Okay guys, this is where shit gets real. Nudity and violence and innapropriate behavior that borders on pedophilia. You've been warned.

Also, I'd like to apologize for the lateness of the update. My computer had harddrive issues and I had to completely reset it - like, to factory settings. Luckily, I'm a paranoid person and I'd kept all my important files - ie, my writing - on flashdrives. So to make up for the lateness, and also because I won't be able to update this Sunday, I'm going to post the next, and final, chapter as well. Thank you for reading my story!

Harry barely had time to take in the new chamber - tall pillars of stone bordering each of the individual steps that led to the sunken floor below - before Cedric was through the black fire.

"What's next?" he asked. His voice echoed loudly through the room even though he'd spoken in a near whisper. They both winced and looked around for any threats - Harry didn't want to take any chances after that troll - but when nothing happened, they both relaxed a little.

"I don't know," Harry said in a voice so quiet that even she could barely hear it. Even so, her voice was caught by the room and magnified until it too could be heard throughout the entire room. She huffed (it sounded like a dog barking after the room finished with it; at any other time, she'd have fun making weird noises and listening to how the room warped them, but not now) and drew her wand, which she hadn't needed until then. Frowning, she started to write in the air with smoke; since it was a very basic form of conjuring (the precursor to solid objects) she'd practiced it a little under Professor McGonagall's tutelage before the teachers had been drugged.

Cedric picked up on what she was doing right away, and drew his wand too.

That mirror, Harry wrote, referring to the single object in the middle of the floor, What do you think it does?

Cedric's writing was much more uniform than her own, and his letters didn't start to slope up at the end. No idea. It must be Dumbledore's protection though, since the other teachers already did theirs.

Harry gaped at him - she honestly had put that together, but it made sense. Hagrid had provided Fluffy, and Dumbledore had mentioned that Flitwick had enchanted the keys. Obviously Sprout had contributed the Devil's Snare, Snape had been the potions, and McGonagall was either the chess or the troll. She suspected the chess; she couldn't figure out who else Dumbledore would trust enough to ask to help, but whoever it was, it struck her as odd that there had been a troll let loose on Halloween, as well as one in the protections. Who do you think did the troll? she wrote.

No idea, Cedric wrote again. His letters, yellow, faded out before Harry responded.

The troll at Halloween, and one down here too, she wrote out in a hurry. My brother's a big fan of Sherlock Holmes. There's no such thing as coincidence.

Cedric's eyes widened. "Quirrell," he breathed, and then winced as the single word was magnified tenfold.

"Very clever." The man in question melted out of the shadows of the closest pillar; Harry nearly shrieked in surprise, and was very glad that she didn't. Had the room made that sound louder, it likely would have deafened them all. But -

"Why didn't your words echo?" Hers didn't either.

"I knew someone would be coming," Quirrell bragged. Harry noticed, for the first time, that he wasn't stuttering. "And as it so happened, I needed a little…assistance in getting what I need."

"We won't do it," Harry and Cedric said in tandem.

"No? But you don't even know what it is I need you to do." His voice had taken on a dangerous edge. Quirrell took a step closer, his purple turban making his head seem disproportionately large.

Harry and Cedric backed up, stepping down onto a lower stair to get away from Quirrell's now menacing form. "We - we know what you want," Harry said bravely, even though she didn't think she'd ever been more scared in her life. Even meeting the wraith in the forest hadn't been this terrifying, but only because she now knew that Quirrell was the wraith. He was wearing the same black robes now, only with the cowled hood down. "And we're not going to help you get it. You don't deserve the Stone." They had been descending the stairs backwards the whole time - each time Quirrell took a step forward, they took one back. Now they were on the true floor of the room, the mirror rapidly approaching. Harry decided enough was enough, and pointed her wand at Quirrell.

The man sneered but raised a long-sleeved arm; she could just barely see the tip of his wand pointing out the end. "You think you can challenge me, girl? With my Master at my back you have no hope of winning."

"He's not alon - wait? Girl?" Cedric sounded utterly confused.

Harry's stomach dropped to her feet. Somehow, Quirrell knew. "He's crazy," she said in what she hoped was a properly scornful voice. Alex had always been better at things like this, making others believe whatever he wanted them to, spinning words until only his point of view made sense and all other arguments fell to the wayside; what she wouldn't give to have her twin at her side.

"Am I?" Quirrell chuckled; it was a cold, high-pitched sound that set the hairs at the back of Harry's neck on end. "Turn and gaze into the mirror, or we'll find out who's the crazy one, and who's the liar."

"I'm no liar," Harry snarled. A lie.

"You're mad," Cedric agreed stoutly. "Harry's a boy. Girls can't play quidditch." He too raised his wand.

Quirrell lost his patience; with a movement so fast that she nearly missed it, he disarmed the two of them, and then, with a victorious smile as the wands clattered to the ground behind him, sneered, "Decide for yourself who the liar is." The wand waved, and Harry's clothes vanished; even the Portkey her father had given her was gone. This time she really did shriek as she curled in on her nakedness.

She only faintly heard Quirrell's high-pitched, cruelly amused laughter as Cedric spoke haltingly. She didn't dare look at him; she knew her face would be bright red, and that his would have an expression of betrayal on it. "I - Harry?" He sounded…surprised? shocked? relieved? pitying? There was none of the disgust or anger she'd been expecting. Fabric on her shoulders jolted her out of her embarrassment.

She clutched the fabric around her, looking down at their feet - hers were bare, and his were in the standard black school shoes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her eyes and nose starting to scrunch up and chin trembling as she tried not to cry. Her father would be furious, and Alex disappointed that he would no longer be able to chase down his dream at Asclepius.

"You see!" Quirrell crowed. "She is the liar! She lied to you since you met, broke the laws by playing Quidditch!" As Quirrell spoke, Cedric started to back away from her. Harry sagged; the Weasley twins hadn't cared, but then, they were enamored of anything that could be classified as 'prank'. Cedric, though, was a rule-abiding (mostly) and morally straight Hufflepuff.

"You're right," Cedric said. His voice was cold, and full of hatred. The tears finally spilled over, and Harry glanced to the side. What she saw nearly made her heart stop. Quite by accident, she had looked right into the mirror, and she didn't just see her reflection. No, instead she saw herself, aged into an adult, wearing what was unmistakably the uniform for the England International Quidditch Team, a sleek broom - she didn't recognize the model, but it looked fast - in one hand, the other flung around her brother - also aged into an adult - at the waist. Behind them were her friends and family, even her mother, all waving and smiling in support. But the surprising thing about the image was that she looked like a woman; her hair was pulled back into a long thick braid, her curves were easily noticeable. She was a female Quidditch player, and nobody minded; in fact, they all seemed incredibly proud!

Then the mirror-Alex winked and reached a hand into the pocket of his protective-rune embroidered robes, like those that all the best curse-breakers wore, and pulled out a purple-red stone two or three times the size of a Snitch. He tossed it into the air, caught it, and then passed it to her mirror-self, who grinned at her and shoved it into the small pocket of her Quidditch trousers. A weight settled into the pocket of the robes that Cedric had draped over her. She surreptitiously groped at it from within the folds of the large robes. It certainly felt like a rock, and it seemed about the right size if the image in the mirror was anything to go by. How had she gotten it, when Quirrell could have been here for any amount of time?

A loud snort from Cedric broke her from her thoughts.

"You mock me, boy?" Quirrell hissed in a sibilant voice. "I do not lie. There is no good or evil, only power and those strong enough to take it." Harry frowned at the man; at some level, the words made sense, but only if one were crazy or overly-ambitious. "If you join me," Quirrell continued, his voice soft and persuasive, a vast change from how it had been mere moments before, "You will be rewarded beyond all your dreams. You know what I seek; help me get it and all the gold you could ever wish for will be yours. All you have to do is look into that mirror."

"No!" Harry yelled out in panic. If Cedric looked into the mirror, he might see that she already had the Stone.

"Quiet, silly girl," Quirrell sneered, paying attention to her for the first time since disrobing her. "Hold your tongue and I might let you live."

Harry ignored him. "Don't listen to him, Cedric," she pleaded, turning to her friend and grabbing his arm with one hand, ignoring how the robe that he had draped over her started to slip from her left shoulder at the movement. "He's been lying to us all year! Pretending to have a stutter! He drugged all the students and staff!"

"Silence!" Harry found herself unable to talk; she tried, but nothing came out.

Giving her face a searching look, Cedric gave a minute nod before peeling her hands off him and shoving her aside. She fell hard, not willing to let go of the robe and trying to stop the Stone from making any noise at the same time. Harry landed far to the left of the two wizards. From her position on the ground, her eyes caught on the two wands behind Quirrell. Maybe…

She bit her lip, and made the decision. Leaving the robes behind on the ground, she crept naked towards the wands, half her mind on moving as quietly as possible, the other half focused on the continuing conversation between Cedric and Quirrell. She tried to forget about her bareness.

"If I help you," Cedric was saying slowly, as if thinking out loud, "What else will I get?"

Quirrell let out a high-pitched humorless chuckle that sounded nothing like his normal nervous laughter. "The Hat Sorted you wrong, Cedric Diggory. You are acting positively Slytherin for such an overbearing Badger. Why, besides all the gold you could want, you will have my everlasting gratitude in assisting my rise."

"And who are you, to be of such importance?" Cedric had his arms crossed. Harry praised his acting skills; he had a clear view of her (she was sure she would be bright red for the rest of her life, she was blushing so hard in humiliation) as she soft-footed to the wands. Only a few more feet…

The laugh that escaped Quirrell's mouth was downright sinister, and seemed foreign coming from the man. Harry nearly missed her footing at the deadly sound. "You may have heard of me," he said smugly. "I am Lord Voldemort."

Harry couldn't stop the horrified gasp that escaped her mouth, and then everything was happening at once. She dove for the wands; Voldemort - Quirrel? - spun about, wand at the ready; Cedric barreled into the Defense professor's side, forcing the red colored curse off target. It collided with one of the pillars near Harry, sending shards of stone flying about her. She didn't know - or even much care - if she got hit once her fingers wrapped around the two wands.

Cedric was busy grappling with the older wizard, doing his utmost to keep the wandtip from pointing at him. Harry absently noticed that it was a good thing Cedric was big for his age; otherwise, he would have been far less successful against a full-grown man, however small the man was.

She searched her mind desperately for a spell that she could use; most of the ones she knew would be worthless in a situation like this: minor jinxes and hexes, a year's worth of basic Charms and about two year's worth of Transfiguration. But what could she do? Transfigure him into a tree? She hadn't attempted human Transfiguration yet, and likely wouldn't until fourth year! The most complex animal she'd transfigured was a rat!

With a loud grunt from Quirrell - she refused to believe he was Voldemort; her father said he was dead - , Cedric was thrown off, and her time was up. "Petrificus Totalus!" she shrieked, pointing both wands at Quirrell he started to get to his feet. Even with his back turned to her, he managed to block both the spells - one the typical yellow, the other an odd lavender color - with ease she'd never seen him display in class.

"Stupefy him, Harry!" Cedric yelled, also rising and starting to run towards Quirrell; the older wizard snapped the fingers of his spare hand, and ropes sprang out of nowhere, trussing Cedric up and tethering him between two of the columns.

Taking hurried steps backwards to avoid the scowling Quirrell, Harry slashed the wands in a violent motion, like she'd read most offensive spells called for, and yelled, "Stupefy!" The two jets of light were identical in color - a bright scarlet - and forced Quirrell dodge when they spiraled away from each other, leaving him unable to block both with his shield.

She was too slow to dodge the barrage of spells that he shot at her; she could only count herself lucky that the one that hit her did nothing more than jerk her upside down by an ankle and dangle her above the floor. Her wand slipped from her grasp, but her glasses miraculously stayed on, and she managed to keep ahold of Cedric's slightly longer, paler instrument. It didn't work as well, but she felt marginally better being able to point it at Quirrell as he advanced on her. She dodged two more spells - both sickly red, like dried blood - before a third of the same color hit her.

It was pain beyond anything she'd ever felt, like every one of her nerve endings was on fire. Her bones were being split open, her fingernails pulled out, sharp needles stabbing into the soles of her feet, the pads of her fingers, the base of her neck. She was faintly aware of someone screaming in agony, and it took her a good ten seconds to realize that it was her. Then the pain ended; somehow, she hadn't dropped Cedric's wand, although her glasses were just a few millimeters from slipping off her face.

"Harry! Harry!" Cedric was crying out frantically. "Harry! Answer me!"

"I - " she started shakily. Her throat hurt from screaming, just as the rest of her body still tingled oddly in the absence of pain. "I'm fine."

"And she will only stay that way if you do as I say," Quirrell said shakily, seemingly tired from the fight. He snapped his fingers again; the ropes vanished. "Look into the mirror and tell me what you see." He muttered something under his breath, but Harry couldn't catch it.

Slowly, Cedric did as he was told, after an apologetic glance towards Harry, which was quickly averted as a blush mounted in his cheeks. She was reminded of her undress, and flushed as well, but didn't do anything to try and cover herself. They'd already seen, so there was really no point, and after nearly a year of baring her chest to her Quidditch teammates, she was almost used to the exposure. Of her chest, in any case.

"Well?" Quirrell asked impatiently, his voice no longer cold and dangerous, but rough and demanding. "What do you see?"

"I - " Cedric paused, clearly confused.

"Well?" Quirrell prodded again, jabbing his wand threateningly at Harry.

"My family," Cedric said slowly. "My Dad's happy, and so is my Mum. I have two younger brothers, and a sister, and my uncle's alive with a family of his own."

"Useless," Quirrell snarled. "Move!" He all but shoved Cedric aside to take his spot in front of the mirror. "What did he do to it?" he muttered, tracing a hand across the mirror. "I see myself presenting the Stone to you, Master," he said in a pleading whine. "But how to get it?!"

"The girl. Use the girl." The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Harry didn't know what it was, but it was the same cold voice that had been coming from Quirrell's mouth back when he'd claimed he was Voldemort. A disturbing thought drifted across Harry's mind, and she froze. Was he…

The thought was ended before she could reach the conclusion when the invisible force holding her in the air by her ankles vanished. A sharp crack sounded when she hit the floor arm-first, and pain shot up her arm from her wrist. She swallowed a cry of pain and stood up; when she passed Cedric, she pressed the wand into the hand Quirrell couldn't see. She wanted to somehow tell him to grab the robes and get out, but couldn't think of a way without also alerting Quirrell.

She stopped in front of the mirror and gaze in, uncomfortably aware of Quirrell where he stood not far behind her. "What do you see?" he asked greedily.

Her friends and family were right where she'd left them, although this time mirror-Alex just tugged on her plait instead of passing her the Stone, and her father reached out and ruffled Alex's much shorter hair with a smirk on his face. She wasn't aware of the soft smile that crept over her face as she watched her brother and father playfully tussle until Quirrell asked, "Speak up, girl, or I'll curse you again. You squirmed nicely."

Grimacing, she replied in a cold tone that hid her fear, "My family. My mother is alive, and my father happy. I am an International Quidditch Player, and my brother a curse-breaker. My family and friends are proud of me."

Quirrell growled. "Sentimental fools!" It was her turn to be pushed roughly out of the way; Cedric caught her arm before she could fall, but let go so quickly that she hardly had time to find her balance.

"Sorry," he apologized, raising his wand and pointing it at the robes.

"No!" she hissed, dragging it down. She just shook her head vehemently when he looked like he was about to object. She tapped the pocket of his black trousers meaningfully, and his frown deepened before his eyes widened in understanding.

Quirrell spoke again, but not to either of them. "Master, please, help me. What do I do?"

There was a long pause, and Harry hoped against hope that the cold voice from before had left for good…but no, it sounded again, oddly pensive. "The girl was not completely truthful. Make her speak."

An almost delighted smile spread across Quirrell's face. "Yes, Master." He advanced towards them, and for the first time since loosing her clothes, Harry felt truly naked; before, it was only herself who was painfully aware of her nakedness. Now, Quirrell was stalking towards her with a sickening smirk on his face. She backed away, and Cedric, face pale and angry at the same time, stepped in front of her.

"Leave her alone," he said bravely. "She hasn't done anything to you!"

"She lied to the Master," Quirrell said. "If I tried such a thing I would be punished beyond your pitifully small imaginings, and I am his servant. She has no such protection." When Cedric raised his wand, he was disarmed and sent flying into a stone pillar; his head hit it with a loud thunk, and he didn't move from where he'd fallen.

Harry was too busy trying to evade Quirrell to spare more than a moment's thought to her friend. Finally, Quirrell just immobilized her. Tears came unbidden to her eyes as he stood over her with a malicious sneer.

"Let's see how fast I can get you talking," he said, slowly bending until he crouched at her side in a farcical imitation of Remus when he'd wait for them in the mornings with open arms for a hug. Quirrell reached down; she tried to squirm even though she logically knew that it would be impossible for her to break the immobilization, but his hand found her chest and his fingers pinched her flat breast, hard. She whimpered in pain, a choked sob coming from her mouth, but it was drowned out by the yowl of pain from Quirrell. He fell back on his back, cradling the hand he'd molested her with.

"Master - it burns! What magic is this?!"

Harry didn't care what type of magic it was; she was exerting every muscle in her body, straining against the invisible magical bonds that held her frozen in place. "Make her talk!" the voice cried out in anger. Quirrell, whimpering in pain, did as commanded, reaching out with his other hand. Harry could see that the fingers of the first hand were blistered beyond belief, and the blisters were spreading up his arm and worsening as they did, so that the two fingers he'd touched her with were slowly but surely turning a charred black with red flesh showing where the skin split open. It was stomach-turning and disgusting, but Harry felt a jolt of vindictive satisfaction.

It was almost with glee that she felt his other hand clamp over her throat and start to choke her. Even as she started to see black dots dance in front of her eyes as her air-supply was cut off, she could hear Quirrell's keening wails and smell the scent of burning hair and cooking flesh. Finally, just when she felt she couldn't hold on any longer, he let go.

"I can't, Master! Her touch burns!"

"Kill her then, you useless worm!"

"Master…" Quirrell moaned in agony. "My hands - I cannot -"

"Worse than useless, Mudblood trash! No better than the rest of my servants, and of lesser stock! May you rot in hell!" With a screech of pain, Quirrell convulsed. Harry stared in shock as, from the back of his turbaned head, a stream of black mist coalesced, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape, only lacking legs, and with the face of a demon, with glaringly bright red eyes. Quirrell gave a rattling gasp and fell forward, clearly dead. She shuddered and averted her eyes, preferring looking at the terrifyingly inhuman face of the spirit of Voldemort.

"You will not go unpunished for costing me my servant, girl," hissed the wraith - a true wraith, for this was no ghost - before rushing directly through the mirror, shattering it into a thousand glittering pieces, and streaking up the stairs.

Harry stared after it for a good five minutes. That was Voldemort?! She shuddered. Her father had rarely spoken of the war; most of what she knew was from books, Remus, and the occasional warnings her father gave her and Alex. But even with such scarce knowledge, she wasn't so stupid, or naïve, to not know that Voldemort always kept his word. She'd just made an enemy of the most powerful Dark Lord seen in England since the days of Morgan Le Fay, a wizard so powerful and twisted that he had - somehow - escaped death, even if he had no body.

Not long after she came to that realization, her foot twitched. Over the course of the next five minutes, she slowly broke through the weakening immobilization hex that Quirrell had cast on her; if he'd been stronger, it would have lasted longer after his death. She had never been more grateful that he wasn't - Voldemort sharing a powerful body wouldn't bode well for anyone.

Harry stumbled over to the robes she'd discarded and shrugged into them, and then collected her wand. A simple Sizing Charm (learned from Hermione's Charming Your Way Through Housework) had the robe fitting like one of her own, and she fixed the clasps so that most of her was safely covered. Feeling safer in the robe, she went to Cedric's side. A few slaps to the face had him waking up.

"Harry!" He bolted upright, nearly bashing his forehead into her nose. "Sorry," he apologized immediately.

"Here," she said, dropping his wand onto his lap. He nodded his thanks and picked it up, inspecting it carefully for damage before tucking it up his sleeve. Then he caught sight of Quirrell's disfigured body and frowned, looking slightly ill that the sheer amount of blistering black skin. "What happened to him?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Accidental magic," she said at last, hugging herself a little at the memory of what had happened, how she'd liked hurting him.

Cedric's eyebrows rose at little. "At eleven?"

Harry didn't answer, just stood and starting walking towards the exit. She paused, staring at the dauntingly long staircase for a moment, but started up it anyways.

"Hey - wait up!" Cedric caught up about a third of the way up, limping slightly. Neither of them had escaped uninjured - he had numerous bruises, and probably a minor concussion from hitting his head against the column, and she had a fair amount of lacerations and bruises herself, as well as a broken wrist - but they were both alive and able to walk on their own power.

They climbed the stairs in silence, stopping by unspoken accord in front of the black flames that still flickered in the doorway.

Cedric broke the silence. "I won't tell anyone," he said, not looking at her, preferring instead to stare at the - from this side - heatless fire. "That you're - erm - well…"

"A girl?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, then blurted out, "Why'd you do it?"

Harry gave a humorless laugh. "Quidditch. Seems a bit meaningless now, though, doesn't it." She snorted. "It wasn't even my idea. I was all ready to give up and just go to Asclepius like a good girl, but Alex talked me into it."

"This was your brother's idea?" He sounded genuinely shocked.

"He always has the best ideas." She shook her head and took a step towards the flame-filled doorway, but Cedric caught her shoulder. She flinched away at the touch automatically, then mentally berated herself when she saw the mixture of pity and anger on Cedric's face.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just - memories will bother me for a while." It was a massive understatement. She doubted she'd be able to sleep without some sort of draught to suppress dreams.

He nodded hesitantly. "I just want to let you know," he started, taking a breath before plunging on, "that I won't ever tell anyone about - " he gestured back at the floor of the room below them, " - any of this. Not a word."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," she said quietly. He wasn't just talking about the fight and violation of her privacy, but the fact that she was a girl, and girl's weren't allowed to play Quidditch.

"Not even if you get onto the National Team," he continued, "Or want to-" he fished for a powerful enough statement before settling on, " - want to become Minister of Magic. I won't breathe a word. In fact," he pressed on, "I'll support you every step of the way."

Harry stared at him for a long moment before giving him a tremulous smile. "Your Hufflepuff is showing." He gave her a shaky smile in return.

When they emerged from the black fire into the potion's chamber, the fires in both doorways died out. Harry gave a grateful sigh - she hadn't fancied trying to figure out which potion would let them walk unmolested through the purple fire - and noticed that Cedric had done much the same.

Unfortunately, her arms felt like overcooked noodles, so she wasn't even able to cover her nose for the journey past the mostly-decapitated troll. After the first few steps, though, she could hardly smell it, so it wasn't that much of an issue.

She'd been wondering how they were going to get Professor Dumbledore out; she didn't know any hovering charms that would work on a human - Wingardium Leviosa didn't work, Seamus had tried - and she doubted that even with the two of them that she and Cedric would be able to lift the Headmaster, who was at least six feet tall.

Fortunately, Professor McGonagall was already there, levitating the Headmaster onto a crisp stretcher.

"There you two are," she said briskly, a snap of authority in her voice that Harry realized had been missing for nearly four months. "Who was it?"

"Quirrell," Cedric said at the same time Harry snarled, "Voldemort." Dumbledore's body dropped the last few inches onto the stretcher as Professor McGonagall winced at the name.

"Excuse me?" She sounded both incredulous and resigned, as if she'd expected the answer but hadn't wanted to believe it.

"He was a wraith," Harry said firmly, swaying a little as the night's strenuous activities started to catch up to her now that the adrenaline was fading. "Black smoke and red eyes and a demon's face." She shivered.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "That's him," she said, and didn't sound happy about it. Her eyes tracked Cedric's hand as he steadied Harry. "We can finish this later," she said, directing the stretched through the door leading towards the key room. "For now, the both of you have an appointment with Madam Pomfrey." It was a mark of Harry's exhaustion that she didn't even try to protest.