Harry Potter: The Rise of the Shadow

by ShadowHunter6299

Finding his heritage earlier, Harry begins his journey to learning magic and his position in the Wizarding World. A proactive, well-mannered young man will enter the British community with one goal in mind...to bring back into glory the family name of Potter.

12. The New Year and the Three-Headed Dog

Harry and the gang returned to Hogwarts the day before term started and with that, the return to the monotonous daily life of school work, lectures and studying began.

But upon their return, Harry found a package awaiting him lying on his bed.

Wrapped in a soft brown parcel, it was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter.

Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words,

"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you."

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Taking another look to the letter, Harry wondered why this person had his father's invisibility cloak.

Folding it, Harry penned a short missive to Hrothgar.

"Attached is a letter written by an unknown who claims that the cloak in the package belonged to my father. I ask that you verify whether it truly belonged to my father and if there are any nefarious enchantment on the cloak-if so, please have them removed. Likewise, if you are able to ascertain the identity of the mysterious sender, I would be grateful.

Thank you."

Time Lapse

As if a blink of an eye, the first couple weeks of school term flew away as fast as the Golden Snitch, seemingly blending each day into a seamless haze of school.

Davies was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Ravenclaw Beaters, Inglebee and Samuels, began to compare Davies with the Quidditch fanatic Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. If they won their next match, against Gryffindor, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in years. According to Burrows, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, the last time Ravenclaw House had won the Quidditch Cup was back in 1980. Therefore, Davies was determined to become the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team that won the cup for the first time in over 10 years.

As it was, this newfound training regime proved to be well worth it's struggle.

Before they knew it, the first Quidditch match of the new year began to creep in between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

The morning of the match, in reminiscence of his first game, Harry enjoyed his breakfast with a nonchalance and relaxation that Ron wished he could emulate. Choosing to sit bedside his teammates, Harry could only offer a silent nod and smile towards Ron, who wore the Gryffindor team uniform while possessing a rather interesting shade of faded green hue across his face. His nervousness and fear evident to anybody.

"I hope Oliver doesn't have any accident during the match or else I think Ron is going to have an aneurysm with the prospect of actually getting some game time," remarked Harry towards Terry, who remained seated to his left, with Jeremy seated to his right.

Finishing the stuffed pancakes, Terry swallowed before replying, "You can't blame him, Harry. Not every one can be as relaxed before their first Quidditch game as you were. Honestly, sometimes you can seem too relaxed."

Shrugging, Harry remarked, "The way I see it, whether I win or lose, I get to enjoy another day of Quidditch. Might as well remain relaxed to play my best."

The weather was relatively well. Freezing wind shears were warmed by the blazing rays of the gleaming sun shining down from the sparsely cloudy sky. The stadium remained lightly coated with a thin layer of twinkling snow among the grounds leaving behind soggy dirt.

Seated around his fellow teammates, Harry listened on as Davies began his speech.

"Okay, lads, listen up! We did a great job against Hufflepuff, but the Gryffindors are on another level. Wood is a fanatic, but a great Keeper and a hard ass captain, so expect it to be a tough match today. I need your very best today, lads, so it's time to muck in and get it right."

Standing in the center of the stadium, Madam Hooch loudly proclaimed, "I want a nice clean game from all of you!"

Standing before her, looking into each other with a fierce look, Davies and Wood tried to break each other's hand in facsimile of a firm handshake.

Pleasantry aside, the game began.

Flying high above, Harry focused on the aerial battle that commenced between both teams.

The Quaffle was passed and intercepted too many times to be counted within the first few minutes that after a while, Harry chose to simply play interference where he could.

Pushing his Nimbus to its limits, Harry flew faster and more erratic than he had ever flown. Flying into the Gryffindor Chaser close enough to have their own hair brush against his own cheeks as he attempted to punch the Quaffle out of their hands and into the awaiting hands of the Ravenclaw Chasers down below, Harry's heart raced faster and faster as he continued his chaotic interferences.

Wood proved his worth as the Keeper and Captain for his team through extraordinary agility and masterful blocks that prevented his own teammates to score anything other than the handful of scores.

The Weasley twins were as chaotic on air as they were on the ground. With nary a word to one another, they possessed the uncanny ability to aim their hits with pinpoints accuracy and teamwork that made his own Beaters looks like first years. However old and rundown their brooms appeared, they utilized it's ability to corner a twist and turn with expertise as they boxed their intended target.

The three ladies of the Gryffindor Chasers had evidently worked tirelessly over the past couple years to blend their own unique strengths into a strong sense of teamwork. Whatever play they had practiced were executed with perfection. What appeared to be a random throw into the air, proved to have been a calculated pass into the forgotten third Chaser. Stopping them took the majority of Harry's attention.

As it was, Davies intense workout routine proved to be well worth its struggle.

For however good they were, the Ravenclaws were better. Whereas the Gryffindors were quick and coordinated, they were able to quickly decipher their plans and make short work of them. Any new plan, new strategy or desperate play the Gryffindor team used, the Ravenclaws were more than a match against them.

Understanding that they were no match to disrupt the Gryffindor Chasers, Inglebee and Samuels focused their efforts into destabilizing Wood and Castle, the Gryffindor Seeker.

Peter Castle was a sixth year who had elected to try his luck as the Gryffindor's newest Seeker. As intelligent and skilled as he was, his sheer will, and dedication was left in its proverbial dust as Harry's instinctual flying set him apart from one another. Together they flew in neck breaking speeds, twisting and turning bedside one another throughout the various towers and goalposts.

Catching a glimpse of gold in the farthest corner of his peripheral vision, Harry suddenly turned right and blasted away higher and higher as he made every attempt to create some space between him and Castle. Floating amongst the wispy cirrus clouds, the Golden Snitch fluttered it's near transparent wings.

Looking back, Harry took note of Castle's efforts of attempting to catch up to him. A mere few inches away from the bristles of his broomstick, Castle possessed a fierce look. A rather tall wizard, Castle possessed a strong build, cutting a rather powerful image on the young Ravenclaw Seeker.

Looking forward, Harry began to weave and twist as he remained adamant in his pursuit of the golden little bugger. Down below, unaware of the personal battle between both Seekers, the rest of the school cheered on as they stood witness to Davies' scoring his second goal against Wood.

Without a thought, the Golden Snitch dropped down in a perfect arc towards the snow-laden grounds. Emulating it, Harry went into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from those few in the crowd who continued to watch the Seekers.

Leveling itself a scant few inches from the floor, the Golden Snitch shot upwards heading straight towards Madam Hooch, who remained focused between the Chasers and their continuing tug of war. Using all of his strength, Harry pulled his broomstick upright without thought as he fought against his momentum to avoid crashing into the ground.

His boots, remaining within the handles bedside the bristles, brushed against the swaying blades of grass as Harry succeeded against gravity and continued his pursuit. Behind him, blocked by Harry, Castle was a second too late to realize the near imminent crash.

As it was, unless he possessed a great sense of forethought, there was nothing short of magic that could have prevented Castle from impacting against the damp ground. Instead, he landed harshly against the ground, tumbling and flipping as his own speed was suddenly stopped by the unmovable ground.

Keeping his mind focused on the Golden Snitch, Harry set his own concern for Castle aside as he blew through Madam Hooch, missing her by mere inches—the next second, Harry closed his grasp around the fluttering Snitch, his arm raised in triumph.

The stands erupted.

Supported by the entirety of the Ravenclaw House and House Slytherin, who would rather see a Ravenclaw win than a Gryffindor win, the stadium was suddenly blasted with cheers.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it - the game was over. The final score was 190-50, with Gryffindor in a tight lead before Harry's spectacular catch snatched their win away.

Harry left the locker room alone sometime later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now - no one could say he was just a famous name who bought his way into the team. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Ravenclaws running to lift him onto their shoulders; Terry and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, frizzled brown locks jumping erratically.

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun.

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched.

He recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner - what was going on? Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree. He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all." Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something.

Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I -"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly.

He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't -"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Terry, thumping Harry on the back.

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this..."

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

"But why would Professor Snape threaten Professor Quirrell?" asked Hermione in confusion, "Do you know what the 'Sorcerer's Stone' is?"

With a look of wonder, Terry answered her, "I mean, I could be wrong…what would Snape and Quirrell be doing dealing with it but if I am correct, then they could have been talking about the legendary Sorcerer's Stone, created by the infamous Nicholas Flamel."

"Nicholas Flamel? You mean to tell me that he actually existed?" asked Harry.

"Exist," corrected Terry, "He's still alive and living with his wife, Perenelle, somewhere hidden."

"Wait," interjected Hermione, "I'm confused here. Who are you both talking about?"

With a tone of hero worship, Terry stated, "Nicholas Flamel was and is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with the ability to transform any metal into pure gold and holds the ability to produce the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker unable to age."

Wide-eyed, Hermione, whispered, "You mean that their immortal?"

Shaking his head, Terry corrected, "Not immortal, simply unable to age. The Elixir of Life does not prevent anybody from being able to be killed, as far as I know that's impossible, but rather puts the body in a never ending cycle of stasis where it remains in the same physical state as it was when the Elixir was first ingested. In essence, the Flamels look to be the same age as they were when they first took the Elixir… six hundred and fifty-eight years ago."

"How do you know so much about it?"

With near hysteria, Terry answered Harry's question, "Are you joking! Don't you remember our first class with Professor McGonagall? The Sorcerer's Stone is still considered to be the pinnacle of alchemy! Others have attempted to create their own version, but all have failed. Even into his sixth century of life, Flamel continues to be regarded as the best in the field of alchemy and potions. His own wife, Perenelle was one of the pioneers of Enchanting. One of her most famous creations, the Mirror of Erised, was said to be able to accurately display each person's deepest and darkest desire. It was owned by the French King Charles the Sixth until it was returned by his children when it drove the king mad with paranoia before ultimately leading to his death. Throughout the years, both have been heavily involved with the advancements of Alchemy and Enchanting. They're even called "The Pioneers of the Lost Arts" due to their expertise of arcane magiks. They've mentored countless great witches and wizards throughout the years. Their last apprentice was Headmaster Dumbledore who he worked with regarding the uses of dragon blood."

Sitting on a weathered wooden chair, Harry's face turned pensive as he thought about his eavesdropped conversation.

"If it's truly the real Sorcerer's Stone that they were talking about, then what is it doing in Hogwarts?"

"Wait, what makes you think that it's here?" pointed Hermione.

"If it weren't here then why would they both be concerned about it? I'm sure it's been heavily protected with the Flamels. The only reason they would be talking about it is if it's here. Besides, remember, Snape asked Quirrell if he's learned how to bypass 'Hagrid's beast' and that students should not be aware of it."

"I wonder where it could be? I'm sure it's somewhere deeply hidden. They can't have simply hidden it somewhere that students could easily find it. Somewhere forbidden," pondered Hermione.

'Forbidden?'

As if a tree branch slapped against his head, Harry was reminded of the Welcoming Speech their first day.

'The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.'

Whispering, Harry muttered, "The third floor."

Turning to face him, both Hermione and Terry wore looks of confusion.

A look of realization flashed across his face as he continued, "Remember on our first day, Headmaster Dumbledore gave that speech about the third floor corridor—"

"Of course!" interrupted Hermione, "How could I have forgotten?! The Headmaster announced it in front of everyone."

Wide-eyed, Terry commented, "But why would he do that? Telling a school full of student to not go somewhere is a guarantee to encourage many to go there. They'll see it as a challenge to see what there."

Nodding, Harry agreed, "That's true. I can see the Weasley twins going there for the challenge."

"But even if it's there, why would the Headmaster bring such a famous item to the school and then announce it to everyone where to avoid? That's tantamount to painting a target on the stone," pointed out Hermione.

With a solemn look, the three of them stared into each other as they pondered the same question.

Time Lapse

A week after his eavesdrop, Harry received a reply from Hrothgar regarding the mystery writer and cloak.

"Lord Potter,

I can confirm that the attached cloak did belong to your father and before him, your grandfather. The invisibility cloak has been in your family for generations and has become as much of an heirloom as your Lordship ring.

In accordance with your request, I was able to have one of our cursebreakers assess the condition of the invisibility cloak. Cursebreaker Wright was able to determine that the integrity is well maintain and without flaw, indeed, for it's apparent age, it has not lost any bit of its charms.

However, I must report that a tracking charm was impregnated to the cloak through the addition of a strand of wool to the end. We were able to determine that the owner of the letter and the caster of the tracking charm belong to the same individual, Albus Dumbledore.

I cannot determine why or how the cloak came to be in Dumbledore's ownership, but I find it quite unlike your father to have departed himself from the Potter family cloak, especially in light of the previous political climate. Rest assured, the strand of wool and tracking charm have been subsequently removed and the cloak is perfectly safe to use.

Account Manager Hrothgar."

Hands clenched, Harry seemed to find more and more suspicious acts against the Hogwarts' Headmaster.

'Why would my father not have this incredibly useful artifact to protect himself or the family? How did Dumbledore come to have it and when did he obtain it?'

Deciding to put his worry aside, Harry decided to fold the cloak and place it in his secured trunk.

"Harry."

Startled, Harry turned towards his room's entrance.

"You ready to go check out the third floor corridor?" asked Terry.

Nodding, Harry replied simply, "Sorry, I got a bit distracted. But, yes, I'm ready."

Following their discovery of the Stone's presence in Hogwarts, the trio decided to determine if the third floor corridor truly possessed the legendary stone.

Quirrell must have been braver than they'd thought. In the week that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

As such, tonight, hidden within the dark shadows of the corridors, the trio made their way down to the third floor landing.

Rife with cobwebs, dust and chiller than the rest of the castle, the forbidden corridor never looked more uninviting than now. Opening each door as silently as possible, the group made their way towards the end of the corridor until they reach the farthest door, overlooking the entrance to the third floor landing.

Looking like any other door, this one remained locked, unwilling to unveil its secrets.

Removing his wand from his holster, Harry tapped the doorknob gently while uttering, "Alohomora"

The lock clicked and the door swung open - they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening for any noise that may have exposed them.

Harry turned around - and saw, quite clearly, why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob. They fell backward - Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. They didn't stop running until they made their way into the confines of the Ravenclaw common room.

"What do they think they're doing?! Keeping a full grown Cerberus in the middle of a school!" said Terry. His hair was a mess, face white with fear and clammy.

"You didn't see what it standing on, did you?" gasped Hermione.

"A trap door," noted Harry. "That must be what it's protecting. The pathway to the stone must be within that door."

Nodding, Hermione began her way towards the girl's rooms, while saying, "I don't know about the both of you, but I think I've had enough of an adventure for tonight."

In agreement, the two boys made their own way to their room in silence. As they began to gather their nightwear, Terry made his way to their bathroom with one last comment.

"You really get things exciting, don't you, Harry?"

Time Lapse

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Terry, and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color coding all her notes. Harry and Terry did not mind her aggressive method to studying and assimilated a similar scheduled during their study session with the rest of their classmates. Most did not care for it, however.

In fact, most comments could be succinctly put by Ron's own exclamation.

"Blimey, Hermione, the exams are ages away!"

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Harry and Terry spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work.

A surprise addition to their usual trio in their study session, Ron, appeared one Saturday as they reviewed their Transfiguration notes. Remarking that his mother had sent him a letter congratulating him on his supposed healthy work ethic, he told them that Percy had commented to his mother that he had seen him studying with them on multiple occasions. As such, his mother encouraged him to continue doing so, especially with their upcoming final exams.

"I don't think my wrist can handle another sentence," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window.

It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming. Harry, who was looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. "Just looking," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "And what're you lot up to?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, "Perhaps we can meet up with you in your cabin later this afternoon for some tea?"

"Of course," boomed Hagrid, "You lot know you're always welcomed."

"Hagrid, what are you doing here?" asked Hermione.

"Oh-uh, just some research," he replied evasively.

"Oh, really, you need any help?" offered Hermione.

"No! Uh, I mean, I appreciate you and all, but I think I got it. Anyways, I'll see you later today."

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon. Mentions it in almost every conversation we've ever had," said Harry.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Hermione.

"Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth is Hagrid up to?" said Terry.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut a couple of hours later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let them in and then shut the door quickly behind them. It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So - you wanted to ask me something'?"

"Yes," said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were wondering just how secure the protections surrounding the Sorcerer's Stone are? Other than the Cerberus, of course."

Hagrid frowned at him. "I of course can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know myself. Number two, you know too much already, so I wouldn't' tell you if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen out from Gringotts-"

"You talking about the break in they had last year, that's what it was about?" remarked Terry.

Nodding, Hagrid said, "Yeah, that's right. How did you all learn about the Stone? Dumbledore was serious about keeping it a secret."

With a roll of his eyes, Harry said simply, "Hagrid, you can't seriously believe that telling an entire school full of children to not go somewhere would result in anything other than having as many people as possible attempt their chance to enter the third floor corridor. From what I've learned, almost half of Ravenclaw House knows about the Cerberus and at least a handful of the seventh year have been able to sedate the Cerberus enough to make their way down to the Devil Snare."

Wide eyed, Hagrid said, "Oh dear, I better let Dumbledore know. I honestly thought old Fluffy would be enough to scare away the students."

"Fluffy! Is that the Cerberus' name?" asked Terry incredulously.

"Of course! I've raised him since he was a little tyke," bragged Hagrid with a wide smile.

"Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glancing at the fire. Harry looked at it, too.

"Hagrid - what's that?"

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Terry, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Last week. I was down in the village having a few drinks and got into a game of cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad to get rid of it, to be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione.

"Well, I've been doing' some reading' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this out the library - Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit - it's a bit out date, of course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, cause their mothers breathe on them, see, and when it hatches, feed it on a bucket of brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. And see here - how to recognize different eggs - what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them." He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

A few days passed, then one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry a note from Hagrid. He had written only two words, "It's hatching,"

Terry wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"We've got lesson, we'll get into trouble and bring unnecessary attention to Hagrid."

"How about we go during our break during lunch, it's only after Herbology," suggested Harry.

In the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited. "It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it. They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath. All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes. It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Without looking at them, Hagrid answered, "They reach their full grown size at around one year but are not fully mature until they are three years. But they're able to breathe within the first six months."

"Hagrid, you understand that you cannot keep him here? At one point or another, someone will see him and report it. Even Dumbledore will not be able to help you."

They spent most of their time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Terry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor. "I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Terry muttered in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. I asked Ron if I could get his brother Charlie's address. He works in Romania, studying dragons while obtaining his Mastery in Care of Magical Creatures. I was thinking we should reach out to him and see if he would be willing to take Norbert to his reserve. That way he receive the proper care he needs."

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when there was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!"

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

"Lord Potter,

I was surprised to have received your letter, more so to hear that Hagrid is in possession of a live Norwegian Ridgeback. I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Charlie Weasley."

They looked at one another.

"It shouldn't be too difficult—If we add a silencing charm around the cage, cast a featherweight charm and feed it a sleeping draught, Norbert should be fully out to avoid any noise."

They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them. When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate. "He's got lots of rats and some brandy for the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "And I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

Tossing in a chicken coated with a sleeping draught, from inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though the teddy not the only thing being torn off. "Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Terry covered the crate with black cloak. "Mommy will never forget you!"

Casting a silencing charm around themselves, the duo made their way into the castle.

Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another - even one of Harry's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. They shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe, looking around the corridor with squinted eyes.

They wait for a full minute before Professor McGonagall went back inside.

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again.

About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness. Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Terry the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Terry shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going... going... gone. They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands now that Norbert was off them.

Faster than their trek up the tower, Harry and Terry made their way into the Ravenclaw tower and went straight to their beds. Their body heavy from the stress of avoiding being caught.

Eventually, Harry and the group were able to put away their worry for Hagrid and Norbert and focus once more on their classes.

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

"No - no - not again, please -" It sounded as though someone was threatening him.

Harry moved closer.

"All right - all right -" he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him. He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy. Harry quietly whispered to Hermione what he'd heard.

With a worried look directed to Harry, Hermione attempted to play it off when Ron asked her if she was upset.

Time Lapse

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Snape to come bursting through the door at any moment with the Stone. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell. They had practical exams as well.

Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox - points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion. Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his eavesdropping of Professor Quirrell crying in the empty classroom.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out.

When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Terry said his brain was too numb to talk about their exams, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. He watched a small figure, shining a silvery hue, fly away from the Headmaster's Tower.

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" said Terry sleepily.

"I think I just saw Headmaster Dumbledore fly away."

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

Harry, Terry, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the ground.

"We've got to go to Professor McGonagall," said Harry.

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Professor McGonagall lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see her.

"We'll just have to -" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

A flush of relief spread across Harry's body.

"We were hoping to speak with you, Professor."

An eyebrow raised, Professor McGonagall replied, "What seems to be the issue?"

Looking around, Harry took note of a few student passing by the Entrance Hall.

With a serious face, Harry said, "Ma'am, if you would not mind, could we perhaps take this conversation to your office. It's a rather sensitive topic."

She eyed him critically. The most stern face he had ever seen rested on her.

"Very well."

With a turn, Professor McGonagall made her way towards her office, located in the first floor corridor, to the right of the staircase.

A rather smaller office than Harry would have assumed for her station, Professor McGonagall's office was a direct reflection of it's owner. Decorated sparsely with a few personal touches, it presented a rather stern and professional look to the trio of first years.

"Very well, now, Mr. Potter, can you tell me what this is about?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry began his tale.

"Several weeks ago, I happen to overhear a conversation between Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell where they began arguing about the Sorcerer's Stone," wide eyed, Professor McGonagall remain quiet in shock, "Gathering what I overheard, Hermione, Terry and I were able to deduce that somehow and somewhere Nicholas Flamel's legendary stone is being kept hidden within Hogwarts. We quickly realized that it must have been held in the third floor corridor. Professor Dumbledore's warning against entering it only served to reinforce it. As such, throughout the weeks, we have been able to determine that a vast majority of student have similarly found Fluffy, Hagrid's Cerberus, and a small number were able to bypass it and come against the Devil Snare. We only come to tell you this because we suspected that with the Headmaster's recent departure, the Stone could be in grave danger."

Steadying her hand, Professor McGonagall look at the three of them rather sternly.

"I appreciate your warning. I suppose with hundreds of students roaming the castle it was too much to ask for its presence to remain a secret. Rest assured; the Stone is well protected. I and the rest of the professors were tasked with its protections, and it would take a keen mind and strength to overcome them. For now, I ask that you please return to your dormitories while I go and inform the rest of the Heads of Houses."

Walking outside the office, Harry could help but feel as if their action had served no purpose.

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "I'll go and place a charm around the door to Fluffy. It'll let me know if somebody has entered the room. If it gets triggered, we'll have to go quickly to see who it is."

After dinner, the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

Finally, a quarter to midnight, the three of them remained the only one still awake.

"Terry, Hermione, I do have something I would like to show you."

Facing him, the three remained seated in the corner of the Ravenclaw common room. Located the farthest from the fireplace, it was poorly lit and away from the entryway to the dormitories and the entrance.

Folded across his lap, wrapped in the brown parcel, Harry had his family's invisibility cloak.

"Earlier this year, I received a gift from someone. They told me that this cloak belonged to my father. Unfortunately, they did not sign their name, so I had my account manager attempt to determine who it was that sent me my father's cloak. From what they could determine, the Headmaster was the one who sent it to me, as well as placed a tracking charm on it. According to my account manager, the cloak is the Potter family invisibility cloak. A very old and heavily enchanted family heirloom that has been in my family for several generations."

Unfolding it, the silvery material of the cloaked flowed to the floor casting a silvery hue from the little ray of light it caught from the fireplace.

Wide-eyed, Terry reached out and lightly touched the ends of the cloak.

"I've heard about these. Most 'affordable' invisibility cloaked are just regular cloaked heavily charmed for invisibility. They're good enough for a few years but they tend to fade away fairly quickly. The most expensive ones, the truly rare invisibility cloaked are sewn from Demiguise hair, enchanted throughout the entire process and coated with a Draught of Transparency. The Demiguise hair alone is incredibly expensive, but the enchanting process takes months to be completed, and the Draught of Transparency is incredibly complex. Few pureblood family have a cloak commissioned due to its cost. Even within the 13 Families are they rare."

"If it's so expensive and rare…why did the Headmaster give it to you, Harry? Wouldn't it make more sense to keep it safe?"

"Safe?! It's not even his to determine what to do. Giving it to me is the only right thing he could have done. Why ever did he have it, I do not know, but I intend to find out."

As he talk, a soft trickling chime sounded to his right. The sounds was so soft that their own conversation almost caused him to hear it.

Standing suddenly, Harry said, "Someone triggered the charm around the door. Come, we should all be able to fit under the cloak. We'll use it to keep us hidden."

Wrapping the cloak around them, the cloak was big enough to provide cover if they stood closely to one another. Waving his wand around the three of them, Harry muttered, "Silencio."

A wave of static fizzled around them. As sudden as it appeared, it vanished.

Making their way to the third floor, the trio did their best to make haste while avoided any unnecessary noise.

A few minutes later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor - and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other two. "If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak; I only ask that you return it when I return."

"Don't be daft, Harry, we're with you," said Terry.

"We're coming," confirmed Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a self-playing harp," said Terry.

"Snape must have left it there."

"Here, my grandmother had one, all we have to do it tap it near the top and it'll play."

Inching closer, Terry extended his wand to the top of the harp. With a soft tap, the harp began to move on its own. Its strings twinkled and moved as a soft shimmering sound emanated from the harp.

The sweet song flowed throughout the room; it's lulling sounds soothing the massive three-headed dog. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased - it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

Together, they stepped over the massive paws to slowly open the trap door found next the right head of the Cerberus.

"Hold one, let me re-apply the charm around the door. Just in case, I don't want to be caught off guard from someone behind us."

Leaving the confines of the cloak, Harry placed a silencing charm around the door, closed it, cast the locking charm, "Colloportus," and re-casted the Trip-Wire charm, "Cavare."

Returning to Hermione and Terry, Harry stood besides them as they looked downward with wariness.

"Before we enter, I think it's important that we all understand something. If what we fear is true and Snape is trying to steal the Stone, it's important we all stick together. Snape is an accomplished wizard and however good we are, the three of us alone will not be enough. We cover each other's back. Protect each other. Remember what we've been practicing. Movement is life."

With a shaking nod, the two attempted to gather their strength.

"I'll go first," offered Harry.

He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and - FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

"It's okay!" he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor,

"It's a soft landing, you can jump!" Terry followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

"Careful to not move. Remember what Professor Sprout taught about the Devil Snare," warned Harry.

Hermione jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

"Okay, on the count of three, we all cast the Light charm. One…two…three!"

At once, the three shouted, "Lumos."

The dark room, with nary a shadow from the lack of light, seemed to glow.

A flash of light, the brightest hue of white glowed with immense power that it felt as is the sun itself had gone supernova. A flash of heat emanated from their wands.

In a matter of seconds, they felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

"This way," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward. All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harry was reminded of Gringotts.

"Can you hear something?" Terry whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"I don't know... sounds like wings to me."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

He reached the door untouched. He pulled the handle, but it was locked. The other two followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora charm.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering—glittering?

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys - look carefully. So that must mean..." he looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "... yes - look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one - probably silver, like the handle."

Grasping one of the available broomsticks, Harry launched upwards and made his way to the cloud of wings that fluttered around the ceiling. As he did, the keys began to avoid him, flying away from him wherever he went.

After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

For the next couple minutes, Harry played a game of simulated cat and mouse with the silver key, flying behind its tail, always seeming to be short of a second behind it. Deciding to corner it, Harry was able to isolate it from the rest and was able to stop its flight by using the broomstick to pin it against the way, leaving it defenseless to be grabbed.

He landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned - it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Terry and Hermione shivered slightly - the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"I think," said Harry, "we're going to have to be chessmen. Terry, go and stand by the knight's horse. Hermione, you'll be the rook next to him. I'll join the bishop."

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harry, Terry, and Hermione took.

A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Harry started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them.

"Terry - move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

"Had to let that happen," said Harry, looking serious. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Harry only just noticed in time that Terry and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think let me think..." The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

"Yes..." said Harry softly, "It's the only way... Terry, you've got to be taken."

Turning to face him, Terry had a frightened look on his face as he said, "You sure, Harry?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry around the board, trying to find a way around it. Seeing none, Harry faced Terry and said, "Yes, if we sacrifice your piece, we'll have the best chance to win."

Nodding, Terry closed his eyes as he said, "I trust you, Harry."

Terry stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Terry hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor - Hermione screamed but stayed on her square - the white queen dragged Terry to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out. Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Terry, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

Harry pushed it open. A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs.

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next - but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing. "Brilliant," said Hermione. "This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'll be stuck in here forever."

"Give me a minute." Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire - toward the Stone." Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow." They looked at each other. "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"You drink that," said Harry. "No, listen, get back and get Terry. Grab brooms from the flying- key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy - go straight to Professor McGonagall's office and inform her about what we found. You need to make sure she takes you seriously, do what you have to do. Here," removing a small vial from his ever present belt, Harry pressed the Stitching Paste vial into her hand, "rub some of this onto his cuts, it'll begin to clot the blood and heal his cut."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."

A flush of embarrassment flashed throughout Harry. He had been told how smart he was, a veritable genius to his classmate. But never had anybody hugged him and called him great.

Mumbling a simple, "Thank you," Harry had to push Hermione to take a long drip of the bottle, shuddering from its taste.

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire, his cloak within her hands. Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp. It was as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them - for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire—then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there - but it wasn't Snape.

It was Quirrell.

'Of course, it's the only one nobody suspected.'

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

Choosing to play along, Harry hid away his surprise and decided to fake his way through this.

Shrugging, Harry said, "Its not like you made it all that difficult, sir. With a performance like yours, only a fool would fall for Snape. He's too obvious."

With a smirk, Quirrell began to pace back and forth.

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

With a light clap, Harry replied, "An excellent act, Professor."

Quirrell turned around, it was only until now that Harry realized that the room was not completely empty.

Located to the back was a mirror.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top:

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this...the legendary Mirror of Erised…but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

'The Mirror of Erised?'

Taking a closer look, the inscription began to make sense.

'I show not your face but your hearts desire'

With a gleam in his eye, Harry began to understand its significance. This was the mirror created by Perenelle Flamel, the only other person who Nicholas Flamel would have trusted completely. A brilliant witch of her own renown, Harry had suspicions that the mirror held more than it showed.

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest -" he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me - as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side..." Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it. "I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

"Lord Voldemort? He's dead," Harry said, completely confused with this twist.

A laugh, cold and high, emanated from Quirrell.

"Dead? Never! My master went beyond anyone else to make sure he remained alive. Lord Voldemort is alive, boy, and he wants your death most over anyone else."

"Liar! His body was turned to ashes."

Twisting his body, Quirrell faced Harry. His face contorted with anger; his eyes blazed with hate.

"He lives!"

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and launched towards Harry.

Twisting to his right, Harry's wand flew up and was flicked to the left while Harry uttered, "Repello!"

In a blink, the ropes were swapped aside, wrapping themselves around a pillar.

Covering himself behind another pillar, Harry shrunk behind it as Quirrell launched a bream of fire towards him. Pieces of stone flew in the air, a cloud of dust created the necessary distraction Harry needed to move upwards, moving to a pillar ahead, shooting a Stinging Hex towards Quirrell. A yell in anger revealed to Harry that his aim was accurate. Squatting beside it, Harry peeked around the corner and saw Quirrell facing away from him, focused on the pillar he previously used.

"Come on now, Harry. Stop hiding and face me. Your parents would be ashamed to see you cower behind that pillar. Stand up and face your death."

Clenching his wand, his nares flared with anger.

'This little shite, how dare he talk about my parents.'

Another beam of fire impacted the pillar; stone and dust flew around the room.

Keeping his back against the pillar, Harry made good use of the distraction to launch his own spell.

Aiming directly to Quirrell's back, Harry said, "Stupefy."

A scarlet beam, casting an ominous dark red haze to the room, flew directly to Quirrell. Confident that he was caught unaware, Harry stood to watch him fall.

A fall that did not happen.

Almost as if he had eye to the back of his head, Quirrell squatted and twisted towards him, nearly avoiding his own Stunning spell.

Wide eyed, Harry watched as another set of ropes flew towards him, wrapping tightly around his arms and legs.

Tauntingly, Quirrell laughed coldly, "How silly of you, to think you could beat me. My master helps me, even now."

"How?!"

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..."

Quirrell cursed under his breath. "I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

'What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,' he thought, 'is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it - which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?'

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself, "Use the boy... Use the boy..." Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes - Potter - come here." He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry slowly got to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see." Harry walked toward him.

'I must lie,' he thought desperately. 'I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.'

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again. He saw his reflection, pale and scared looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It 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 gotten the Stone.

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

"I see my parents, alive. We're all together."

Quirrell cursed again. "Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg.

"He lies... He lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

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

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward.

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

"Liar!" Harry shouted suddenly. Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

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

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist.

At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened - he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers - they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet' landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck - Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him - my hands - my hands!" And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms - Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort. Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face - "AAAARGH!" Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain - his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse. Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by his neck and squeezed as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off - the pain in Harry's head was building - he couldn't see - he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

With a gust of wind, Quirrell's body blew away. Ashes, burning and grey, coated Harry from head to toe. Coughing, Harry noted that he must have bitten his tongue because drops of blood splattered on the floor.

A cloud of darkness, emanating a dark coldness, began to arise from the ashes. It coalesced into a thundering cloud of black, in its center, a face emerged. The same hideous face from before looked to him in anger. Suddenly, thinking it was going to fly towards him, it turned and launched itself aways from him, vanishing at it did.

Hands trembling, Harry removed one of his Invigorating Potion vial from his belt and drank it.

Immediately, whatever tiredness weighed on him was replaced with a flush of energy. His vision sharpened and cleared; his nose smelled every bit of fire and soot; his ears could hear the crackling of the small fire burning on the ground near the pillar he had used for cover.

Looking around, Harry noticed that he was alone.

On his right pocket, weighing less than he would have thought, the ruby jewel glistened under the firelight. The legendary Sorcerer's Stone.

Deciding to secure it, Harry opened one of his empty belt pockets and inserted the stone. Charmed to accommodate bigger sizes, the stone was able to fit perfectly within it.

Looking up, Harry began to walk towards the entrance.

As he neared the doorway, a ball of light flew into the light. Behind it, a tall wizened man appeared.

Taller than Harry, skinny and lithe, dressed in the most outrageous silver and purple robes Harry had seen, Albus Dumbledore came to a standstill as he laid eyes on him. A fierce look rested on his face. A heavy weight seemed to fill the room; a static pulse spread throughout it, causing Harry's hair to stand up.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Throat parched, tongue dry, Harry could only nod.

Continuing to look around, the Headmaster spread him wand around the room. A white hue appeared to cover the entire room, spreading like a sheet blown by the wind, it caused every inch of the room to glow a pearly white.

"I believe now we should leave Harry. You are in dire need of some medical care."

Too tired to argue, Harry walked behind the Headmaster, through the fireplace, through the dead troll, through the chess board, through the winged keys, and up through the trap floor.

The journey up to the Hospital Wing were all a haze to Harry. At one point, Professor McGonagall appeared and conjured a stretcher for him, laying him flat on it and causing it to float bedside her.

A few minutes later, the trio entered through the doors of the Hospital Wing.

The long hall of the Hospital Wing was glowing from the silver beams of the night. The tall glass windows to the right displayed the shining full moon, semi covered from the wispy clouds floating away.

Laying on their own respective bed, Hermione and Terry appeared no worse for wear. Terry's head was wrapped with medical gauze. Hermione, filled with dirty and crazy hair, did not appear injured.

Transferring him from the stretcher to the bed, Madam Pomfrey began to wave her wand around his body, a translucent outline of his body appeared above him.

A ghostly heart beating rapidly, contracting and relaxing, pumping blood throughout a mess of blue veins and red arteries. His lungs expanded and deflated with every breath; soft grey puffs of air flowed out from his airway. His bones, a darker color than his organ, remain without any injury.

"He appears to be in a stable condition, physically, at least. He appears to have cast a significant amount of magic leaving him severely tired. How he's still awake, I know not."

"I took an Invigorating Potion, Madam."

With pursed lips, Madam Pomfrey gave him a rather stern look, "I hope you learn from this, Mr. Potter. Taking those kinds of potions can have detrimental effects on your body."

Nodding, Harry said, "Yes, ma'am. How are my friends?"

With a sigh, she answered, "They are well. Ms. Granger suffered no injuries other than some few scrapes. Mr. Boot had a superficial laceration above his right eyebrow and a nasty headache. Both of which have been fixed."

Sighing in relief, Harry allowed his body to relax into the bed.

"Thank you, ma'am."

A glass of water, conjured from Madam Pomfrey's wand, was placed near his lips. Pursing his lips, Harry drank the entire glass with all the vigor he could muster.

His throat moistened, Harry took notice of another taste, slightly sour but sweet.

"A Calming Draught?" he questioned.

With a sharp nod, Madam Pomfrey confirmed, "Regardless of your use of the Invigorating Potion, your body requires rest and sleep, until it recovers from this magical exhaustion. I'll be placing some Stitching Paste on your cuts and scrapes after lightly wetting it with a cleaning agent. You'll be sore for some days, but you should be fine to return to your dormitory tomorrow after breakfast."

"Thank you, Madam. I appreciate your help to my friends."

Flashing a small smile to her, Harry attempted to convey his gratitude.

Her stern look began to waver as the faint outline of a smile flashed for a quick second before disappearing.

"Poppy, would it be possible to speak with Mr. Potter?"

Having forgotten about the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall near the entrance, Harry was startled upon hearing the Headmaster's voice.

"Very well, Albus, but do try to keep it short. This young man went through something emotionally, magically, and physically draining; he requires rest."

With a small bow of his head, the Headmaster agreed, "Of course, Poppy. Thank you."

With a wave of his wand, the Headmaster conjured two soft cushioned chairs. Seating on them, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore looked at the three first-years.

"Harry," began Professor Dumbledore softly, "could you tell us what happened tonight."

Breathing deeply, Harry collected his thoughts and ensured his mind remained well protected before beginning.

For the next 20 minutes, the three Ravenclaws began their tale.

They spoke about his eavesdropping on Quirrell and Snape in the forest, their determination that the Sorcerer's Stone must be in Hogwarts hidden in the third floor, their adventure in meeting Fluffy. They covered their confirmation through Hagrid, who told them that Fluffy was simply the first line of protections by the professors. They informed them about the other students, mostly upper years students, who had similarly made their own attempts to breach their protections. They spoke about their suspicions against Professor Snape, believing him to be the culprit. Having noticed the Headmaster leaving, Harry revealed their plan to cover the entrance to Fluffy's room and noticed when it was opened.

Eventually, Harry took over the conversation when he talked about their time besting their protections. In the end, Harry talked about his encounter with Quirrell, how he bragged about wanting to steal the Stone for himself, desiring the riches and long life for himself.

By the end of it, Hermione and Terry, tired from their ordeal, began to fall asleep.

The only remaining one awake, the two professors focused their attention on him.

"I must say, Mr. Potter, that while I am glad the three of you had such noble intentions in your action. It would have been best to have informed me or another professors, instead of risking your own lives," said Professor McGonagall.

'But we did!' he ranted mentally, 'We told you that it was in danger, and nothing was done.'

"Of course, professor," he replied.

"Did Professor Quirrell mentioned anything else on why he chose to steal the Stone?"

During his talk regarding their findings, Harry had decided to keep secret the fact that Quirrell was working for Lord Voldemort. Being the only living person to have been in that room, Harry knew that unless he revealed the fact Lord Voldemort was alive, nobody else would know. Even if he did, Harry did not think anybody else would believe him.

"No, sir. Most of the time he kept talking to himself, wondering how to remove the Stone from the Mirror. But, I am wondering, what will happen to Mr. Flamel with his Stone being destroyed."

"Ah," he began, "well, I'll have to inform my old friend about its loss but I'm sure they will be just fine. To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all — the trouble is, humans do have a knack of precisely choosing those things that are worst for them."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt.

Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know…things I want to know the truth about…"

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with great caution."

"Regardless of that, I'm entitled to know why you felt the need to place me with the Dursleys?"

With raised eyebrows, the Headmaster turned to share a look with Professor McGonagall before turning to face him and said, "I see."

An awkward silence spread throughout them. Inside her office, Madam Pomfrey could be heard opening and closing a drawer.

"If I may, how did you come to learn about that?"

"My aunt informed me. She told me how I was placed in their house without their consent, how I simply appeared to them on their front door. Discarded like a jug of milk in the cold of the night, without the courtesy of having somebody explain to them anything. A letter…that's how she finds out that her own sister was murdered, how her own nephew needs to stay with her. Not a single word, not a single bit of help was given to her. She told me how some 'Dumblydore' said it was imperative for me to stay there. Hidden, in a muggle house."

As he spoke, Harry saw the look that crossed Professor McGonagall's face. It was clear that she had her own issues with the Headmaster.

"An entire world, hidden away from me. Kept away from where I belong, from growing up like I should have. No knowledge of who I was, my own name and fame. Kept ignorant, lied to, and ignored. For what possible reason did you take it upon yourself to decide that you knew best; that you alone should get to decide what to do with me. You are not family; you are not my guardian."

With a clear of his throat, the Headmaster raised his hand slowly, palm open, "I can understand how my action may seen deceptive. Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older…I know you hate to hear this…when you are ready, you will know."

Looking at Dumbledore intensely, Harry began to feel a flash of rage spread across him, his own hair began to stand up as static overwhelmed the room. A heavy weight spread throughout the infirmary, putting pressure on everyone and everything. Within his mind, a great turmoil swirled as he heard the words, over and over.

From the outside, the only physical change notable to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall occurred when his entire face seemed to have gone blank…before a flash of gold sparked within his eyes. A measure of anger boiled underneath his seemingly calm face.

"'When I am ready?'", he repeated softly, hiding away the tremors in his voice, "What a load of dragon dung!"

What a gasp, Professor McGonagall seemed to have snapped out of her trance, "Mr. Potter! Language! That is no manner to speak!"

Around him, the glass of water, empty as it stood, began to vibrate. At first, it was not discernible to the naked eye, before it got stronger, creating vibrations that began to hum throughout the room. When Professor McGonagall finished, the glass had begun to rise…tiny cracks blossomed and grew, spreading from the bottom to the top.

With a snap, the glass burst free.

A thin layer of sand, appearing mid-air from the destroyed glass swirled in the air until it fell as suddenly as it appeared.

"Language?" he asked, incredulously, "You think I care about my language?"

Laughing mockingly, Harry noticed Dumbledore continuing to look at him, his eyes downcast with seeming sadness.

"Fine, don't tell me, keep your secret. But know this, until you come clean, until I get the answers to my question…satisfactory answers, understand this…you will find no trust between us. I'll find my own answers."

With that, any further conversation ended as Harry began to lift the covers and seek respite away from them.

Somehow, even within his anger, his body found the way to fall into the darkness, slipping away into a much needed rest.

The next day, after another review under Madam Pomfrey's wand, Harry was given a clean bill of health and, after a stern lecture about the use of Invigorating Potions, was discharged just after breakfast.

Making his way to the Ravenclaw common room, Harry began to notice students stop and stare, whispering amongst themselves while pointing at him. Continuing forward, Harry began to feel confused as to this change.

Finding Terry and Hermione in the same table they sat the night before, Harry noticed that Hermione appeared well, not a single bit of evidence remained from their adventure last night. Terry, similarly, was free of the gauze roll, demonstrating a healthy layer of skin above his brow.

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his body was still very sore.

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Terry and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Terry finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

Shrugging, Harry said, "I do not know. I very much doubt that in the six centuries of life, the Flamels do not have a guarded stone hidden away. Last night would not have been the first time their Stone was in danger."

"I suppose that's true."

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Terry round — that took a while — and we were dashing up to contact Professor McGonagall when we met the Headmaster in the entrance hall — he already knew — he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Terry. "Sending you your father's Cloak and everything?"

"Honestly? I do not know but I have found very little trust in the Headmaster," answered Harry, his mind thinking about last night.

"Are you sure, Harry?" asked Hermione, her face mixed with confusion. "Why would the Headmaster want you to risk your life for the Stone?"

"Maybe he's under the same delusion that the rest of the magical community is…that somehow I have some hidden power, some ability that caused the supposed death of the Dark Lord. Maybe he wanted me in a controlled setting, risking the Stone so publicly and attempting to trap the Dark Lord. It cannot be a coincidence that the year I enter Hogwarts just happens to be the one year where the Stone and the Dark Lord appear. I mean, how often do the things that we've experienced occur here? A troll entering the castle? Dark Lords? Dragon eggs suddenly appearing to the one person in the castle who everyone knows has always been wanting one? There are too many events for it to be a coincidence."

"So you believe him then…that it truly was the Dark Lord…that he's still alive?" asked Terry, wide eyed, looking around them to see if anybody heard them.

Looking into the blazing fire, Harry thought back to his encounter with the Dark Lord.

"Yes, I do. I've always had suspicions about his 'defeat.' From what I've gathered, nobody knows, definitely that it was He who went to attack my parents. Nobody has a shred of physical evidence that it was He whose robes were found smoldering in the wreck of my parent's house. Nobody, other than me, was there to report what occurred. I was a one year old…I don't even remember it…so how can anybody claim, beyond any doubt, that it was the Dark Lord that night. Likewise, what's the evidence that he died? Some burning cloak? That's hardly any evidence. It could have belonged to anyone. Besides, how did it become so common knowledge?"

Looking pensively, Terry murmured, "You make several good points, Harry. Honestly, I don't think anybody ever questioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. As for how everyone knows…if I remember correctly, it was Dumbledore who announced it the day after his defeat. He gave a speech to the Wizengamot, giving credit to you for His defeat and the 'valiant sacrifice' of your parents. I doubt anybody would have known so quickly if he hadn't announced it."

Eyes narrowed, Hermione's face was scrunched, biting her lower lip as she said, "But if what Harry is saying is true…then how could the Headmaster have known it was You-Know-Who? Another thing that doesn't make sense to me is how did he find out that your parents were attacked? From what I read; nobody knew where the Potters were hiding. They were hidden for a year before suddenly being killed by You-Know-Who. How was Dumbledore able to find them so quickly? Did he somehow know about their attack?"

Sitting back, Harry pondered the same thing. He had never thought of that. Even Hrothgar, a trusted advisor to his father, someone who managed his family's vaults was not aware of their location, how did the Headmaster so quickly find him and place him in his aunt's care…in the same night?

"There are too many holes in the story for me to believe it, as such, I find myself believing more that the Dark Lord is still alive, hidden and weak but alive."

With an almost comical swallow, Terry asked the question that hung in the air, "So, then what do we do?"

Leaning forward, looking every bit as serious as the topic demanded, Harry replied, "We do what we have to do to survive."

"And what is that, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Prepare."

Time Lapse

The Next Day

"Alright now, lads, circle around!"

Dressed in his Quidditch team uniform, Harry stood between Grant Page and Jason Samuels, all looking to Roger Davies. They were all collected in the Ravenclaw Quidditch team locker, each and every one of them looking nervous.

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said. "This is it, the big one, the one we've all been waiting for. This is the best team Ravenclaw's had in years. We're going to win. I know it. You all know what to do so just focus on what we've been practicing."

Madam Hooch was refereeing.

She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand. "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her.

Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing 'Potter for Minister' over the crowd.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Roger Davies, Ravenclaw's Captain-"

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And he's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Burrow; back to Davies and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint is flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sco—no, stopped by an excellent move by the Ravenclaw Keeper Grant Page and the Ravenclaws take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Jeremy Stretton there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—ouch, that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalpost, but he's blocked by a second Bludger sent his way by Duncan Inglebee—nice play by the Ravenclaw Beater and now Davies back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off he goes—dodges a Bludger—the goalposts are ahead—Keeper Bletchley dives…and misses! RAVENCLAW SCORES!"

Ravenclaw cheers filled the warm air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. When Davies had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodge it.

Harry saw it.

In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch. Harry was faster than Higgs — he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed — WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Ravenclaws below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Ravenclaw. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Ravenclaw Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Ravenclaw, taken by Stretton, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Ravenclaw still in possession."

Circling around the stadium, Harry remained on the lookout for the Golden Snitch. For the next twenty minutes, the game continued and slowly the fouls committed by the Slytherins continued to add on.

The Ravenclaw team maintain Quaffle control through extraordinary teamwork, able to toss the Quaffle faster and better than the Slytherin Beaters could interrupt their plays. Seeing that they would not win through fair play, each Slytherin player focused on injuring the Ravens, choosing to slam into the players instead of attempting to steal the Quaffle.

This heavy hand of transgressions forced Harry to dedicate more time in assisting the Chasers than looking for the Snitch. Time after time, Harry would fly in front of a Slytherin to force them way from the Chaser with the Quaffle, allowing the Ravenclaw to fly without being harassed.

It was during this chaos that Harry saw it. Fluttering in the midst of the Chasers, it floated unharmed from the distracted players. Leaning forward, Harry darted through the Chasers, twisting around them as he made his way closer and closer.

As if sensing his intention, the Snitch flew away with him in its tail. Flying higher and higher, the two broke through the clouds floating higher than Harry had ever flown. Looking down, Harry noted the stadium shrinking smaller, each player resembling more like ants than humans.

In a second, their high altitude became a sudden dive. Pressing his chest firmly to his broomstick, Harry laid flat against it as he tried to force his broom faster and faster. The space between the Snitch and Harry shortened to the point that Harry's fingers brushed against the wings of the Snitch.

Without care, Harry flew through the goalposts barely escaping a near impact by a few millimeters. As they made their way towards the side of another tower, Harry suddenly stopped.

The spectators, having watched this relentless pursuit, suddenly looked in confusion as to why he suddenly stopped his pursuit.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Within a second, a blast of cheers and yells filled the stadium as the Ravenclaw House cheered their first Quidditch Cup win in over ten years.

Landing in the center of the stadium, surrounded by his teammates, Harry was jostled and hugged by everybody. Davies, in near hysteria was laughing in tears, filled with joy, he lifted Harry onto his shoulders, yelling and pumping his hands.

Sitting atop Davies, Harry was filled with a great sense of joy, gazing down onto the multitude of Ravens, each one of them jumping and cheering in joy. Raising his hands, the Golden Snitch glittered a beautiful golden hue above them all.

Walking towards the Ravenclaw team, Professor Flitwick, Head of the Ravenclaw House, carried the silver Quidditch Cup. The Cup held four handles, each one in the shape of the four animals displayed in the four houses' emblem. In the center, etched were the words, 'Winner of the Quidditch Cup 1992-Ravenclaw House.'

Standing next to Davies, the Cup in between them, the rest of the Ravenclaw team posed together for a photo to commemorate their win.

Time Lapse

The Great Hall was filled with talk, laughter and jokes.

It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colors of blue and bronze to celebrate Ravenclaw's winning the House Cup for the first time in eight years. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw eagle covered the wall behind the High Table.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . . .To our graduating class, I bid you all the very best in your journeys and a reminder that Hogwarts will always remain your home…Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Slytherin has four hundred and twenty-six and Ravenclaw, six hundred and seventy-seven."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table.

"However, recent events must be taken into account. I have a few last-minute points to dish out."

The room went very still.

"First to Mr. Terrence Boot for his sheer wit and loyalty in the face of the unknown, his willing sacrifice in the face of fear—I award Ravenclaw House 15 points."

Terry went red in the face; he looked rather funny in his embarrassment.

Ravenclaw cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver.

At last there was silence again. "Second — to Miss Hermione Granger . . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Ravenclaw House 15 points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears.

"Third — to Mr. Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Ravenclaw House 20 points. Which brings House Ravenclaw's total to seven hundred and twenty-seven!"

If anybody thought that the cheers for Terry and Hermione were loud, the cheers Harry received could have been mistaken for the sounds of a bomb going off. Clapping and cheers were seen from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Houses, with a few Slytherins mixed in. Harry's efforts of joining a different table for breakfast each day seemed to have ingratiated himself to every House. Friends from different Houses could be seen waving him, shining a smile. Susan and Hannah in the Hufflepuff House table; Neville, Ron, Dean and Seamus from Gryffindor House; even Tracy Davis from Slytherin was showing their support for Harry.

Standing, Harry simply maintained a smile in his face as he accepted everyone's cheers.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To nobodies surprised, Harry obtained perfect results in all of his exams, earning him the best grades in all four Houses. Hermione was in a close second, being only a few point short from Harry.

The rest of their study group reported similar good news. Neville and Ron, having expect poor grades, were rather surprised to have learned that they all obtained good grades in all subjects, even Potions.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake.

"Harry!"

Standing by the door to the Hogwarts Express, Harry turned to face Hagrid, who attempted to make his way towards his through the multitude of students.

"Good thing I caught to you, Harry. I feel bad that I slipped that evil git how to pass Fluffy, I swear, I had no idea it was he who gave me the egg."

Hiding his surprise, Harry offered a smile in return.

'Huh, I had totally forgotten about that. I never wondered how Quirrell knew how to bypass Fluffy. I just figured he knew like the upper year students.'

"Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow. He'd have found out even if you hadn't told him.," he reassured the gentle giant.

"You could've died!" mumbled Hagrid.

"Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it"

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got you a present. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday to fix it. 'Course, he should have sacked me instead — anyway, got you this . . ."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off to all your parents' old school friends, asking for photos . . . knew you didn't' have many . . . do you like it?"

"Hagrid…thank you," it wasn't much but somehow Hagrid understood.

They boarded the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all of you — I'll send an owl."

"Thanks," said Harry, "lets try to organize it whenever we're able to."

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world.

Some of them called: "Bye, Harry!" "See you, Potter!"

He, Terry, and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

"Ready to go, Harry?"

It was his Aunt Petunia, standing awkwardly in the platform, watching as other families walked around them. Behind him stood Dudley attempting to hide his excitement for whatever candies Harry brought him.

"I'll send you both a letter and we can try to meet up in Diagon Alley during the summer."

A manly hug to Terry and a rather strong hug from Hermione later and Harry made his way to his Aunt.

Putting his trunk and owl cage in the boot of the sedan, Harry sat next to Dudley in the backseats.

Whispering softly, Dudley asked, "So…any more chocolate?"

Flashing a wink, Harry removed a chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to Dudley.

Wide-eyed, Dudley devoured the chocolate bar before they even made it to the road.

Looking out the window, Harry gave a sigh and relaxed in the seat, watching the street fly by.