Harry meets Voldemort, saves the day, and Dumbledore, as always, thinks he knows what he's talking about. How predictable.

***

It was Quirrell.

"You!" Harry snarled.

Quirrell smiled. His face, for once, wasn't twitching at all. "Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"You tried to kill me!" he growled.

"Yes, I did try to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger made me fail when she set fire to my robes at the Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter curse," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular. What a waste of time when, after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight." Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry. "You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that . . . for all I knew, you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls; you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off — and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this mirror."

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"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, but he's in London and I'll be far away by the time he gets back. . ."

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror. He knew this mirror. He knew Quirrell would see himself with the stone.

"I saw you and Snape in the hall!" 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?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. His wand was in the pocket he couldn't reach, which meant he couldn't get out of them. Without knowing it, he had managed to summon his relic. He felt the heavy locket settle onto his chest, the weight comforting him and giving him enough courage to keep Quirrell talking.

"Professor Snape won't be happy you are doing the exact thing he told you not to do, Quirrell."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face. "Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions, which causes problems. Snape knows, and he threatened me when we were alone. He's very protective of you, you know? I couldn't imagine why. Severus hated your father."

Harry couldn't help his smirk. He knew for a fact that Severus had not hated his birth father. Or his mother. Quirrell continued talking.

"But my master is with me everywhere 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's voice trailed away.

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 could he do to get Quirrell away from the mirror and in front of it himself? 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, though Quirrell wasn't talking. "Use the boy. . ."

Quirrell rounded on Harry. "Yes — Potter — come here." He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. "Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him. He would need to throw off Quirrell with his vision, Harry thought. He frowned as he stepped up to the mirror. He looked over his shoulder at Quirrell who had 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, he'd gotten the Stone, all without moving or talking.

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

Harry gathered his courage. "I see myself with my friends and my mum, Emma," he fibbed.

Quirrell cursed again. "Get out of the way," he said.

As Harry moved aside, he felt the Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it? But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies!" it snarled.

"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 enough strength 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. The turban fell away.

Harry stifled a snort: Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Harry's snicker died when Quirrell started turning slowly on the spot. Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrifying face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, just 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 few weeks. You saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest 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 growled.

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 very brave. 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."

"NEVER!" he yelled and sprang toward the flame door.

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, and 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.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort shrieked again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet and 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 are burning! My hands!" And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his palms. From where he was pinned, 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 the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off.

The pain in Harry's head was building so much he couldn't see. He could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's chants of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!" They sounded like his mum's, uncles' and aunts', and Hermione and Draco's voices blended together, calling for him.

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness.

***

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. He blinked again.

The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him. "Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him blankly. Then he remembered: "The Stone! Voldemort is back!" Without noticing, his breathing has sped up and his heart had started racing.

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop. "Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. It made Harry uncomfortable. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been here?" Harry's voice was scratchy and rough, but still held the cold, bitter tone it always did when talking to the older man.

"Three days. Your friends will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"Sir, the Stone-"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say." Dumbledore clearly didn't catch on to the fact Harry didn't want to speak to him.

"You got Hermione's owl?" He asked.

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you. The effort involved with Quirrell nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed. 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 choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay there, lost for words.

Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir — even if the Stone's gone, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

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, if you can tell me. Things I want to know the truth about that my family can't tell me."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time. "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."

Harry knew it would be no good to argue. "But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled annoyingly. "Useful things... your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes.... Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them — but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

***

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in..."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

"I am resting, look! I'm lying down and everything. Please Madam Pomfrey!" he begged.

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only." And she let his best friends in.

"Harry!" Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore. "Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to be severely hurt!"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Draco, pale eyes raking up and down Harry. "What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story was even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Draco, Neville 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 Neville finally.

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that — what was it?" He muttered. "Ah, it was: 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Draco, looking quite disturbed. "No wonder our family despises him."

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

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Draco round - that took a while - and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall. He'd already known. When we went to him, 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 Draco. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well, " Hermione exploded, "if he did, it wouldn't surprise me. But you could have been killed, and you know your uncles and aunts, especially your mum and uncle Newt won't be at all happy. I couldn't imagine Draco's parents and the rest of them would be very happy either."

"No, they wouldn't," Harry and Draco muttered in unison.

"But they can't come to the castle, can they?" Neville looked around. "I mean . . . of all of Harry's family, who has the best reason to storm the castle after what happened in that corridor?"

Harry balked. "Oh, Merlin," he gulped. "Uncle Theseus . . . he's going to kill me."

***

Hi. I'm in pain, and not at all mobile, so I can't get out of bed. I have time, so I wrote this chapter, like I have for the last two. I sprained my ankle really badly while out, and I need to be in a boot and on crutches for two weeks. So. . .yay. (Y'all give my girl as many virtual hugs as you can. She's amazing and deserves them all <3) ~ Miss Moffat)

As always, stay safe, stay calm, and stay not clumsy xx

 ~ Miss Singer <3 <3