February 1992

Harry didn't get any response from his thank you note about his mother's photo right away. He was disappointed, but he understood their preference for privacy and tried to respect that. He was extra studious and attentive in class in a quiet and subtle attempt to show his appreciation for the gift.

At Imbolc, he quietly and privately observed the holiday by tidying up his section of the dorm room, having a long shower with a special herbal soap Pansy gave him for purification, and having some roast lamb at dinner. The girls also talked him into visiting the Black Lake to offer it some of his magical power. When he snuck out on the first of February after dinner at the pre-arranged time to meet in a secluded grove near the lake, he found it wasn't just the four of them. There were some other people there too – all first years. Draco Malfoy was there, naturally, and his hangers-on Crabbe and Goyle. Draco introduced them to everyone formally. They didn't seem acquainted with many people there yet. Pansy introduced Harry to Theodore Nott.

There weren't just Slytherins there, though. Daphne did the introductions for the others - Morag MacDougal and Stephen Cornfoot from Ravenclaw, and Ernest "call me Ernie" Macmillan and Lily Moon from Hufflepuff. Harry felt a little out of place as the only Gryffindor, especially when Lily, Morag and Stephen gaped at him when he arrived, and whispered to their housemates incredulously. Ernie seemed pleased to see him there, which seemed much more welcoming.

"I'm pure-blood for nine generations you know, Potter," he said proudly. "Not that there's anything wrong with being half-blood, or less. I think it's magic that counts really, don't you? I celebrate Imbolc with my family at home every year. First year doing it here of course. I heard once that the Potters had a small Circle on their manor grounds – is it true?"

"I uh, haven't been able to visit there yet," explained Harry. "The manor was destroyed years ago – I only found out about it recently anyway. I know my dad wasn't a Christian, but I don't know if he followed the Old Ways or not. I think maybe he did."

They quickly got underway once introductions were finished, and knelt at the water's edge where the lake was relatively still and held their hands out over the water – some dipped their fingertips into the lake. Pansy and Draco (who seemed the most knowledgeable, or perhaps just the bossiest) took turns telling them what to do, and encouraging them to send their magic out into the lake through their hands. They said some ritualistic words in an alternating mix of Latin and English so everyone knew what they were saying, about the birth of spring, the waters of change guiding them all in their paths, and the renewal of Magic. There was a glitter of light on the surface of the lake near them as they all concentrated, which was exhilarating. They all split up as they left afterwards, some heading back right away (like Harry), while others lingered to chat.

With constant tutoring from either Hermione or Harry, Neville was starting to improve at potions. Hermione liked to drill him in the recipe steps, and Harry preferred to go over theoretical concepts behind the general study of Potions that got left out of their class textbook. He'd taught him how to dice and slice neatly (Neville was sure he knew how – but it turned out he didn't), and how to use a small sharp knife to peel roots without getting blood everywhere (Neville had no experience at all with cooking, which boggled Harry's mind). Leaving aside the obvious pain involved, blood did weird things to potions and thus was best avoided. Currently they were revising stirring techniques and why it mattered.

"Remember, Neville," explained Harry, "the wooden spoon or ladle or stirring stick acts like a low-powered magic wand, to carry a bit of your magical power into the potion. It helps transform it from inert separate ingredients to a magically active potion. That's why you can't just grab whatever tool is handiest – if a recipe calls for a wooden spoon, you must use a wooden spoon, not a metal ladle. The ladle is used when you want a metal implement that will deliberately channel less magic into the potion, or you need something base or neutral like tin or copper to complement the earth-focused properties of the potion, providing a grounding effect."

"Alright, never improvise with using different spoons or ladles."

"Not unless you're experimenting. Though, if you feel one of the problems you're having is not getting enough magic into the potion to activate it, then using a spoon of the same wood as your wand can help. After all, that wood was specially chosen to match you and channel the most power possible."

"I… use my dad's wand."

"Oh yeah, I forgot that. Sorry. Is that common? That kids find a match with a relative's wand?"

"I don't know. It matched better than my mum's wand did. Gran said I should make my father proud."

Harry looked doubtful. "I can see that it's important then, but… might you not do better with a different wand? I had to go through like a hundred wands in the shop before I found one that suited me. Seriously. Sometimes things in the store exploded, and he snatched the wand out of my hand, saying 'No, not that one!' And it didn't match either of my parents' wands, according to Ollivander. Not even a little – neither the core, nor the wood."

"I'll think about it, and talk to Gran," Neville said thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I should try and push more power down the spoon if I can?"

"Yes, maybe make a conscious effort to picture the power flowing through you, nice and smoothly, and what you want the potion to turn into. And don't forget to count the number of stirs, and the direction. It subtly changes the type of potion you get. It's complicated, and all to do with a cross-over between Arithmancy and Potions. I'm still reading up on it, but for now, just remember, direction and counting is important."

"What if I forget and muck it up?"

"Well, the potions books I've read so far mostly just say not to, which isn't a lot of help. But I did read a tip in a household charms book about cooking that said if you get distracted in the middle of spelling a stew you should counteract your extra stirs by stirring in the opposite direction. So, if you think you stirred widdershins too many times, stir a few times deasil to try and balance it a little. The theory's sound, but I might give it a bit of a try and see how it goes in practice." Harry got his experiment underway. He enjoyed brewing with Neville. He didn't get to do things properly in class, and certainly couldn't experiment.

"I wish you and Hermione taught the class, sometimes," complimented Neville. "Things are so much easier to understand, the way you go through things carefully."

Harry was very embarrassed, and pleased. He hadn't gotten many compliments in his life. "Thanks Nev. Friends, right?"

"Always."

Harry hesitated thoughtfully. "I think maybe now might be a good time… if you wanted to talk about what happened to your parents. I didn't want to ask when everyone was around. Because I don't think it's going to be good."

While he watched Harry brew, Neville talked softly and briefly about how his parents were tortured by Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan LeStrange, and Bartemius Crouch Jr. They had been driven mad by the Unforgiveable "Cruciatus" torture curse, and had been in St. Mungo's ever since. His Gran took him to visit them regularly, but they couldn't speak and didn't seem to know who his was, though his mum gave him sweet wrappers sometimes, like a gift.

"I'm so sorry, Nev," Harry said sadly.

"I'm sorry about your parents too, Harry. At least there's hope that one day someone might find a cure for my parents."

"It's okay," said Harry uncomfortably. "I still have my aunt and uncle, anyway. And Dudley. And you've got your Gran. So things could be worse." There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Let's talk about something else, hey?" suggested Harry. Neville agreed quickly with obvious relief.

"So Nev, I need to write a letter to the Ministry and since I've been helping you with Potions, I thought maybe you could pay me back by helping me with my letter?"

"I'd be happy to. I'd do it anyway, you know. We're friends."

Harry explained about wanting to get access to Potter Cottage at Godric's Hollow and go through his parents' things – either to keep them or to see them go to whomever was listed in their wills. And he had no idea where to start with the Ministry – most of his knowledge about it came from history books that were out of date.

Neville promised he'd help and that if he couldn't he would ask his Gran for advice. Harry thanked him politely with a little nod of his head, and wrapped up the tutoring session by chatting about how his experiment in countering extra stirs by adding more extra ones in the reverse direction had gone.

"Next week we'll talk about elemental affinities of plants and animals and how it affects potions, so bring your copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. And some paper for notes. You'll finally be learning why you add porcupine quills after taking the cauldron off the fire for a Boil Cure Potion, even if the temperature of the potion is exactly the same. We'll just be doing theory so we can meet in the library if you like? There's some good private tables down the back of the stacks."

"Sure, and thanks again Harry. I really appreciate this. And I'd be happy to look over your letter when it's ready to go. I think you should start with contacting the Ministry of Magic's Public Information Services Office, and asking them where to best address your query. If you get too stymied, Ron's dad might be able to assist. He works in the Ministry so would be able to provide you with a formal introduction to some people in the Ministry, if you need that. Your name might open doors that would be barred to others though, so it might not be necessary."

One afternoon, the giver of Harry's photograph finally responded to Harry's letter by covertly slipping him a note during class asking him to stay when the lesson was finished.

Harry packed away his books and told his friends he'd meet up with them later, and to tell Pansy he wouldn't be able to meet her before lunch after all.

His Professor closed and locked the door as the last student left.

"A little privacy for our conversation I think, P-P-Potter," said Professor Quirrell.

Elsewhere, in the Great Hall, Neville bravely stopped by the Slytherin table briefly to tell Pansy that Harry was busy with Professor Quirrell, and wouldn't be able to meet her today. She frowned worriedly as he scurried away. Professor Snape had told them that if they ever had a private detention assigned with Quirrell, they should tell him. She didn't personally have any idea why that was, but she was concerned for her cousin. Professor Snape always had layers of meanings and reasons behind everything he said.

Upstairs, Harry thanked Quirrell graciously for his photo.

"N-n-no trouble at all, Potter," he said, "b-b-but I'm afraid I cannot tell you much more about your mother. Our ac-acquaintance was really quite a p-p-passing one. I can tell you that she w-was a most formidable f-f-fighter. She worked hard in Defence, and was skilled at offensive charms. She joined the war with your father, and f-f-fought the Dark Lord a few times personally. In-ineffectually perhaps, but she survived those initial encounters, which speaks well of her skill as a duelist. Few could stand against him and live. Few dared to even try. I'm af-f-fraid I can't say anything more about her," he apologised, with a dreadful stutter.

"That's alright. I've managed to find out quite a bit more about her and my family since coming to Hogwarts. Nothing quite so personal as you've shared, though. I really appreciate that."

"Discovered anything special? Some creature ancestry perhaps? Special powers in the family line?" Quirrell leaned in close, intent on his answer. There was an overpowering smell that Harry thought might be rotten garlic. He leaned away discreetly.

"Not creature heritage or unknown powers, no. Just about my ancestors. Did you know my mother wasn't really a Muggle-born?"

"How remarkable, do go on," said a surprised Quirrell.

"It turns out that my maternal grandmother was a Squib – Heather Parkinson."

"So that's how you're related to Miss Parkinson. I had assumed it was through the Potters."

"Well, we're related that way too. Third cousins through my dad's family, second cousins through my mum's."

"Ah," said Quirrell, leaning back. Harry thought he looked oddly disappointed for some reason. "There does tend to be a bit of inbreeding in many pure-blood families. It can sadly lead to frailties within the family sometimes. It is not unknown for a dash of Muggle blood to strengthen and purify an individual's magic, when too much inbreeding has otherwise weakened the family line."

"Heather's parents were second cousins to each other," volunteered Harry. "Pansy thinks maybe that's why they had a Squib daughter."

"Well, enough of th-th-that," said Quirrell with a dismissive wave. "Let us not dwell on the f-f-failings of families. How has your research in the Restricted Section been going, my young student?"

"Very well, thank you," said Harry politely. "I've been reading up a lot on defensive charms including the Shield Charm, and rituals associated with the traditional quarterly holidays and Yule. If you don't mind, I would like to continue accessing the Restricted Section as I'd like to read up on the Unforgiveables next."

"It is pleasing to hear you are working on reclaiming your heritage and learning the Old Ways. I would en-c-courage you to spend more t-time with your Slytherin friends. And what an intriguing choice of a new t-t-topic for research. Thinking about your parent's deaths again, perhaps?"

"And the Cruciatus," added Harry. "Not that I want to cast it, of course!"

"Of course not. You're too young," smiled Quirrell.

Harry smiled back uncertainly.

"Just my little j-j-joke, Mr. Potter." Harry laughed with him.

"Uh, so I want to research how they work, and why they work. Apparently they don't leave any marks, so how are they causing pain, or killing people? Usually that takes an injury. What are they hurting? And why are they called 'Unforgiveable', when there's so many other ways to hurt or kill someone – even with first year charms?"

"I'm not sure you will f-f-find much in the Restricted Section I am unfamiliar with, so p-perhaps I can explain a little about the curses for you. And if you do have any insights into your parents' death and your own survival, I do insist you share them, Mr. P-P-Potter." Harry promised he would.

Quirrell wrote him out a new library pass, and then sat down on a desk near to Harry, for a long lecture, his voice smoothing out of its stutter the longer he spoke. "M-m-many curses and hexes, and even b-beneficial charms, have been banned by the Ministry, and by the Wizards' Council before them as 'Dark'. M-many were banned out of ignorance, fear, or blatant prejudice against the Old Ways. Too much blood, too much sacrifice, too associated with a particular family that someone on the Council was feuding with, or simply too efficacious – too dangerous to those holding tight-fistedly to their power. Yet the Unforgiveables still merited their own special category. And d-do not blithely assume they have never been used by so-called 'Light' wizards. The Aurors in our last war were given special permission to employ those spells against… th-th-the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, if they could. Or anyone they mistakenly thought in the fog of battle was a Death Eater. It wasn't just 'evil' people using them."

Harry was wide-eyed. The books he'd read had spoken of them as if they were the most terrible evil you could ever encounter. Did his mother use them, in the war?

"You might like to read Unforgivable Curses and their Legal Implications in the library, if you're interested in that side of things," Quirrell said, waving a hand dismissively. "If that meddling old man hasn't removed it. I've added it to your pass, just in case it's s-still there, along with some other m-more practical books including Confronting the Faceless. But as to the magic behind it, well that's actually quite interesting. Those three s-s-spells are 'Unforgiveable' because they all directly affect the soul. The Imperius curse enslaves the soul, dependent on the caster's level of magical power and the target's will to break free of its soft smothering persuasive weight. Cruciatus, the torture curse, burns at the soul with astral fire causing unbearable pain, and the Killing Curse, why it slices directly at the soul's connection with the body, severing it instantly. No ethereal magical shield or counter-curse can stay its course, and once hit by the curse, no Healer can save you."

He was drawn out of his almost loving litany of the different curses, noticing Harry's rather pale face. "Ah, well almost nothing. You are the only known s-s-survivor of the killing curse, of course Mr. P-P-Potter. But how?" he murmured.

"Do you think they suffered? My parents?"

Quirrell paused reflectively for a moment. "No, I don't believe they did. For… the Dark Lord, the use of the K-K-Killing Curse would almost be regarded as merciful. It is very swift."

"Now Harry, let us talk of the favour you owe me."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"You know of course that there is something guarded in the f-f-forbidden third floor corridor. I would like to know what you have learned of the layered defences all the t-t-teachers have put there. For I am not sure the other teachers have done their part in p-p-protecting it adequately, and I know how gossip travels at this school among the curious s-s-students."

Harry looked a little sceptical. "Surely you would know more than I would, Sir. I'm not sure there's any reason you would need my help with such a matter."

"Can you think of a reason I might legitimately require assistance, P-P-Potter?" said Quirrell, staring intently at him. Harry winced and rubbed at his head. Garlic always seemed to give him a headache – he got them far too often in Quirrell's class. He thought about why Quirrell might need his help. Snape was certainly a suspicious character, with his past as a Death Eater and rumoured willingness to poison Squibs, as Neville reported. If he was after the treasure, whatever it was, Quirrell might not be able to trust Snape's help in guarding the stone. But if Dumbledore and the others trusted Snape, they might share too much of the details of their own protections with Snape.

"Ahhhh…" sighed Quirrell. "You see Harry, there are some at this school who cannot be trusted. One helped build the very defences around the stone yet his soul is the blackest evil. He seeks to steal the stone for himself. He hides his nature," Quirrell smiled warningly, "but scratch the surface and you'll find nothing but treachery and wickedness. Do you know who I'm speaking of, Mr. Potter?"

And at that very moment, the classroom door swung open, despite being locked earlier. And into the room swept the very man Harry suspected of all that was wicked and cruel – Professor Snape.

"Quirrell," he hissed, "I believe you are expected for lunch, in the Great Hall. You'll find the Headmaster has been asking after you."

"M-m-m-me?" asked Professor Quirrell with a stuttering quaver in his voice, hunching in a little. "I d-d-d-d-do hope there's no t-t-rouble, Severus?"

"No, no trouble," said Snape, glancing around the classroom briefly. "But I do wonder what the infamous Mr. Potter here did to merit a detention with you, Quirrell."

"No d-d-detention. J-j-j-just a little ch-chat, Severus," smiled Quirrell nervously.

"I think it's time Mr. Potter joined his friends for lunch."

"W-w-well I think that would be fine," said Quirrell obligingly. "Why don't you r-r-r-run along then, P-P-Potter. We can talk about your r-r-research l-l-later," he said, with a nervous but meaningful glance towards Snape.

"Understood, Professor," said Harry with a courteous nod. He left the room closing the door behind him, and stomped noisily off down the corridor. And then, he snuck back very, very quietly, to listen at the closed door for a moment. He overheard only a few snippets before a student came down the corridor and he had to leave or be noticed lurking.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," warned Snape.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," threatened Snape icily.

Harry left. He wasn't sure what led Snape to stop by right then, but now he knew one thing for sure. Snape was a dangerous enemy – and he was after third floor corridor's treasure, some kind of stone. And he was threatening poor, timid Professor Quirrell.

A/N: Congratulations to my readers Sally, Sigfried and 01asdf who all correctly guessed that Harry would think Quirrell sent the photo!

For those of you who are puzzled and were expecting Snape, you might like to note that Snape *did* indeed send the photo of Harry's mother. Harry has guessed wrong as to the sender's identity! (For *obviously* Snape hates his guts and would never send such a gift.) After a little thought about the risks vs. benefits (and correctly deducing who sent the photo) Quirrellmort decided to steal all the credit and reap Harry's gratitude!