For the next three days, Aralynn didn't sleep one single minute. She spent her nights listening and waiting for Harry to tiptoe out of his dormitory, to visit the mirror he had found on Christmas night. When he would return, and Aralynn heard him sleeping, she would silently make her way up to the boys' dormitory to take his invisibility cloak. She would then follow Harry's example to the mirror. The same image would appear each time—silvery ghostlike outlines of two adults standing behind her, and another ghostly outline of someone she assumed was around her age. She would sit in front of the mirror for hours upon hours, trying desperately to figure out who it was that was in the reflection. Why were there people in the mirror—but more than that; why couldn't she see their faces?

One particular night, Aralynn found that she was not alone. As she was sitting before the mirror, she heard the voice of someone behind her. The voice said: "The mirror, once more, finds itself a second visitor. I might have known."

Surprised and unsuspecting, Aralynn jumped to her feet and swung around wildly. Standing in a dark corner with his hands folded inside of his cloak sleeves was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. She expected to be expelled on the spot, but Professor Dumbledore didn't seem angry. Instead, he seemed rather sad. He stepped towards her and looked into the mirror. The expression on his face from whatever he saw in the reflection was unreadable.

"I should have expected to see you here again, Aralynn," said Dumbledore. "You, just as Harry, have come each night since finding the mirror. Shall I tell you what I told him?"

Aralynn's heart was beating out of her chest. "What did you tell him, Professor?"

"I told him that this mirror is the Mirror of Erised. It does not show your future, nor your past. Instead, it shows your greatest desire. There have been countless people who have spent their lives wasting away in front of the glass. I must now remind you that this mirror does not fulfill your dreams—nor will it bring you any sort of satisfaction, or completion. It will not give you what you want, nor need. It only shows you what is in your heart. Nothing more."

Aralynn furrowed her eyebrows. Dumbledore stepped away from the mirror, and so she stepped up to it once more. The outlines reappeared, and she found herself frowning. How was it that her greatest desire were people she could not see? She turned her attention to Professor Dumbledore. "I don't understand how this can show me what is in my heart, sir."

Dumbledore cocked his head curiously. "Why is that?"

The girl bit her lip. "I see people," she told him. "Only, I can't see who they are. They're only faceless shadows—like ghosts. There is a man and a woman behind me. At my side is a boy, only just taller than me. I… I don't know who they are, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "You have been feeling lost. You no longer seem to know who you are."

She looked over. "I have been, but… how are these people, who I don't know, supposed to help me figure any of that out?"

The man drew in a breath. "These people, their identities, are the answers to most of your questions. You do not know who they are, just as much as you no longer know who you are. You are seeing them because your greatest desire to know the truth. They are the truth. One you will learn, when the time is right."

"Do you know who they are?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I do."

Aralynn hesitated. "Can you tell me?"

The man shook his head. "I could, but I will not. This is something you will have to learn for yourself. Over time, you will begin to piece together the strange happenings around you and begin to realize that there is a pattern—that they are related. You are a bright girl, Aralynn. This puzzle will not always remain unfinished."

She turned away from the mirror and sighed. "What else did you tell Harry?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "That it does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live. I also informed him that the Mirror of Erised will be moved tomorrow morning. I asked him not to go looking for it. Now, I will ask the same of you. Do not go looking for this mirror, Aralynn. It will not bring you happiness, nor answers. Only obsession."

The girl rubbed her hands together. "Professor? The night that Harry, Ron, and I protected Hermione from the troll… Harry and I touched, and when that happened… there was this connection between us. Why is that?"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered to her forehead. "Another question that will be answered with time, Aralynn."

"I feel so drawn to him. I can't explain why."

The eldering man sighed softly. "There are many reasons for why this happens. I, unfortunately, can only say that you both share certain similarities."

"Our scars," Aralynn offered. "We have identical scars."

Dumbledore hummed. "I suspect you would have noticed. Has he seen it?"

Aralynn shook her head. "No. At least, not that I know of. I've been trying to hide it. I'm not even sure Ron knows it's there."

The man stepped towards her and placed a hand upon her shoulder. "I know you have been very confused, Aralynn. I know you are desperate for answers, and I promise that you will soon have them. Or, at the very least, some of them. For now, I must ask that you leave these feelings alone. If you continue to pry, you will envelop yourself in a darkness you may not be able to escape. For the time being, I ask that you focus on your studies and your friendships. Can you do that for me?"

The girl quieted for a few minutes while she considered his request. She wanted to pester Dumbledore until he finally succumbed to her will and gave her answers. However, she knew that it would be fruitless. The man was right to ask her not to worry about the questions she had. She decided that, if only because of his boundless kindness, she would oblige. With a sharp exhale, she nodded. "I can do that."

Dumbledore smiled brightly at her. "I thank you. I promise that your answers will come. However, letting go of them will be to your benefit until the time is right."

Aralynn fingered the invisibility cloak in her hands. "I think I'll be off to bed now."

"A wise decision."

The girl shuffled out of the room, draping the cloth back over her head. She returned the cloak to Harry's trunk, walked to her dormitory, and crawled into bed. For the first time in a long time, she slept.

While it was true that Aralynn had started getting more sleep, she still couldn't force the image from the mirror out of her mind. She had listened to Professor Dumbledore when he told her not to go looking for the mirror, and she listened when he advised her to stop questioning everything about herself; but even still, the silhouettes of people unknown slithered back into every unattended corner of her mind. Since her encounter with the Mirror of Erised, the nightmare with the green light and screaming returned without fail. It returned, and it did not leave. The nightmare was different this time around—only subtly; with maniacal cackling overtaking the sound of desperate screaming. Night after night, Aralynn would startle awake in a cold sweat. On one night in particular, when the cackling was louder than it ever had been, Aralynn awoke with the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Most students, including Hermione, returned to Hogwarts the day before their next term was to start. She was displeased to learn that they had not successfully located any bit of information regarding Nicolas Flamel. Harry continued insisting that he did remember reading the name. Just not where he had read the name. Aside from their failure to find Nicolas Flamel, Hermione was even more furious when she learned about Harry and Aralynn's illicit journeys to the Mirror of Erised with the invisibility cloak. Hermione adamantly commanded that Harry turn the cloak over to a member of the faculty, but he refused. He wouldn't explain why he rebuffed the idea of turning the cloak in, but they knew that it was because the cloak had once belonged to his father. It was a placeholder for a memory of James Potter that Harry would never have.

Once the term finally started, the group began seeing less and less of Harry. Quidditch practices were reinstated, and according to Harry, Gryffindor Team Captain, Oliver Wood; was training the troupe more strenuously than ever. Since her discussion with Dumbledore, Aralynn found that she was able to focus on her studies much more vigilantly than before. Her marks, while they were always good, rose to where she had originally expected them to be. Hermione and Aralynn were really battling for the first-place spot as head of the first-year class. While Aralynn may have taken it as friendly competition; Hermione seemed to interpret it more as a life-or-death matter.

"No offense, Aralynn, but if I'm not the top of our class this year—I'll be so disappointed in myself. I've been working so hard for this!"

Ron and Harry had looked warily at Aralynn, as if they were expecting her ears to start smoking with fury. On the contrary, she understood quite well. She expressed that if Hermione were to come out on top, she would be deeply proud of her friend.

One evening, when Hermione and Ron were playing Wizard's Chess, and Aralynn was studying her star chart for Astronomy, Harry came into the Common Room looking quite aghast. Ron and Hermione, who were encompassed in their game, didn't seem to notice.

Aralynn, however, had. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Ron and Hermione's attention was finally bought.

Harry was pale. "Wood just told the team that Snape is going to referee the next Quidditch match."

"Why would Professor Snape ever want to referee a Quidditch match?" Hermione inquired.

"Who knows," Harry said with a shrug. He looked like he was going to be sick all over the gameboard. "Maybe he's unhappy with how the jinx on my broom went last time? Figured he could finish me off for good?"

Ron was pitying Harry—it was clear by his expression. "Don't play."

Hermione nodded. "Tell them you're ill."

"Break your leg!" Ron suggested, a bit too enthusiastically.

Aralynn stared between them. It was expected for Ron to suggest he avoid the problem altogether, but Hermione agreeing came as a surprise. She had never expected that Hermione Granger herself would recommend running away from a proposed obstacle. "Don't listen to them, Harry," she said. "You can't run away from this. You'll have to face it head-on."

Harry nearly retched. "I wouldn't be able to back out, anyway. There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I were to withdraw, the win would automatically go to Hufflepuff."

"Even if you could withdraw, that doesn't mean you should. Don't listen to these numpties. You'll be fine, Harry, I promise. There will be too much faculty around for Snape to hurt you."

"There was staff around when he jinxed my broom," countered Harry.

"I'll keep an eye on him the whole match. If he tries anything, I'll send Hermione to set him on fire again."

Harry laughed, even if it was a disconcerted laugh. Either way, it was her goal to bring some semblance of joy back.

Unexpectedly, Neville Longbottom then fumbled into the Common Room. Those in the room looked towards the commotion. Neville's legs appeared to be fused together by what Aralynn presumed was the Leg-Locker Curse. They were all wondering how he managed to get into the Common Room at all. He must have had to hop the whole way there. Most were laughing at Neville, but Aralynn wasn't. She sprung herself from the couch and rushed to him. She pointed her willow wand at his legs and performed the counter-curse. When he was able to stand, Aralynn placed a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

Neville was looking unwell. "It was Malfoy," he explained. "I ran into him outside of the library. He said I was the perfect candidate…"

Hermione joined Aralynn. "A perfect candidate for what, Neville?"

"—Someone to test the new spell he learned on!" Neville shrieked.

"That's horrible!" Hermione shrilled. "You need to report him, Neville."

Neville Longbottom shook his head. His chubby face was growing paler by the minute. Aralynn wondered if he was going to faint. "I can't do that," he said. "I don't want any more trouble!"

Ron huffed loudly. "Someone needs to stand up to him! Why not you? We all know that Malfoy is used to mowing people down. Why flop over and make it easier for him?"

Neville grimaced. Now his face was growing red. "I'm a coward!" he burst. "I'm a bloody coward—a bloody coward in Gryffindor, no less! You don't have to remind me! It's already been done for you!"

Harry walked over to Neville. He offered the boy the last Chocolate Frog from the pack Hermione had gifted him for Christmas. "It'll make you feel better," he assured.

Though Neville took the candy, he was still shaking his head. He was looking down in shame. "Nothing will make me feel better. I'm useless. I'm nothing."

Harry squatted to Neville's level, as he had taken to sitting on the floor. Harry offered him a smile. "That's rubbish, Neville. You're worth twelve of Malfoy, and we all know it. You were sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. You still have time to find your courage."

A weak smile flickered over Neville's lips. "Thanks, Harry." He unwrapped the frog and bit off its leg. He seemed to be regaining his color. "Here," he said, offering the card to the boy across from him. "You can keep the card. I know you collect them."

Harry took the card. "Thank you, Neville."

Neville Longbottom stood up, still munching on the chocolate. He smiled at Hermione and Aralynn. "Thanks for helping me out, guys. I really appreciate it. Anyway, I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Aralynn wished Neville a good night. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Harry gasped so loudly that he nearly screamed. "What?!"

"This is it!" Harry declared, now loud enough to be considered screaming. "I've found him! I knew I had read about Nicolas Flamel somewhere. It was here—on this card! It's Dumbledore! When I was on the train to Hogwarts, Ron gave me a Chocolate Frog. It was one of Dumbledore's cards, and here, listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard, Grindelwald, in 1945; for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood; and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!'"

Aralynn felt completely boggled. "All this time looking through dusty old books in the library when the answer was on a Chocolate Frog card."

Ron shook his head. "Hermione was right. We are oblivious."

Suddenly, Hermione jumped to her feet. She looked more excited than she had since the beginning of the year. "Stay there!" she ordered. "I'll be right back! I think I've figured something out!"

The three stood there, confusedly looking between each other.

Then, Aralynn shrugged. "I guess Hermione knows best."

Hermione came trampling back down the stairs, holding in her arms a massive book that must have been heavier than a goblet of gold. She threw the book down on one of the tables and pulled it open. She began to fling wildly through the pages.

Ron stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking through this book," Hermione answered.

Ron looked annoyed. "Obviously, but what are you looking for?"

"I saw something in here about an alchemist. It might have been Flamel. I can't remember what it was, but I'm going to find it. I checked this out of the library weeks ago. It was for a bit of light reading."

The three of them looked between each other. "You consider this light reading?" asked Aralynn.

Hermione waved her hand, signaling for them to be quiet while she searched. Then she smacked the pages triumphantly. "Here it is! I never thought to look in here, but I should have! Listen to this: Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"

They looked confused. "What's the Philosopher's Stone?"

"You all need to read more. I expected better from you, Aralynn." Hermione pulled the book into her lap, glancing over the words. "Okay. The Philosopher's Stone was forged by the ancient study of alchemy. It is a legendary stone with staggering abilities. It can transform any metal into pure gold and produces the Elixir of Life—which will grant the drinker immortality. There have been reports of the Philosopher's Stone throughout the years, but the only current one in existence is owned by renowned alchemist, Nicolas Flamel. The alchemist and his wife, Perenelle, live quite a comfortable life in Devon. Flamel celebrated his six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth birthday last year."

Aralynn perked up. "You're brilliant, Hermione! The dog must be guarding the Philosopher's Stone. Flamel must have asked Dumbledore if he could protect the Stone. He must've known someone was after it, and that's why it was transferred out of Gringotts."

Harry was scratching his head. "It makes sense. If the Stone can make metal into gold and gift immortality, then no wonder why Snape would want it. Most people would want it."

"We can't let him have it," said Ron. "I bet the only reason he wants it is to do bad things… evil things."

Aralynn was quiet. Unlike her friends, she wasn't convinced that Snape was after the Stone. Snape was hateful and callous and cruel. All evidence pointed to him, quite easily, but that was the problem. It was almost too easy. If, however, it was someone else, they've wouldn't have the faintest notion of who. Not even she could think of an alternative, but that didn't stop her from feeling like the whole situation was suspicious.

As the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff drew nearer, Harry became considerably more anxious. He tried to mask it by discussing with Ron what he would do if he were in possession of the Philosopher's Stone, but they could still sense his uneasiness. Ron and Hermione routinely tried to find ways to get Harry out of playing the game. Aralynn said nothing. She didn't think it would be a good idea for him to forfeit. If he were to simply run away, he would be letting Snape, and all the Slytherin students, win. One afternoon, while they were studying together in the Common Room, Harry told them that he was definitely going to play.

"I don't know what Snape is planning by refereeing, but if I just quit, then I'll be letting everyone who doubts me to win," he told them.

Aralynn was smiling behind her Magical Theory textbook. She was glad that Harry was finally in the same mindset that she was. She was proud of him.

"What if Snape tries to kill you?" Ron asked.

Hermione scoffed. "With the other teachers around?"

Ron glared at her. "Why would that stop him? Snape is clearly up to no good, and he probably knows that Harry is working against him!"

"We're all working against him," Hermione pointed out. "Why would he kill Harry and not us?"

The boy paled. "Well, we don't want to give him any ideas!"

"I don't care what Snape is planning," Harry admitted. "If he's trying to hurt me, nothing will stop him. Especially not Gryffindor winning a Quidditch match. If we win, I'll be able to stick it to them all—Snape and Slytherin. I don't want anyone to think I'm too scared to face Snape because I'm not."

Ron shook his head. "You're mad."

"No," Aralynn interjected. They snapped their attention to her, seeming as though they had forgotten she was there. "Not mad. Just brave."

Harry smiled gratefully at Aralynn. "I'm not going to let Snape win. I'm not going to let him think that I'm afraid of him."

When the day of the Quidditch match finally came, Aralynn noted that everything seemed unusually gloomy. Harry was practically bouncing out of his skin with nerves. They were standing outside of the locker rooms, trying to give him a few words of encouragement. He was telling them about how he felt Snape was following him, as he had been running into him almost everywhere he went. Hermione told him it was probably just the anxiety singling Snape out in his mind. She said that it was likely they came across each other quite often, but that he had only just now been noticing. This seemed to make Harry feel somewhat better.

Aralynn studied people as she saw them. They all appeared on edge and ready to reject their breakfasts at any given moment. The only people who didn't seem overcome with worry were the Slytherin students. They felt quite comfortable knowing that their Head of House was refereeing the match, considering that he was notoriously biased. It seemed guaranteed that Hufflepuff would win. Aralynn wondered what vile Draco Malfoy would spew from his fat mouth if it turned out as such.

Harry was bouncing. Apparently, he was trying to shake the worry from his body. Aralynn wondered if it was working.

"Just relax, Harry," Hermione cooed. "We'll be there to make sure that Snape doesn't do anything to you. If he does, just know that Ron, Aralynn, and I have been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "The one Malfoy used on Neville?"

Ron nodded. "Malfoy gave us the idea, actually. We'll be on standby in case he tries anything."

Aralynn placed her hand on Harry's shoulder when he finally stopped bouncing. The same connective spark she felt on Halloween came again. She tried her best to ignore it. "You're going to be okay, Harry. We'll be keeping our eyes on you. We won't let anything happen to you."

Harry was smiling, but it quickly melted away. Snape had wandered over to them. His expression was curled with maliciousness. "Good luck today, Potter. You'll need it."

Snape slithered away, and Harry appeared quite ill.

Professor McGonagall came sweeping through, waving her arms at Ron, Aralynn, and Hermione. "It's time to find your seats so that Harry and the Gryffindor team can prepare. Shoo!"

They offered Harry one last encouraging smile before shuffling away. They found seats in the stand next to Neville, where they had a clear view of Snape. They were tucking their wands away. Neville had noticed and was looking confused. Aralynn offered him a smile.

"Why do you look so grim?" he whispered to her. "And why did you bring your wands?"

Aralynn shook her head. "It's not important, Neville. Enjoy the match."

Neville shrugged and turned his attention to the field when the teams came pouring out.

Hermione was reminding Ron of the incantation for the Leg-Locker Curse, Locomotor Mortis. Ron was irately telling her that he knew what the incantation was. Aralynn had her eyes locked firmly on Harry. Even from so far away, she could feel his limbs shaking. Hers were shaking, too.

The game had begun. They kept their eyes on Harry, even when Malfoy came waltzing along, trying his best to antagonize them. He had even taken to flicking Ron in the back of the head. They, however, weren't paying attention—especially not when Snape had awarded Hufflepuff a penalty for an absurd reason.

Harry was circling the field, desperately searching for the Snitch. Malfoy's mouth kept running. "I bet the Gryffindor team doesn't even have tryouts," said Draco. "I'm sure they recruit their members by looking for the most depressing and pitiful people they can find. Harry is an orphan—the Weasleys are poor—and, oh, Longbottom. You should be on the team. You're a bloody idiot!"

Neville was flushed and stammering. "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy."

Aralynn patted his hand. "Good job, Neville."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing. "Did these tosspots tell you to say that?" he asked, still snickering through his words. "Figures, but think again, Longbottom. If having a brain was gold, then you'd be even poorer than the Weasleys! That's hard to accomplish, ya know."

Aralynn broke her attention from Harry. "Shove off, Malfoy."

The boy whistled. "Oh, look. I've gotten one of their attentions."

She turned away, looking back out at Harry. Snape was making unfair calls left and right. It was clear that he was doing everything he could to make the game as difficult as possible for the Gryffindor team. Malfoy was still going on about the Weasleys being poor, to which Aralynn ignored. Ron, however, seemed to be cracking.

Harry was diving now, racing with all his ability towards the ground. Hermione and Aralynn stood on top of their seats. They grabbed each other's hands and held on for dear life. "Go, Harry!" Hermione screamed. Aralynn was whispering encouraging words that only she could hear. They had failed to notice the ball of people rolling around behind them.

When Harry was heading straight for Snape, Aralynn's attention wavered when a foot clobbered her in the back of her head. She turned sharply to find a gross entanglement of Ron, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and surprisingly, Neville, on the floor of the stands. She jumped from her seat and began prying them off each other. "Enough!" she yelled. "This is absolutely ridiculous!"

A fist jerked out of the pile and whacked Aralynn right in the mouth. She was frozen, shocked—but only for a moment. She looked at the hand, figuring it to be Malfoy's. She launched herself directly into the fray. Still, she was trying to force them apart, but only now she was using her fists to do so.

Suddenly, the stands were erupting with hurrahs. Hermione was dancing in her seat. "Ron—Aralynn! We've won! Harry caught the Snitch!"

Aralynn incapacitated Draco long enough by kneeing him in the stomach. She drew back, lip bleeding and eye bruised, and pulled Ron away from the scuffle with her. They followed Hermione as the Gryffindor students rushed the field. They flocked around Harry, excitedly congratulating him. "Gryffindor is in the lead!" Hermione squealed. "We may yet beat Slytherin!"

The cheer flooded away from the Quidditch Pitch and back into the Gryffindor Common Room. The students were partying while they waited for Harry. Sweets were being passed around, small fireworks were being displayed by Fred and George, and everyone was singing pleasant songs. Hermione was still bouncing, even as she tended to Ron's bloody nose. She had tried to nurse Aralynn as well, but Aralynn had told her that it was nothing more than a black eye and split lip.

When the sun began setting, they grew concerned. They collectively decided to go looking for Harry. They began to roam the corridors, searching everywhere they could think to find him. A few halls away from the Common Room, they finally ran into him.

"Harry!" Hermione greeted. "Where have you been?"

"YOU WON!" Ron shouted. "Come back to the Common Room! We're having a party."

Harry was visibly shaken, but nevertheless eyeing Ron and Aralynn's faces. "What happened to you two?"

"Bit of a scuffle," Ron told him. "I gave Malfoy a black eye! Aralynn probably gave him another! Neville was trying to take on Crabbe and Goyle alone. He's in hospital. He's out cold—but Madam Pomfrey said he'll be alright."

Aralynn chuckled. "It's more likely that I gave him an ulcer."

Harry shook his head. "You're both barmy." Nevertheless, he was grinning. Suddenly, he became grim. "Come with me," he told them. He led them into an empty classroom. They were waiting eagerly for him to speak.

"You seem shaken," Aralynn said. "What's wrong?"

"When I was returning my broom to the shed, I saw Snape heading into the Dark Forest. I flew overhead and followed him. He met Quirrell in there. They were talking about the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape asked Quirrell if he had figured out how to get past Fluffy. He also asked if he had managed to get past the other things guarding the Stone. Enchantments, probably. He said he needs Quirrell so that he can break through them."

Hermione looked alarmed. "The only way the Stone will be protected is if Quirrell stands up to Snape!"

Ron groaned. "We're doomed! It'll be gone by Tuesday! There's no way Quirrell can stand up to Snape."

Aralynn exhaled. "He's managed this far. Maybe he can hold out a little while longer."

"Oh, c'mon, Ara," Ron argued. "Quirrell can't even get a single word out without stuttering. He's afraid of his own shadow! How is he supposed to stand up to Snape?"

Aralynn shot her brother a dark look. "He's our only hope, Ronald. We have to believe he can."

They agreed to trust Quirrell for the time being, but Aralynn knew that they were all doubtful. Aralynn was trying to put an extra dose of faith into him. If Professor Quirrell had managed to stave off Snape's threats thus far, why not a little bit longer? At least until they were able to develop a plan to get to the Stone before Snape could. They went to bed, and Aralynn could see that Hermione was just as anxious as the boys. When she went to sleep, she felt peaceful. For a while, at least.

The nightmare crept back into her dreams. There was the green light; the screaming; the cackling; the gentle female voice letting Aralynn know that she was loved. This time, however, there was more. Through the green light, she could see a cloaked figure—red eyes gleaming at her; an outstretched arm; dirty, unkempt fingernails; and a wand.