“Come on, Harry, you know this. It’s a plant that entraps anything that rests near it in it’s creepers. It hates the dark and damp—“

“Devil’s Snare,” Neville said from where he was reading by the fire.

Hermione huffed, irritated. “Neville, you’re supposed to let Harry answer. How will he learn anything if you feed him all the answers? How will he pass his exams?”

“I’ll have to drop out of school and work as a fast food cook,” Harry said with a straight face. “And one day, on my lonely walk home from my job, I’ll be attacked by—“ Harry grabbed the book Hermione was quizing him from and read “—‘a deep green ivy-esque plant that uses long feelers that tighten until paralysis and death is iminent.’ And I shall say—“ Here Harry threw himself back into the chair and tossed a hand over his forehead. Neville chimed in with him, and they both said “If only I had listened to Hermione and passed my exams!” Then both boys started to laugh. Hermione sighed, but a smile crept on her face as she started again on the properties of Devil’s Snare.

In the past four months at Hogwarts, Harry had learned to love the school even more than he had at first sight. He loved the thick, cool stone walls and the myriad of hallways and the portraits that always pointed him in the right direction. He loved his classes and his bed and the common room, and most of all he loved his friends, Neville and Hermione.

Hermione had intimidated him the first few times they had met. She had been very business like and handed him a huge stack of papers that he couldn’t make hide nor hair of. It was Percy Weasley who had suggested to Hermione that Harry might learn more through a less—brutal exchange of information. Neville had started to take part as well, stating he needed all the help he could get, and after a few lessons Harry, Neville, and Hermione had become good friends.

The Seamus Situation, as Harry had dubbed it, was better than before but still not prime. After a particularly vicious duel (at least, Seamus had called it a duel—really it was Seamus garbling a curse, then throwing his wand to the side and leaping at Harry, who took a swift step to the left and let Seamus sail right into a shining coat of armor), they had reached an uneasy truce. Neville, Hermione, and Harry stayed by the fire in the common room. Seamus, Parvati, Lavender, and Ron stayed near the tables. And Dean went back and forth easily between the two groups, and the other houses as well. He was friends with everyone, Dean, and no one said a word to him against it.

Harry and Seamus united their groups, however, when forced to. Outside Gryffindor, they were all united against a common enemy—Draco Malfoy. Harry’s second day of classes, Draco had walked up to him, extended his hand, and offered to be Harry’s friend. Before Harry shook his hand, however, Neville had fallen down the stairs and knocked Draco down with him. Convinced the Gryffindors had started the attack on purpose, Malfoy and his little gang confronted them often—and they gave as good as they took.

Malfoy also couldn’t stand it that Harry was better than him in Potions. Harry had, after learning that Professor Snape was the teacher, read his Potions book cover to cover and begged Hermione to tutor him in that first every night. His first lesson, however, had been quite successful, even though he had taken Neville as his partner.

Harry had divised a system—Neville would work with any plant ingredients, and Harry would work with anything else. Often times it was the combined fear of Professor Snape and slicing newt tails that made Neville go useless. So Harry dealt with anything animal or mineral, while Neville kept to the plants. It was a good system, and something in Potions just seemed to come to him. Madam had said, when he’d gone for his check up, that his mother had been a fair hand at it, and Harry liked to think that it was because of his mother that he did as well as he did.

Not that Snape treated him any differently than anyone else. In fact, sometimes he treated him worse. But Harry just took it, because whenever he got a detention he would go help the professor scrub cauldrons or desks and then he could just spend time in his company, which made Harry feel rather pleasant.

Neville, Hermione, and Harry were, perhaps, unlikely friends. Hermione was a Muggle-born, Neville was a Pureblood, and Harry was half and half. Hermione was top of their class, Harry was the middle in everything except Potions and Defense, and Neville was near the bottom in everything except Herbology. Harry was a hero, Neville was a nobody, and Hermione was a genius. And yet, they fit in with each other like puzzle pieces.

Harry had taken to taking walks with Neville and Hermione after classes, going around the grounds while Neville chattered about flowers and Hermione chattered about classes and Harry thought about this whole new world of magic with friends (which was even better than the stuff he did with his wand) and he wondered how long it would last. But some days he didn’t have time to wonder—he was too busy learning magic and laughing with his friends and taking part in this great new world that was offered to him; one not of magic, but of carelessness. Of childhood.

He celebrated his first ever Christmas at Hogwarts. From Neville he had gotten a cunning little plant that made comforting, warm whistles whenever its owner felt down, and a pressed daisy. From Hermione, sugarless candy (which tasted just as good to Harry) and a large book labeled ‘From Mundane to Magical: The Muggle Born Transition’, which she had inserted a note: ‘I know this doesn’t really apply to you, but since you were raised Muggle I thought it might be useful.’ He’d also received an Invisibility Cloak from an unknown source, a pair of thick gray socks from Dumbledore, and a book from Professor Snape on the brewing of Potions.

Harry paid him a visit later that day to thank him.

“I just wanted to thank you, sir. For the book, I mean. It was awful nice of you, and you didn’t have to or anything, so I thought I would say thanks.”

“How kind of you,” Snape drawled. “Don’t look at it as a gift, Potter. You need as much help as you can get.”

But Harry knew he didn’t mean it, and he tentatively reached forward and gave him a small hug before jumping back toward the door.

“Thanksagainbyesir!” Harry yelled as he ran away, stopping when he realized he was lost.

Professsor Snape merely stood there, stunned, as he heard the boys foot steps fade away.

Harry was lost in the labyrinth of dungeon walls, and he finally started to just throw open doors at random, fear rising in his throat until he found a passageway that led upward.

When he emerged he was in an empty, unused classroom with a tall mirror.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Harry peered into it and almost started to cry.

It was him, yes, but it was him and his mother and she was hugging him, holding him around the neck and smiling and kissing his hair. And his father, kissing hiss mother on the cheek, and they all seemed happy.

Then he saw, off to the side, another man, cloaked all in black. As if his mirror image had seen him too, Mirror-Harry had run to him and leapt into his arms, laughing. Snape caught him, and gave him a quick hug before sending him back to his parents.

Harry ran from the room as fast as he could, stumbling into the dormitory and crying as he traced his parents faces over and over again, hidden behind his four poster curtains.

His parents were dead, and they would never hold him line that or love him like that. And he wasn’t good enough to have Snape love him, he knew that.

Pretends were okay, but Harry made himself an oath not to go night wandering near the mirror ever again. It hurt too much to see all the things he could never have.

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All was not perfect at Hogwarts, as that proved. Harry, Hermione, and Neville had been headed back from a late-night Herbology assignment (Night-Blooming Lilies, of which Harry had decided were his favorites) when they had taken a wrong turn and gone on the run from Filch. They had ran directly into a room (one Hermione had cried was forbidden the moment they realized where they were) and almost been eaten by a three-headed dog.

It had almost bit Hermione. Neville had screamed at it, Harry had kicked it in the nose and the two had taken Hermione by the arm and the three of them ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, not caring whether or not Filch caught them or not.

They had been standing in the entrance way, panting, when Hermione went “Did—you—“

Harry nodded. “Huge—three heads—“

“No! The floor—he was standing on a trap door—he was guarding something—“

After that they had made a Solemn Pact, Neville and Hermione and Harry. They would get to the bottom of the Third Floor Mystery. And, Harry had felt, they had become better friends that night, and after it they were nearly inseperable.

They had puzzled over what might be down there for days. Neville thought prisoners of war who might escape and kill them all in their sleep—he started to have bad dreams and Harry would wake him and they would have hot chocolate that Tookie brought them. Hermione thought they were ancient texts deemed to dangerous for the students to read. Harry didn’t know quite what he thought, but when they asked him, he said ‘Something magic and important and powerful.’

He had been summoned by Dumbledore three days after the dog experience (he left his wand with Neville, just outside the door, just in case) and he was forced to go there for a long tea where Dumbledore tried to make small talk about his family and Harry nibbled on biscuits and answered every question with ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no, sir,’ and ‘good, thank you, sir.’ At the very end, when Harry was yearning to get out and theorize with Hermione and Neville instead of trapped in a conversation on his relatives, the fire had roared green and an old, wrinkled head had poked through.

“Albus,” the head had rasped, and Harry had jumped back in fright.

“Ah, Harry, no need to worry. The wizarding equivalent of a telly-phone, I believe.” The old man looked at him sadly. “We’ll finish this conversation another time, Harry. Run along to your friends.”

Harry had almosst been out the door when he heard Dumbledore say “Nico, my dear friend, it is safely guarded on the third floor corridor.”

“You say that every time, Dumbledore, but Perenelle and I hear things! I want to just check—“

“Nico, I cannot show you where it is, or how to get past the enchantments. You could be tortured—“

“Our home was broken into last night.”

“Is Perenelle—“

“Yes, yes, we’re fine. They were looking for the Stone, though, that was obvious. They had every possible rock thrown on the floor.”

“It is safe, Nico. This is proof.”

“I know, Albus. I just—I wanted to check.”

Harry ran back to the common room and explained the whole encounter to Hermione and Neville. Hermione immediately squealed and ran upstairs to show them the answer in the book.

The Philosopher’s Stone.

Harry took to lingering past the door whenever he walked past it and imagining there was a third use to the stone, that it could bring people back from the dead, and he could get it and bring his parents back.

But then he realized that someone else might need to come back.

Hermione had figured it out first. “Harry,” she had blurted out when he was telling them about his pretend, “If it could, could bring people back to life, make them immortal, what if—“

Harry had felt himself drop the quill he was holding, but all he could think was that, if Voldemort came back, then they would send him back to the Dursleys. They wouldn’t keep him here, it would be too dangerous.

“We have to tell—“ Harry said numbly, and he started to run to the dungeons, to Snape, only to have Hermione tug at his sleeve.

“No, Harry, we need to go to McGonnagal,” Hermione cried, and Neville helped drag harry there.

McGonnagal listened to their story and turned, with a sympathetic eye, to Harry.

“Mr. Potter,” she started, removing her glassses and indicating that Harry sit down. “I know that you have been through some great trials, but you are safe here. You must believe it.”

“I do, Professor, but it’s not me I’m worried about, it’s the stone—“

“Mr. Potter!” McGonnagal said with shock. “How do you know about that?”

“He’ll take it, Professor, and he’ll come back. We can’t let him come back, please, Professor—“

“Enough!” she barked. “You have been through many ordeals, Mr. Potter, but that does not mean you may flaunt any rules you feel do not apply to you. That will be twenty five points each, now all three of you, get back to your dormitory. I have heard quite enough.”

As soon as Harry left, she frowned and tried to contact Dumbledore. He was at the Ministry already, and she bit her lip. Surely this matter would be fine until tomorrow. With the children in bed, she would simply take a look down there later and make sure nothing was amiss. She would talk to Dumbledore in the morning.

She didn’t know that night could be so long.

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Unbeknownst to the musing McGonnagal, Harry had snuck out of the dormitories as soon as he could, grabbing his invisibility cloak and leading Hermione and Neville to the dungeons.

“Wait here,” he hissed, and he knocked on the door.

Snape threw it open with an angry hiss that trailed off when he saw Harry.

“Potter,” he barked. “What are you doing out of your dormitory?”

“I need help,” Harry whispered, his stomach sinking. He wasn’t good enough for Snape to want to help him. He was thinking of Snape as the man who had caught him in the mirror, but the mirror was a liar and Harry shrunk into himself.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’ll go,” Harry whispered, and was surprised when Snape let out an exasperated sigh and yanked Harry into his chambers.

“Potter. Talk.”

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After Snape had heard everything, he waited all of two seconds before throwing open the door and yanking the cloak off of the two Gryffindors in the hallway. Neville immediately began to whimper.

“Stop that insufferable noise, you fool.” Snape was pulling out his wand and he started to take long strides down the hallway. Harry darted out of the mans chambers, running after him, and Hermione and Neville followed after one long moment.

When they got to the third floor corridor, Snape threw Neville in first, then strode in himself, the other two following.

Hermione let out a little sound when she saw the dog, but he was fast asleep and the trap door Hermione had seen was wide open, leading deep down into darkness.

Snape walked over, then turned to Harry. “Potter. You are to stay here—“

“No.”

Snapes eyes flashed. “Potter. This is not a request.”

“Sir, you can’t—“

“I can and I will.”

With that Snape took one step forward and plummeted down into the blackness.