The last bell had rung hours ago, but the courtyard still hummed with scattered voices and easy laughter. The kind of sound that melted into birdsong and breeze. Students lounged in patches of sun and shadow, their ink-stained fingers finally still, exam parchments crumpled or buried beneath bags.
Hermione sat stiffly on the edge of a stone bench, her hands curled around a heavy book she hadn't turned a page of in twenty minutes. Her eyes stayed fixed to the text, unmoving. The words might as well have been written in Gobbledegook.
She didn't notice Harry watching her at first.
His robes hung open at the collar, and sweat clung beneath the fabric of his sleeves. The sun warmed the courtyard, but something inside him stayed cold. The ache in his scar had returned, not the faint throb he could ignore, but something sharper now, flickering in and out like a warning he couldn't name. He hadn't slept properly in days. He hadn't told anyone.
But Hermione noticed. Especially now, as his fingers rose to his forehead again, trying to ease the pain that was no longer easy to hide.
"You're rubbing it again," she said quietly.
Harry's hand stilled against his temple. He dropped it to his lap and gave a small shrug.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just a headache."
Beside him, Ron shifted with a groan and let himself fall backward onto the grass.
"Blimey, I don't know why we're out here talking about headaches. Can't we just go see if Fred and George are setting off more firecrackers behind Greenhouse Three?"
Hermione didn't look at him. Her voice stayed low.
"Don't lie."
Harry turned.
Hermione had closed her book. Her fingers pressed white into the cover. A faint pink stain colored her cheeks, not sunburn, but something she wouldn't acknowledge.
"I haven't seen you sleep properly in a week," she said. "And I saw you flinch in Potions. It's your scar, isn't it? It's getting worse."
Harry didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked toward the grass, then back to her. Then he gave a single nod.
Ron sat up a little straighter, sensing the change in tone.
Hermione glanced around. No one was watching. A few third-years were throwing Exploding Snap cards in the grass nearby. The rest of the courtyard had settled into heat-drenched laziness.
She leaned in.
"Is it the same as before? When you met that hooded figure in the forest?"
Harry nodded again, slower this time.
"Same feeling. But the pain is sharper now. Like something's getting closer."
She frowned. Her worry made her look older. Not aged, just focused. The way she got when she thought time was running out.
"We need to tell someone," Hermione said. "Dumbledore should know—"
"I haven't seen him all day," Harry cut in. "He wasn't at breakfast or lunch."
Ron, still leaning against the wall, looked up. "Wait, the headmaster's missing, and no one's said a word? Shouldn't that be on the noticeboard or something?"
Hermione didn't answer. She turned her gaze back to the closed book in her lap, but didn't open it.
No one said anything for a moment. The wind shifted in the trees above. A group of second-years ran past, laughing too loudly. Hermione kept her eyes on the page. Harry didn't move either.
Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a folded handkerchief. The soft lavender scent reached Harry before the cloth did. She offered it silently.
He took it without speaking.
"I know it's not much," she said. "But if anything happens, you're not going to face it alone."
Harry looked down at the handkerchief, then at her.
"Thanks," he said, quiet but sincere.
Ron let out a long, exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the grass. "Brilliant. World's ending, and I've just finished exams. Couldn't You-Know-Who have done us a favor last week and got them cancelled?"
Neither of them laughed.
Harry rubbed the corner of the cloth between his fingers. The smell reminded him of something calm. It didn't match the storm in his chest.
Then Ron sat bolt upright.
"Oi. Look!"
They followed his pointing hand to the highest tower, the Headmaster's balcony.
A broomstick had just taken off, trailing cloth like a streamer against the sky.
The figure on it wore long robes that flared once, caught in the wind. Then the broom tilted, and the rider vanished eastward, slicing away above the forest.
"Dumbledore," Hermione whispered.
They all stood.
"He really is leaving Hogwarts at this moment?" she said.
Harry gripped the handkerchief more tightly. The breeze felt colder now.
"He left on a broomstick. How would anyone not know he is not in the castle?" he asked.
Hermione's expression shifted, thoughtful at first, then wary.
"Unless someone made sure he left," she said.
They all exchanged a glance.
Harry turned and began walking. Not rushed, but steady.
"Where are you going now?" Ron asked.
"Hagrid's," Harry said. "There's something I need to check."
"Why Hagrid?" Hermione asked, already catching up.
"Because I just remembered something I should have thought of weeks ago."
They passed the stone arch, heading downhill toward the gamekeeper's hut. Tall grass brushed their legs. The sky behind them had begun to burn gold.
Hermione kept pace beside Harry. "If something is happening," she said, "you know I'm coming with you."
"I know."
"And not just because of the Stone. Because it's you."
Ron trailed behind them, frowning faintly. "Brilliant," he muttered again, under his breath. "Just tag me along with the Chosen One and his deputy general."
Neither of them heard him.
And even if they had, they might not have known what to say.
The sun was well past noon by the time the three of them made it down the slope. A soft wind moved the long grass in slow waves as they reached Hagrid's hut. Thin smoke drifted from the chimney, and the faint smell of roasting meat hung in the air.
Hagrid sat out front on an overturned barrel, sleeves rolled past his elbows. A bucket of peas rested between his knees, half-shelled. Fang snored at his feet.
"Hullo," he said brightly when he saw them. "Finished yer exams, then? Fancy a cup?"
Ron started to say yes, but Harry cut in. "We need to talk. It's important."
Hagrid's smile faltered. He straightened, hands going still over the peas.
Hermione stepped closer. "It's about the night you got Norbert."
Hagrid blinked. "What abou' it?"
"The person you got the egg from," Harry said. "Did you see his face?"
"No. Kept his hood up the whole time," Hagrid muttered, puzzled. "Wouldn' take it off. Tha' ain't so strange. Lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head. Keep ter themselves."
Ron frowned. "He just handed you a dragon egg?"
"Well, we played cards for it," Hagrid said. "Said he didn' want the egg goin' ter just anyone. Wanted ter be sure I'd look after it proper."
Harry stared at him. "And what did you talk about while you played?"
Hagrid scratched the back of his neck. "Bit o' this an' that. Said I worked here. Told 'im I look after all sorts o' creatures. Said I'd always wanted a dragon."
Hermione kept her voice calm but urgent. "Did you mention any of the protections at Hogwarts? Anything about Fluffy?"
Hagrid didn't answer at once. He looked from one face to another, then sighed. "Migh' have. Said after takin' care o' Fluffy, a dragon'd be easy. He was askin' about dangerous creatures, an' I—"
"You told him how to calm Fluffy," Harry said. It wasn't a question.
Hagrid paled. "Only mentioned music. Tha's not a secret. Anyone'd guess."
"But not everyone would know for sure," Hermione said. "He got you drunk on purpose, didn't he?"
Ron looked shocked. "He played you, Hagrid."
The big man opened his mouth, closed it again, then sank back on the barrel as if the air had gone out of him. "I didn' know. I swear it. I'd never—"
"You didn't mean to," Harry said quickly. "But you told him enough."
"Blimey," Ron muttered. "If that's all he needed, and Dumbledore's not even here…"
Hagrid straightened at once. "Not here? Wha' d'yeh mean?"
"We just saw him leave," Harry said. "Flew straight out from the Headmaster's tower on his broom."
Hagrid looked sick. "Oh, no. No, no, no."
"We need to tell someone," Hermione said.
"We will," Harry answered. "We needed to know how much he knew. Now we do."
Ron tipped his head toward the castle. "Who else would be that dodgy and know Hagrid's mad for dragons? You think it's Snape?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Plenty of people know Hagrid's soft on magical creatures and he bought a dragon egg at that. We cannot jump straight to Snape."
Harry kept his eyes on the steps ahead. "Maybe not. He is still at the top of my list."
They didn't speak as they climbed the grassy slope toward the doors. Their footsteps felt heavy, even Ron's usual muttering swallowed by the unease between them. Hagrid's admission echoed in Harry's head, sharper than the wind curling down from the northern towers.
The entrance hall loomed ahead, cooler now, lit by long bands of late sunlight through the tall windows. They pushed open the oak doors and stepped into the hush, eyes adjusting to the gloom.
"We have to find Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "She'll know where Dumbledore is."
"He's still gone," Hermione said quietly.
Harry set his jaw.
The click of heels on stone made them turn.
Professor McGonagall appeared at the far end of the hall, arms full of books. She stopped short when she saw them inside.
"Why aren't you outside?" she asked, her voice brisk. "You should be enjoying the sun after exams."
"We need to speak with Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said before the boys could. Her voice was steadier than Harry felt.
McGonagall frowned. "He is not here. He left earlier today on urgent Ministry business. What is this about?"
Harry hesitated. Hermione glanced at him.
"It's about the Philosopher's Stone," he said at last. His voice didn't tremble, though something in his chest clenched.
McGonagall's expression changed. The books slipped from her arms, landing with soft thuds against the stone.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, her voice low and alarmed.
"There's no time," Harry said. "Someone's going to steal it. Hagrid told a stranger how to get past Fluffy. Play some music and he falls asleep They're going to go for it tonight."
McGonagall's lips thinned. She studied them one by one.
"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow, Mr Potter," she said eventually. "The Stone is quite safe. Return to your common room. This is not for students."
"Dumbledore isn't here," Harry said. "And someone used that to their advantage. They got him out of the castle."
"That's a serious accusation, Mr Potter."
"I know," Harry said. "But I believe it."
McGonagall gathered her books again. "Return to your common room. You are not to speak of this to anyone."
She turned on her heel and strode into the staffroom. The door swung shut behind her.
Harry stared at the stone floor, jaw set.
"She doesn't believe us," Hermione said softly.
"She will when it's too late," Harry replied.
Behind them, a new voice spoke.
"Out of bounds again, Potter?"
They turned as one.
Professor Snape stood at the base of the marble staircase. His arms were folded, his eyes narrowed with unreadable calm.
"Lovely weather," he said. "Strange you'd choose to skulk indoors."
"We weren't skulking," Ron snapped.
Snape's eyes flicked to him, then to Hermione, then settled again on Harry.
"Be careful. Appearances can be... misleading."
He stepped past them, the hem of his robes sweeping the floor.
Then he paused.
"Potter," he said without turning. "I suggest you stay in your dormitory this evening. I would hate for anything... unfortunate to happen."
He disappeared down the corridor.
None of them moved.
Hermione's breath caught. "Did he just—"
"He knows," Harry said. "He's going for it tonight."
Ron looked pale. "We have to stop him."
Harry nodded. "We will."
The common room was quiet when they got back. Evening light lay across the carpet in long bars. Someone had left a chessboard set up near the fire; the flames were low and crackling softly.
Harry did not sit. He stood by the hearth with his arms folded. Ron slumped into a chair and rubbed at his eyes. Hermione paced once, then set her bag down by the sofa.
"We cannot just wait," Harry said.
Hermione looked up, pale but steady. "Then we are careful. If Snape gets past Fluffy, we do not know how many protections are left."
"He will not expect us," Ron said.
"I do not think he is underestimating anyone anymore," Harry answered.
They talked in quick, low voices, sketching what little plan they could. Then they fell quiet and waited. The room slowly emptied as people drifted up to bed. The clock on the mantel ticked on. The fire settled to embers. Outside the windows the sky turned from gold to blue to a deep, steady dark.
Near midnight, Harry stood. "It is time."
He went up to the dormitory and came back with the Invisibility Cloak folded under his arm. Ron was already on his feet. Hermione tied back her hair with a small, stubborn motion.
They headed for the portrait hole without the Cloak and nearly ran into Neville, planted there like a guard with his arms spread wide.
"Do not try it," he said, voice shaking. "I know what you are doing."
"We are not doing anything," Ron said, far too quickly.
"You cannot go out again," Neville blurted. "You will get Gryffindor into even more trouble. We are already last. You will get expelled."
"Neville, please," Hermione said softly. "This is bigger than points."
Neville swallowed and blinked hard, but he did not move.
"I am really sorry," Harry said. He raised his wand. "Petrificus Totalus."
Neville's arms snapped to his sides, his legs locked, and he toppled onto the carpet like a board.
"Oh, Neville," Hermione breathed. She crouched at once. "Help me."
Harry and Ron lifted him carefully under the shoulders and knees. He was stiff as a plank but light enough between them. They carried him to the nearest couch and eased him down, arranging him on his back.
Hermione slid a cushion beneath his head and straightened his glasses. "I am so sorry," she whispered. She pulled a knitted throw from the arm and tucked it over his legs.
Ron winced. "We had to, Nev. You know we had to."
"He will be fine," Harry said, though his throat felt tight. He checked Neville's breathing and squeezed his shoulder. "We will undo it when we get back."
They climbed out through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady squawked, but they did not look back. In the corridor, Harry flung the Invisibility Cloak over all three of them. It barely covered their shoes. They moved by torchlight and breath, the castle holding its hush around them.
No one spoke again until the third-floor corridor. The forbidden door stood a little ajar. Inside, a golden harp leaned against the wall, its strings still quivering.
"Someone has been here already," Ron whispered.
Beyond the harp, Fluffy sprawled across the flagstones, three massive heads lolling, breaths deep and even. As they stepped in, the harp's last note died. One head blinked. Another lifted. The third began to growl.
Harry dragged Hagrid's wooden flute from his robes and set it to his lips. The first notes shook, then steadied. The growl cut off. Three pairs of eyes glazed, and three heads sank back to the floor with heavy, drowsy huffs.
"Trapdoor," he said between bars of the tune.
Ron edged round a paw and crouched. "It is open. Someone went down."
"I will keep playing," Harry said. "Ron, you go first. Hermione, after him. I will come last."
Hermione's hand found his sleeve for a heartbeat, quick and fierce. "All right. Be careful."
Harry kept the tune steady while Ron swung through the opening and dropped. Hermione followed, the music above her like a rope of sound. He held the note to the last possible second, then swung through the trapdoor; the melody cut off as he fell, the flute gripped in his hand.
Darkness closed and then a soft, choking stop. He landed in a yielding mass that tightened at once around his legs and waist. The coils crept higher.
"Keep still," he said, recognising the plant even as it climbed his arms. "It is Devil's Snare. Do not fight it."
Hermione went very still. The tendrils around her loosened. Ron thrashed and sank faster.
"Ron, stop moving," Hermione called, panic edging her voice. "Fire. It hates fire."
She drew her wand. "Bluebell flames."
Cold blue fire blossomed in her palm. The vines recoiled at once, slithering from their ankles and wrists and pulling back into the cracks. She guided the flames close to the last clinging loops at Ron's boots until they let go.
They stumbled free, coughing.
"We are all right," Hermione said, breathless, hair wild around her face.
"I hate plants," Ron muttered, brushing his robes.
Harry steadied himself against the wall and raised his wand for light. "We should at least have cast Lumos before jumping," he said, a little hoarse.
"Be grateful there was a plant down here," Hermione replied, tucking her wand away. "Otherwise we would have splattered like an egg on stone."
He tipped a brief nod. "Come on."
The narrow stone passage sloped away into cooler air. Dust and humidity hung there like a weight as they moved on.
They stepped into a wide, cold chamber. The walls stretched high into shadow, and at the far end stood a tall wooden door with a massive iron lock and no handle.
Hermione's footsteps echoed softly as she crossed halfway into the room, her eyes rising.
Hundreds of silver and gold keys flitted above them, their wings beating fast as dragonflies. The sound filled the space like a living hum. Some keys darted in wild bursts. Others floated gently, circling like leaves caught in a breeze.
Hermione's brow furrowed. "It's another test. There must be one key that fits the door."
"There's no other way through," Ron muttered. "We have to catch the right one."
Harry's gaze tracked the swarm. Among the blur of wings, one key caught his attention. It was old and large, with a bent wing that made it wobble awkwardly as it flew. It circled slower than the others, always near the top.
"That one," he said, pointing. "See how it lags? Looks like someone already tried to grab it."
Hermione followed his gesture. "It matches the shape of the keyhole. That has to be it."
A row of broomsticks leaned along the far wall.
Ron gave a sharp sigh. "Well, if someone's going to go up there and risk getting pecked to death, it should probably be the Seeker."
Harry was already walking toward the brooms.
He picked the nearest one and tested the grip. The handle was dry and rough, but it balanced well enough. He threw a leg over it and kicked off. The broom jerked once, then steadied beneath him.
The wind met his face as he rose into the flurry.
The keys burst away like startled birds, scattering in all directions. Some zipped back around and swooped toward him with sudden speed. Their metal wings clipped his arms and shoulders. One grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Hermione's voice echoed faintly from below. "Harry, you're bleeding! Watch your right!"
He kept rising. The bent-winged key veered toward the ceiling, dragging behind the faster swarm. Harry followed, leaning forward. The broom obeyed, sluggish but smooth enough for short bursts.
The key dipped right. Harry closed the distance, eyes narrowing.
He reached out once, missed, and circled again.
The third time, he caught it cleanly.
It buzzed furiously in his hand, wings flailing against his knuckles.
He turned downward and descended fast, swerving through the chaos. The broom dropped unevenly toward the floor. He landed hard and skidded a few steps, then stumbled forward.
Hermione was there to catch him, hands at his arms, eyes scanning his face.
He pressed the key into her hand while catching his breath. She didn't hesitate as she turned to the door. The key slid into the iron lock with a satisfying click.
The heavy door creaked open into deeper darkness. They stepped through as cool air rushed past their ankles.
Ron exhaled behind them. "Nice catch."
Harry touched the cut on his cheek and glanced at the brooms.
Ron and Harry followed in silence. The door closed behind them with a low groan, sealing the past room like a breath finally exhaled.
Beyond it stretched a vast chamber, colder than the last. Thick stone pillars stood in rows along either side, rising like the ribs of some immense beast. Between them lay a giant wizard's chessboard, each square etched into the stone floor, the pieces towering at full height. White and black marble shaped into pawns, knights, bishops, kings, and queens. They stood still, menacingly.
As the trio stepped closer, a knight's helm creaked toward them. Its visor clicked faintly into place, but no words came. The board had already accepted their presence.
Ron took a breath and let it out slowly. "Brilliant. It's wizard's chess."
Hermione's eyes widened. "We have to play?"
"No other way through," Ron said. "We'll have to take the place of pieces."
The black side was missing three pieces.
Ron scanned the board. "Three spots are empty. Knight, bishop, rook. That's us."
Harry looked at him. "You sure about this?"
Ron turned, voice low but certain. "I've played this every week since I could move the pieces. You haven't beaten me once this year. You know that."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.
Ron stepped toward the knight's square. "Just trust me."
Hermione moved onto the rook's square. Harry took the bishop's spot. The black pieces shifted to accept them, stone scraping against stone.
The game began.
As game progressed, a white pawn surged forward and smashed through one of their pawns. Shards of marble flew in every direction.
Hermione gasped. "It really destroys them."
Ron didn't look up. His eyes stayed fixed on the shifting board.
"Harry, get ready. Bishop to C six. Hermione, wait for my signal. You will go to F one."
Harry slid to C six. A white pawn crept in reply. Ron's gaze flicked once to Hermione. "Now."
She moved to F one. The white queen prowled along her file, searching for an opening.
The match turned brutal. A black knight crumbled beneath the queen's blade, the impact rolling through the chamber. Another black pawn shattered two squares from Harry's feet.
Ron's knuckles whitened. "Knight to E five. Sacrifice the bishop."
Harry stared. "You are serious?"
"It is the only way to clear the middle. We need a path," Ron said, eyes fixed.
Harry gave a tight nod. The unattended bishop on the far flank glided out and was struck down at once by a white rook. The crack of impact rang like a hammer on stone.
For a heartbeat, the white pieces held position.
Ron did not. His voice stayed steady. "There is one sequence left. I have to be taken. After that it is checkmate in three. You two must finish it."
"The queen takes me, the file opens, your bishop blocks E seven, her escape is gone."
Hermione stepped forward. "No. There has to be another way."
"There is not," Ron said. He looked at Harry. "Trust me. Believe in me now."
Harry met his eyes and nodded once.
Ron moved into place.
The white queen descended in a blur. Her blade struck hard across his chest. Ron toppled from the knight's square and hit the board without a sound.
Hermione cried out, but Harry's hand caught her sleeve. "Wait."
The white queen returned to her square. Dust settled as the board held its breath.
Harry saw it then, clear as a diagram. The path Ron had opened ran like a lit thread to the king.
"Bishop to E seven," Harry said.
His piece slid, cutting off the king's flight along the dark squares.
Hermione's voice was steady again. "Rook to G six."
Her rook drove forward, hemming the king on the other side.
Across the board, the white king lifted his sword, looked once to his queen, then back to the lines that trapped him. He knelt. The blade lowered to the floor with a solemn ring. Around him, the white army bowed their helms.
The match was over.
Only then did Harry and Hermione run to Ron.
He lay crumpled near the edge of the board, breath shallow but even. A smear of dust streaked his temple where the stone had caught him.
"He is breathing," Harry said, lowering himself beside him. "Unconscious, but alive."
Hermione brushed grit from his hair with shaking fingers. "We will come back for you," she whispered.
They crossed the chamber and slipped inside, wands raised. A sour stench hit Hermione first. She flinched and pressed a sleeve to her nose.
"What is that smell?" she whispered.
Harry breathed in once and grimaced. "Troll," he said. "Like the one at Halloween."
Torchlight showed a mountain troll sprawled across the flagstones, larger than the first they had seen. Its club lay near its slack hand. A swollen lump bulged on its temple. Flies lazed over its open mouth as it snored in slow, wet bursts.
They moved along the wall without speaking. Each step was measured. The troll twitched and gave a louder snore. Both of them froze, then edged past its arm and the reek of it.
"Poor Professor Quirrell," Hermione whispered, eyes on the club. "I bet Professor Snape threatened him and forced out what he had planned."
Harry kept his voice low. "I do not think Snape needed Quirrell's help to deal with a troll."
They reached the far door. Fresh scrape marks scored the stone around the hinges. Harry eased it wider. The corridor beyond was cooler.
They slipped through and let the door touch closed behind them.
"I am going to take a very long bath after this," Hermione muttered, lowering her sleeve. "My robes smell like troll."
Harry nodded once toward the dark ahead. "Come on."
They kept to the wall and went on.
They left the troll behind and followed the passage until a low table of bottles barred the way. Behind them, a wall of purple fire sprang up; ahead, an archway filled with black flames. A single parchment lay beside the bottles in a precise, neat hand.
Hermione read it once, then again, lips moving as she counted shapes and positions. Seven bottles. Different sizes, some clear as water, some dark.
"It is a logic puzzle," she said, voice steadying. "No spell will help. One bottle takes a person forward through the black fire. One takes a person back through the purple. Two are wine, three are poison. And there is only enough in each to swallow once."
Harry glanced at the flames and then at the glass. "Which is forward?"
Hermione tapped two necks with her finger. "These are wine. These three are poison. This tiny one goes forward." She touched the smallest bottle. "And this long, thin one takes you back."
"Only enough for one," Harry said.
She nodded. "You go on. I will take the back potion, return to Ron, and get help." A flicker of fierce pride crossed her face. "For once, a test that does not need a wand."
He reached for the smallest bottle, then paused. "Hermione…"
She stepped in and hugged him. It began quick and awkward, then held. Her cheek brushed his shoulder; his hands hovered, then settled at her back. Heat moved through the cold of the chamber, a small shock of nearness that neither of them knew how to name.
They pulled apart at the same time, both a little pink, both finding the floor with their eyes for a heartbeat longer than needed. The air felt different, bright and unsteady in their lungs. Later they would tell themselves it was nerves. In truth, a quiet seed of the oldest, most beautiful problem took root in their lives.
"You had better come back," she whispered.
"I promise," he said, and almost said more.
She pressed the tiny bottle into his hand. He drank. Cold slid through him like winter water. He faced the arch and stepped into the black fire, and it let him pass.
Hermione held the second vial, drew a breath to steady the strange flutter still sparking under her ribs, and tipped it back. The taste burned. Purple flames rose to meet her, and she turned for Ron.
The chamber on the other side was silent. Torches guttered along bare stone. In the center stood a tall, gilt-edged mirror. Harry knew it at once. The Mirror of Erised.
He took a careful step forward.
"I wondered whether I would have to wait longer," said a voice.
Professor Quirrell stepped into the torchlight. His purple turban sat straight, his face looked pinched and gray, his eyes too bright.
"You," Harry said.
"Yes. Me," Quirrell said. He slipped out his wand in a blur.
"Incarcerous."
Thick ropes burst from the tip and whipped around Harry's arms and chest. He strained once, then went still.
"You thought it was Snape," Quirrell went on, almost kind. "He certainly acts the part. So useful to have him swooping about like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?"
"You let the troll in at Halloween," Harry said.
"Quite right. Snape has been watching me all year. He suspected me and tried to scare me off, even followed me at Halloween. But tonight I made sure Dumbledore would not be here. I sent an owl to his office in the Ministry's name. By now the Headmaster is miles from the castle."
Quirrell turned to the mirror. "Now, what does this do? I see myself presenting the Stone to my master, yet it does not tell me how to take it." His tone softened with awe. "Such a clever thing."
A whisper came from the turban. It was not loud, but the room seemed to bend toward it. "Use the boy."
Quirrell's shoulders stiffened. He clapped once. The ropes dropped from Harry like shed skin. "Stand in front of the mirror," he said. "Tell me what you see."
Harry stepped closer. For a heartbeat the glass held only his own pale face, eyes wide in the torchlight. Then the surface rippled and steadied. Shapes formed behind him. A thin man with untidy hair and glasses appeared, and a woman whose bright green eyes were fierce and kind at once.
Between them stood Hermione, her hand light on his shoulder, steady as a promise. In the reflection, Harry slipped a deep red stone into his pocket while Hermione rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. Then his and Hermione's reflections winked at him. James flashed a wide smirk, and Lily gave him a playful jab in the ribs.
A hard weight pressed against his real pocket. The Stone was there.
Quirrell's breath touched his ear. "Well?"
"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry said. "I've won the House Cup and I'm holding the Quidditch Cup. Malfoy and the Slytherins look furious."
"He lies," said the whisper from the turban.
"Let me speak to him," the voice added.
Quirrell's hands trembled as he unwound the turban. The cloth fell away.
Where the back of his head should have been, a second face stared out. It was chalk white and thin as parchment. Slit nostrils flared and the eyes were the color of fresh blood.
"Harry Potter," it said. "At last."
Harry could not move. His scar burned so fiercely he thought it would split.
"See what I have become," the face said. "An abomination. I have form only when I share another's body. Why not join me? The Stone can restore me. Give it to me and you may live. You need not die as your parents did."
Harry's voice came out rough. "You killed them. I am not joining my parent's killer."
"Foolish boy," the face hissed. "Quirrell, get the Stone."
Quirrell spun Harry back to the mirror and snatched for his pocket.
Harry grabbed Quirrell's wrist.
Quirrell screamed.
Where Harry's skin touched his, blisters rose at once. Smoke curled up in thin threads. Quirrell tore free, panting, then lunged again in fury. Harry caught him with both hands and held on. The scream tore itself raw. Quirrell's flesh blackened under Harry's grip. He wrenched away and crashed to the floor, shaking.
"Kill him," the white face shrieked. "Kill him now."
A shock of force knocked Harry to his knees. His scar blazed. He staggered up and threw himself forward once more, palms burning, clutching at Quirrell's arms and face. Quirrell howled. His body shuddered and began to crumble. The red eyes narrowed to slits.
There was a tearing sensation, as if the air itself had been ripped. Something thin and cold as winter wind tore free of Quirrell and rushed at Harry. It struck him and passed through. The torches guttered. Quirrell's robes collapsed flat to the stone.
The floor tilted. The pain in Harry's scar roared. Darkness pressed in on his vision.
In the rush of it, he heard a voice, thin but close, calling his name. Hermione, clear and urgent.
"Harry."
He tried to answer. As the chamber slipped away, a final image flickered at the edge of his sight. Hermione's face in his mind's eye, then beyond her a flash of white, the sweep of an old man's beard at the doorway.
Everything went black.
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This will be a pure Harmony fic, written for Harmony shippers who love teenage romance and drama.
Year 1 is complete, with a strong focus on fluff, closeness, and the slow build of feelings.Year 2 is already planned and locked: jealousy takes center stage, along with their first real fight. There is a bump in the road involving a certain redhead, plus her.
I'm also open to suggestions for Years 3 and 4. As the Year 2 plot is locked. Oh boy, Lockhart will be amazing and useful.Will be far more competent than expected.If there are moments, themes, or even pairings except Harmony you'd love to see explored, feel free to comment or message me.
Will there be lewd stuff? Honestly, I don't know. I've already written plenty of 'lewd' in Year 1, from handholding to hugs… and once you're that attached, it's hard to tell what could feel even more daring.
Early access: Chapters 4–5 are already available on my P*treon/Ko*fi/OmniNymph.