Spellforged, Harry sent. Your reflection in the mirror asked me a question. I don't think I got it exactly right, but what does this phrase mean? He repeated the goblin phrase.
Best guess? Despite the situation, Harry could almost hear Spellforged's chuckle. Cut his tendons, then stab him in the throat.
What?! As Harry watched, Spellforged's reflection pulled a dagger from his belt, before handing it handle-first to his own reflection. Then his reflection winked at him, before sliding the knife into his robe.
Harry felt the weight added to his robe, and couldn't help himself. "/Groznak/."
"What did you say, Potter?" Quirrell shoved him out of the way, looking intently at the mirror. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all." He rounded on Harry, taking several steps toward him. "What did you do?"
"Well," Harry said, backing away slowly. "If McGonagall were here, I'd lose 5 points for swearing."
"Let me talk to him," said a hissing voice from the turban.
"No thank you," said Harry. Reaching forward, Harry caught Quirrell's wand arm with the knife. While he screamed, Harry grabbed his other arm, lifting the robes, and grasped his bare skin with both hands.
As expected, Quirrell began to burn. A black cloud poured out of the turban, screeching all the while. Harry watched the cloud, ignoring its indignant screams. When it flew at him, he dove for the floor, and it passed harmlessly over him.
The cloud flew past the flames and out the door, passing a shocked Headmaster Dumbledore.
Brushing himself off, Harry walked over to the ashen remains of the Defense Professor. There, among the burnt robes, was an ornate dagger. He lifted it, feeling its weight. It was pristine, with not a spot of blood on its length. The handle featured a spiral design in deep blues and reds - the colors of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.
Looking up at the mirror, he saw Spellforged nod to him.
"Mister Potter," Dumbledore asked as he approached. "Are you alright?"
Harry nodded, turning to the Headmaster. "I believe so, sir. But I didn't retrieve the stone."
"Yes, I wondered about that." His eyes went to the dagger. "It seems the mirror had defenses of which even I was unaware."
Harry held up the blade, allowing Dumbledore to inspect it. "I saw my family, back generations. But next to my father, I saw a goblin." Spellforged had been standing next to James, after all.
"Remarkable," said Dumbledore quietly, as he looked to the mirror. "Was it a goblin you've met before?"
"No, sir." He actually hadn't ever met Spellforged. But how many other goblins did he know? He could only name four - Director Ragnok, Steelclaw, Griphook from the cart ride, and… oh, yes that will work. "But part of me thinks his name was Foecleaver. His suit had the same crest on it that my Dad's robes did."
"I see," Dumbledore lied. He looked back at the blade, still in Harry's hands. "Well, Mister Potter, either the Mirror conjured a close duplicate of a goblin blade, which will fade in time as the conjuration ends, or it managed to give you a remarkable gift that you should treasure." He smiled, the twinkle back in his eyes. "Either way, you did very well today."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir." Did he want to ask about the tests, about Voldemort's interest in him? In his family? No, he decided. Enough for today. Besides, he wanted to speak to the link before trying to get secrets out of the Headmaster.
And Hermione, Ron, and Neville would be waiting.
oOoOoOoOo
Professor Flitwick was leaning over the blade, examining it closely. "And you've never seen this type of blade before, Mister Potter?"
Harry shook his head. "Never. Meaning no offense, sir, but I've spent all of an hour at Gringott's, and never with anyone who would grant such a gift." He gestured at the dagger. "And no one makes a knife like that to sell in a shop front. That has to be a gift to somebody."
Flitwick nodded, absently, and continued to look closely at the dagger. There was a tiny engraving under the guard, tiny enough to require a magnifying glass. Once he read the goblin symbols, Flitwick sat back in his chair.
"Well, Mister Potter, you don't do things halfway, do you?" The charms master grinned. "The blade is yours. Somehow, some way, this blade was forged for you specifically." He took out a parchment and copied the three tiny symbols down. "There is an engraving here, under the guard. It's almost like a smith's mark, showing who forged a particular piece."
"But see here," Flitwick pointed to the first symbol. "Instead of identifying who made this, it identifies who it was made for." He tapped the parchment. "The first symbol means 'To Harry'. The second, here, translates as 'Head of his House'. And here, this third symbol, is an admonishment to 'Wield it well'."
So it's a duplicate of Spellforged's blade. Merlin. The implications were stunning. Harry examined the symbols. "Is this an enchanted blade? I know some Goblin weapons have magic elements or runes."
Flitwick shook his head. "It could be enchanted, but this blade is just a normal goblin weapon." He smiled again. "A beautiful specimen, by any standard, and one that would be any ancient family's most prized possession. But not enchanted, no."
So not an exact duplicate, then, Harry mused, thinking about how Spellforged had described the enchantments on his blade. But to even hold this in my hands, in my world. How is that possible?
The Professor gave Harry the parchment, with his translations included, and warned him to be very careful with the dagger. After thanking him, and promising to come by sometime for tea, Harry left. He had not yet told the others about the blade, though he wanted to - but he felt the need to discuss it with the link first.
Of one thing, Seeker Harry was certain - something had changed.
A/N: Not my favorite version of this sequence, but it ended up being another instance where the characters wrote themselves. A goblin-raised wizard in the mirror will do as he does - guard the treasure. The knife is not earth-shattering, but it hints that magic might make everything more complicated going forward. Which we knew.
While I am keeping pairings in mind, as we move forward, none of them will be romantic in any measurable way until much further along in the story. I'm a father of daughters, kids - so, nyet. That said, I do have a spreadsheet to keep everything straight. Some have already been telegraphed, some will be out of left field. We have a long way to go.
On Lord Hillyer - Some guesses have gotten closer than others. I can state, categorically, that Joseph Hillyer is not the boy-who-lived. None of him are. Nor are there Fem!Hillyers about. (Though we may meet his parents at some point.)
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
