Disclaimer: I can't afford a Malfoy, and Potters aren't for sale. How about a Weasley? I'm sure they can spare at least one!

A/N: NEW CHAPTER! The fight with Quirrell has arrived, as well as the surprise!

Hallie Potter couldn't decide where things went so wrong. Perhaps it was when she and her friends first began to pursue the issue of the third-floor corridor? They were such nosy little buggers... Or maybe it was when she found herself firmly convinced that Snape was trying to kill her? Well, he might have been at some point, but he was never after the Stone. Hey, she could even attribute her current situation to that first step into the Leaky Cauldron. They do say curiosity killed the cat. Maybe she would have been better off as a Muggle.

(Gasp) 'Someone help!'

Of course, the most likely cause of her distress could be when she convinced her two best friends that three first year Gryffindors were perfectly capable of taking on a psychotic Dark Wizard. After all, somebody had to, and not only was Dumbledore M.I.A., but McGonagall had completely ignored them. That was why they broke into the forbidden corridor by themselves, and defeated every obstacle they came across. They were doing pretty well for a bunch of kids.

(Cough) 'Can't breathe...'

Then there was her stupid idea of continuing on alone. There hadn't been enough potion to get them both through, but couldn't she have just gone with Hermione for help? No, Hallie had to reassure the other girl that she would be just fine, nothing to worry about. If she could bounce killing curses off her forehead at one, who's to say she couldn't do it again? She really hoped she never had to test that theory.

(Wheeze) 'Is it getting darker...?'

Ah, wait. Hallie knew exactly where it all went wrong. There was really only one person to blame for the danger she was currently in: herself. If she hadn't been so stubborn and reckless about rescuing that stupid stone, getting rid of Voldemort, and saving the whole bloody world... Maybe Snape was right about her having a hero complex. Greasy git.

The grasp around her throat loosened for a moment, before tightening all the more. 'What's that burning smell...?'

Hallie clutched desperately at the hands around her neck, struggling to stay conscious. Of all the people she'd had to confront, it was her un-stuttering Defense professor, who just happened to have a parasitic Dark Lord on the back of his head. The Weasley twins had wondered all year about that turban of his. The popular student opinion was that Quirrell kept it filled with garlic to ward off vampires, hence the pungent odor. To think, he was actually covering up You-Know-Who's horrendous features instead. Now why didn't anyone think of that? Her life was just so screwed up.

Hallie had retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone from the Mirror of Erised, although she wasn't quite sure how. One minute, her female appearance was reflected, pale and shaking. The next, it stood up straight and gave a conspiratorial wink, before showing her the blood red gem stowed in its pocket. Suddenly, Hallie had a small rock in the side of her pants, and a crazed dead guy screaming for Quirrell to kill her. Hallie tried to make a run for it with the Stone, hoping she could get back through the fire without incinerating herself. Too bad she tripped halfway to the exit.

Then it was only a matter of time before he had her trapped. Quirrell had raised his wand, preparing to utter a curse, before Voldemort warned him against it. He didn't want a repeat experience, after all. Instead, the insane wizard had grabbed her around the neck, and proceeded to hold her two feet off the ground as her legs kicked uselessly. She had actually come close to kneeing him in the groin, though. If only his robes hadn't gotten in the way...

While Quirrell was choking off her air supply, Hallie could hear him yelling in fear to his master. What did he have to worry about? She was the one suffocating! He seemed to think she had hexed him or something, which didn't make any sense at all to Hallie. All she could feel was the burning in her lungs and the stabbing pain of her scar. There was also an odd tingle all over her skin. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but the charm around her neck was humming as well. In all her time wearing it, she couldn't recall any type of reaction coming from it...

"HARRY!"

'What? Who's that...?' Hallie felt the air rush back into her lungs as the person strangling her was thrown aside. There was a breeze of warm air, a crackle of magic, and Hallie was falling. Dimly, she registered that her body never hit the cold stone floor. At that point, she was too tired to care, and as her world faded to oblivion, the last thing her eyes glimpsed was a blur of white, and two bright blue eyes twinkling with worry...

Quirinius Quirrell was not a particularly brave man by anyone's standards. However, he was not nearly as cowardly as many of his colleagues presumed. The dramatic stutter he had spoken in all year was feigned, but the constant tremble of his limbs was not. That was a side-effect of being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse on a regular basis. But Quirrell did not dare argue with his master. He knew he deserved everything he got for failing to kill that blasted Potter boy.

Little more than a year ago, Quirrell had come upon his master in the deepest parts of the Albanian forest, where he had set out on another of his righteous quests to rid the world of Dark creatures. He had feared the shade of the Dark Lord at first, actually going so far as to attempt a Spirit Banishing Charm. It had little to no affect on his lord, and Quirrell was shown the error of his ways immediately. After all, no one attacked Lord Voldemort without suffering severely in turn.

Once Quirrell had regained full use of his wits a few days later, the Dark Lord had spoken to him. He had made the poor excuse for a wizard realize just how pathetic his existence was. Hunting vampires and werewolves was a waste of time when they would only repopulate in a fortnight. Why bother killing zombies and Lethifolds for villages that couldn't even protect themselves? Why was he wasting his life teaching the whining children of filth and blood traitors under the measly pay of Albus Dumbledore? His master taught Quirrell that there was so much more he could accomplish once he gave up the fruitless endeavor to purge the wizarding world of so-called 'evil.' There was no good and evil, only power.

His part in his master's plans began by trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Gringotts. With his knew-found knowledge of Dark magic, Quirrell was the first wizard to ever break through the goblins' protections and escape successfully. Unfortunately, the Stone had been moved to the moved to a new location: Hogwarts. Luckily, the old fool had been convinced that it would be safer to have each teacher participate in the protection. Quirrell knew he could get by anything his colleagues came up with when the time was right.

Without the Stone, Quirrell had to find another way to sustain his master. Lord Voldemort could live off the life energy of others for a time, but without another source, he would eventually kill his host, namely Quirrell. So he began hunting through the forest on the edge of the grounds, attacking the unicorns, one by one, and drinking their blood. To do so would leave Quirrell cursed for all eternity, so the tales said, but his master told him it was of no consequence. Once he was back to full power, nothing would stand in his way.

Quirrell's second task bestowed upon him by his master was to put an end to the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. The child had just started Hogwarts, and it was the perfect opportunity to get him out of the way before he learned to defend himself. It would have to be done before the school year ended, though, and Potter went back into hiding under the Headmaster's protections.

His first attempt wasn't even planned. He had let a troll loose in the school in the hopes that, while the rest of the staff was distracted, he could sneak off to the third-floor corridor. Snape ruined that idea by heading him off, and Potter got lucky with the troll. After that, he was under Snape's constant scrutiny, and his master was in a foul temper.

His second attempt was at the boy's first Quidditch match. He managed to jinx Potter's broom to try and throw him off, putting an end to the boy once and for all, and making it all look like an accident. Snape foiled that plot, too, by chanting a counter spell. Quirrell might have still succeeded if Granger hadn't plowed him over in her misguided attempt to stop Snape.

As the months passed, Quirrell did not get another chance at the boy, but he did make progress on his master's other plans. He had already discovered how to get by the half-giant's mutt by getting him drunk, and the other protections were child's play. Did they really believe that a giant chess board and some flying keys would be enough to stop Lord Voldemort? Fools. Snape's riddle was taken care of easily enough, as well. It was only Dumbledore's final trick that he had to worry about.

It wasn't until the end of the school year that Quirrell found his chance. His master was getting impatient, and he'd already been threatened by Snape. Whose side was that man on anyway? Certainly not their master's. It was simple enough to lure Dumbledore out of the school with a false missive from the ministry. Fudge was always badgering the old man for assistance, so an owl every now and then was not unusual. He headed down the trapdoor that night, blasting his way through the majority of the protections rather than wasting precious time. He was pacing in front of Dumbledore's mirror after finding no easy solution to it when Potter appeared.

The boy had been shocked by his presence, while Quirrell attempted to conceal his own surprise. He really should have expected the brat to try something sooner or later. Potter was actually expecting Snape to be after the Stone; the very man who had been protecting the boy all year! He corrected Potter, and then removed that absurd turban at his master's behest. Even turned away from Potter, he couldn't miss the gasp of horror when the Boy-Who-Lived first laid eyes on the Dark Lord.

Quirrell was eager to kill the boy already, but his master whispered that Potter could be of use. He pushed the boy forward until he was facing the tall mirror. Nothing happened for a moment, and Quirrell prodded the boy to speak. Potter tried to lie to his master, and a convincing one at that, but Lord Voldemort was not deceived. He ordered Potter to hand over the stone in his pocket, and the foolish boy tried to run.

Potter was soon in his grasp, and he wrapped his hands around the delicate throat eagerly, wanting to finish the nuisance for ever disobeying his master. He wanted to see the boy's breathing slow, feel the frightened pulse sputter. Quirrell was struck by a wave of pain, however, when his fingers came into contact with the boy's skin. He screamed in agony, and begged his master for answers. What kind of magic was this? He could not kill the boy if it kept up.

His master urged him to continue, and Potter himself struggled, oblivious to anything but the force obstructing his windpipe. So Quirrell persevered, strangling the boy even as he felt the nerves of his palms blister and smoke. The burning sensation began to spread up his arms, and through his chest, but Quirrell ignored it in favor of watching the boy's struggles grow weaker. His head was pounding, and his vision blurred, a combination of the strange magics, and his master's own fury.

Suddenly, something about the boy changed. Other than the Avada Kedavra green glow that had enveloped his body at Quirrell's first touch, a golden shimmer started on his chest. From out of nowhere, a brilliant red gem hanging on a silver chain appeared around his neck, dangling right underneath Quirrell's bony wrists. He dimly recognized some kind of Visibility Charm undoing.

The green and gold identified two different spells on the boy, and both were warring with each other as their host grew limp. Tiny sparks began to shoot off the small body, singing holes in Quirrell's robe, and the fire in his veins doubled in intensity. He fought to hold onto consciousness, just a little longer...

The charm around Potter's neck glowed brighter, and with a blinding flash, the ruby gem cracked down the middle. When the spots cleared from his eyes, Quirrell felt his blood run impossibly cold, even with the magic searing through his body, and the feeling of his bones slowly turning to ash.

"What kind of trickery is this?" He rasped as he found himself choking a small girl who bore a strong resemblance to Potter. Her long ebony hair fell down her back, and the neck under his melting fingers was even thinner. He saw a pale face gone slack, and emerald eyes fluttering shut. Quirrell could not understand what was going on. Where was Harry Potter? Who was this girl? But then he saw it. Peeking out from under her tousled bangs was a lightning bolt scar that burned an angry red. Even as he watched, a dribble of scarlet slid down the jagged mark.

"MASTER-!"

But Quirinius Quirrell never had the chance to finish his warning. At that moment, two things happened. The first was the timely arrival of Albus Dumbledore as he strode into the hall, worry and anger battling across his aged features.

He lifted his wand, twilight robes billowing in a nonexistent wind, and bellowed, "STUPEFY!"

Quirrell was blown backward, finally releasing the girl, who at that moment, sucked in a small breath of air.

The second thing that happened as Quirrell flew through the air, ignored by the powerful wizard who scooped up the injured child, was that the love of Lily Potter completed its duty, and sent the man who had dared to harm her daughter up in flames. Quirrell's body disintegrated, becoming no more than dust on the wind, and the evil spirit of Lord Voldemort fled, unaware of the momentous occurrence of the last five minutes, and once more vowing revenge on the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione Granger paced back and forth in her dressing gown, nearly tearing out her frizzy brown hair with worry. Rather than walk in a straight line across the small, confined room, she was forced to deviate her path every few feet to maneuver around the massive paws of the unconscious Cerberus that Dumbledore had, thankfully, had the presence of mind to put in a bewitched sleep before he jumped down the trapdoor. Fluffy laid on its side, twitching in sleep, and heads resting in a puddle of drool caused by the middle one.

Ronald Weasley sat down on the floor against a wall, his freckles paler than usual, and holding a bloody handkerchief pressed to the lump on his head as he watched his friend with bemusement.

"'Mione, take a break already! You're making me dizzy just watching you!"

Hermione paused for moment, and glanced down at Ron, wearing an expression caught between annoyance and fear.

"I can't take a break! Harry could be dying! I can't believe I just left him down there alone- What was I thinking? If only I had convinced him to come back with us, or just knocked him out instead if he wouldn't see reason... Now Harry is up against You-Know-Who, and who knows what else, and we're not there to help him-" her voice cracked with tears but she continued, resuming her pacing mid-rant.

"I'm sure Harry will be fine! Dumbledore would never let anything happen to him!"

"But what if-"

Ron stopped listening at that point, knowing she would only repeat herself. It wasn't that he didn't care- He was probably more scared for his friend than he could ever remember being. He was just better at holding it in for Hermione's sake. The truth was that they didn't know if Harry would come out of this alive- But he just had to! Ron couldn't bear the thought of the smaller boy getting hurt. Sometimes, Ron just had this insane urge to look out for Harry, like he was a younger brother, even though Harry was probably the last person who would need saving. He really was a hero, even if he hated being thought of as one. But more than that, Harry was his best friend.

Ron thought back to when he had first regained consciousness in the ruins of the giant chessboard with a panicked Hermione shaking him awake. She had filled him in on the situation as they grabbed brooms from the flying key room. He was terrified to hear that Harry had gone on without them and had yet to return. He flew at top speed with Hermione, past the Devil's Snare, and struggling to ignore the way his vision still blurred from the hit he had taken. He was sure that the queen had given him a concussion.

Ron would never feel the same about Wizards' Chess again. Maybe Hermione was right all those times she had called the game barbaric. He would never be able to slaughter Harry in a match again without wincing in sympathy for the fragile chessmen.

After coming out of the trapdoor, Ron had nearly had his head bitten off by an irate Fluffy. The dog did not appreciate so many intrusions in one night. Luckily, Hermione had come out a moment later and hit the beast with a Jelly Legs Jinx. It distracted the dog long enough for them to run out into the safety of the corridor.

Hermione led the way then, even if she had no real idea of where the Headmaster could be. They only hoped that he was back from whatever errand he had run at the ministry. McGonagall was next on the list of possible teachers who could help, with Hagrid as a last resort. At the very least, he could calm Fluffy down.

In the end, they needn't have worried. They literally ran into Dumbledore himself as he flew up the main staircase with much more energy than a man his age should have. He had taken one look at the frantic Gryffindors, and stated more than asked that Harry had gone after the Stone. After barely a nod in answer, he had run off once more, forcing Ron and Hermione to double back the way they came.

Dumbledore had burst into the room, the two children hot on his tail. Ron was already anticipating another battle with Fluffy, but was stunned when the three-headed dog leapt at Dumbledore like an overgrown puppy, and panted happily as the old man scratched one of its heads. Giving the dog one last pat, Dumbledore flicked his wand, knocking it out, and jumped down the trapdoor without a backward glance.

That was at least twenty minutes ago, and Ron and Hermione were still waiting. The suspense was becoming unbearable for both of them, and Ron was just starting to contemplate going down there himself. At least they still had the brooms...

He wondered what was going down there anyway. Had Snape gotten the Stone yet, or was Harry fending him off? On the positive side, maybe Dumbledore would finally fire the snarky Potions Master. Plotting murder had to qualify for something.

Just then, the trapdoor swung open, thumping loudly against the floor. Hermione froze in the middle of the room, and Ron leaned forward from the wall. Dumbledore's tall, pointed wizard hat was the first thing they saw, rising from the darkness as he levitated himself out. Ron was just wondering whether their friend would follow, when Hermione gave a cry of distress and ran forward.

"Harry!"

Cradled in the old wizard's arms was a small bundle in tattered pajamas with a mop of dark hair. Ron jumped up from his seat, nearly falling down again when his head injury gave an unpleasant twinge.

The two distraught Gryffindors reached Dumbledore and watched his worried eyes widen for no reason. He seemed to be having an inner debate with himself as he tightened his hold on their friend. But then the twinkle in his eyes returned just as Hermione reached to pull the boy into a hug.

'Wait... that's not...'

Hermione shrieked, her arms falling back to her sides as she stared at Harry in disbelief. Ron glanced at her in confusion before turning back to Dumbledore. He met the bright blue eyes for a moment, and then looked down at Harry...

"BLOODY HELL!"

Ron stumbled back in shock, actually landing on the sleeping Fluffy, not that he noticed. Fluffy snorted and pulled its paw from under him, causing Ron to hit the floor. Hermione began to stare at the figure with a look of realization. Ron just gaped before locking gazes with her. He blurted out the only thing that made sense to him.

"You-Know-Who turned Harry into a girl!"

A second later he clutched his stinging arm and glared at Hermione. "What was that for?" he grumbled as she retracted her hand from the hit she had delivered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot," she explained simply, turning her back on his indignant face to question Dumbledore.

"As much as I would like to give you the answers you no doubt desire Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "why don't we get her up to the hospital wing first?"

REVIEW! ...or else

What did you guys think? Now, before you freak out on me, this isn't the last chapter, despite what I've been telling you. I'm going to finish things up in the next, hopefully. I only stopped here because it was already pretty long, and I decided you've all suffered enough. I am trying to get more done, but I haven't had much time lately. Still, I know exactly how the end of this story will go, so don't worry.

So, how many of you are glad Ron and Hermione know? You've all been bugging me about it for ages...