"HARRY!" she roared. "Harry! Are you there? It's not Snape ... It's not Snape. Quirrell. It's Quirrell." Lia burst past the flames, panting. She could feel her body burning up again, and she looked down. A corner of her robe was being consumed by a licking flame. "Crap," she said. "Um … what was it again? Yes, Aguamenti".

She heard a voice demand in the distance, "Well? What do you see?"

"Harry?" she called, hastily continuing forward.

"Lia, shut up!" She almost sunk down in relief at her brother's voice. He sounded irritated and reprimanding, but she detected the underlying tone of fear in his voice. Fear for her. That had to mean that it was him - it was really Voldemort. "Could you have been anymore obvious? Why didn't you use your invisibility charm?"

"Harry? Harry, I'm coming! And honestly, if it's Voldemort, you think he wouldn't be able to see through that simple charm?"

She finally caught up to him.

Harry stood in front of a mirror. Lia eyed it. The Mirror of Erised by the looks of it. Quirrell was close behind him, an angry, impatient expression on his face. He looked different. He was standing far straighter than he ever had in class, making him appear taller, and the way he held himself up spoke of determination, of resolve and purpose.

"Finally," Lia thought, "He finally looks like one of Voldemort's followers."

"Ha," she said. "I told you Harry. Told you it wasn't Snape!" Her voice was smug, almost gleeful. As she said this though, Quirrell raised his wand and a thick strand of rope flung out and latched onto Lia, binding her, and sending her crashing to the ground.

"Well?" Quirrell demanded again to Harry, this time harsher, more desperately, "What do you see?"

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry said. "I … I've won the house cup for Gryffindor." Lia could tell that he was bluffing, but it was actually a pretty good fib. Anyone who didn't know Harry well would think he was telling the truth.

"He lies … he lies …" Anyone except Voldemort that is. Lia felt a sick sprouting terror take hold at the sound of that high voice. There was an unbearable cruelty to it, a darkness that thrashed at the edges of the notes.

"The girl … use the girl," it said.

Quirrell sauntered over to Lia and yanked her roughly to her feet. "Well look who it is," he said, "Little Miss Daliah Potter."

"Potter ... Potter ... no ... she lies," the high voice said again, hissing this time. "The Potters are dead ... only Harry remains."

"What? No, I … I swear. I'm Daliah Potter. Geez. You think I'd know my own name, wouldn't I?"

She felt a throbbing in her head, as if someone was rummaging through a storage room, peering and searching through the files in her mind, looking for something. She knew with horror that Voldemort was penetrating her memories.

It was lucky that by then Lia had somehow managed to burn off the ropes that encircled her. She didn't stop to think. Quirrell had taken her wand, but she pressed one hand on the man's arm and summoning all the energy that she had left, sent a stinging jinx at her past professor. She watched with relish as ugly welts burst up Quirrell's skin and he howled in pain. The aching in her head had ceased.

"Why you insolent girl," he spat. "Avada Ked-"

"No!" Voldemort's voice hollered at exactly the same time that Harry had screamed, "Lia!" Quirrell winced and shrunk away in fright at the anger in his master's voice. "Don't kill her … Take her … Take her to the mirror."

She was shoved again, Quirrell pushing Harry out of the way, so that now Lia stood before the Mirror of Erised.

"What do you see?"

Lia stared at the mirror. She was there, reflected in it, but it was a taller, more beautiful version of herself. The bags under her eyes had disappeared and her face held none of that childish plumpness. It was angular now, her eyelashes darker, cheekbones higher and her mouth plumper. Her hair hung prettily down her shoulders.

By her right side, was an older woman. She too, had the same gleaming, lustrous golden eyes. Unlike Lia, whose hair was dark though, the woman's reminded her of strands of spun gold, shining and brilliant in the light.

She realised with a shock that this was her mother. It had to be. The resemblance was uncanny. Not Lily Potter. Not Lily like she'd been told so many times. She wasn't even a Potter then. Was she? What was she? Who was she? Lia couldn't tear her eyes away from the image shown to her. She was drawn in with yearning and marvel.

As she watched, the woman tilted her head back and laughed, looking behind her, her lips opened as if she were calling someone. A figure drew closer from the background. She couldn't see clearly yet, but Lia thought that she made out dark hair, the exact shade as her own, and a tall, slender male body. She realised that her own eyes were watering with unshed tears.

There was a sudden smack. Lia winced and clutched at her cheek. It was turning an ugly shade of red, for Quirrell had hit her hard across the face. She reluctantly tore her gaze away from the mirror.

"What. Do. You. See?" his voice was thunderous.

"I … I …" Lia stammered. What had she seen? "I think it was my family," she said truthfully. Harry gazed at her wet eyes and bewilderment with worry. He was struggling against the chains Quirrell had wrapped around him.

The high voice rang out in the room again. "Let me speak to them … face-to-face …"

"Face-two-face," Lia thought.

"Master! You are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough … for this …"

Harry and Lia were rooted to the spot, as if they had been petrified by fear and anticipation. Quirrell slowly unwrapped the turban he had never before taken off from his head, and gradually turned around to face them.

Lia bit back a scream. The face growing on the back of what should have been Quirrell's head ... was horrific. The stuff of nightmares. A sight that would have drove her to tears, to madness, had she not been steeled herself already. Voldemort was chalk white, with a pair of glaring red eyes protruding out. He had no nose, only slits. Like a snake.

"Harry Potter …" the bloodless, wizened mouth croaked out. They stared back at it with fear and revulsion.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor ... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

Harry stumbled backwards. Lia was ashen-faced. She knew that Voldemort must not get his hands on the stone, it would mean death for them all. She tried to stir up her mind, called for her wits, tried to think of anything, anything that could possibly get them out of this alive, but her thoughts were sluggish, hindered by terror and shock and alarm and she found that no matter how hard she tried she couldn't think and she just shook. Shook and trembled like a leaf. An absolute idiot.

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort spat out. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly. He looked incensed, as if the fear had been swapped out for a sudden bravery. Gryffindors.

Quirrell was walking backwards towards Harry, so that the monster's gaze still rested on her brother, still pierced him with its evil stare. Lia wasn't sure if Voldemort had realised that she was standing there watching, for his eyes were yet to meet hers.

"How touching..." it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!" He sprang up and was running towards the flame door now. Lia was horrified. He would never be fast enough to get past the combined clutches of Voldemort and Quirrell.

"SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort screamed.

Lia swallowed, she was so going to hate herself later. Well, provided that she survived. She supposed that if she died, she could just scold herself in heaven. Lia mentally shook her head. She'd better be going to heaven, after she saved her brother's arse like this.

"Hey! Voldy!" she called out, just as Quirrell's hand had almost closed upon Harry's wrist. She was desperate now, desperate to stop them from hurting her brother. "Voldie-poo!" It wasn't one of her best or most refined nicknames, but it served its purpose. She had caught the attention of You-Know-Who.

"Shall I kill the girl, master?"

"No … she could prove … useful. Curse her …"

"Crucio!"

Lia ducked out of the way as a jet of fiery red light shot past her. She swallowed.

"Hey Harry?" Lia said, hoping her brother would play along. "I just realised that Voldemort's got no nose. So unfortunate."

Harry looked at her, like he was torn between laughing, hitting her over the head and bursting into tears.

"How does he smell?" he asked after a pause.

"Ghastly," said Lia. She dodged out of the way as another curse flew above her head. Well. She definitely had their attention now.

"SEIZE HER!"

Lia screamed as a hand wrapped tightly on her arm. It just so happened that Quirrell had grabbed her upper right arm, just where her scar was. It blazed up instantly, a dazzling red flame leapt out of the cut, flickering up Quirrell's hand. He screamed in pain and managed to shriek out an incantation. The flames died down, but it was too late.

His hand was blackened, mounds of grey ash flaking off it. Lia saw with astonishment that a scarlet 'S' was now imprinted on the burnt palm, it seemed to be glowing and radiating out a warm light.

"Crucio!"

It hit her. Straight on the chest. She fell to the ground as a pain unlike anything she had ever experienced before shuddered through her body. She screamed. It was excruciating, as if she was being stabbed again and again by scorching knives, as if her skin was alight and burning, as if her soul was being torn apart and mangled and shredded.

Then the pain stopped. Screams still filled the air. But they were not her own cries any more.

Harry had grabbed onto Quirrell, and was pinning him to the ground. The two seemed to be struggling, fighting against one another. Lia breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was Quirrell, not Harry, who was shrieking. Harry's hands were on Quirrell's face, and where ever the bare skin made contact with the man, it burned away, disintegrating.

"KILL HIM!" Voldemort yelled.

"NO!" Lia yelled, just as Quirrell was tearing out his wand again.

Quirrell turned so that Voldemort's face was now facing her. Finally, there were eye to eye, face to face. The dark wizard's eyes widened. The movement was so small, just a faint flicker, that it was almost imperceptible, but Lia caught it, and frowned. What had shocked him? What on her face had shocked even Voldemort himself? Now that their gazes were locked, he seemed incapable of tearing his stare away.

Lia took the opportunity as she got it and while Voldemort was somewhat distracted, lunged forward and pressed her own palms against Quirrell's back. Summoning everything she had in her, she pushed and conjured up an image of blistering flames, fire so hot that it could only have come from the pits of hell itself.

Quirrell lit up. Lit up like a struck match, burning ferociously, whilst Voldemort's cries of "KILL HIM" still resounded through the room. But Quirrell did not seem to hear, and his screaming soon drowned out even Voldemort's yells. It was one of the worst sounds Lia had heard, so full of pain that she wondered how a man could endure such agony and still be alive. It made the cruciatus curse minutes before look like a friendly tickle.

Lia did not feel the least bit guilty for inflicting such destruction. He deserved it.

Her professor was entirely black now, appearing like a statue carved out of coal, powder billowing steadily away from his frame. At the last second, before Quirrell crumbled to dust, he spun around, so Voldemort's face was staring at her again. Except now, it was nothing more than obscure indentations rising out of a charred surface.

"Alyssia …" it whispered. "I will … find you."

It was a promise and it was the last thing Lia heard, before she fell down into an ominous abyss.