Exams were finished – their last being History of Magic – and Harry found himself outside.

The others, Hermione, Ron and Neville, had already gone inside, Harry having begged off in favour of 'enjoying the freedom' for a bit longer. It wasn't exactly a lie, as although the exams hadn't been hard for the time-traveling wizard, he did want to enjoy the rest of the day in peace before tonight's insanity.

From where he lounged under a tree, Harry looked up and breathed deeply, emotions sitting lightly in his chest like a cat curled up in the sun. In that moment he could ignore ever constant fire in his scar with practiced ease. With the cloudless sky streaked by brilliant orange, the sun just beginning to sink and giving a new light to the lush landscape, Harry could just be for a second.

The eerie, stressed mood over castle seemed no longer there, the foreboding aura having lessened in the face of exams being over. It wasn't gone, of course, but it was mostly overshadowed by celebration.

Harry's lips curved into a small smile and closed his eyes, face titled to the sky, peace settling in his bones.

It was a mistake on everyone's part to relax their guards, but Harry wasn't complaining – it made his and Draco's job much easier.

It was time.

That night, after making sure everyone was sleeping and wouldn't wake up 'til he got back that morning – thank you Sleeping Charms – Harry donned his cloak and left for third floor corridor.

Within a few minutes, he was there, the door already ajar and Draco leaning casually against the wall next to it. Harry could already hear the faint melody of a harp and muffled, huffing breathes from inside.

"You ready?" asked Harry, slipping off the cloak and bundling into his satchel. He fiddled with the rune etched leather band he'd made in preparation for the night.

Draco scoffed, uncrossing his arms (revealing his own matching leather band) and patting his own bag of essentials. "Do you really feel the need to ask?"

He couldn't quite hide the tremble in his hand.

Neither could Harry.

Though they knew what they were facing, any manner of things could go wrong. Perhaps this time they can't get past the chess board, or maybe they'd have to actually fight the troll. There was the high probability that Harry incorrectly remembered the correct potion to Snape's riddle (it'd been 7 years, okay? Frankly, it'd been a miracle he could remember as much as he had).

"You sure you made the right potions?"

Draco pushed off the wall and stared at him flatly.

"Potter," he drawled, "open the door."

Harry pushed open the door.

The creak of un-oiled hinges was drowned out by the low, rumbling growls of Fluffy. Even through the haze of sleep, all three of his noses flared madly in their direction.

Draco paled.

"Merlin's saggy. . ." he whispered, glancing nervously at the harp by the Cerberus's feet. "You said it wakes up the moment the music stops?"

Harry hummed in affirmation, busy concentrating on carefully levitating Fluffy's paw off the trap door, pausing every time the dog twitched.

"Right," said Draco under his breath, aiming his wand at the harp and casting an additional Musicorum at it, "just in case."

He could physically feel Harry biting back his smile, but he decided to take the higher moral ground and not hex him for it. They'll see who's laughing when they don't have to deal with an awake and angry Cerberus after all is said and done when they escape.

Fluffy's hot breath grew more pungent as they approached the giant heads (like a normal dog's breath but amplified by 100, then times by 3). Stepping carefully over the his hip tall legs, Harry bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, swinging it up and open.

"Devilsnare?"

"Devilsnare," Harry repeated with a shudder. For weeks after, all those years ago, he'd had nightmares of falling and getting trapped in the squirming mass, no amount of relaxing or light freeing him from its grasp. He wasn't scared of the stuff per-say, merely. . . justifiably creeped out.

He looked down into the abyss.

There was no sign of the bottom.

"Down the hatchet we go," he whispered, and in he jumped.

Down and down and down, frigid, damp air rushing past him as he – with a muffled thump he landed in the thick, vine mass. Eyes adjusting to the gloom, he called up to Draco even as the Devilsnare quickly began wrapping its limb around him body.

"You coming? Don't tell me you chickened out already?"

With a mutter lost to Harry – though it sounded suspiciously insulting – a few moments later Draco joined him in the pit.

"I hate this," he said instantly, a disgusted scowl forming, not quite unable to stop the initial squirming.

"Just relax," Harry reminded him, already feeling himself starting to sink.

"Just relax," mocked Draco, nonetheless doing just that.

The two boys felt it unravelling its grip as it lost interest in its prey and within a matter of seconds, they were able to pull free and slowly crawl their way to the stone path.

"Why I insisted on not letting you do this by yourself, I'll never know," announced Draco, eargerly walking down the passageway and away from the writhing pit.

"Because your life wouldn't be complete without," Harry teased over the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, delving further into the bowls of the castle. He'd always wondered where exactly this whole area was in the castle – he assumed it had to be magic, some kind of extension charm. He'd tried searching for the rooms in second year out of curiosity and they were nowhere to be found. Just normal classroom in their place.

"You mean my life would be much more peaceful without you."

"Potato, potahto."

Draco frowned at him in confusion, "what?"

". . you say potato, I say-? Oh, nevermind," Harry sighed, "muggle thing, apparently."

Before long, the soft rustling and clinking of the flying keys could be heard, and soon after that they reached the end of the passageway. The brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them, was full of the small yet deceptively dangerous flying keys, fluttering and tumbling all around the room.

"Accio," Harry cast, having already spotted the damaged key.

Nothing happened.

"Worth the try," Draco said, "was never going to work, but worth the try."

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered, "of course the traps would be easy enough for us to get through, but merlin forbid we be able use a simple summoning charm."

Draco snorted, seizing a broomstick and kicking off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. Following his lead, Harry retrieved his nimbus out of his bag and unshrunk it, swinging up into the air. He kept out of the fray, calling out directions as Draco's view was obscured by the bewitched keys darting and dived all over the place.

Between the two of them, it was embarrassingly easy.

"This is ridiculous," said Draco frowning, unlocking the door and leaving the broom behind as it refused to pass the threshold. Harry flew through, his broom finding no resistance. "These 'defences' are so simple a muggle could defeat them."

Light flooded the next chamber revealing the giant chessboard.

"That's kind of the point," Harry said, lowering until he was hovering next the boy, waiting for him to get on. "They're designed to be beaten, all except for the mirror. The stone is the cheese, and the mirror is mouse trap."

The chess pieces looked at them with challenge in their marble eyes, daring them to take their place on the board.

Holding on tight, Harry and Draco rose into the air and flew right over them, bypassing the challenge entirely.

"Ridiculous," the blonde repeated mulishly.

Harry looked back at the infuriated chess pieces, expressionless faces somehow still conveying deadly glares. Yet still, none of them moved to stop them as they went through the door and up the next passageway.

They reached next door.

"And you're sure troll will be knocked out?"

"Certain."

The room beyond the door roared.

Draco stared at him in exasperation.

"Mostly. . certain," Harry corrected.

Pulling out the cloak, they donned it, casting Quietus and Odor Redigendum before slowly pushing open the door.

Instantly, the disgusting smell of rotted flesh and public toilet filled their nose, making both boys pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw towering over them, a troll even larger than the first, dragging its massive club behind it as it lumbered angrily around the room.

"Fuck," Harry whispered emphatically, almost choking on the fumes. "Of all the things for Quirell to do differently, it had to be this."

It was clear the troll had already been in a fight – there was a massive gash on its head, sluggishly bleeding, as well as dozens of other minor but damaging cuts and slices all over its body.

"On my count," Draco whispered, readying his wand. "1. . 2. . .3!"

Together, they cast the Bludgeoning Hex right at the troll's head. It roared, staggering and stumbling. For a moment, a hopeful second, the troll seemed to teeter on the edge collapsing into unconsciousness.

Not wasting a second on waiting for it to fall, Harry and Draco darted across the room, lunging for the door. Draco wrenched it open as Harry sent Glacius at the troll's feet – it wasn't enough to freeze them solid, but it was enough to cause the troll to topple to the ground with a mighty thud. Harry stumbled over the threshold and Draco slammed the door shut behind him, purple fire spring and nearly burning him. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

The troll roared even louder, thumping and banging so hard within the room that the boys could feel the stones reverberate.

"What are the chances," Draco huffed, leaning against the table, "that Quirell didn't hear that?"

"About the same chances," replied Harry from where he'd plopped to the floor, "that he didn't feel it."

They grimaced – so much for the small element of surprise.

Turning around, Draco perused the potions, the seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," he said, briefly scanning the roll of paper lying next to the bottles, even though they didn't need it. Draco pulled out two of his own potion bottles from his bag, going about testing the differences

While Draco, much like Hermione, had been able to figure out the riddle within minutes – but that wasn't the issue. The issue was the potion for the black fire was in the smallest bottle – by the time Quirrell had come through there was only enough there for one other to go through: hardly one swallow. Obviously another one of the headmaster's purposefully placed mechanics, Draco thought with a disgusted snort, probably to make sure Harry would choose to in alone with no support.

Draco'd be damned before he let Harry go into that room alone, knowing he couldn't help him if things went drastically wrong.

So Draco had grilled Harry on this trial – what the fire looked like, was it hot, did it flicker slowly or was it more furious? – brewing potion after potion before he finally narrowed it down.

He smirked, lowering his wand.

"I take it you brewed the right potion?"

Of course he was right, Draco thought as he held out the Ice Potion, he's always right.

"Okay," said Harry, running through the plan. "I drink that, go in and confront Quirrell. You wait here until you feel the signal," he briefly touched his leather band. When they'd finally confirmed their plan of action a few weeks prior, Harry had begun assembling the matching pair. It'd taken him numerous tries and many, many books on runes, but he'd managed to create and link the two – upon activation, the one-use runes it would alert the one wearer that the brother wearer was signalling for help. "First rune means something's gone wrong and I need your help, second rune means I Voldemort's gone and it's safe. Got it?"

"Yes, Harry; I was there when we planned this."

Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously, "right, yeah, sorry."

There was a brief pause where neither boy spoke.

"Look," Draco said awkwardly, "we don't like this, but we also know I can't go in there with you," and not because I'm scared to face the Dark Lord, as true as that might be true. "I hate that it means you have to do it alone," where all manner of things could go wrong while I wait here safely for a sign. "But you're a fantastic wizard Harry," I believe in you. "Tell anyone I said that though, and I'll hex you into next year."

Harry gave him a small smile, wasting no more time as he took a gulp of the potion and handed it back to Draco as the ice flooded his body. He took a deep breath and turned to face the black flames, hesitating.

"Scared, Potter?"

Looking at the flames, unable to see the boy, unable to see the shadow of the man that he'd grown to know in the eleven year olds' eye, Harry could almost believe that the last 7 years of his life had been a dream; that he the blonde we're about to face off each other in some utterly petty rivalry.

He grinned wolfishly at the flames.

"You wish," he promised to the flames, stepping confidently through the flames-

-and emerging on the other side, straight into the heart of the last chamber.

There, in all his purple glory, stood Quirrell, head still wrapped in the ever-pungent turban.

"You!" gasped Harry for show.

Quirrell smiled, completely and utterly falling for it, His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"But I thought– Snape–"

For a moment Harry thought he was over-doing it – if Quirrell had done any sort of effective surveillance he would've known Harry had been advocating for Snape's innocence since the beginning – but evidently, he needn't have worried.

Quirrell was lapping it up.

"Severus?" He laughed manically, cold and sharp. He'd completely dropped his usual baritone stutter. "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?"

Harry eyes the room surreptitiously, glancing over the mirror, "but Snape tried to kill me!" he protested half-heartedly. While Voldemort didn't have the same level of connection with Harry as he did by Fourth Year, he was still an extremely accomplished Legilimens – Harry would have to be careful.

"–ther few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom," Quirrell spat. "I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter curse, trying to save you."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," 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–"

Merlin's beard, Harry had nearly forgotten how much Quirrell liked to talk – it was like the man was compensating for the time spent speaking with a stutter.

Quirrell snapped his fingers and ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry. He had to physically repress the instinctive war born reaction of defence and retaliation.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter," said Quirrell with a cruel smile. "Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew–"

And on and on it went. Quirrell kept talking, explaining to Harry the entire year, his plans, his clever misdirection's with Snape, and how this all came to be with to no prompting by Harry. Not once did he take his eyes off the mirror, tapping his way around the frame, walking around to look at the back. Unlike the first time, Harry wasn't concerned about drawing his attention away from it – Quirrell would never get the stone from the mirror, even if he figured out the trick

Quirrell cursed under his breath, coming back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I don't understand. . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry let out a slow, steady breath.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does.

He edged to the left, carefully positioning himself in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing; he was still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And the voice that had haunted Harry for years spoke, a raspy hiss that filled Harry with the urge to be sick.

"Use the boy. . ."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Potter– come here."

He clapped his hands once, the rope binding falling off and Harry complied, slowly walking forward he was shoulder to shoulder with the man and his parasite.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

I must lie, he thought calmly. 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 yet resolute. A moment later, the reflection nodded at him in solidarity, gently patting its bag. Harry didn't bother checking to see – he knew the blood red stone would be there, unattainable to Quirrell lest he want to lose a limb. The charm was based off the wallet with fangs Hagrid had gifted him in Fifth Year – were anyone but the approved person to put their hand inside. . well, it would be highly unpleasant.

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

Harry bit back a smile.

"I'm being photographed shaking hands with Dumbledore," he said, going for the most offensive thing in Voldemort's eyes. "I've won the house cup for Gryffindor and become the youngest professional seeker in the world."

Quirrell cursed again, shoving Harry out of the way.

"He lies. . ." hissed Voldemort again.

"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 DevilSnare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. The back of Quirrell's head, there was a face, just as terrible as Harry remembered, if not worse. Glacier white, burning red eyes, slits for nostrils – as ever snake-like as his eventual rebirth body.

Those red eyes, boring into his own, mouth curling in sadistic satisfaction, 'bow, Harry, bow',

high, piercing laugh sending acid

crawling down his throat,

pooling thickly

in my lungs.

He can just barely breathe past it,

but with every breath

I feel it more and more.

"Harry Potter. . ." it whispered.

He breathed in deeply to loosen the cord

around his throat and the band

around my lungs, but with every

expansion comes the contraction

and the constriction and the acid rises

higher without ever actually                                        

leaving and

I just want it

gone.

Harry sprang forward with a desperate yell, ignoring Voldemort's scream of "SEIZE HIM!", ignoring the needle-sharp inferno of pain that seared across Harry's scar. His head felt as though it was about to split in two, but still he ignored it with all that he was as Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry clawed at his face, gripping it tight and not letting go–

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again.

"Master, I– my face– my–!"

Through the agony and tears, Harry could see his face transform; blister to raw redness, raw redness to blackened charcoal. Quirrell's flailing caused Harry's hands to slip (but never loosen), causing skin to tear and split adding rivers of blood to the massacre as they fell to the ground, allowing Harry further advantage.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

–the pain in Harry's head was building– he couldn't see anything expect the blurry impression of red, purple and black– the sick smell of burning flesh coating his lungs like tar as Quirrell's terrible shrieks pierced the chamber air, Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" falling underwater and other voices– his scar flared even further in agony. Had he activated the runes y- the fire consumed him, starting from his scar and rapidly devouring his every nerve, a voice in Harry's own head cried, "Harry! Harry!" – hands forced him to his feet and maybe those voices weren't inside his head, for it seemed like suddenly Draco was there.

Harry was just barely keeping consciousness, hazily allowing Draco to pour something even colder than the first potion down his throat. A foul stench. A roar. Flashes of blue, purple and green blurred his vision, a resounding thud. Faint murmurs of 'nearly there, come on Potter' the only thing keeping Harry from falling under. Vertigo. Cold wind. A strange silkiness sliding over his skin that he later identified to be his invisibility cloak. Harry stumbled along; all his willpower centred on keeping one foot in front of the other.

It was only when he felt a cloud against his back and the whisper of ice dousing the flames did Harry's world go black.