Memories: Haha, sorry it took me so long to update. There was just the question of what I should write for some of the scenes. I'm sooooo happy, though. It's my longest chapter! My mom's pies to whoever reviews (they are the best I swear).

Sarika: Aren't you going to welcome me back?

Memories: No. You ditched me for the tropics! Right in the middle of a chapter!

Sarika: Memories owns nothing.

"Spell."

"Speech."

/Parseltounge. /

'Thoughts.'

(Author Notes)

"Another language"

:::

Philomel stalked out of the Great Hall, barely noticing when Michele and Hermione sidled up beside her.

"Harry, where are we going?"

Philomel glances at Hermione and half-smiles. "We're going to find out what the Third Floor Corridor is guarding. And if we're going to make that Cloak useful, what better time than now?"

Michele grins mischievously. "This'll be fun. Any idea what we will face?"

Philomel is silent all the way to her bed. After she fishes the Invisibility Cloak out she replies, "Do either of you know how to play chess?"

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

The trio wrap the cloak around themselves, well out of sight of the dust-guardian. Philomel whispers to Sirrush, /Sirrush, time for you to show me the way to where the man went. /

/Missstresss, Sssirrusssh will ssshow you the way. Follow me. / Sirrush slithers out from under the Cloak and slides along the corridors, with Philomel, Hermione, and Michele following along behind.

It takes nearly half an hour for them to get to the forbidden hallway; which, though covered with a thick layer of dust, still held the footprints of the previous trespassers. To Philomel's relief, none of them were particularly fresh, indicating that they were the first ones there. Michele pulls off the Invisibility Cloak and looks around.

"Lovely," he says, wrinkling his nose at the dust, "A regular party central."

Philomel flips some stray strands of hair from her face and follows Sirrush to the door, behind which a faint snarling can be heard. She creaks open the door cautiously.

Philomel's caution was rewarded when the Cerberus tried to chew off her hand. Sirrush hisses furiously at the dog and it whimpers and crawls over to Philomel.

Philomel stares at it for a moment before scratching it behind all six ears. "I'm going to call you Ares. You're a good dog, aren't you, Ares, aren't you?" Ares' tail thumping against the ground nearly deafens the group. Sirrush winds her way up to Philomel's shoulder.

/Missstresss, the thriccce-dog isss happy to reccceive hisss new name. Apparently, the thriccce-dog wasss called "Fluffy" before. Alssso, Aresss will allow you and your two companionsss to passs, but no one elssse. /

/Good. Can you ask him to move? /

A few hisses later and Ares is in a corner. Michele and Hermione are looking a little weirded out. Philomel looks at the trapdoor helplessly. "Can someone help me move this thing?"

That breaks the silence and the two help move the heavy door by levitating charms.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

The three look into the gloomy portal with apprehension.

"Who wants to go first?" asks Hermione, her attempt at flippancy failing miserably. Michele looks a little pale and Philomel is trying not to get to close to the edge. Hermione sighs and decides to do something.

"I'm sorry." is the only warning Michele and Philomel get before Hermione pushes them in. They land with a thump, followed by Hermione seconds later.

All three of them can feel the sinuous vines curl around them. Philomel and Hermione whisper at the same time, "Don't move, it's the Devil's Snare." The potentially lethal plant whorls around them and they are swallowed into the lattice of vines. Before anyone panics, they are deposited on the cold, hard, stone floor.

"Divine, we'll have matching bruises." snarks Michele. Hermione shoots him a glare and Philomel gets up to inspect the door.

After a moment, Philomel waves Michele and Hermione over before pulling open the thick oak door. Inside, a lovely sight of glittering, flying keys greets the trio. Hermione crosses the room to look at the door.

"Alohomora." When the lock didn't open, Hermione glanced up at the keys then studied the lock. "It appears we need to find the key. It'll be large, old-fashioned, and possibly silver, just like the handle. There's a broom over there."

They all look at the rickety broom that was left them. Upon the sight of it, Michele declares, "There is no way I'm getting on that thing!"

Philomel looks at it with trepidation as well. "I think I should stay down here. Just in case."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Cowards. Sending a girl to do all your work." she teases. Philomel primly pulls on her own extraordinarily long hair. Hermione ignores the gesture and swings her leg over broom. She was just getting settled when the keys attacked. Hermione grimaced and, shielding her face, she took off. Within minutes, and many cuts later, she'd grasped the correct key. First, Hermione broke the wings then threw the key at Philomel before flying in the opposite direction to lure the others away. Philomel hurriedly opens the door and Michele holds it open for Hermione to fly through. Together the three slam the door shut.

"Well, that was certainly interesting." Michele deadpans. Hermione shoots him a look that clearly says it wasn't interesting enough for him but she could make it so.

Philomel ignores them and points to the next obstacle. "It's about to get a whole lot more interesting. Does anyone know how to play chess?"

Hermione follows her finger and blanches. "You asked that before. The answer is no."

Michele shakes his head. Philomel sighs. The chess pieces continue to look menacing. Michele suddenly has an idea. "You're good at Transfiguration, Philomel. Try to transfigure the white pieces smaller."

Philomel's forehead crinkles in thought and she bites her lip. "I'm not sure how long I can hold it, but I should be able to force raw power to my will. It won't be elegant or long-lasting, just to warn you…"

Hermione bravely makes her way to the board, ready to make a dash for it. Michele and Philomel are not far behind.

Philomel takes out both her wands and begins to chant, "Shrink, shrink, shrink…" wands pointed at the white chess pieces. The playing pieces gradually decrease in size. Hermione and Michele pull Philomel past the significantly smaller chess pieces and through the door once they are no threat. Philomel lies against the door, panting from the exertion of doing magic like that. A disgusting smell jerks the trio from their rest.

"A troll?" Hermione's eye twitches. "This has to Quirrel's doing. I suppose we know who let the troll in, Halloween."

Philomel glares at it as the stupid creature raises its club against them. "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The troll flies up into the air and lands on the ground with a sickening thud, accompanied by a crack. Grey blood leaks from where it landed. The three stare at it.

"Nice job, Philomel. You got a charm right."

Philomel switches her glare to Michele. "I just wanted to levitate the club away, Michele."

They sit for awhile longer before Philomel leads them across the chamber to another door. Behind this one, lies a complicated seeming set of riddles; one historical, obviously set by Binns with help, and the other potions related, obviously Professor Snape.

"Let's start with Professor Binns' riddle; there doesn't seem to be any malevolent consequences to getting it wrong." Hermione suggests.

Philomel recites the conundrum:

"Listen here, all students of ancient times

The item you seek is quite near.

Though you may travel through time and space and never find,

The holy grail of primeval chemistry;

Beyond the fires of hell may it lie,

Wrapped within the liquid-mirror confines of desire.

Seek and you shall find that which gave birth to chemistry,

Furthered the delicate art of potions,

Gave life eternal where death once lay,

And produces gold enough to flood the world in its depths.

Oh, but seeker, beware, beware,

This stone of blood is made of the lives of men."1

She gasps in shocked recognition, "The Philosopher's stone! What kind of simpleton puts a Philosopher's Stone in a bloody school!"

Michele and Hermione look at Philomel like she's insane. "Do you know what it's talking about, Philomel?" Hermione asks gently, like a loud noise might spook Philomel.

Philomel glares at her. "Didn't you listen to Professor Binns when he was talking about British magical history? The Philosopher's Stone was made by Nicolas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore.2 What not many people know, and it's not taught until much later, is that there was a massacre of a Dark Lord's forces, one that was around long before Grindlewald, which Flamel and Dumbledore then used the sacrifice to produce the only Philosopher's stone ever to be made. I'm guessing that had we done Professor Snape's first, there would have been fire in the entrance. There is most likely a mirror of Erised being used as the final guard. I don't suppose that anyone else understands what I'm saying, do they?" That speech was met with shaking of heads in both confusion and negation.

Philomel nods sadly. "I thought so. Come on, we can't read the other one; just in case."

She allows Hermione and Michele to go ahead of herself, then Philomel looks around nervously before following.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

"What's so special about this room? There's just a mirror." observes Michele.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Excellent observation, Michele. Why, without you, we'd never have seen an eight foot mirror in the middle of a barren room."

Philomel points to the inscription on the top of the mirror.

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

"It's just gibberish, Philomel. Even Michele could see that." Hermione rolls her eyes.

"It's not though. Use that excellent mind of yours creatively and think."

Brown eyes are scrunched up in thought before the light of understanding brightens in them. "Oh, it's not gibberish, it's backwards!"

Philomel nods. "'I show not your face but your hearts desire.' Just step in front of it and you'll see what you truly want, though it may not come true. It's very dangerous and one of the last of its kind. The magic used to create something like this used to be used to capture thieves," Philomel sighed longingly. "The complex web of magic took days, bordering on months, to knit; it took a master dream weaver to make and it nearly always depleted them to the point of near death. Think of what the Sistine chapel did to Michelangelo; his finest work drove him nearly blind. You can stand in front of one of these forever, lost in your deepest, darkest longings; yearning for what can never happen."3

Hermione shyly steps away from the mirror. Michele merely stays well away from the center of the room. Philomel, however, steps confidently in front of the silvery-reflector.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

At first, all she sees is black, as inky as the night and as unfathomable as death. Then, her image comes into focus; pale, alabaster skin with dark tendrils curling on a cheek and acid eyes closed in sleep.

She seems to be curled against someone, for hands paler than her own are grasping her waist possessively. All there is to identify the person is a silver ring in the shape of a scythe around the left middle finger.4

Slowly, after an eternity, one bright as a death curse eye opens to fix on Philomel. Lips curl into a mocking smile and Philomel sees a blood red stone in the hands of the stranger. The stone is slipped into a pocket of the image's that Philomel did not notice before. A strange sudden weight slides into her own pocket. The reflection of Philomel's desire was interrupted by a sudden whoosh of flame from behind.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

"Quirrel's come then. The idiot didn't even manage to get past Professor Snape's riddle." Philomel scorns.

The other two look surprised. Hermione exclaims, "Professor Quirrel! I thought it was Professor Snape."

Philomel rolls her eyes. "No, of course not. You met him at Diagon Alley; he would never do something to endanger his students. You didn't really think that, did you, now?"

Hermione looks sheepish. "My parents always tell me that the—the reason I'd only a few friends was that no one could see past my appearance. I suppose I fell victim to the same mind-set as they did."

Philomel waves away the unspoken apology with an elegant hand. "Well, now you know. But, I would suggest that the two of you hide in the shadows. Quirrel will most likely not expect more than one here. Though he'll be in for a surprise."

Michele nods and grabs Hermione's hand just as she is about to protest, and drags her to a corner at the front of the room and holds a hand over her mouth. The flames belly out and Quirrel barrels on through.

His turban is askew and singed, obvious signs that he did not get the riddle right, and his face was strangely twitch-free. Pale eyes flicked across the room, conveniently missing the two in his blind-spots.

"You! Girl! What are you doing here? Nobody's supposed to be down here." Quirrel says in a strong voice. Philomel stands there, perfectly polite.

"I would have thought that t'would be apparent, Professor. I'm obviously here to either help or hinder you in your quest for the Philosopher's Stone. Or simply observe you. But, of course, there is always someone watching anywhere we go."

Quirrel remains suspicious of Philomel. "You can't be sent by my master. And no one else would want to watch me."

A flicker of a haughty smile graces Philomel's features for a brief moment. "Perhaps, perhaps not. You could be underestimating your value. You could also be right about me being a loyal courtier of the Dark Lord. You never know."

Quirrel scrutinizes Philomel. "You do not look like any of my master's followers' fool children."

Philomel tilts her head back proudly. "Magic can do wonders."

A chilling voice emanates from the back of Quirrel's head, "The wench is lying. I did not send her and nor is she one of my Death Eaters' spawn. Kill the bitch."

Philomel's face doesn't falter. "Ah, ah, ah. You might just want to ask yourself, or the person on the back of your head: 'How long has she been here?' 'Is it possible that she has back up somewhere?' 'Can I maybe be as dimwitted as I look?'"

Quirrel looks enraged and raises his wand, but the chilly voice commands, "Stop you fool, perhaps she has the stone. Let me see her."

"But, master, you're not strong enough…"

"YOU WILL DO AS I SAY!"

Quirrel, needless to say, quickly removes his lopsided turban. Seated firmly in the back of his bald head is a snake-like visage.

"So, girl, you try to pass yourself off as a Death Eater child or a servant of mine. You must be a Slytherin, to lie so convincingly. Tell me your name."

Philomel looks not in the least perturbed. "My name is Philomel Faye Potter, daughter of James and Lily Potter. I am a Ravenclaw and currently failing your miserable lackey's class because it's so damn boring. I do believe that you are the Dark Lord Voldemort, scourge of the wizarding world. You tried, and failed wretchedly, to kill me once before, I believe."

Voldemort seems a bit speechless. Quirrel sputters indignantly.

Philomel signals to Michele and Hermione. "And now, if this works, gentlemen, I'll be leaving here and you won't." Philomel begins singing under her breath:

"Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet melody;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby,

Never harm,

Nor spell, nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh,

So, good night, with Lullaby."

Philomel continues chanting the half-familiar lines and lays her long hands on Quirrel. Burns in the shape of snakes, centipedes, and other creepies steal over Quirrel's body. After only a moment, he crumbles to dust. Voldemort, enraged, speeds into Philomel and through her. Philomel faints, from both exhaustion and an overload of souls on her body, which was not made to house more than one.

\/\'/\/'/\/'\/\

"Philomel, are you awake?"

"I am now. Did I get hit with the frying pan again?"

"WHAT!"

"Nothing, Hermione."

Hermione scowls at Philomel darkly, muttering under her breath. Michele looks a little confused.

"Philomel, not that I'm complaining, but why did you kill our Defense Professor?"

Hermione, just realizing what she witnessed, sways a little on her feet.

Philomel blanches a little. "If I didn't, then we'd've been killed. Also, to keep the Stone from Voldemort's hands, which would not have been facilitated by our deaths. And, finally, I have a right, as the last living Potter, to kill the one that destroyed my family. I will not be held remiss in my duty to my family."

Hermione still looks a little pale, and is short of breath, but she manages to put her fear behind her, for the moment. "How are we supposed to explain that we killed our defense professor?"

Philomel looks dumbfounded. "I hadn't thought of that."

Michele, on the other hand, not in the least perturbed by seeing the death of his professor, is smug. "Well, we can't say that we did it on purpose. Nobody would believe that you had any legitimate reason for doing so. Well, one person will. The problem now is getting that person to believe that you did it on accident and we were nowhere near you when you did so."

Philomel is both horrified and disgusted. "You can't mean Dumbledore, can you?"

"I can and I most certainly do. You'll have to be knocked out again, and Hermione and I will have to go back and somehow get Dumbledore down here; making up a plausible story for why we were down here in the first place."

Hermione speaks up for the first time since Michele started, "It would also be better if no one but we three were to know that all of us were here. So, I suggest that we tell Dumbledore that Michele was knocked out by the Chess pieces, and I could not go along with you through the potions riddle."

Philomel squeezes her eyes shut. "Okay, just take the stone and hide it well. I want to study it when I get older. Hit me as hard as you can."

Michele nods. "I'm sorry, Philomel."

The last thing Philomel saw was darkness.

:::

In case anyone recognized the parts of my little History of Magic safeguard, the "lives of men" part was partially stolen from Fullmetal Alchemist. I'm not an avid fan, but I've watched a little. Oh, and we really did try and discover the Philosopher's stone during the Renaissance. Needless to say, we did not succeed. Review, review, review and read my new story, Letter's of Resignation, which has been lengthened from the original three chapters to five.

An idea borrowed from Full Metal Alchemist. It fit with the way I wanted to portray Dumbledore. This isn't the first stone that Flamel has made, though, it was just the one that was perfected.

Not quite, how else could the Flamels have stayed alive so long? Though Dumbledore helped perfect it.

Idea borrowed from the second book of Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic quartet. The spell net made from metal. And if Philomel sounds a little creepy there, it's because she thinks the magic is beautiful; and that giving yourself to your work is the highest calling. So, yeah, she's creepy.

If you can't guess who the person is, you're not as smart as I think you are. And yes, that does mean what you think it does. She won't be like that for long.