The Second Face

"With the school year coming to an end, he will only become more desperate, Headmaster," Severus said worriedly.

Albus nodded his agreement.

"You are right," he murmured thoughtfully. "His efforts, however, will be for nothing. Quirinus will not be able to retrieve the stone. Who he is working for is what concerns me most."

"Who he is working for?" Severus probed with a frown.

Albus deflated in his chair.

Much to is shame, it had taken him too long to understand what was occurring within the castle. It had all come together in the end, though he took little comfort knowing what it was that motivated Quirrell.

Voldemort.

Quirinus had no need to take such a risk as to feed on the blood of unicorns, not unless he had fallen victim to a most unpleasant curse. Albus did not believe that to be true for a moment, which left only one conclusion.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was not seeking to obtain to the stone for himself, but for the one he had found himself serving.

Tom Riddle was certainly not beyond slaughtering a unicorn to sustain himself.

The man would do whatever he deemed necessary to cling to life.

"The Dark Lord," Albus whispered.

The usually unshakeable Potions Master shivered involuntarily, his mouth falling agape in surprise.

"Him?" he asked worriedly.

"Him," Albus confirmed.

Severus swallowed deeply and took a sip of water from the goblet on the desk, his hand trembling uncharacteristically.

"You are certain?"

"I wish it was not so, Severus, I truly do, but it seems that the Dark Lord did not perish the night he attacked the Potters."

"Then the boy is in danger."

"He is," Albus agreed sadly. "Harry must one day learn the truth."

Severus said nothing for a moment as he allowed the news to sink in.

"He must not be allowed to get the stone!"

Albus held up a placating hand.

"The stone is once again in the possession of Nicholas," Albus assured him. "The dilemma I now face is what to do with Quirinus."

"When he learns that it is gone, what do you think he will do?"

"I do not know," Albus replied gravely. "I suspect he may flee and bide his time for another opportunity, but I would rather that the Dark Lord did not have an ally he can rely on. When Quirinus makes his next attempt, I will intervene."

"Is that wise?"

"Quirinus is not him, Severus," Albus pointed out. "He may be acting on his behalf, but he is not the Dark Lord. I am curious to know, however, where he is hiding. I have searched the castle and grounds thoroughly but have found no sign of him. Unfortunately, he knows Hogwarts better than most, so it is possible he has managed to conceal himself."

Severus frowned as he shook his head.

"I do not believe he would be able to resist attempting to kill Potter if he was here."

"Perhaps," Albus replied tentatively, "but there is no denying that Harry Potter is at the very top of his list. Voldemort is arrogant enough to believe that Harry is no threat to him, so it is quite possible he will wait."

Severus shook his head.

"Potter is an average wizard at best, even for his age!" he huffed. "He is no threat to the Dark Lord and never will be."

"You allow your bias to cloud your judgement, Severus," Albus chastised lightly. "You must remember, Harry is new to the wizarding world. He knew nothing of being a wizard until Hagrid fetched him from his relatives."

"He knew nothing?" Severus asked irritably. "Petunia kept it from him?"

Albus nodded.

"It appears that she did not wish for him to come here at all," Albus sighed. "She and her husband have done their best to squash Harry's spirit."

"As I said they would," Severus snapped. "The boy should never have been placed with them."

"And what alternative was there?" Albus asked. "You know of the protections in place."

"But they do not protect him from them!" Severus returned as he stood. "Petunia always was a bitter, petty woman, Headmaster. If you want Potter to have any happiness or even a chance to thrive, you will do the right thing and get him away from her."

Albus raised his eyebrows in surprise as he leaned back in his chair.

"You have changed your tune rather abruptly."

Severus's jaw tightened.

"He is her son," he whispered. "Every time I look at him, I see his father, but he is still Lily's son. I cannot bring myself to care for the boy, but I would see him live, for her."

With that, Severus stormed from the room and Albus released a deep breath.

Perhaps now his Potions professor would be able to see past the grudge he had with James Potter and remember that Harry is indeed Lily's son.

Maybe Severus would stop punishing Harry for the sins of his father.

Albus pushed those thoughts aside as he turned his attention to what concerned him most.

With only a few weeks left of term, time was running out for Quirinus to act.

It would be soon, and Albus needed to ensure that he was ready for anything Tom would throw at him when they inevitably met again.

In what form that would be, Albus could not be sure, but he had no doubt that his former pupil would be present when Quirinus made his attempt.

(Break)

Harry watched as Wood paced back and forth in front of the rest of the team, pausing occasionally when he wished to speak, only to shake his head and continue pacing.

"Alright, you lot, this is it," he declared after a few moments of hesitation. "We can win this. We already beat them back in October, and I want to shut Flint up for good."

"Prat," one of the twins muttered.

Wood nodded.

"I need you to be at your best today," he continued. "We all know they will do whatever it takes to win. Fred, George, you know what to do."

The twins saluted in unison and Wood turned towards the Chasers.

"Ladies, keep the Quaffle moving and don't let them bog you down."

"We know, Oliver," Angelina huffed.

Wood turned towards Harry and nodded.

"Higgs has got nothing on you, Potter. You flew rings around him last time. Do it again and get the Snitch as quickly as you can. Forget about everything else, just get the Snitch."

"It's as good as in his hands already," one of the twins snorted. "Little Harrikins won't let us down," he added, ruffling Harry's hair.

He scowled at the redhead and took a deep breath as Wood gestured for them to leave the changing room.

There was considerable buzz around this match.

It wasn't often that two teams finished a season on even points and had to play one another for a second time, but here they were, and the rest of the school was excited for the extra Quidditch they would get to spectate.

"It's time," Oliver murmured as he mounted his broom.

Harry and the rest of the team followed suit as Madam Hooch announced them into the stadium.

Hovering above the rest, Harry continued with his breathing exercises, zoning in on the task ahead.

It was odd to do so.

For the past several weeks, he had been working on allowing his mind to wander towards inane thoughts at will. According to the book Nicholas Flamel had given him, it was an excellent defence against a Legilimens.

Mastering this particular skill would lead one to believe that their target possessed no ability in the Mind Arts. It would lead them into a false sense of security or would serve to simply dissuade them from attempting to breach the mind altogether.

It was a strange tactic, but a vital one in mastering the obscure branch of magic.

Shaking his head of his thoughts as he realised his mind had been wandering again, Harry turned his attention towards looking for the Snitch with the intention of not allowing the game to be dragged out for too long.

That would only benefit the Slytherin team who relied on wearing down their opponents with foul play when they were simply outclassed.

No, it was best to end the match quickly before any members of the Gryffindor were injured.

The students were due to return home within the next week, and no one wanted to spend the last days of the year under the care of Madam Pomfrey if they could help it.

(Break)

Hermione's grip tightened around Ron's wrist as she watched Harry dive vertically towards the ground.

She hated when he did that.

Even Ron, who was an avid fan of the sport would cringe with worry.

From what little Hermione knew of Quidditch, even some of the professional players did not dive like that. Ron had told her, though she wished he hadn't.

"I can't look!" she gasped, covering her eyes with her free hand.

Again, Harry had dived to lead Higgs on a chase.

One day, he would not correct his broom in time and he could very well kill himself.

Despite his rather reserved demeanour for the most part, Harry was rather fearless in the heat of the moment.

"He's fine," Ron assured her a moment later.

Hermione peered through the gap in her fingers, breathing a sigh of relief as she spotted Harry flying normally again.

"I really wish he wouldn't do that," she muttered.

It was as though Harry was a completely different person when he played Quidditch.

In the air, he was carefree, and rather reckless it turned out.

Although he had changed considerably from when she had first met him back in October, he never seemed happier than when he was on his broom.

Maybe it was his escape?

Hermione had her books, and Ron had chess.

Harry simply seemed to be gifted in something rather dangerous, and the joy he felt doing it couldn't be denied.

She shook her head as he flew by and offered them a wave, grinning from ear to ear.

If she was going to be friends with Harry, Hermione knew she would have to simply get used to this part of him.

"I think he's seen the Snitch," Ron declared excitedly only a few seconds later.

Again, Harry had dived, though this time he was indeed chasing a small, barely visible golden ball that glinted in the late-Spring sun.

"YOU CHEATING BAS.."

Ron stopped yelling as he caught the stern glare of Professor McGonagall who was standing nearby.

Higgs knew he couldn't keep up with Harry, and in a desperate move, he'd grabbed the bristles of his broom, pulling him off course and allowing the Snitch to escape.

Madam Hooch's whistle was shrill, and she flew over to berate the boy for the foul play before awarding Gryffindor a penalty.

Higgs merely shrugged, unbothered by being penalised, though Harry did too, eliciting a frown from Hermione.

It was one of the changes she had noticed within him.

Just recently, Harry seemed to be a lot calmer, less tense, and more calculated in how he conducted himself.

Even when asked a question, he wouldn't answer on the fly.

He would take a moment to consider his words carefully before doing so.

The most prominent example of this was during their Potions lessons when Professor Snape would inevitably criticise Harry for his work. Even if Harry had gotten it right, the man would find something to mock him for.

At the beginning of the year, Harry, understandably so, took it quite personally, but now, he simply shrugged it off, not allowing Snape to get a rise from him.

It was quite a remarkable change; one of many Hermione was beginning to notice.

"He's seen it again!" Ron whispered excitedly, shaking her forcefully from her thoughts. "Bloody hell!"

Professor McGonagall did not even chastise him this time for his choice of language as everyone in the stadium looked on with bated breath.

Professor Dumbledore stood and drew his wand as Harry leapt from his broom that Higgs had grabbed once more and snatched the Snitch out of the air before he began plummeting dozens of feet towards the ground, holding the tiny ball aloft.

Hermione's nails dug into Ron as she watched helplessly, until she could no more, and she closed her eyes tightly.

It wasn't until an almost unanimous cheer erupted that she dared open them again, gasping as she saw Harry back on his broom, beaming happily as he flew only inches above the ground.

"How-?"

Hermione could only shake her head.

"He bloody caught it!" Ron cheered. "He caught his broom!"

Hermione was lost for words, and Madam Hooch's announcement that Gryffindor had won went unheard as the entirety of the house ran onto the pitch, led by the Deputy Headmistress.

"Oh, I will strangle that boy!" the woman vowed, her skin pale and lips thin in anger.

Harry would undoubtedly be in trouble, but if his recent behaviour was anything to go by, he wouldn't care at all.

Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup, and as she witnessed her friend being hoisted onto the shoulders of a weeping Oliver Wood, Hermione couldn't help but join in the revelry.

She wasn't a fan of Quidditch.

To her, taking part in such a barbaric sport was reckless, but she couldn't deny that it was an exciting thing to watch, even if for most of it she had been utterly terrified.

(Break)

Only after he had been subjected to being shouted at and equally congratulated by Professor McGonagall had Harry been allowed to shower where he reflected on his performance.

What he had done had been rather idiotic in hindsight, but he had acted purely on his instincts in the heat of the moment.

Still, he had caught the Snitch, and his broom had not let him down.

Not that he would be making a habit of such a move when it could have easily gone so wrong.

"Harry, are you done yet?" the voice of Angelina sounded throughout the changing room.

Ever since Alicia had suffered her unfortunate accident, the girls had opted to take a more measured approach when it came to retrieving him after practices.

They no longer barged in, but that didn't mean they wouldn't give him a hard time if he made them wait too long.

Nonetheless, none of the Chasers believed he hadn't been present when Alicia had tripped and taken an extra, unwanted shower. They just couldn't figure out how he had escaped without being seen by any of them.

"I'll just be a minute," he replied.

Fred, George, and Oliver had already left a few moments prior.

The twins had said something about gathering supplies for an impromptu party, and Wood simply couldn't be detained from excitement.

Harry had never seen the older boy so giddy, but it was nice to have given him the Quidditch cup he wanted so badly.

Shaking his head in amusement at the memory of the boy all but squeezing the life out of him for several minutes, Harry turned off the shower and dried himself off.

He too had never felt such a rush, nor joy from anything he'd done.

In truth, he'd never been given an opportunity to achieve anything of note, and now that he had a taste for it, he wanted to experience it more.

Whether it was Quidditch or anything else he undertook, he would give it his all so that he could experience the elation of success.

Having dressed, he left the changing room to be greeted by the trio of Katie, Angelina, and Alicia, the latter of the three cuffing him on the back of the head.

"That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do," she huffed before wrapping her arms around him. "Don't do it again."

Harry didn't know how to react.

He'd been hugged by the twins and Oliver, but never by a girl before.

Not even Hermione was so outwardly affectionate.

"I won't," he murmured, relieved when she released him.

It hadn't been an unpleasant experience, but an unfamiliar one that he simply didn't know what to make of.

"You're not going to hit me, are you?" he asked the others.

Angelina shook her head and followed suit, pulling him tightly to her.

"No, Alicia is just overreacting as usual," she giggled. "Good job, Harry. You're completely insane, but don't make habit of it."

"I won't," Harry assured her.

Angelina released him only for Katie to take her place.

"You are an idiot," she sighed. "You did that for the Quidditch Cup?"

Harry merely shrugged in response.

Put like that, it did seem even more foolish, but he didn't regret it.

Even if he never did anything reckless again, he would have the memory of the match to look back on.

"Come on," Angelina urged. "We'd best get back. We don't want to miss our own party."

Harry didn't know how he felt about having a party.

He'd never been to one before, and the trip to the zoo on Dudley's birthday certainly didn't count, though unwittingly setting an enormous snake on his cousin had been one of the highlights of his life.

He smirked at the thought of his squealing cousin as he was led to the castle.

The girls chatted away happily, discussing their own performances.

It turned out that Gryffindor had won the match 220 – 10, so it hadn't even been a close contest before Harry's leap of faith.

Regardless, Harry was happy to have won and wished he'd seen Malfoy's expression when he realised that his house had lost.

If there was one thing Harry had learned about the boy, it was that he despised losing. Being rich and spoiled, Draco wasn't accustomed to not getting his own way.

Harry was.

Until the day Hagrid had come to fetch him and told him the truth of what he was, Harry had never been granted anything in life that wasn't already broken, worn out, or no longer wanted by Dudley.

Now, things were different, and though he was still getting used to the freedom he had, he knew he would never take it for granted, even in the dark days to come when he would be back with the Dursleys for the summer months.

It was a tumultuous cheer that interrupted his thoughts as he was dragged into the throngs of Gryffindors waiting to congratulate him for his catching of the Snitch, and Harry positively beamed as the praise was heaped upon him.

As with success, praise was never something he'd received in his life, and though he didn't care for being the centre of attention, it was nice to feel valued amongst his peers beyond what he was already famous for.

This, Harry had earned, and as a bottle of Butterbeer was thrust into his hands by one of the twins, he drank deeply, enjoying the merriment of his fellow housemates.

"Alright, shut your faces," Oliver called when the party was in full swing sometime later.

The common room fell quiet, and the captain stood on one of the tables near the fireplace.

"It's been eight years since Gryffindor has won the cup," he declared. "Before this year, I wasn't sure that would be changing soon. I can't be happier that I was proven wrong."

The gathered Gryffindors clapped enthusiastically and Wood held up his hands to silence them.

"Our three chasers are the best by miles in the whole school," he continued, nodding towards the three girls. "Even when the snakes tried to cheat, they held their own."

"Do you know anyone who's messing with them?" one of the twins called, eliciting a bout of laughter from Wood.

"I know I wouldn't," he snorted. "That brings me onto the redheaded menaces."

Fred and George pointed to themselves, an expression of mock surprise working onto their impish faces.

"Not us," one of them denied.

"We are the picture of innocence."

Wood quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at the duo whilst their housemates laughed.

Fred and George were perhaps the least innocent people to ever cross the threshold of the castle.

They were only in their third year here and their antics were already cemented in the minds of many of the Professors here.

Snape's nostrils would flare at the mere mention of the boys.

"Of course," Oliver chuckled. "In all seriousness, I couldn't ask for a better pair of Beaters. You've all seen what they can do, and I already can't wait to see how far you will go."

The twins grinned in response as Wood turned towards Harry and the Gryffindors waited for the older boy's assessment.

"When McGonagall pulled me out of my Defence Against the Dark Arts class and introduced you as our new Seeker, I thought the old lass had finally cracked. There you were, a weedy little first year who didn't even know what Quidditch was until I told you. That was until I saw you fly, and I knew you would be great. The first time I told little Harry here to catch the Snitch, he just did it. In less than a minute, it was in his hands. You're talented, Potter, probably the most talented person this castle has seen in decades and you proved yourself this year. Keep it up, and I bet the pros will be willing to give you what you want to sign for one of them."

"They'll probably be kicking his door down when they hear about what happened today," Angelina predicted. "Isn't Megan Jones related to Gwenog?"

"Who's Gwenog?" Harry asked confusedly.

Oliver rolled his eyes at Harry before he chuckled amusedly.

"You're still bloody clueless," he sighed good-naturedly. "Gwenog Jones is the Seeker and Captain for the Holyhead Harpies. She'll be bloody impressed with what you did today. I doubt even she would try it."

"Not likely," one of the twins agreed. "Harry here is a complete maniac. When his parents find out…"

The boy stopped talking as the common room fell silent at the slip up.

"Sorry, Harry, I didn't…"

Harry waved the boy off and offered him a smile.

"It's alright," he said dismissively. "I know you didn't mean to. Anyway, I'm just going to get some air. I'll be back soon," he assured Ron and Hermione who had stood to follow him.

"Well done, you stupid prat," Alicia scolded the twin that had spoken.

That was the last Harry heard as he took his leave of the common room.

He knew that it was a mistake and that neither Fred nor George would wish to upset him, not where Harry's parents were concerned.

Still, it had rather dampened his spirit and with the joy sapped from the moment he had been enjoying, there was only one place Harry wanted to be.

It wasn't with his parents, but it was the next best thing.

The closest he would get to seeing them in person.

(Break)

Ron often fantasised about being a Quidditch star and seeing the house team claim the cup only strengthened his resolve to one day be amongst them.

Oliver would be leaving at the end of Ron's third year, so that gave him lots of time to become a good Keeper in his own right. Already, he wasn't bad.

Often enough, the twins would take it in turns hurling a Quaffle for him to block in the orchard at The Burrow. All Ron needed to do was practice, and maybe it would be him and Harry sharing the glory of a house cup in the future.

"Poor Harry," Hermione whispered as he left the common room.

"Fred didn't mean it," Ron defended his brother.

"Of course he didn't," Hermione agreed.

The twin was devastated by his faux pas and was currently being consoled by the rest of the team.

It had been nothing more than a mistake on his part.

The twins adored Harry and would never do anything to intentionally upset him.

"Do you think he will be alright?" Hermione asked, worrying her low lip.

Ron nodded.

"He will."

Harry's parents would always be a sore point for his friend.

Ron often bemoaned how overbearing his mother could be and how odd his father was, even for a wizard, but he couldn't imagine them not being around.

Harry had never gotten to know his parents, and Ron knew that the boy would give anything just for five minutes with James and Lily Potter.

Everyone in Britain knew their names, but none of them knew the Potters.

No one did, not really.

When Ron had asked his mother about them when he had been a small boy, she could tell him little.

The Potters were one of the families that kept mostly to themselves.

Occasionally, one would become a person of note, but then they would fade into obscurity again shortly after.

Not that it would be an option for Harry to do so.

With what had happened to his mother and father, and him defeating You-Know-Who, he would always be in the limelight, famous for something he couldn't remember.

Ron wanted to be famous, but not for what had happened to Harry.

No.

People seemed to forget what Harry had lost that night, even Ron before he had truly gotten to know the boy.

Harry didn't want his fame, but today would only add to it.

As an avid Quidditch fan, Ron had never heard of anyone having the guts to do what Harry had, and Wood was right.

When the pros heard of it, they would be watching Harry closely.

(Break)

He had become proficient at navigating the obstacles that stood in his way on the third floor over the past few months. A quick trip to the library had told him all he'd needed about the Devil's Snare and how to avoid being throttled by it.

The cloak took care of the rest other than retrieving the key and solving the riddle which had remained the same.

Harry held his most treasured possession around his shoulders as he gazed into the mirror at the image of his parents.

They always appeared, and though they didn't speak, seeing them was enough for him.

"We won the cup," he informed them.

James and Lily Potter smiled proudly at him, and Harry wiped away a tear.

He had learned long ago that his parents couldn't be reached through the implement the same way he had been gifted the stone.

They were dead, and there was nothing that would change that.

Harry knew he shouldn't torture himself like this, but he was drawn to the mirror, even if afterwards it left him feeling hollow and then angry for what had happened to his mother and father.

Still, despite the hours he'd spent here, he couldn't say that he knew them any better.

He knew every curve of his mother's face, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, and the eyes he had inherited from her, but nothing beyond the aesthetics.

It was the same for James Potter.

Harry resembled the man almost uncannily save for the emerald-green orbs.

It made him appreciate them all the more being all he had to show of his mother, but he was not ashamed to look like the man that had sired him.

On the contrary, Harry was proud of where he had come from.

"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run!"

James Potter had stood bravely in front of Voldemort for his wife and son so that they may escape, knowing there was little chance that he would.

For the love he felt for both, he had given his life willingly.

Harry offered the man a watery smile.

He had been loved and wanted once upon a time.

It was a difficult thing to comprehend with how loathed he was by what remained of his relatives, and even looking upon the reflection of his mother, he couldn't see her as Petunia's sister.

They didn't resemble one another at all, and his aunt was a bitter and often cruel woman.

How had they become so different?

Harry pondered the question for a moment before he stiffened at the sound of a disturbance coming from beyond the flames he had passed through for the dozenth time to visit the mirror.

Who would be coming down here?

Without a second to spare, he pulled the cloak over his head, concealing him fully and frowned confusedly as Professor Quirrell entered.

What was he doing here?

Harry watched as the man drew his wand and began circling the mirror, muttering incoherently to himself.

"It must be here!" Quirrell snarled after a few moments, growing irritated by his apparent lack of success.

Harry took the opportunity to put a little more distance between himself and the raging man, retreating to the left of the room, doing his utmost to control his breathing.

Would Quirrell destroy the mirror in his attempt to get the stone?

"I'm afraid it no longer is, Quirinus."

Harry turned sharply to see that Professor Dumbledore had entered the room and was looking at the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor disappointedly.

"Dumbledore!" Quirrell growled, surprised by the appearance of the headmaster. "You are supposed to be away from the castle."

Dumbledore nodded as he took a few steps forward.

"Unfortunately for you, I was not fooled by your ploy to remove me for the evening. I have been watching you closely, Quirinus, and I must say, you have been rather careless. The troll was my first indication that you were up to something, but to slay a unicorn to drink its blood. I know who it is you are acting on behalf of."

Quirrell merely leered in response.

"When my master has the stone…"

"I already told you, it isn't here," Dumbledore reminded the man firmly. "Your master will not be receiving the stone tonight, Quirinus."

"He lies," a feeble voice croaked from somewhere in the room, and Dumbledore stiffened immediately, drawing his own wand. "It is here."

"You are here, Tom," the headmaster sighed. "I expected you would be."

"You feared I would be," the voice corrected. "Come now, Quirrell, I would see the fool for myself."

"Master, no! You are not strong enough!"

"Nonsense," the voice chuckled. "We both know that Dumbledore cannot kill me. He doesn't have the guts or the ability to do so. Now, Quirrell."

Harry could only look on in horror as the man reached up and began to unwind the purple turban he wore. When it pooled to the floor at his feet, Harry recoiled at the sight of the face protruding from the back of Quirrell's skull.

What was happening?

Dumbledore too seemed to be rather discomforted by the development, and Harry didn't miss the tightening of the old man's grip around his wand.

"Surely you must see that you find yourself in a fruitless position, Tom," the headmaster spoke.

"Perhaps," the face agreed, "but tonight will not be the end. You cannot defeat me, Dumbledore. You have my word that I will kill you long before you have the chance to defeat me. You are old and weak. KILL HIM!"

The violence that suddenly erupted took Harry by surprise, and even as he retreated further back from the exchange of spells, he could not help but look on in awe at the display.

Quirrell had immediately began casting a plethora of magic, evidently hoping to catch Dumbledore off guard. The headmaster, however, remained as cool as ever as he defended himself from the onslaught.

Harry couldn't identify anything he was seeing. The spells were unfamiliar, and he couldn't even begin to understand how Dumbledore was able to flick the offensive magic aside so that it was pushed out of his path.

Despite the severity of the situation, Harry was transfixed on the encounter, wondering if it was possible that he could ever be as good with magic as the two men.

"ENOUGH!" the face declared when it was clear that Quirrell was coming up short. "I will do it myself!"

Harry frowned once more as Quirrell fell to his knees.

"No, Master!" he pleaded, trembling before he unleashed a bloodcurdling scream.

When he stood only a moment later, he looked as he had before he'd collapsed, though his eyes had changed to an eerie red colour and the face that had been on the back of his head was gone.

"It always was unsettling how little regard you had for human life, Tom," Dumbledore commented distastefully. "Even those that serve you loyally have always been disposable to you."

"I did not come here to be lectured by you, Dumbledore!" Tom spat. "The stone may be lost to me, but at least I can rid myself of your foolishness. Avada Kedavra!"

At the mention of the words and the following burst of green light, Harry froze fearfully.

"Not Harry! Please, kill me instead."

"Move aside, you silly girl!"

"No, please, not my son."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry could only watch as his mother collapsed lifelessly to the ground and listen to the twisted laughter of the man that had slain her.

Lily Potter only wished for her son to be spared and had willingly given her life for you.

"My equal," the man muttered and Harry found himself staring down the length of a white wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry instinctively reached for his scar as it began to burn, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

It wasn't the pain he was experiencing that elicited such a reaction, but the hurt and righteous fury that pulsed through his veins.

He remembered it so vividly, and although he had witnessed his mother's murder numerous times now, it never got any easier.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden heat that erupted in the room, and his eyes widened at the sight of an enormous, fiery snake that Tom had conjured and set upon Dumbledore.

With a slashing motion of his wand, the headmaster banished it away, only for the serpent to strike at him again.

Seeing that Dumbledore was struggling to fend off the attack, Tom grinned maliciously as he levelled his wand towards the man.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow, and without thought of the consequences or what he would even do, Harry charged towards the man that had seemingly been his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the year.

"Avada Kedavra!" Tom cried gleefully.

Even before he had finished the incantation, Harry had taken hold of his hand and sent the spell off course, taken aback by the agonised scream that escaped the man's lips.

He could only look on in morbid fascination as the appendage crumbled to dust, and the wand it had grasped clattered to the floor.

Tom looked at Harry in shock before the expression shifted to one of unbridled fury.

"YOU!" he spat, lunging towards the boy.

Harry took hold of the remaining hand of the man that had begun to strangle him, and immediately, Tom let go with another scream before he was sent careening across the ground.

Fuelled by the cold anger flowing through him, Harry pounced, taking hold of the throat of the downed Professor and squeezing with all his might.

It was a symphony of icy magic he could feel thrumming within him, the pained wails of Tom, and the pleading of his mother that Harry experienced as he applied pressure until there was no longer any movement beneath him.

Even then, Harry held on as he sobbed his mournful tears for the mother that had been taken from him, exhausted and confused by what had transpired in the past moments, yet still angry as he stared into the lifeless eyes of Professor Quirrell.

"I hate you!" he seethed. "I hate you."

He held on, his jaw clenching until the face had seemingly rotted to a blackened, desiccated state, and Professor Quirrell was barely recognisable, his final expression being one of shock and horror.

"Harry?" the voice of Dumbledore broke gently into his thoughts. "Come on, it will do you no good to stay here."

Harry allowed the man to pull him away, and he wiped his tears before offering a final look of disgust towards the husk that had been Tom, or Quirrell.

Whomever it had been, Harry could no longer be certain.

It was a scream that rent the air that distracted him from his thoughts, and Harry watched as a smoky mass shot out of Quirrell's chest and towards him and Dumbledore.

The headmaster reacted by conjuring a blindingly white barrier that sent whatever had emerged through the wall on the opposite side of the room.

For a moment, Dumbledore maintained his spell, waiting to see if Tom would return.

He didn't, and once more, Harry allowed himself to be led away.

The was no clarity to his thoughts, and Professor Dumbledore said nothing. The walk went by in a blur, and it wasn't until Harry was placed onto a soft bed that he looked up.

"I am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore offered sincerely.

They were in the Hospital Wing, and the headmaster looked tired and guilty.

"Sorry?" Harry whispered.

"For all you endured this evening," Dumbledore sighed. "You were not supposed to be there."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"The mirror," he murmured. "I've been going there to look in the mirror."

Dumbledore released a deep sigh.

"The mirror shows only what we desire, nothing more," he explained. "I should have enquired about it the night you retrieved the stone. I fear I was distracted by your achievement that it slipped my mind to do so."

"I figured it out," Harry replied. "It showed me something I know I can never have."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak but prevented himself from doing so.

"Who is Tom?" Harry asked curiously.

The headmaster's expression darkened.

"Tom Riddle was a student here many years ago. He was an unpleasant boy and became an even more unpleasant man, as you saw for yourself."

"Voldemort," Harry whispered, as he met the gaze of Dumbledore.

The headmaster nodded.

"Voldemort," he confirmed.

"He's not dead, is he?"

"No."

"That means he will come looking for me, doesn't it? He tried to kill me, and he will try again."

Dumbledore said nothing.

Not that Harry needed him to.

For some reason, the Dark Lord wanted him dead.

It was Harry he had come for that Halloween night. James and Lily Potter had merely stood in his way.

But why?

Why did he want Harry dead?

He had been just a baby and hadn't done anything to him.

"Are you hurt, Harry?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Well, I think it is best that you spend the night here under the care of Madam Pomfrey, just to make sure," Dumbledore urged. "I will ask her to give you some Dreamless Sleep. I do not believe that it is wise for you to relive any part of this evening again so soon."

The man stood and Harry released a deep breath of irritation.

"Why can't you just tell me, Professor?" he huffed. "Am I in danger?"

Dumbledore offered Harry a sad smile.

"As long as Lord Voldemort lives, Harry, you will always be in danger, but I will do all I can to protect you."

With that, he walked away to fetch the matron, and Harry shook his head.

He didn't want protection. He wanted to be ready.

If Voldemort was still alive, then Harry wanted to be the one to put an end to him for what he had done to his parents.

No one had more right than him as far as Harry was concerned, but if he was to one day face the monster that plagued his nightmares, he would have to ensure he was able to overcome him.

Harry shuddered as another wave of cold magic washed over him, and he took the cloak that Dumbledore had evidently brought with them from the bedside table.

Somehow, Voldemort had survived the night the two of them had first met, but Harry had learned that Death always got his due.

By hook or by crook, Voldemort would be no different.

No matter what it took, Harry would make sure of it, even if he had to hand the man over personally to the cloaked figure the Peverells had summoned centuries prior.

"Come Death, come," Harry whispered, hiding the cloak under his pillow as he heard the approaching footsteps of the headmaster and the healer, shuddering once more as the cold magic comforted him.