July, 1992

Exams were always a very stressful time for Harry, and he was glad the last one was finished. The grades would be given out a couple of days after the end-of-year feast, just before they all went home for the summer. It would be an anxious wait.

Dumbledore wasn't at the High Table at dinner that evening – the best guess from Percy was that he'd be talking with officials at the Ministry about the OWL and NEWT exams, as they'd just been completed too. Harry worried a little to himself that Snape might try for the stone that evening, with its staunchest defender away. He watched him suspiciously, but the man didn't do anything except eat his dinner, and he never even looked in Harry's direction. He looked over to make sure that at least Professor Quirrell was there – he sighed with relief to see him sitting in his usual place. Quirrell smiled at him and gave him a little brief nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his food and his conversation with Professor Flitwick.

Harry went to bed that night sure that Professor Quirrell would handle any trouble that Snape might cause. But it seemed that it wouldn't be as easy as all that. In the middle of the night, he was awoken by a prod to his side and a quiet hissing call of, "Mr. Potter! Boy! Wake up!" Harry woke immediately, and scrambled out of bed in a daze.

"I'm up! I'll start cooking breakfast right away! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon!" said a panicked Harry, raising his hands to protect his head.

He blinked sleepily at his surroundings, surprised to see a blank-faced Professor Quirrell standing next to his bed at Hogwarts, instead of being at home with an angry Uncle Vernon.

Harry lowered his arms, feeling rather silly. "Sir? What? Sorry. I was asleep - dreaming. What's going on? Did I wake people?" Harry glanced around worriedly, but nothing seemed amiss, and his friends still seemed to be sleeping.

"There is a small problem with the stone's defences, Mr. Potter, which I require assistance with. Snape is after the stone right now, and I need your h-help securing it," explained Quirrell in whispers.

"But what more could I do? Surely the other teachers would be able to help better than I."

"I appear to be having a… s-s-slight problem with the Mirror's defences, Mr. Potter, and as you've encountered it before, it occurred to me that you may be able to render some assistance in this matter."

"But you've secured everything so well now surely. And I really think Professor Flitwick-" started Harry, reluctance obvious in his voice. He didn't want to have to face a dangerous wizard in the middle of the night – reading ahead in DADA wasn't going to be enough to protect him yet. But he didn't get to finish his thought, for it appeared his professor was on his last thread of patience.

"I don't have time for this, Potter! Snape is lurking about, and Dumbledore may return at any moment!" Quirrell hissed angrily. "Stupefy!" A red jet of light whizzed towards him, and the last things Harry saw before he fell unconscious were Neville's eyes watching him worriedly from the bed across from his.

Harry awoke lying on the cold stone floor of a rather bare room, with Quirrell's wand pointed at him. He looked around puzzledly - there was a large mirror standing in the room, and there appeared to be only one exit – a door covered in black flames.

"Professor?" Harry climbed to his feet shakily. "What was that for?"

"I didn't have time for an argument in your dorm, Mr. Potter. T-t-time is of the essence tonight. With Dumbledore away, Snape is after the stone. And… so am I."

"What?!"

"You see, Mr. P-P-Potter," said Quirrell, starting to unwind his turban very slowly, "the stone offers amazing healing potential, even to those on the very brink of death. And unfortunately while on my Grand Tour I visited the Black Forest in A-A-Albania, and had a great deal of trouble with some hags. They c-c-cursed me to the brink of death. I'm dying."

The last bit of the turban unwound, Professor Quirrell waved his wand and muttered a few words under his breath that Harry didn't catch. The turban cloth tidied itself into a neat coil on the floor, and Quirrell turned to show Harry the back of his head – it was hideous. The skin on his bald head was green and pustulent, with oozing sores everywhere. The skull looked pitted in places, like it was on the verge of collapsing because the bone was so fragile. Harry thought he saw a little bit of pinkish brain in one of the worst spots. He thought he was going to throw up, it was so horrible. His head ached and his stomach roiled with nausea.

"N-n-not a pretty sight, is it Mr. Potter?" Quirrell waved his wand and with a muttered word the turban cloth flew up and wound itself back into place on his head.

Harry shook his head mutely.

"And I need that stone, Mr. Potter," he said, turning to stare into the mirror. "I need it to live. As a whole m-m-man. Wizards can survive blows that would fell a mere M-Muggle, Mr. Potter. I s-s-survive, a mere shadow of the man I was. Ruined - but alive. And when I look in this mirror, I can see the stone, but I cannot retrieve it. The mirror is the k-key to finding the stone. Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this. He is in London now, and I would v-v-very much like to have the stone and be far away by the time he gets back."

"It's not yours, though," said Harry tentatively. "Couldn't you just ask to borrow it? Perhaps if you explained…"

"You think Dumbledore a good man? L-l-let me tell you now, Mr. Potter, there is no good and evil, only power, and those too weak to seek it. He would never give it to me – he is too greedy, too grasping of his own power. He is no saint. He sees my d-d-death as being all part of the natural order of th-things. He has no pity. But do you, Harry?"

Harry thought about it, through the pounding headache that was starting up. He'd much rather see Professor Quirrell get the stone than Snape. And he did feel sorry for him. If it was him who was sick like that – dying – with that creepy Dumbledore refusing to help… why he'd steal the stone too. "Yes, Professor. I'll help you, if I can. And if you absolutely ensure that no-one blames me for it going missing. I don't want people pointing fingers at me, calling me a criminal."

"Certainly!" said Quirrell, looking very pleased. "I shall ensure it. Now, come and stand in front of the mirror, and tell me what you see."

Harry looked into the mirror. He expected to see his family and friends again, but instead saw his reflection, looking a bit nervous. Tidy black hair with a long fringe, rectangular silver glasses, and the lightning bolt scar peeking out from under his hair – the scar that he never minded so much until he found out it was a brand of his fame.

"I just see myself – wait!" he exclaimed surprised, as his reflection changed and didn't perfectly match him anymore. His reflection smiled at him, and put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow – incredibly – he'd got the Philosopher's Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

"The stone," said Harry. "And I think I've got it!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Philosopher's Stone. "Is this it?"

"Give it to me," said Quirrell, and Harry passed it to him.

"Ahhh, at last. Well done, boy."

"Harry."

"What?"

"I'd rather you called me Harry - not boy. We're friends now, right? A first name basis is appropriate for close family, friends or allies who come to your aid when called upon."

"To think – the famous Boy Who Lived counts me as an ally," smiled Quirrell.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Will it… heal you?"

"It should…" Quirrell mused, staring at the stone.

"Quite the large favour then, helping you get that," hinted Harry.

"You dare!?" hissed Quirrell, then seemed to compose himself, getting his temper back under control. "I will acknowledge no life debt," he said coolly, "for I could have managed without your aid if I had to - another child may have sufficed. And I will be already be covering for your actions this evening, as discussed."

"Oh! No, no life debt," said Harry. "Sorry. I just wanted to say, maybe I could borrow the stone one day. It's not for me. I'm hoping to be a Healer, you see, and maybe there might be someone else who needs help. Like you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Pansy's tried to teach me about trading favours properly – I guess I did it wrong."

"…Agreed then," said Quirrell stiffly. "One loan of the stone at a future date. For no more than a month. And next time you t-t-try claiming a favour, do so with more delicacy." Harry apologetically agreed that he would. Quirrell spent a little time explaining in detail exactly why he didn't feel a life debt would apply, and getting Harry to formally concede, sworn in Merlin's name, that no life debt was owed over this matter.

Quirrell eventually tucked the stone away in a pocket of his robe, and drew his wand. "Now that's dealt with, prepare to d-defend yourself."

"What?"

"I will be attacking you shortly, Mr. Potter. A mock duel so that your wand will register some appropriate spells should Prior Incantato be cast later to reveal your spellcasting history. You may be the brave hero who attempted to stop me absconding with the stone, alas, to be beaten and knocked unconscious."

"You won't hurt me too much?" he said nervously.

"Nothing too hard to heal, Harry. And sadly, my spellcasting isn't what it once was, while I suffer under my current… indignities. Now, bow, then defend yourself, and attack me in turn!"

Harry bowed, to the correct angle for greeting a respected elder or social superior. And Quirrell bowed too (very politely as if to an equal, Harry noticed), sweeping his wand up formally in front of his chest as he did so.

"You won't s-s-stop me, Potter!" said Quirrell dramatically, casting a cutting curse at Harry that slashed through his pyjama sleeve, cutting thinly into his arm. "The s-stone is mine!"

Harry looked wide eyed at him, and then quickly dived out of the way of another curse. "Incendio!" he cast in return, aiming a jet of fire just to the side of Quirrell.

"You th-think to defeat me with that paltry attempt?"

"You won't get away with stealing the stone – I'm going to stop you!" Harry said, getting into his role.

And it was just they were engaging in another bout of exchanging spellfire that Neville opened the door covered in black flame and burst into the room, patting briefly at his nightshirt as if worried it might be on fire.

"Harry! Professor Quirrell?!"

Quirrell looked briefly startled, but recovered his poise quickly. "A f-f-friend of yours seeks to aid you in stopping me from l-leaving with the stone, Potter? Nonetheless I shall prevail! Confringo!" He shot a quick blasting curse just past Harry, which hit the wall behind him, making sharp shards of stone explode everywhere, some of them slicing painfully into Harry's legs. Harry cried out in pain and collapsed to the floor. He knew he should keep fighting, and gritted his teeth against the pain as he picked up the wand he'd dropped in shock.

"Flipendo!" he yelled from where he lay on the floor, aiming the Knockback Jinx straight at Quirrell's chest and with a loud bang Quirrell was knocked backwards.

Quirrell snarled angrily, and glancing over he saw Neville fumbling in his nightshirt pocket and getting out his wand, so cast quickly. "Stupefy!"

"Neville!" called Harry worriedly as Neville slumped to the ground.

"Oh, he's quite alright, Mr. Potter. It's the s-s-same spell I used on you earlier," said Professor Quirrell with blithe unconcern. "It merely stuns one's opponent without otherwise harming them. Sometimes I wonder if I chose correctly," he mused, looking lost in thought as he gazed down at Neville's still, unconscious body on the floor. He twirled his wand in his hand absent-mindedly.

"In any case, remember H-Harry - having a power doesn't mean an obligation to use it, you know. Think about that. For now, I think I'd best hurry away, leaving you both unconscious, having bravely attempted to stop me as I rushed off with the s-s-stone."

"I suppose that might be best. Good luck, Professor."

"Learn well, Harry. When Dumbledore questions you, avoid looking him in the eyes if you can, lest he read your mind, the meddling old fool. Focus on our fight just now if you think he is. Don't tell anyone the truth about what happened here, or it will be you reaps the consequences, not I. Remember, you're an accomplice to grand larceny now. Farewell, my young Gryffindor knight. Incarcerous. Stupefy."

And without waiting to hear Harry's response, thin ropes shot from Quirrell's wand to bind him, then a red light hit him again and Harry knew no more.

A/N: The UK's legal system has long since abolished the category of larceny as a type of theft but the wizarding world's legal system still retains it, being behind the times in many respects.

If you're wondering what Quirrellmort muttered while taking off his turban, it was the incantation for a glamour spell.

Only one chapter to go! Next Tuesday morning (Australian time - so that's Monday evening for many of you) the very last chapter of this fic will be uploaded. AND the first chapter of the *next* fic in the series will also go up at the same time. So if you've been enjoying this series do stop by my profile page and click to "follow" the new fic (and "favourite" it if you really enjoy it). Unfortunately, the new fic will not be immediately updated with new chapters. While I've written a lot of it already, I like to have my fics completely finished and properly edited before uploading them. So, the first chapter will just be going up kind of as a placeholder. It's so that right after finishing this fic you'll be able to "follow" the next one, and not lose track of the series. Further chapters will probably start going up 2-3 weeks later, so there shouldn't be too much of a wait.

Thanks to all my reviewers! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter. :) It's a bit of a detour from canon, but things would be a bit dull if kept too much the same, so I hope you enjoyed the twist.