Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Note: This, the second to last chapter, does contain a few lines of dialogue taken directly from the book, but only three or four sentences. Enjoy, and as always, please review.

/-wujy

Chapter Nineteen – The Strength Within

Hermione slowly lowered her hands from her face. "The Philosopher's Stone is… well, I mean it was created by this alchemist called Nicholas Flamel. It can turn any metal into gold, and… Oh, it all makes sense. It can produce the Elixir of Life, which can cause the drinker to live forever."

"How does that make sense?" Ron asked.

"If you were about to get your hands on the Elixir of Life, you wouldn't mind drinking a little unicorn blood in the meantime," Whitney said slowly.

"But Snape seems fit as a fiddle," Ron said. "As much as it pains me, he doesn't seem to be close enough to death to risk being cursed by unicorn blood."

Hermione looked a little surprised. "That's a good point," she replied. "Maybe he's working on getting the Stone for whoever's dying."

"But, if you're dying, why not go to the hospital?" Neville asked suddenly. "Why tromp around the forest, where there're centaurs to chase you down, and werewolves to chew you up?"

"Werewolves?" Whitney interrupted, looking horrified.

Neville blushed. "There're rumors, anyway."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said. "Whoever's in the forest doesn't matter. What matters is that Snape's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone for someone so evil they'd kill a unicorn. And it doesn't matter, because we'd all be insane to do anything but tell Dumbledore."

Whitney was silent as she rubbed her scar with one hand, remembering how badly it had hurt earlier that evening. She cleared her throat and looked at Hermione. In a soft, scared voice, Whitney told her, "I think it does matter. I think it matters because I think I know who's in the forest."

"What do you mean, he's gone?"

Whitney was standing in front of Hagrid's door the Sunday afternoon following their trip into the woods. Ron was with her, but Neville was crawling his way through a Potions essay and Hermione was studying everything, possibly at the same time.

"Went ter the Ministry o' Magic jus' this morning," Hagrid answered, "an' before yeh ask, I don' know why."

"But we have to talk to him now," Whitney insisted. "When will he be back?"

Hagrid eye her suspiciously. "What're on about?"

Whitney paused before she answered, but decided that if any teacher was going to help her, it would be Hagrid. "Snape's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone so he can give it to Voldemort, who's waiting in the Forbidden Forest."

That's the most insane-sounding thing I have ever said, Whitney realized, cringing at the look on Hagrid's face. Ron and Hagrid both winced when Whitney said Voldemort's name, but Hagrid turned several shades of red.

"Now, you listen," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Most o' the teachers in this school've put up defenses to guard the Stone, not that anyone lookin' ter steal it could get past Fluffy in the firs' place. Ain't nothin' safer'n the Philosopher's Stone, d'yeh hear me?"

"But, Hagrid, what if someone finds out how to get past Fluffy?" she asked. "Someone who already knows all of the other things protecting it?"

"Codswallop," Hagrid answered, and Whitney found the phrase more annoying each time he said it. "Nothin' puts Fluffy down, 'cept a bit o' music now an' then, an' no one—"

Hagrid stopped suddenly, realizing what he'd said. Furious with himself, he wagged a finger at the pair of them, "Now don' the pair o' yeh go askin' questions like that. An' do go anywhere near that Stone, I'm tellin' yeh!"

He slammed his door, making the windows of the hut rattle. Whitney looked to Ron, who looked nervously back at her. "That was too easy," she said.

Ron nodded his agreement. "If you can get it out of him, Snape sure can."

Whitney smiled a little guiltily. "I didn't really mean to," she responded. "He just… says things he shouldn't when he gets flustered."

Ron grinned for a moment, but then remembered the seriousness of the situation and frowned nervously. "So, what do we do now?"

Whitney's expression turned serious once more. "I… really don't know. But, Dumbledore is gone, and… I bet we should probably do whatever it is we're doing tonight."

Getting out of the girls' dormitory without Hermione noticing was difficult since she was studying late, but when she finally went for a shower near midnight, Whitney grabbed her Invisibility Cloak and headed for the door. She heard the shower turn on, and looked back at the bathroom door with some hesitation. She didn't want to leave Hermione behind, but she didn't want to put in danger someone who didn't want to go anyway. Letting go of a held breath, Whitney left for the common room where Ron and Neville were waiting for her.

"What took so long?" Ron hissed at her when she was downstairs. "Snape's probably got the Stone by now."

Whitney scowled at him. "I came as soon as I could," she said defensively. "I had to wait for Hermione to leave the room."

"I don't see why we couldn't tell her," Neville said. "I bet she'd come with us.

"Now, we'll have to walk down to the third floor corridor after hours," Neville said, looking apprehensive.

"Hermione shouldn't have to be dragged into this just because she feels obligated to help," Whitney said to Neville, "and I can get us to the third floor without being noticed."

Whitney smiled and pulled the Invisibility cloak from under her arm. "Anyone with second thoughts?"

Ron and Neville stared as she spun the cloak around her shoulders and disappeared from the neck down, and both wordlessly shook their heads. "All right, then," Whitney said. "Let's go."

The next several hours of Whitney's life happened so quickly that she could later only remember them as a whirlwind of sound and color. A year before, had someone told her that her life of dodging bullies and walking to school alone would be replaced with killer plants, charmed chess pieces, and walls of fire, she would have had nightmares for weeks. As it was, with Neville's knowledge of devil's snare, Ron's prowess at chess, and her own proclivity for word puzzles, Whitney found herself under an adrenaline-supported calm. Ice ran through her veins as she stared down a doorway filled with dangerous, black flames.

For the first time, doubt crossed her mind. She doubted herself. To this point, she'd had Neville and Ron beside her, watching her back. Now, however, she was alone again. It was familiar a feeling, being alone, and now that she had experienced what it was like to stand with friends, she missed it. She looked back at the purple flames where Neville had disappeared, and longed to call him back, but Ron needed his attention more than she did.

"Oh, god, what am I doing here?" she asked herself, facing forward again. At best, Snape, who had made Potions a nightmare for her all year, and who was in league with the man who'd killed her parents, could be on the other side of this door. At worst, Voldemort himself was waiting for her. Unsure whether she had the strength to face what was before her, but knowing she had to, Whitney closed her eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

She was silent as her eyes adjusted between the blackness of the fire and the light of the torch-lit chamber on the other side. She blinked hard at the back of a familiar purple turban, its wearer focused on the Mirror of Erised in front of him. Professor Quirrell turned slowly to look at Whitney, a half-surprised smile curling his lips. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here tonight, Potter," he said, no trace of his stutter.

Whitney said nothing. She was both stunned and confused.

"Come now. You came all this way and have nothing to say?" he asked, amused by her silence.

Somehow, Whitney found her tongue. "I thought you'd be Snape," she said dumbly.

"Snape?" Quirrel asked, laughing. "Bleeding heart wrapped in a crunchy, brooding shell. He wouldn't have the nerve to serve the Dark Lord as I have done."

"So Voldemort is in the forest," Whitney said, her voice soft, and tremor lifting the statement almost into a question.

"How dare you speak his name!" Quirrel shouted, flicking his wand. Ropes sprang from nowhere and bound Whitney in place. Fear sprang into her heart, and she tried to struggle against the restraints, but there was nowhere to go. Her eyes flicked around the room and found nothing but the Mirror of Erised.

Thinking aloud, she asked no one in particular, "Wh… Where's the Philosopher's Stone?"

Quirrell laughed derisively. "You always did do your homework, Potter," he said. "It's not here, clearly." He continued speaking, though Whitney got the distinct impression he was no longer speaking to her. "I know the mirror's the key to finding the stone, but I don't understand. What does this mirror do? Help me, master!"

Whitney's blood ran cold even before she heard the voice the answered the call. Her breath caught in her throat.

"The girl… Use the girl…"

Quirrell looked over his shoulder at Whitney, clapping his hands once. The ropes dropped away from her and she stumbled unwillingly to the mirror as the man stepped aside.

Whatever Whitney had suspected she would look like in the mirror, it wasn't the scraped-up, scared-looking eleven-year-old girl she saw in the mirror. She felt taller, for some reason, and possibly stronger than the scrawny witch of her reflection. Even as she thought it, she watched her reflection grow in both confidence and stature, winking at her reassuringly. As she watched, Ron and Neville materialized in the mirror, standing at her sides, and she felt a rush of warmth at the thought.

"What exactly d'you expect me to see here?" she asked Quirrell, looking at him with more audacity than she possessed on her own.

"She sees nothing, master," Quirrell said aloud, ignoring her.

"Let me speak with her… face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

Whitney took a step toward the mirror as Quirrell turned on the spot, letting his turban down. Her fingertips rested on the glass behind her, cool to the touch, and she swallowed a scream at the sight of the face glaring from the back of Quirrell's head.

"Whitney Potter…" it whispered. "I know what you see… when you look into the mirror. You see friends… You see family… You see love and connection. Join with me… and I can bring back what you have lost."

"What… what I've lost…?" Whitney had a sudden image of herself with parents who cared for her.

"What you've lost…" Voldemort confirmed. "Magic can do many… incredible things. Help me find the stone… and I promise to bring them… Your parents."

Whitney felt tears threaten her eyes, but some words bubbled to the surface instead. "What I've lost?" she repeated, her voice steadier. "You mean what you stole!"

"Ah, bravery…" Voldemort chided quietly. "I remember bravery… in the actions of your father… The eyes of your mother. The same eyes as yours. Help me now… or I shall make certain their deaths… were in vain…"

Something about the casual statement about her parents' murders by their murderer himself caused a fiery snap within Whitney, and she leapt forward at Quirrell's back, tackling him to the ground. Not expecting the outburst, and facing the wrong direction to defend himself, Quirrell fell forward onto the stone floor with a cry of shock. His wand clattered away somewhere against the wall and Voldemort screeched, "Seize her! SEIZE HER!"

Quirrell's advantage in height and strength allowed him to throw her aside without much trouble, and Whitney felt a rush of panic as his hands closed around her throat. Pain erupted through her body at his very touch, but she fought hard not to scream. At first, she thought she had failed, but after a moment, she realized that the screaming she could hear was coming from Quirrell and not herself.

"My hands!" Quirrell bawled, looking down at raw, blistering flesh.

Taking her opportunity, Whitney used her vast experience with being held down by a larger person, and brought her knee up hard into Quirrell's most sensitive area. He howled, falling to the side, and Whitney scrambled to her feet, rushing for the door, heedless of the flames licking the frame. Prepared to be scorched as badly as Quirrell's hands, Whitney clenched her eyes and ran at the black fire.

Rather than heat and pain, however, Whitney collided with something soft, yet unrelenting. She fell back onto the stone, and looked up at a sight more terrifying than even Voldemort's visage on the back of Quirrell's head.

Professor Dumbledore towered above her, every line in his face filled with contempt and rage. She would never remember the words he spoke as he raised his wand, no matter how hard she tried, but Quirrell crumpled to the floor, and a cloud as black as tire smoke exploded from his body, expanding to fill the room. White-hot agony overloaded Whitney's senses, and darkness overtook the world.