A/N: Chapter revised as of November 1, 2024.

Harry used to dread going to the library in his past life. It was a constant reminder of how far behind he was in his classes, how much more he had to learn about magic from what was contained inside the thousands of tomes lining the shelves. And yet, now he found himself here more than anywhere else in the castle, poring over books for hours on end. Guess the Hat wasn't entirely wrong about me being a Ravenclaw, Harry figured.

At the moment, he was perusing the Divination section, perusing all that the library had to offer on the subject. He had already studied all of the O.W.L. level material and decided to dive into the sixth-year introductory N.E.W.T. textbook. It took him a while to get a grasp of the basics, as it had been a long time since he studied the subject (and he'd hated it with a passion in his last timeline), but he persevered and tried to absorb as much knowledge as he could.

Harry was particularly interested in researching the Sight – the ability that Seers possessed to glimpse the future and make prophecies. Harry eagerly read the chapter on prophecy but found himself disappointed by how vague and non-descriptive the passage was, clearly intended as a passing mention of a poorly-understood branch of magic.

However, this was also a boon for his current situation, as every mention of Seers took pains to emphasize how rare they were and how difficult it was to replicate – or even verify – their claims. If he was to pose as a Seer himself, it would be easier for him to get away with it than he initially thought. There didn't seem to be any experts on the subject that could call him out for faking it, and he had enough knowledge from his past timeline to make semi-accurate predictions for the next few years if necessary. As long as the timeline didn't diverge too much, that is.

Speaking of Seers, Harry had long suspected that Professor Trelawney was indeed one, despite the widely-held conviction that she was a fraud. His suspicions were all but confirmed when he discovered a mention of the Hall of Prophecy in the Ministry of Magic, where prophecies were stored "with the initials of the prophecy-maker and primary witness, as well as a description of who or what the prophecy refers to".

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. – These initials had been branded into Harry's brain ever since his ill-fated trip to the Department of Mysteries. It simply had to refer to Sibyl Trelawney and Albus Dumbledore, and clearly had something to do with himself and Voldemort. He still didn't know what the prophecy entailed, but he could only assume it referred to himself in some way that scared Voldemort enough into targeting him as a baby.

Was there such a prophecy sitting in the Hall of Prophecy right now, referring to Neville? How different was it from the original timeline? Harry wondered if he would ever learn its contents in this timeline. Perhaps he could ask Dumbledore, or even Trelawney? The latter was unlikely to remember, if his original third year was any indication – she'd made a prophecy to him then and didn't remember it afterwards. And Dumbledore was the last person he wanted to become aware of his knowledge of the prophecy.

Eventually Harry gave up and moved onto his primary focus: soul magic. However, he was finding it more and more difficult to find books on the subject, and he was looking in some of the most obscure texts in the hopes of finding passing mention of it. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that he would not find anything useful in the general sections of the school library. He would need access to the Restricted Section to find anything noteworthy.

But how to get said access? He highly doubted that any teacher would sign off on a first-year, and he couldn't even think of a valid excuse to ask for it. Lockhart had been a difficult enough sell in his original second year, and that was with the man all but worshiping Harry's celebrity status. Even Flitwick was unlikely to do it, despite Harry being one of his favorite students.

Meanwhile, Harry's Invisibility Cloak was burning a hole in his pocket, all but begging to be used. Harry had promised himself he wouldn't go back to his old habits, wouldn't sneak around the castle just for the hell of it. But he couldn't think of any other way to get into the Restricted Section, and this seemed a noble enough cause to justify sneaking out of his dorm.

So that evening, after waiting for his dorm mates to drift off to sleep, Harry threw his Cloak over himself and snuck out of Ravenclaw Tower. He felt the familiar thrill of excitement, gliding silently down the halls, knowing that nobody knew he was there. The Cloak felt like a familiar friend draped over him – a devil on his proverbial (and literal) shoulders, urging him to get into some mischief. Best not to give in to the temptation too much….

He entered the library, ensuring that Madam Pince was not working late before making his way over to the Restricted Section. "Alohomora," he whispered, pointing his wand at the heavy padlock, which popped open with a loud click that reverberated throughout the cavernous space. He flinched – should have cast a Muffling Charm on it first. But nobody seemed to be running his direction, so he slipped through the iron gate to begin his search.

The Restricted Section wasn't quite as salacious as he envisioned as an eleven-year-old in his first timeline. Most of the books looked fairly tame, though he recognized now which ones would likely scream in his face if he tried to open them. He began scanning the spines, looking for titles that might be promising.

He selected a couple and pulled them off the shelves, sitting cross-legged on the floor to read under wandlight. He found some gruesome depictions of spells that targeted the soul, including one that sought to emulate the effects of a Dementor's Kiss. Why anyone would invent such a spell was beyond him – but then, rumor had it someone had invented Dementors as well, so Harry shouldn't be surprised.

Unfortunately, Harry had no luck finding anything that referenced the separation of one's own soul. Perhaps such an act was so vile that none of the authors had even contemplated doing it to oneself, rather than to an enemy. But then how did Tom Riddle figure out how to do it? Harry wondered to himself. Perhaps he'd learned after Hogwarts, or perhaps Dumbledore had simply removed all mention of the process from the school library. It hardly seemed an appropriate subject for teenagers after all.

Harry eventually gave up and returned all the books to their shelves. He cautiously made his way out of the Restricted Section and put the lock back in place. Mission successful, Harry thought sardonically – he hadn't found what he was looking for, but at least he got in and out without anyone noticing.

Or so he thought, until he turned around and found himself face to face with Peter Pettigrew.

"Bloody hell!" Harry gasped, clutching his chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, Uncle Peter."

"What are you doing out of bed, Harry?" Peter demanded.

"Er...reading," Harry said lamely. "How did you find me?"

"The Restricted Section is warded to alert the librarian if anyone enters without permission," said Peter. "Madam Pince was in her quarters when she got the alert, and she sent me a memo to investigate."

"I was just doing some research," Harry groaned. "It's not that big of a deal. You won't tell on me, will you?"

"I'm afraid I have no choice," Peter sighed. "You're too young to be reading what's in there, Harry."

So despite Harry's protests, he was dragged along to Professor Flitwick's quarters, where Peter told the man what had happened. Flitwick was mighty disappointed with Harry, docking him thirty House points and assigning him a detention. How could Peter give me up like that? Harry grumbled to himself as he returned to his dorm for the evening. Is he making up for all the times he didn't give up James? He picked a really bad time to start caring about such things.

Harry expected to be chewed out by his fellow Ravenclaws the following morning for losing them so many points. But it turned out that Neville, Hermione, and Ron had also been caught out-of-bounds late the night before by Draco Malfoy, and all four of them had been docked fifty points. All of Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and even Hufflepuff House were supremely cross with their first-year classmates once word got out of their transgressions, and all five of them were given the cold shoulder.

Harry located a distraught Hermione at the end of the Ravenclaw table and sat beside her. "What on earth were you guys doing out last night?" he asked her.

"It...was nothing," Hermione said, reddening slightly. "It's not important."

"Really?" asked Harry. "You sure it didn't have anything to do with a dragon in Hagrid's hut?"

Hermione's head snapped towards him in shock. "How did you…?"

"Hagrid's not as sneaky as he thinks he is," Harry shrugged. "But why would you take the fall for his poor decisions?"

"He could have been fired!" Hermione protested. "We had to help him!"

"Maybe he should have been fired, Hermione," Harry sighed. "Have you never worried about the fact that he can't keep a secret? What if he gave away the secret to stealing the Philosopher's Stone?"

"You know about the Stone?" Hermione hissed, wide-eyed. "How?"

"Like I said, Hagrid can't keep a secret," Harry said simply. "I'm just saying, he's a good person, but you shouldn't go along with him on everything."

"Dumbledore trusts him," Hermione pointed out.

"Dumbledore isn't perfect," Harry retorted. It was a harsh fact to face, but one he'd come to understand recently. Once he was removed from underneath Dumbledore's wing and was no longer the direct benefactor of his machinations, he recognized how many mistakes the man had made in his past life. Maybe if Dumbledore hadn't kept Harry in the dark so much in the last timeline, he wouldn't have wound up diving through the Veil in the first place…he wouldn't have lost Sirius…

Harry returned home for spring break in late March, where he endured a dressing-down from his mother, who had learned of the library incident from Fliwick. She forced him to do chores nearly the entire time he was home, and worse yet, he was no longer allowed to attend the Tutshill Tornadoes match later that week. He had to listen to James and Sirius excitedly recount it for him after the fact – apparently it had been a match for the ages.

His return to Hogwarts wasn't much better, as Professor Flitwick located him at dinner on the first night back to the castle. "You will be serving detention this weekend with Hagrid," he informed Harry grimly. "Report to his cabin at nine-thirty this Saturday evening."

So we're still going into the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought. He confirmed later that week that Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Draco had all received the same assignment. Will we encounter the being that drank the unicorn blood for Voldemort? Harry redoubled his training efforts that week, vowing to be ready this time if he was attacked again. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could catch the impostor in the act and prevent the Stone from being threatened at all…

That Saturday night, Harry met the other four first-years in the Entrance Hall and they made the trek down the hill towards Hagrid's cabin. Draco Malfoy was loudly complaining the entire way down, and judging from Neville's reaction, it was not the first time he'd done so that week.

"I mean, sending us into the Forbidden Forest with that oaf!" he muttered incredulously. "What on earth are they thinking?"

"Hagrid is perfectly capable of keeping us safe in the forest," Hermione said sharply.

"Yeah!" Ron agreed fervently.

"What about you, Potter?" demanded Draco, turning towards Harry. "My father reckons they're mad for allowing this. What does yours have to say about this?"

Harry privately agreed with Draco's sentiment, knowing what was likely to happen tonight, but said nothing on principle. "I don't run to my father to complain about every little thing that doesn't go my way," he said coolly. "You broke the rules just like the rest of us did, so just shut up and deal with it."

Draco said nothing in response to this, spending the remainder of the trek down the hill muttering irritably to himself.

Hagrid met them outside his cabin, armed with a crossbow and lantern, as Fang the boar hound jumped about excitedly. He was particularly taken with Harry, whom he had not officially met in this timeline yet – Harry laughed and pet the lick-happy dog while attempting not to fall over from the great beast putting its full weight on his shoulders.

They set off into the forest soon after, all five students following close behind Hagrid through the oppressive darkness. "What exactly are we doing here, Hagrid?" asked Neville nervously.

"Summat's been killing unicorns out here," Hagrid muttered darkly. "I found blood trails last week, but haven' found the body yet. We've got ter try and find it, figure out what's going on."

The other four students chilled at this revelation. "There are creatures here that kill unicorns?" squeaked Ron. "Are they dangerous?"

"I dunno what's doin' it, ter be honest," Hagrid admitted. "But yeh'll be perfectly safe, s'long as you're with me or Fang."

They arrived in a clearing, where dark silver blood stained the ground all around them. "I reckon it was injured here an' took off into the thicket," Hagrid remarked. "We'd best split up if we're ter find it."

"Wouldn't it be safer to stay together?" Harry piped up. "In case the thing that's killing the unicorns is still out there?"

"Like I said, nothin' that lives in this forest will hurt yeh," Hagrid reassured him.

Surely not, Harry thought sarcastically. Like giant man-eating spiders...or an untamed giant named Grawp...or Lord Voldemort himself…

Hagrid split them up into two groups: he put the two Slytherins together, Draco and Neville, and assigned them Fang to check down the southern path. "The rest of yeh can come with me," he said, and began marching off into the darkness again.

"Should I go with the other group, Hagrid?" Harry chimed in hopefully. "To even out the numbers?"

Hagrid gave him a disapproving sort of look. "Why don' yeh stick with me, Harry? Best fer me to keep an eye on as many of yeh as I can."

But Harry suspected that wasn't the real reason for Hagrid's decision. He saw the distrust in the half-giant's eyes, and he wondered if Dumbledore had confronted Hagrid about letting slip the existence of the Philosopher's Stone. So Harry reluctantly bid farewell to the two Slytherin boys as they trudged off in the opposite direction, Fang cantering along behind them.

Ron and Hermione pressed very tightly against Harry as they trudged along behind Hagrid, struggling to keep up with his giant strides through the thick brush. "Hagrid?" Ron piped up uneasily. "Shouldn't we stick to the path? It'll be easier to see where we're going—"

"Unicorns don' always follow the path," Hagrid muttered. "We hafta check every nook an' cranny, jus' in case it ran off in this dir- oh, blimey."

The three students froze as Hagrid suddenly raised his crossbow in alarm. But he sighed a breath of relief and lowered it as two centaurs galloped out of the darkness towards them, looking stern.

"Evenin', Ronan. Bane," Hagrid greeted the two. "What brings you here at this late hour?"

"We could ask you the same, Hagrid," said Ronan. "Do you not think it unwise to bring foals such as these into the forest late at night?"

"Nah, they're perfectly safe with me!" Hagrid chuckled. "Ain't nothin' in here that would do 'em harm."

"You do realize a foreign predator has been lurking in these trees?" Ronan chastised him. "We know why you are here, but we question the wisdom of seeking out such a dangerous creature with children in tow."

"I reckon anything cowardly enough to kill a unicorn would flee at the first sign of trouble," Hagrid reasoned. "Don' you worry about a thing, Ronan, it's under control."

Harry noticed that the second centaur, Bane, wasn't paying much attention to Hagrid. Instead he was staring intently at the three children – particularly, it seemed, at Harry himself.

"You, youngling," Bane suddenly barked. "Who are you?"

"M-me?" Harry stammered. "I'm...Harry Potter."

"And under what moon were you born?"

"Erm...I dunno," Harry said lamely. "I was born the thirty-first of July, 1980."

"One hundred and forty-four moons ago," Bane muttered, looking to Ronan. The centaurs shared a significant look at this information, as though silently confirming something between themselves.

"Keep an eye on this one, Hagrid," Ronan said, also turning his attention to Hagrid. "He may be trouble."

"Well, trouble's what got 'im here in the firs' place," Hagrid chuckled. "Cheers, Ronan. Bane."

The two centaurs turned to leave, casting one last disapproving glance towards Harry before disappearing back into the darkness.

"That was weird," muttered Hermione. "Why did they single Harry out?"

"And what do they care about his 'birth moon', or whatever?" Ron agreed.

"Centaurs put a lot of stock into the stars and whatnot," Hagrid sighed. "I wouldn' take it personal, Harry. They've been goin' on about some upcoming war nonsense for the las' decade."

"I see," said Harry, a feeling of foreboding rising within him. What did the centaurs believe about him? Why did they warn Hagrid to 'keep an eye' on him?

Just then, off in the distance, Harry heard a booming bark, followed by a terrified yelp of fear. He, Ron, Hermione and Hagrid turned towards the sound.

"Fang's goin' berserk," Hagrid muttered worriedly. "Wonder what's got 'im so—HARRY, NO!"

But Harry was already off running into the darkness, in the vague direction of the disturbance. He had already been on-edge, waiting for any sign of a disturbance from the other group. And his fears were confirmed by the echoing screams of Malfoy, fleeing whatever monstrosity had appeared before his group.

Harry knew that Neville would be safe from the impostor, even if Firenze didn't show up to save the day. His mother's protection flowing through his veins would prevent Voldemort from harming the boy. But this was Harry's best chance to catch the professor in the act, to prove that he was not crazy or mistaken. And he did not want to squander the opportunity.

He stumbled blindly through the dark thicket, tripping and stumbling occasionally through the underbrush. He drew his wand and began hacking wildly ahead of him; to his relief, his wand seemed to recognize his intent, and carved out a path for him to sprint through the darkness. Harry spotted Malfoy and Fang sprinting down a path to his left, and veered right, in the direction they were departing from.

Harry burst out into a clearing, where a number of disturbing sights met his eye. At his feet lay a unicorn, dead and bleeding profusely from a wound in its side. Across the way he could see Neville, tripping and stumbling backwards in terror. And bearing down on the boy was a hooded figure, swooping in to eliminate the witness to his terrible crime.

Not today, Harry thought defiantly. He leapt over the dead unicorn and pointed his wand at the hooded figure, shouting, "Incarcerous!" Thick ropes burst from his wand tip and wrapped themselves thickly around the figure. It stumbled and fell to the ground in a heap, writhing under the strain of the ropes. "Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and the figure's wand flipped up into the air, clattering out of sight into the thicket.

I've done it, Harry thought triumphantly, sprinting across the clearing. He jumped over the figure on the ground and extended a hand to Neville, helping him up off the ground. "Alright there, Neville?" he panted.

"Yeah...thanks, Harry," Neville said, still trembling with fear.

"Now let's see who this bastard is," Harry said grimly. But when he turned back to the hooded figure, he was met with a twisted mass of rope and fabric, and nothing more. Harry bent down to feel the robes; aside from some dried unicorn blood on its front, there was nothing else there.

"He...he disappeared?" Neville asked, wide-eyed. "How?"

Harry swore to himself for his lack of vigilance. Why had he not Stunned the target as well, or at least disarmed him? "Hominum Revelio!" Harry shouted, twirling his wand overhead, but the spell did not reveal any nearby human presence aside from Neville. He must have Disapparated...but how? He didn't have his wand…

"It's alright, Harry," Neville said nervously, sensing Harry's agitation. "At least h-he can't hurt us anymore—"

"Don't you get it, Neville?" Harry said, frustrated. "He's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone! That was our best chance to catch him!"

"Who's trying to steal it?" asked Neville. "Snape?"

"I don't know!" Harry said, frustrated. "But someone's working for Voldemort, Neville, I just know it. And I will stop them."

Neville could only stare at Harry with a look of wide-eyed incredulity at this statement. But before he could say anything, there was a rustling in the thicket from behind them. Harry spun around, wand aimed through the darkness, but he lowered it when he saw a centaur striding across the clearing towards them.

"Hello, Firenze," Harry greeted the half-man, half-horse, stowing his wand away.

"You should not be this far into the forest, younglings," Firenze said sternly to the two of them. "There are dangerous beings out here."

"W-we know," Neville said shakily. "We just came across one. It was drinking the blood of the unicorn, like Hagrid said."

"Hagrid is foolish for allowing ones as young as you to travel here alone," Firenze observed. "You are Neville Longbottom, are you not?"

Neville gulped nervously. "Y-yes, I am," he confirmed.

"We centaurs have been watching you, Neville," said Firenze. "The stars have much to say about you and your companion."

"You mean me?" Harry asked, frowning. "What do the stars care about me?"

"A great deal, it would seem," Firenze said cryptically. "Neville's birth coincided with the convergence of Mercury and Mars with two sister stars, whose fates seem to have been aligned since that day. Mars is of course the harbinger of war, but Mercury, curiously, is the trickster god. The centaurs have pondered the significance of this for the past eleven years, until last midsummer."

"What happened last midsummer?" Neville asked, as a chill ran down Harry's spine. Surely not…

"On the anniversary of your birth," Firenze went on, "Mercury again converged with the sister stars, but it abruptly entered retrograde. From that day forth, the sister stars have diverged drastically. Something is no longer as it seems. So I ask you, companion, who are you, exactly?"

Harry felt the suspicious gaze of the centaur pierce him as he was struck by this revelation. This supposed disturbance in the stars had occurred on his eleventh birthday – the day he was thrust into his new life by Death. Had the centaurs foreseen this, somehow? Did they know that he was not exactly who he claimed to be?

"I'm...Harry Potter," Harry said lamely. "James and Lily's son."

"Names matter not to Fate," Firenze scoffed. "Your identity is much more than just a name. Do you intend to betray your sister star, trickster? Have you come here will ill intentions, or will you use your talents for good?"

"This sounds like rubbish to me," Neville muttered. "Professor Sinistra never talked about the planets like they were gods."

"You humans remain limited in your views of nature as a divining force," Firenze said dismissively. "Magic is much more than star charts and lunar cycles. It is about interpreting the signs given to us by Fate and responding accordingly."

"Right," said Harry, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Well, thanks for the advice, Firenze, but we'd best get back to Hagrid now."

"Tread carefully, trickster," Firenze called after Harry as he and Neville made their way back up the path towards the exit. "Ye know not the full extent of your meddling ways."

"Strange creatures, aren't they?" Neville said once they were out of earshot of the centaur. "They always gave me the creeps a little bit."

"They mean well," Harry shrugged. Truthfully, though, he was shaken by Firenze's words and how closely they'd aligned with his own experiences thus far. Was his warning accurate? Would Harry's attempts to alter events lead to more harm than good?

"What d'you reckon he meant, calling you 'trickster'?" Neville asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Harry fibbed lightly. "But listen, Neville: you know I would never betray you, right?"

"I...sure, of course, I know that," Neville said, bewildered.

"No, I mean it," Harry insisted. "You and I both know that Voldemort isn't truly gone. But I'll never join him, no matter what. I'm on your side."

"I…" Neville stammered, but before he could formulate a thought, Ron and Hermione came bursting out of the darkness, smothering Neville in a hug.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" Hermione panted. She also turned to give Harry a hug as an afterthought. "Malfoy told us what's happened—"

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, mate?" Ron asked Harry. "Running off like that?"

"Making sure Neville was alright," Harry said, semi-truthfully. "Since Fang and Draco didn't seem to care about him."

Ron and Hermione both gave him silent looks of appreciation for this. Hagrid, however, was not amused. "POTTER!" he barked as soon as he rounded the corner. "What the ruddy hell do yeh think yeh're doin'? It's dangerous out here alone, and yeh were told to stick by my side!"

"He saved me, Hagrid!" Neville protested before Harry could defend himself. "I could have been seriously hurt, or killed if he hadn't shown up."

Hagrid's fury was stayed by this remark, and he sputtered a few times before giving an exasperated huff. "Be that as it may," he said, "yeh can' just go runnin' off like that!"

"Sorry, Hagrid, it won't happen again," Harry said.

Hagrid quickly ushered them out of the forest and instructed them all to head straight to their dormitories. He alluded to some kind of future punishment for Harry disobeying his orders, but Harry doubted that would come to pass – that would force Hagrid to admit that he'd sent two first-years off alone with an unknown predator on the prowl. Still, Harry resolved to repair his relationship with the gamekeeper in the near future and hopefully dispel some of the man's doubts about his character.

He wondered if Hagrid did take some of what the centaurs said to heart. It certainly aligned with what Dumbledore must have told him. Harry himself was rather perturbed by the eerily accurate prediction that Firenze made – his birth had somehow been connected with Neville's, as well as the planets of war and mischief. Was it a mere coincidence that the Kneazle wand had chosen him, or a machination of Fate?

Harry realized with dread that this was yet another subject he would have to delve into in the coming months and years. Astronomy had long been one of his least favorite subjects, perhaps due to its close association with Divination. Professor Sinistra took a rather bland and formulaic approach to their lessons, teaching them basic scientific facts about each planet and constellation with little regard for their relationships with one another. Was that perhaps covered in the N.E.W.T.-level course work? Or did humans even bother with such studies at all?

And why was Neville his 'sister star'? Was it merely because he had been the Boy Who Lived in an alternate timeline, and was now seeking to assist him in this one? Or were their fates connected more closely than he realized? He had noticed certain similarities between himself and Neville before – born on the same day, parents in the Order of the Phoenix, targeted by Voldemort and his supporters. Harry's desire to hear Trelawney's prophecy grew stronger by the day, and he felt no closer to obtaining it than he did at the start of the year.

That wasn't even to mention his failure to capture the impostor in the forest. How had they managed to break free of their bindings without the use of a wand? He supposed with Voldemort on their side, anything was possible...he should have just used a Stunning Spell to be safer. It's your Gryffindor tendencies rearing their ugly head again, he thought. I'm acting without thinking. The Hat put me in Ravenclaw for a reason; I need to think before I do something stupid again.

"See you tomorrow in the usual place, Harry?" Hermione said as they arrived at Ravenclaw Tower and headed for their separate dorms.

"Erm...sure," Harry nodded absent-mindedly. He later realized she meant the library – he spent nearly as much time in there as she did these days. And he couldn't see that changing anytime soon with all he hoped to learn in the next few years. He drifted off to an uneasy sleep, visions of stars, stones and glowing crystal orbs floating through his mind…

Once the excitement surrounding the night in the Forest had subsided, Harry found himself thrust back into the exhausting routine of constant study and worry. He'd briefly considered adding Astronomy to his many fields of independent study, but quickly gave up when he realized how little stock wizardkind put into interpreting star and planetary movements. Unless he could somehow find a book written by a centaur, he was unlikely to learn anything more about their worrying premonitions about him.

He did, however, take out a book on introductory Occlumency, figuring that it couldn't hurt to learn in the long run. It wound up being a boon for his stress, as it involved a half-hour of quiet meditation before bed. Much of the book involved centering yourself and learning how to clear your mind, which was useful for Harry to learn as thoughts and ideas bounced around his mind nearly 24/7 otherwise.

Harry continued to ponder the question of who the mystery intruder might be. He hadn't yet ruled out Quirrell entirely...perhaps he'd sensed danger in being summoned to Dumbledore's office, and had concealed Voldemort's presence somehow – or removed the spirit from his body temporarily to avoid detection. The man did looked increasingly frazzled and tired lately – heavy bags rested underneath his eyes, and he seemed twitchy and jumpy at every little movement or noise in his peripheries. Not sleeping well, Quirrell? Harry wondered. Been sneaking off late at night to feed your master in the Forest, perhaps?

But he didn't want to jump to any conclusions and do something rash. It might be Quirrell, it might not be, but at least the Stone was safe, wasn't it? Dumbledore knew the danger now, and it was highly unlikely Voldemort would ever possess the Stone for himself. Part of him wanted to just throw up his hands and do nothing, and just allow Neville, Ron, and Hermione to go down the trapdoor after him.

But what if Harry had changed enough already that things went wrong? What if they failed to make it smoothly past all the obstacles? Ron hadn't practiced his chess nearly as much in this timeline – what if he blundered the match under pressure? And who would catch the flying key? Neville and Hermione were rubbish fliers, and Ron, while capable, was no Seeker. What if Hermione misread Snape's Potions puzzle? All the small ways things could go wrong – everyone scenario in which one of the trio got hurt, or worse – replayed themselves in Harry's mind and made his dilemma that much worse.

At least Harry felt as though he had more time to figure out what to do. Originally, Voldemort had waited until nearly the end of the term – after final exams – to make his move. That gave him at least six weeks to gather information and make the best decision possible. Perhaps he could concoct another 'vision' to alert Dumbledore to the scheme, or find another way to catch the impostor in the act of going after the Stone.

But all of Harry's plans went out the window one Thursday evening in late May. He sat with Hermione at the end of the Ravenclaw Table, both too tired from a long week of classes to even make small talk. Harry was just looking forward to the weekend, where he planned to catch up on sleep and recharge his batteries after a strenuous few days of exam prep.

Movement caught his eye from above, as a regal brown owl swooped into the Great Hall and landed directly in front of Dumbledore. The Headmaster paused his meal to retrieve the scroll from its talon and unfold it, reading the message with a frown on his face. Then, with a brief whispered word to Professor McGonagall, he quietly excused himself from the Head Table and hurried out of the Hall.

Harry's eyes snapped immediately towards Quirrell, who was watching Dumbledore like a hawk. As soon as the Headmaster took his leave, he looked pensive, as though quietly plotting something. Surely it isn't happening tonight, Harry thought with growing alarm. It's too soon. He glanced at Hermione, who was also watching Dumbledore's departure with a thoughtful expression. Would she put the pieces together and alert Neville and Ron to the possibility as well?

But Harry couldn't wait for that outcome. As soon as the students were dismissed for the night, Harry fought his way through the crowd, determined to reach Professor McGonagall. He caught up with her outside her office, where she turned to face him, frowning at the look of alarm on his face. "Something the matter, Potter?" she asked.

"Professor...where is Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "I need to speak with him urgently."

"The Headmaster is away, Potter," McGonagall said brusquely. "He has been called to London for an emergency meeting with the Minister."

Harry's stomach sank. So tonight was the night, then. "Professor," he said, a feeling of dread creeping in, "I feel very strongly that someone will attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone tonight."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose at this; clearly she hadn't expected this. "I don't know how you know about the Stone," she stammered, "but I can assure you the defenses are air-tight," she said. "No one will be able to steal it."

"Please, I...I had a vision!" Harry pleaded with her. "That Professor Quirrell would go after the Stone—"

"Professor Quirrell?!" McGonagall scoffed. "Why would he steal the Stone for himself? Quirinius is a good man, and he contributed to the defenses of himself."

"A troll, right?" Harry said; McGonagall's eyebrow arch confirmed it. "Just like the one he let in on Halloween, as a diversion."

"These are serious accusations, Potter," McGonagall said warningly. "I suggest you forget about all of this and return to your common room for the evening. And if I catch wind that you are anywhere near the third floor corridor this evening, I promise you'll receive far worse punishment than a detention."

Harry seethed silently at this severe response. Why would nobody listen to him? Why wasn't it as obvious to the rest of the staff? Did they truly believe their little elementary-level obstacle course could keep out a dark wizard of Voldemort's caliber? It was infuriating.

"Very well, Professor," he muttered, and he turned to leave before he could say anything he would regret later. He was of half a mind to march straight to the third floor anyway and take matters into his own hands. But he was already on thin ice with the staff, and if he was somehow wrong again, he could find himself in a lot more hot water.

Besides, since when was it his job to protect the Stone? Even if Quirrell was indeed going for the Stone again tonight, he was unlikely to get past Dumbledore's enchantment at the end. And even if Neville and company made their own attempt to stop him, Neville would be safe from harm thanks to his mother's protection. Harry was an unnecessary piece to this puzzle – he had to break free of his hero complex and let others save the day once in a while.

So instead of heading to the third floor, or Ravenclaw Tower, Harry headed for Uncle Peter's office for a visit. It was not a Friday, so he was unsure if Peter would even be there, but he just wanted someone to talk to – someone to distract him from making a rash decision.

The caretaker's office was empty when Harry arrived, which was not unexpected. However, he was struck by how disheveled the space was – Peter was usually quite meticulous and neat. It looked as though Peter had left in quite a hurry – his office chair was knocked over, and loose bits of parchment were strewn across his desk.

Harry did a double-take when he saw the frayed document sitting atop the desk. The Marauder's Map. He'd long suspected Peter of still having the Map, and here was proof – it had recently been used, judging by how it remained activated and unfolded. Harry righted the chair and sat, scanning the Map for information.

He located the third floor corridor, where he saw a familiar name striding purposefully: Quirinius Quirrell. He was headed directly for the chamber where Fluffy was being held. Harry watched as the dot signifying his position paused, clearly setting up some sort of enchanted music to put the great dog to sleep, then moved forward again, only to disappear off the map to a part of the castle the Marauders had never been before. Well, there he goes after the Stone, Harry thought, shaking his head in frustration. He'd been right about the man after all.

But then a new dot caught Harry's attention: Peter Pettigrew's, moving at high speeds down the same corridor Quirrell had came down. Faster than any human could normally travel – he must be in rat form. Harry watched in horror as Peter's dot sprinted into Fluffy's chamber and immediately disappeared, presumably down the trap door after Quirrell.

He's going to try and stop Quirrell, Harry realized. Peter must have heard Harry's suspicions and decided to take matters into his own hands when he realized Dumbledore was gone and saw Quirrell on the map headed for the third floor.

Suddenly there was something real at stake here. Quirrell may be unable to harm Neville due to the protection, but he was a capable enough wizard to take down a wizard of Peter Pettigrew's caliber. If Harry did nothing, there was a very good chance Peter would be seriously injured, or worse, killed.

A sense of panic permeated Harry's senses, as the possibility of losing someone he now considered a close friend started to hit home. Should he go back to McGonagall? What if she rebuffed him again? Harry scanned the map for any other professor that could help him; Snape was in the dungeons, at the other end of the castle, and Flitwick was nowhere in sight. Worse yet, Neville, Ron and Hermione were all in their separate common rooms, either oblivious to the situation or planning to wait until nightfall to make their own move.

Nobody was coming to Peter's rescue. Not unless Harry did something.

Screw it, Harry thought, standing and shoving the Marauder's Map into his pocket. If I get expelled saving Uncle Peter's life, so be it. And he took off sprinting down the corridor, headed for the third floor, mentally preparing himself to traverse the obstacle course all over again…