Their group wound up setting their own shifts to watch the forbidden corridor, because the teachers were suddenly busy containing a dragon that the groundskeeper Hagrid had mysteriously "acquired" until it could be shipped off to a sanctuary in Romania – the same one Charlie Weasley worked at, according to Ron. All the while, the end of the year drew closer, first crawling while they studied, then flying while they took their exams.

In the end, Neville was the one who came running to find them all; an unknown person had entered the third floor corridor, hooded and cloaked, unlocking the door with a simple Alohamora and nearly gliding inside.

All of the teachers – and most of the student body – were out on the grounds, watching and gossiping as the dragon was sedated for transport. Dumbledore himself had been called to the Ministry, apparently about the dragon in question, an endangered Norwegian Ridgeback.

There was no one put them.

"Are you sure you aren't a Gryffindor?!" Draco shouted as they pelted through the halls, "Because I'm beginning to question the Hat's choice!"

"Only beginning to? Come now, Draco!" Harry laughed, "And I won't deny that the Hat did consider it – but then, it considered Hufflepuff and Slytherin, too!"

The door had locked behind the unknown person (could it have been Professor Snape? Harry could have sworn he saw the man down on the lawn, helping with the dragon – but then again, magic). Another Alohamora was sufficient to open it again, revealing a tight room with a massive Cerberus, asleep, one of its paws half-covering a wooden trapdoor.

A harp stood off to one side, playing a tune Harry didn't recognize; it must have been something from the wizarding world. Yet the charm on it seemed to be wearing off even as he watched; it was playing slower and quieter with every passing second, and the giant dog was beginning to stir.

Thinking quickly – and hard about one of the simplest tunes his father had taught him to play – Harry padded over to the harp as fast as he could with a minimum of noise, and tapped the instrument with his wand. Almost immediately, the tune picked up again, and changed to the one he had been thinking about. The dog dropped back to sleep.

They all breathed a sigh of relief. Then, working together, they moved the dog's huge paw off the trapdoor before pulling it open.

Darkness yawned below them. Draco swallowed thickly.

Ron noticed. "Maybe you should go back to the dungeons, Malfoy," he sneered, "with the rest of the snakes."

Draco's fear turned to a glare. "Screw you, Weasel, don't tell me what to do," he shot back, and jumped.

"Hey!" Ron jumped after him.

There must have been something to land on, because the rest of them heard two soft thumps followed by the boys continuing to argue, same as they had all year. Harry exchanged exasperated glances with Hermione, then turned to Neville. They boy was practically quaking where he stood, looking down into the void, although he looked a little bit more reassured now that he knew there was something below.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, Neville," said Harry, "I don't want you to feel like you have to, just because we're your friends."

"I-I know," the other boy stuttered, "I-I want to help you, however I can."

"If you're sure."

When the other boy nodded, Harry jumped down after the others.

There was something soft below, a vine-y plant – a plant that made Neville yelp when he landed on it. "Devil's snare! Move, move! Conjure some light, or even better some fire!"

Hermione responded immediately, flicking balls of fire from the tip of her wand to hover around everyone. The devil's snare retreated quickly, leaving them free to struggle through the thick vines to the next area.

The next test was a room filled with flying keys, with brooms on a rack on one wall. Draco and Ron were the only ones who had real experience with flying, so they raced after the key that matched the handle on the door to the next area. It took them several tries, but in the end, Ron chased it in Draco's direction, and the other boy nearly fell off his broom catching it.

"Merlin," he said as he landed, holding tight to the struggling key, "With as much as we all pay in tuition every year, you'd think this school could afford better brooms!"

"It might have been done on purpose," said Harry, accepting the key, "but I do think that that is the more likely explanation."

In the next room was a massive chess set, where Ron proved he was more than just another Weasley. Even Draco was impressed at Ron's skill with strategy, and said under no uncertain terms that they would be playing chess in the near future, once they got out of there.

Unfortunately, Ron had to sacrifice both himself and Neville to let Draco get their checkmate. The Hufflepuff was woozy but conscious when the game ended, but Ron was out cold. Harry gave both of them a cursory examination, using basic first aid he had learned from Hannibal, and determined that Neville had a concussion and, while not severe enough to be immediately fatal, Ron had some internal bleeding and wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"You're the best flier out of those of us left. Can you take one of the brooms from the key room and get these two to the hospital wing? They need medical attention, and I don't know how long this will take."

The Ravenclaw and Slytherin heaved the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff one at a time back into the key room while Hermione held the door. It took some doing and he would have to fly slowly, but eventually Draco had Ron secure on his broom and set off.

Then Hermione and Harry headed back across the chessboard to the next room, where they found a massive troll out cold. It was even bigger than the one from Halloween and stunk to high heaven. It showed no signs of stirring, so they hurried on.

The following room had seven bottles in a row and a roll of parchment on a table – and vicious flames that blazed to life when the door shut behind them, blocking both advance and retreat. The roll of parchment held a logic puzzle that, by unspoken consent, they both worked out separately before sharing their thoughts.

Both of them agreed: the tiniest bottle would get them through the black fire towards the Stone and - whoever, and the bottle on the far right would take them backwards.

But the tiny bottle was barely enough for one swallow for one of them, much less one for each, and if Harry guessed right, the bottles wouldn't refill until the room was empty.

"Go back and help Draco. Get Neville to the hospital wing, then send Hedwig for the headmaster," he told the Gryffindor, "I don't think it's Snape, I saw him on the lawn right before we came here, but I don't know, magic. Either way, we need someone who's not a student. I'll hold them off for as long as I can. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Hermione looked uncertain. "But what if it's – You-Know-Who?"

They had discussed the possibility – perhaps not Voldemort coming himself, but Snape getting it for him, after they learned he had been one of the Dark Lord's followers before his downfall.

"I got lucky once," was Harry's only reply, "Maybe I will again."

She hugged him fiercely, an embrace he returned, before they both drank their bottles and passed through the fire.

The first thing Harry saw when his vision cleared was the Mirror of Erised, nearly glowing in a beam of magical sunlight.

Then he saw the other occupant of the room, right as he finished circling the Mirror and came back to stand in front of it, examining it closely.

It was Quirrell.

"Ah," was all Harry could say.

"Surprised to see me, Potter?" the professor asked without the slightest hint of a stutter.

"A little," Harry admitted, "Professor Snape seemed more the type."

A sardonic smile pulled at Quirrell's lips. "He does, doesn't he? Swooping around like a great bat all the time – next to him, who would suspect p-poor s-s-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

"Then you let the troll in, didn't you?" It wasn't a huge leap to make.

Another smile, this one more genuinely pleased. "Indeed I did," he said proudly, "I have a certain gift with them – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? But while everyone else was running around looking for it, 'Suspicious Severus' went straight to the third floor to head me off. But not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"No matter. Once I get the Stone out of this accursed mirror, I'll put an end to you myself." He snapped his fingers.

The first volley of ropes Harry managed to dodge by a hair's breadth, and the second, but the third tripped and bound him while he was still reeling. "Impressive reflexes," said Quirrell, "If things had been different, you could have been a great credit to the wizarding world. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I must figure out this mirror!"

The man stood in from of the mirror again, eyeing whatever he saw reflected in it. "I see the Stone…" he mumbled to himself, still loud enough for Harry to hear, "I'm presenting it to my master… But where is it?"

"Your master?" Harry repeated, half-expecting the answer.

"Oh yes," Quirrell nearly sighed, "You encountered him once before, when you were just a year old."

"Voldemort."

"Correct again, Mr Potter. You're a credit to our House."

"How did you meet him?"

"I traveled the world, not too long ago, a foolish young man full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil." Quirrell ran a hand over the frame of the Mirror. "Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good or evil – only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me, and he does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased, and punished me. Then he decided he would have to keep a much closer watch on me…"

His voice trailed away as he frowned at the glass. "I don't understand. Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it? What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Harry understood Quirrell's words right before a whispery voice answered, seeming to come from the man himself. "Use the boy…"

The older wizard rounded on him. "Yes – come here, Potter."

Another snap of his fingers, and the ropes fell away. Harry staggered to his feet, then limped in front of the Mirror, Quirrell too close for comfort.

At first, he saw only himself – and only himself, pale and scared but still determined, lit by the magical sunbeam with all else in darkness. Then his older self stepped out of the shadows and squeezed his shoulders with both hands, then reached into one of his sleeves. He pulled out a gleaming blood-red stone, and smirked, and slid it into his younger counterpart's pocket. As the older him did so, Harry felt the Stone drop into his real pocket.

He'd done it. He had the Stone. Now came the harder part.

"What do you see?" Quirrell hissed. He was on the wrong side of Harry to notice the sudden stretch of his pocket.

"I see- my older self, I presume. An older version of me, surrounded by books I've written. I'm researching another, together with my family."

The older wizard scowled and shoved him aside, retaking the spot in front of the mirror, nearly growling. If looks could kill, the mirror would have been ground to dust.

"He lies…"

Quirrell whirled on him again and opened his mouth to shout when the voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him, face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this…"

Harry took a step back as Quirrell reached up and began unwrapping his turban, the purple fabric falling carelessly away to pool on the floor. When his head was bare, the man turned around.

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, instead there was a face, chalk-white and red-eyed, taking him in as he took it in.

Harry just blinked. "Oh," he said at last, straightening out of his defensive stance, "Is that all?"

"You are not afraid, Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered.

"I've seen High Wendigo on the hunt, and been hunted by them, for play," Harry replied bluntly, "Compared to that, you're not scary. Right now, at least."

Quirrell gasped, but they both ignored him. What passed for Voldemort's eyebrows went up. "You. The so-called Savior of the Light, the Boy Who Lived. Have encountered creatures as dark as High Wendigo?"

"I have." Harry folded his arms across his chest. "It looks like there's a lot we don't know about each other. Like why you killed my parents, and tried to kill me."

Voldemort examined him with fresh eyes. Then he said, "You were my target. Your parents refused to step aside."

"Me? How was a baby a threat to you?"

"There was a prophecy given, which spoke of a child who would be my downfall. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have twice defied Him, born as the seventh month dies…' But that was all my spy overheard before being discovered. I decided that you were that one, and sought to eliminate the threat."

"And it backfired on you."

"Indeed."

"Is there a way to hear the full prophecy?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly. "Dumbledore never told it to you?"

"I didn't even know who he was until I got my Letter, never saw him 'til I came to Hogwarts."

"So it is true, then. He sent you to be raised by Muggles."

"Yep. They died when I was six. Animal attack."

A slow smile curled Voldemort's thin lips. "And by 'animal,' you mean 'High Wendigo,' don't you."

"Maybe." Harry shifted on his feet. "I want to know what's going on just as much as you do, so I'd like to propose a ceasefire. At least until we learn what the prophecy says in its entirety and decide what to do about it."

"And what's to stop me from simply killing you now?"

"The fact that neither of us knows what the prophecy says and as the 'Boy Who Lived' I'm much more likely to get a hold of it? Or the fact that whatever happened when I was one could happen again if you try? There's too much neither of us know."

Then the decision was made for them – pounding footsteps in the rooms beyond. Quirrell lifted a hand, and they door they all had come through slammed shut and sealed itself. "I'm sorry, Master," he gasped, "That's the best I can do!"

"It will be enough," said the Dark Lord, "Very well, Mr Potter, I accept your terms, and agree to the ceasefire. But no matter what, I expect you to contact me the instant you know the full prophecy."

"You have my word, for whatever it may be worth."

The banging on the door intensified. "Do not look Dumbledore in the eyes!" Voldemort commanded, "He will be able to read your mind, and know all we have spoken of!"

"Got it!"

The door splintered, and spells flew. Harry lunged out of the way as Quirrell whipped around and fought back. He was good, but not good enough to overcome the odds against him. Several spells struck him at once, and he screamed and fell, the spells interacting with each other and turning him to stone.

His body shattered when it hit the ground, and what looked like a cloud of fog escaped from his remains. It darted through Harry as it- as Voldemort escaped, sending both agony and bliss rocketing through them both. He staggered and fell back, darkness already descending.

Harry waited until he was fully conscious before he opened his eyes. He was in the hospital wing, with what looked like half a candy store scattered on tables around his bed.

"Good afternoon, Harry."

The headmaster was sitting in a chair next to his bed, smiling benignly. Remembering Voldemort's warning, he focused on the man's forehead as he gasped, "Headmaster! The Stone- Quirrell, he-"

"Calm yourself, Harry," said the wizard, "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

That made him relax, if only marginally. "Then who does? What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was talking to Quirrell, then the door burst open behind me. I tried to dodge, then…" He shook his head, then frowned at all the candy.

"What happened down in the dungeons is a complete secret, so naturally the whole school knows. Friends and admirers have sent tokens of their appreciation, although I believe Mr Weasley's elder brothers Fred and George were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat."

Harry snorted at that, which made Dumbledore smile. "I imagine that was the reaction they were hoping for. Madame Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been here?"

"Almost three days. Your friends will be most relieved you have come round; all of. Them were very worried when you were brought in."

"It'll be good to see them, too. But sir, Quirrell? The Stone?"

"Not to be distracted, I see. Very well. Professor Quirrell was not able to get the Stone, nor even lay hands on it. You delayed him admirably, long enough for myself and the other staff to arrive and engage him."

"I told Hermione to send Hedwig. She got there in time?"

"We must have passed like ships in the night. No sooner had I reached London than it became apparent I should never have left the castle."

"And Professor Quirrell? The Stone?"

"Unfortunately, Professor Quirrell did not survive." Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "A rather nasty combination of curses and hexes- well, the less said about it, the better. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"De- but what about Nicolas Flamel?!"

"Oh, so you know about Nicolas?" the man beamed, "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, after the incident, Nicolas and I had a little chat – just a few hours ago, as a matter of fact. We agreed it was for the best."

"But he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir to set their affairs in order, but in the end, yes. To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems unbelievable, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it's really like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Alarms went off in Harry's mind at the man's words. 'Did he – He couldn't possibly have staged this entire thing to teach me a lesson, could he?'

Harry didn't dare ask, but with how cagey Dumbledore got when asked why Voldemort tried to kill him, he knew he couldn't set the suspicion aside. Nor did he know enough about "sacrificial protection" to refute the man's words regarding his mother's sacrifice, but – but how many mothers sacrificed themselves to protect their children during the last war? How many of them stood in the way of the Death Eaters, fought to protect their families? Why had only he survived with such protection?

He said nothing about his doubts, and evaded the other man's gaze without seeming to do so.

His friends were pleased to see him awake, and hung on his every word when he related the tale of his confrontation with the Dark Lord without telling them about the deal they'd struck. He just said he kept the wizard at bay by implying that what happened when he was a baby could very easily happen again. He felt incredibly guilty about lying to them, but Draco was probably the only one he could tell the full truth to and not be judged harshly.

(He really did want to know what the prophecy said, though. Perhaps Lucius could get him into the Ministry.)

Slytherin won the House Cup by a narrow margin, even after Dumbledore awarded them all points for their clash on the third floor. While unhappy it wasn't Gryffindor, Ron still congratulated Draco on the win, and they heckled each other into laughter.

They all sat together on the train home, Crabbe and Goyle hovering near the door to shield them from the gawkers as they talked about their summer plans. Hermione had been amazed when she heard Harry planned to catch up (and keep up) with his muggle schooling, before she vowed to do the same.

The two of them were still in the process of explaining the standard subjects to the wizards when. The train pulled into Kings Cross. When he disembarked, Harry waived for his family to wait a moment, and approached Lucius while the others ran off to their parents and Draco greeted his mother. "Can we talk privately?"

The Malfoy patriarch raised an eyebrow but let the way to a small alcove and cast several high-level privacy charms. "How can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"I encountered the Dark Lord this year."

Mixed anxiety and relief flashed across his face before it was gone behind his pureblood mask. "Indeed?"

"Yes. If you intend to get back on his good side – if he does in fact have one – you should probably start preparing for his return. He was denied the Sorcerer's Stone, but I have no doubt he knows other ways back to a body. It might not be as soon as either of you would like, but it is inevitable."

"I thank you for the warning," said the older wizard, "and I will take your words under advisement."

Both of them inclined their heads to each other, and Harry went to join his family. Lucius and Narcissa exchanged glances that said they would talk later, before they bade the others farewell.