When I returned to the chess room where we had left Ron and Hermione, I was relieved to see that Ron had awoken, and was merely complaining about a headache. They saw me bolting towards them and paled—as quickly as I could, I spoke of what Harry had done and asked us to do.

Once the message was passed on, we wasted no time in locating the two broomsticks and whizzing out the trapdoor as Harry had instructed. Neither the Devil's Snare nor Fluffy gave us any problems, and so we turned tail and bolted towards the Owlery.

It took us less than two minutes for us to travel from there to our destination; I was shocked to see that the sun was rising. We had been down that trapdoor for longer than we'd thought…

Even more shocking than the sunrise, however, was the presence of Professor Dumbledore, who looked as if he had just returned to Hogwarts. Before we could even say anything, his piercing eyes traversed across our faces, and he asked, "Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"

We nodded—our Headmaster began sprinting towards the third floor. The three of us ran after him, determined to follow and go help our friend—

"You three have already done more than enough in your efforts to protect the Stone tonight," Dumbledore said. He was not unkind, but he was curt. "Please go to the hospital wing and wait for Harry and myself to arrive."

Left with no other choice, Ron and Hermione and I did as the Headmaster bade, although I was less than pleased to have been told to wait at the hospital wing, of all places… at least I had two of my friends with me this second time.

As soon as we walked through the door, Madam Pomfrey emerged, fussing, "The third-floor corridor! Of course, Professor Dumbledore sent a quick message—my goodness, you are a sight, the three of you! Come and lay down, I'll need to heal those cuts up, especially yours, Mr. Weasley."

I sat upon one of the beds, doing everything I could to ignore the nausea.

A solid twenty minutes passed, but each minute felt like ten. I had to remind myself that Dumbledore knew his way past the obstacles that surrounded the Stone, so surely he would be able to get to Harry quickly, and everything would be fine… and then I could leave the damn hospital wing in favor of the common room.

Finally, after at least a half-hour, Dumbledore arrived, carrying Harry in his arms.

I gasped and leapt to the bed Harry was being placed in. He had gained quite a few more cuts and even burns since I'd seen him merely an hour ago, but his chest was moving steadily up and down… he was alive.

"Oh, Harry," I sighed, grasping his hand. Instead of feeling warm skin, my fingers grasped onto something cold and hard; when I cautiously took the object from his grip, I saw it was red and glittering. "The Stone!" I gasped, turning it around in my fingers. It was a pretty gemstone that looked like an englarged ruby.

Dumbledore offered me a smile and quietly said, "Yes, that is the Sorcerer's Stone. Harry was able to obtain it faster than Quirrell, luckily…"

"Quirrell?" I exclaimed. "But we thought—"

"Professor Snape never felt inclined to steal the Sorcerer's Stone," said our Headmaster, his voice still soft. "It was Professor Quirrell that attempted to take it. Harry, however, figured out the secret of the Stone first."

"But… why Quirrell, Professor?" asked Hermione.

The Headmaster chuckled. "I shall tell you the story, so long as you don't repeat it to young Harry. There are other things I should explain to him myself."

Dumbledore spent the next twenty minutes telling us that Professor Quirrell had been employed at Hogwarts just that year, and that Professor Snape had been entrusted to keep a close eye on him. This meant that all of our speculations had been backwards: it was Snape who was loyal to Dumbledore, Snape who was attempting to get Quirrell to confess to being in the service of You-Know-Who.

"However, Harry was correct in thinking why Quirrell wanted it. He did indeed want it for Voldemort," said Professor Dumbledore, nodding serenely at our looks of shock. "In fact, he was there today… it would seem that Voldemort managed to latch himself onto Professor Quirrell, not unlike a leech. Voldemort himself tried to convince Harry into giving him the Stone so he could have a body of his own… and our young Harry refused."

There was a sparkle in Dumbledore's eye with this last sentence.

Astounded by all we had uncovered in such a short period of time, I leaned forward and asked, "How did you defeat him?"

Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow. "I did not. Harry managed to defeat him through means even more powerful than the dark forces… perhaps, when the time comes, you shall know what they are yourself."

We all nodded, picking up on the hint that the conversation was over.

Hearing the newfound silence, Madam Pomfrey stormed over, looking a little put out. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. Am I allowed to take care of my students now?"

"You are indeed, Poppy," our Headmaster cheerfully remarked.

With a satisfied nod, Madam Pomfrey gestured us towards the beds we'd been lying in. I reluctantly left Harry's bedside and went back to my own, but not before giving his hand a light squeeze.

I could've sworn that I felt one back; I knew he'd be all right.

At the insistence of Madam Pomfrey, we spent the day in the hospital wing. I mostly spent it sleeping: a small comfort, seeing as with each minute that passed with me being unconscious, I was one minute closer to being able to leave the room. Every minute I was actually awake, I spent beadily watching over Harry, waiting for him to wake up even though Madam Pomfrey said it might take a day or two for him to regain consciousness.

During the early afternoon, I was woken from fitful sleep to the sound of hissing voices—I soon recognized one of the voices as Professor McGonagall's, sounding incredibly worried.

"Are you sure they'll be well within the next day? Miss Skylar has little white scars all across her arms, and that gash across Mr. Weasley's head…"

"They'll be right as rain by tomorrow, Minerva, not to worry. I overheard Professor Dumbledore talking about what happened in that corridor… the most astounding and terrifying things…"

The two women continued to gossip about what they'd heard, relaying details about both our exploits and our conversation with Headmaster Dumbledore. I couldn't help but smirk a little bit… based on how animatedly they were discussing, I figured the knowledge would be known by the whole school before long.

And I was right. It seemed that by the time dinner was over, everyone knew what had happened. We were getting visitors left and right; the Gryffindors were now treating us like heroes despite the one-hundred and fifty point loss only a month prior. It was hard to remember who came and who didn't, and almost everyone who popped in to say hello left us some sort of sweet. I found myself being buried by Chocolate Wands—truly the best problem to have.

Once nighttime rolled around, Madam Pomfrey couldn't fuss over us any longer. She allowed us to return to our dormitories, save for Harry, who still hadn't awoken…

On the way out, we ran into Fred and George, who were attempting to smuggle in a toilet seat for Harry. No doubt it was some sort of inside joke.

When Ron, Hermione, and I entered the common room, it seemed every Gryffindor was waiting for us. Neville had completely forgiven us for the jinx we'd cast on him—in fact, he was one of our friends cheering the loudest. Fred and George arrived just behind us, fresh from the kitchens with some stolen snacks.

"All right, you lot, what really happened?" asked Lee Jordan with a grin.

Hermione, Ron, and I exchanged looks and began telling the story, starting from when we'd left the common room the previous night. We spoke of what we'd been forced to do to Neville and how I distracted Fluffy, but when it came to our individual parts of the tale, we took turns. Hermione spoke of the Devil's Snare, I of the winged keys, Ron of the transfigured chess-set, and I again of Snape's riddle.

Once I finished, however, I could say nothing more. The next part of the story was not ours to tell—although our housemates were far from disappointed.

"That's all well and good, but we have a problem," said a voice.

I blinked and looked over to where the voice had come from—Oliver Wood was slumped in one of the fluffy chairs, a sad smile upon his face as he continued speaking. "You say that Harry's still in the hospital wing, and won't be out until the day after tomorrow?"

I nodded. "That's what Madam Pomfrey is speculating."

"Damn," whispered Oliver, clenching his fist. "I'm not sure what we're going to do without a Seeker for our game tomorrow, then…"

"Don't worry about it, Wood, I can be a substitute Seeker," remarked Angelina Johnson, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

Wood just shook his head. "You can, but then we're short a Chaser!" He snappishly seized a butterbeer off the table to his right and popped the cap open, grumbling, "We're doomed."

A newfound silence settled over the Gryffindor common room. There had been a good chance that our House would win the Quidditch Cup this year, but with Harry gone…

That was when Oliver froze. He raised his hand and pointed at me. "Skylar," he said, bolting up from the chair. "You can be our substitute Chaser."

My eyes near bugged out of my head. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I saw you fly after our first game, and you just told us about how you navigated a space one tenth the size of a Quidditch field in order to go protect that Sorcerer's Stone. You could fill in for us!"

The energy in the common room zapped up again. Gryffindors to my left and right began clamoring that I simply had to do this, it was the only chance we'd have at winning the Quidditch Cup, did I know how hard it would be for our House team to function if we were short a player—

Oliver's dark eyes were latched upon me, so he noticed how overwhelmed I was by the chaos. He straightened, took a deep breath, and yelled, "SHUT UP!"

Everyone was quiet again. Oliver ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "What do you say, Skylar?" he asked, holding his hands out. "I know you haven't been through the training yet, but if you're half as good as I think you are, you'll still be a huge asset to the team. We're just hoping for a chance, here."

I swallowed, wanting more than anything to say yes. But there was one thought in the back of my mind… and I knew I had to address it before giving my answer. "Wouldn't we have to ask Professor McGonagall first?"

"I think it's quite self-evident that you can take care of yourself, Miss Skylar."

My housemates whirled around to see our Head of House standing tall beside the portrait hole, the slightest of smirks upon her face. Her amusement didn't seem to lessen upon noticing that everyone was staring at her in shock. Her normally severe eyes were soft as she added, "Besides, Hogwarts rules dictate that first-year students are not allowed to possess broomsticks on campus, except in special circumstances. There is no technical rules that states first-years cannot participate in Quidditch teams."

With this last, she smiled, said, "Good evening to you all," and exited.

Once Professor McGonagall was gone, Oliver clapped a hand on my shoulder, a grin barely constrained from his face. "So is that a yes?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "It's a hell yes."


The next morning passed by at the speed of a whirlwind.

Despite my aversion to the hospital wing, my care and concern for Harry won out over my fear. I visited first thing the next morning to see if Harry had woken up; unfortunately, he was still fast asleep. Madam Pomfrey assured me that he would be well, however, so I wasn't as worried anymore.

Breakfast was quite the event, seeing as all my housemates were wishing me luck and encouraging me to eat more breakfast the whole hour I was in the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione especially were being incredibly supportive, as they both knew how badly I'd wanted to be a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

At last, it was ten in the morning: thirty minutes until the game would start. Oliver gestured for the team to follow him to the pitch and into the tent, where he tossed me the smallest set of robes he could find.

"There might be no name on the back, but we can have that fixed by next year," he remarked casually. "Now let's see if we can find you a broom…"

"Next year?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver merely winked at me before exclaiming, "Ah, here we go! Not the best broom alive, but it's a good start. Here's a Cleansweap 7 available for your use."

I grabbed hold of the broomstick and couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face. It appeared to have been very well cared for—sleek and shiny—it would be perfect for Quidditch.

Before I could even thank Oliver for his assistance, he simply held up a hand and, with a crooked smile, turned to give our team a pep-talk. It was difficult to listen to his encouraging words, however… the roar of applause and the whistle of the wind just outside were demanding my attention instead…

"Let's give them hell."

With Oliver's last words, we shot each other wide grins and proceeded to walk outside. Fred and George ruffled my hair with the words, "Good luck, mate!"

As soon as we exited the tent, I heard Lee Jordan shouting, "And here comes the Gryffindor team! We've got a bit of an adjusted line-up, seeing as Seeker Harry Potter is still in the infirmary, so now we have Angelina Johnson filling in as Seeker, and Belle Skylar taking over the position of Chaser! Give these girls a round of applause, everyone, they're really going to extra lengths for this one!"

The Gryffindor stands exploded; it was surreal to see what Harry normally saw. There were flags of scarlet and gold, and scarves being twirled over people's heads, and screaming, so much screaming…

"Here comes the Ravenclaw team, Captained by Roger Davies! They've had a spectacularly clean season this year, let's see if they can keep that streak!"

Across the field, seven figures in robes of blue and bronze met us; Oliver stepped forward to shake Davies hand—that was the signal for the rest of us to mount our brooms. I kicked off from the ground and hovered to the left of Katie Bell, feeling nervous for the first time that morning. When I met Fred and George's eyes, however, the twins simultaneously grinned and shot me a thumbs-up.

"Ready?" exclaimed Madam Hooch, holding the Quaffle. "Three—two—one—"

She tossed the ball into the air, and everyone shot forward. It was Alicia Spinnet who emerged with the Quaffle, and she shot forward like a bullet to the Ravenclaw hoops. I dashed after her, determined to keep an eye on her left flank for any enemy Chasers or meddling Bludgers.

Luckily for us, Alicia had a clear shot to the goalposts—she hurled the Quaffle only for Davies to zoom upwards, catch it, and toss it back to one of his teammates.

With a huff, I pressed myself close to the handle and sped after the Ravenclaw Chaser. As I got closer, I couldn't help but notice that he was holding the Quaffle at an odd angle… if I sneak up in his blind-spot, that would be perfect.

And then I was there, punching the Quaffle through his grip with a "HYAH!" My opponent cursed loudly and fumbled to grab it back, but it was too late for him, all snuggled up in my possession.

I whirled around, back towards the Ravenclaw side of the field; Lee Jordan's voice was filling the stands, screaming, "And it's Skylar, Belle Skylar the rookie with the Quaffle, look at her go!"

My eyes were set on the goalposts, peripherals watching for anything that might displace me. Fred and George were keeping the Ravenclaw Chasers in check, but there was a vague whistling to my left…

I knew what it was just before it hit me. With a sharp gasp, I ducked; the Bludger that had been pelting my direction whizzed over my head. That Bludger had been the only thing standing between me and the Ravenclaw Keeper—with no more obstacles in my way, I directed my broomstick towards the left hoop. Seeing Davies beginning to dive my way, I grinned and hauled the broomstick upward, chucking the ball for the middle hoop.

The Gryffindors exploded into renewed cheers, and Lee Jordan was no exception. "SHE SCORES, SHE SCORES, TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

A scarlet blur whizzed by me—"Nice job, Belle!"—as the audience roared.

My first Quidditch goal: it felt incredible, and it had come along so fast. The only thing that would've made it better was if Harry had been there to see it…

As it was, there wasn't much time to bask on my victory: the Quaffle was reset, and the next round of play was starting.

Somehow, following the tangle of arms and legs, I found myself in possession of the Quaffle. Two Ravenclaw players were darting towards me; I locked eyes with Katie and tossed her the Quaffle. She bolted forward, one of the Chasers following her. The other one was too close to me to change course—

The player crashed into me, his arms extended to break our collision. I gasped as one of his knees rammed into my ribs and only barely managed to stay seated upon my broomstick.

My adversary was not so lucky. He was bucked off of his broom—he fell to the ground. Fortunately, we were only six or seven feet in the air, so he just groaned and staggered to his feet.

Katie was still moving forward, towards the goalposts, and so I would too. Even as I ushered my broom in that direction, however, a Bludger was guided into Katie's side, causing her to drop the ball. The Quaffle was caught by one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, but Fred or George knocked a Bludger their direction, and they dropped the Quaffle—

I dashed underneath the player and seized the ball again, resuming the path that Katie had been stopped on. As a few fleeting seconds passed, three of the Ravenclaw players began surrounding me: one on my left, one on my right, and one over me.

"I say!" cried Lee Jordan. "The Ravenclaw team is attempting to pin down Skylar! Are they that scared of a rookie?"

I halted abruptly. The Ravenclaws, not expecting such a play, zoomed forward. Before they could surround me a second time, I passed off our prize to Alicia Spinnet. The Ravenclaw Chasers got back their bearings and pursued her. She tossed it back to me, I tossed it back to her—we continued this game until we were at the Ravenclaw goalposts, and Alicia hurled the Quaffle toward the right hoop—

"TEN MORE POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR! An astounding start!"

A third time, the Quaffle was tossed into the air—a third time, it was found in Gryffindor hands. Alicia, Katie, and I continued to use as much teamwork as we could, seeing as the Ravenclaws were maintaining the strategy of bull-rushing the person who held the Quaffle in their hands. Fred and George were doing an admirable job of keeping the Bludgers under our control, and Oliver saved nearly every shot on the rare occasion that one of the Ravenclaw Chasers was able to escort the Quaffle to our side of the field.

Before we knew it, the score was 60-10. That was when Angelina and the Ravenclaw Seeker began speeding across the field, side-by-side.

As tempted as I was to watch their progress, I knew I couldn't let the game play out without me. The Quaffle was in Davies's hands since he had just made a save—I looked to where he was nodding at a teammate and rushed in that direction.

With a tremendous burst of effort, I leapt upward and pushed my broom ahead, stealing the Quaffle out of the air, before landing back on the handle and returning straight back to Davies. He was so stunned by the turn of events that he was unable to prevent me from scoring.

"And Belle Skylar is pulling out all the stops today, ladies and gentlemen, she's got a lot to prove as a first-year! Who knows, maybe she'll be the reason that ridiculous rule gets repealed!"

"JORDAN!"

I laughed at the usual banter between Lee and Professor McGonagall, but my mirth was short-lived. Angelina was budged out of the way by the Ravenclaw Seeker, and his fingers closed around something—

A loud groan erupted from the Gryffindor side of the stands, while the Ravenclaws burst into elated screams.

Lee's voice, no longer quite as ecstatic as before, announced, "And that's Terry Smith on the Ravenclaw team, catching the Snitch only fifteen minutes into the game. Ravenclaw wins, one hundred and sixty points to seventy."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. It couldn't simply be over

I glanced across the field to see Oliver waving us together. There was a bittersweet smile upon his face as we approached him; only when the seven of us were altogether did he speak, his voice heavy. "Look guys, we played great today. We had a damn good shot of pulling this off, despite the surprises thrown our way. Katie, Alicia, you were spot-on, as always. Fred and George, excellent gatekeeping, I couldn't have asked for better. Angelina, you did a fine job of adapting to this new position, and Belle…" He met my eyes, a sparkle in his own. "I'll be damned if you don't get a spot on this team next year. What you did was absolutely wicked."

My throat went tight, the lump in my throat and simply nodded. Oliver Wood's faith and positive critiques meant more to me than I could've expressed.

"We may not have taken home this year's championship, but there are still two more years for even the oldest of us here. One of these years, mark my words, that cup will have our name on it."

Oliver slapped a hand on Fred's shoulder and breathed in slowly before concluding with, "Now… let's get to the showers. While we played amazingly this year, next year we're only going to do better."