“You’re limping, Granger.”

“So are you, nitwit.”

Harry turned around to look at them from over his shoulder, all under the invisibility cloak. Draco looked away and Hermione watched her feet. Harry smiled at her. “Hermione, he is only worrying for your health.”

“I most certainly am not!”

Harry just rolled his eyes at them, stopping at the door leading to the third floor. All of them took a deep breath. Draco cast a glance at Hermione, “Are you positive that we have to sing a three-headed dog a lullaby?”

“Yes, for the billionth time, that is what Hagrid said.”

“Great oaf is what–”

“He is not–”

“Quiet…” Harry whispered, muttering a spell under his tongue and then, the door clicked open. Hermione and Draco looked at Harry. Draco opened his mouth to say something when Hermione turned to go with Harry. The blonde haired boy just rolled is eyes and grabbed Harry gently from behind.

“Potter, how did you…?”

Hermione grinned brightly, “Mercy, Draco, don’t you read?”

Scowling, he hobbled forward, pushing the door open. Harry and Hermione quickly followed suit only to stop right behind him.

The three-headed dog – “Its name is Fluffy? Are you off your rocker, Granger?!” – was in a deep sleep. Each head snored loudly. The monster’s deep even breathing swept their hair from their eyes. Hermione looked at Draco.

“Did you do this?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond when Harry spotted the enchanted harp not a few feet away. He raised his hand pointing at it, unable to speak. Something about that melody swirled in his mind. Something he seemed to remember. Something he wished he had back.

Then with a soft ping the music stopped. Harry stared hard at the harp, forgetting where he was, and why he was there, wishing for the sound to come back. Then suddenly, Harry was thrown and he braced himself as best he could for the ground.

But the ground did not come. Opening his eyes, he saw himself spiraling downward in the black of a haunting ravine. He was falling, falling. It was like flying. Seeing something below him, he closed his eyes again – this time afraid to die.

Instead – with great relief and surprise – he landed on a spongy pipe like material, bouncing and rolling away from his landing point. Sitting up carefully and rotating his shoulder which had took the brunt of the fall, he felt the back of his neck prickle. He looked up to see Draco staring at him and soon another plop was heard as Hermione descended.

“Potter, what the bloody hell were you doing?!” Draco screamed, thrashing about in the green tubes.

Something moved. Harry stared hard at his friend’s right side. He blinked – nothing.

“You were about to become a chew toy!” No sooner were the words out of Draco’s mouth then, the pipes began to stretch and curl around his ankles. He stared in fright only looking up as Hermione whispered.

“Devil’s snare…”

“What?” Harry asked, watching as tendrils wrapped about his waist, squeezing until he struggled to breathe. He began to panic and wished he could see his mother again, like in the forest and in front of that mirror. However, the more he thrashed, the tighter the vines got.

“Relax Harry!”

But a vine covered the boy’s mouth, accented immediately by muffled screaming. Harry looked at his friends with wide eyes, no longer hidden by scratched glass.

“He’s not relaxing, Granger!” Draco screamed before he slipped through the vines. Harry let out a muffled shout at this but then the boy’s voice seemed to come from below him. “Obviously, Herbology is not Potter’s strong suit!”

Suddenly Hermione slipped through the trap just as Draco did and Harry heard Draco’s voice again. “Granger, are you insane? You left him up there! He could–!”

Draco’s voice stopped as a bright light spread over the vines. Harry could feel the warmth of the light and could breathe easily again as the vines retreated from him. Then he slipped through. Falling on his bum, he looked up at his friends with sad eyes.

“Way to go, Potter,” Draco drawled.

“Draco!” Hermione screeched at him and then, helped Harry stand.

The boy’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he followed Draco down the long, shady hallway. Hermione looked back at him from her middle spot and smiled softly at him. Harry smiled back but he didn’t mean it.

His head was swirling with voices, measuring his cowardliness.

Crybaby! Crybaby! Crybaby! – The chants created by his cousin, Dudley, and his friends.

Stop blubbering, boy! It’s only a scratch! – The words of his uncle when he accidentally cut his hand while making dinner. The cut had been big enough for stitches and he finished dinner with his injured hand wrapped up in his too-large shirt. He was later beaten for asking Aunt Petunia to get the bread out of the oven for him.

You keep away from her! Don’t touch her again! – The words of Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan when he talked to Hermione in the library. The boys had pummeled him, never mind the fact that neither of them could bear to be in the same room with Hermione.

You’re mother was a Gryffindor. – At last, Draco’s words and finally Harry felt a determination come over him. He would make his mother proud of him, wherever she was.

But would making his mother proud, make his father stop loving him?

***

“The children are gone…”

He felt rage cover his concern, bury it, hide it – but never destroy it. His son was in danger. His son could die.

He growled out the inane password to the frozen beast and hurried up the winding staircase.

His son was nothing but a pawn.

With an uncontrollable burst of magic, the wooden door slammed open, lock breaking. He stepped down into the circular room. He ignored Minerva’s wide shocked eyes. He ignored the gentle probing coming from the molting bird’s beady eyes.

He stared into light blue eyes, hidden by half-moon spectacles.

Dumbledore looked at him calmly and then sat down behind his enormous desk. “I’ve been expecting you, Severus.”

The man had once been his mentor and yet now, he had become the puppet master, stringing along his son like a marionette. He felt his anger burn and bubble up red hot. He strode forward swiftly and swiped his hand across the desk. He ignored Minerva’s gasp and the glass shattering, the Headmaster’s candy bouncing upon the stone floor. Severus slapped both hands on the wood to keep from choking him.

“Where the hell is he?!”

Dumbledore stared at him. He blinked, once, twice.

Severus could feel his ire growing past his control.

“Who, Severus…?” came McGonagall’s quiet voice instead.

“My son is gone and Draco as well - along with that damned invisibility cloak!

Dumbledore blinked again. Severus felt his eye twitch.

He cast a glance at Minerva, watching as her face paled. “Hermione is missing from the Infirmary. Poppy was not going to release her until Monday morning.” She turned swiftly to Dumbledore and stared at him, waiting for an answer.

Anything to keep from imagining the worst.

Dumbledore blinked once more before shaking his head a little. “The children are fine,” he said serenely, looking up into Severus’ eyes.

“For how long?!”

Minerva looked at her younger colleague and muttered, “Perhaps they are just studying together or out on the grounds–”

“They went to the third floor and down that trapdoor! It was open!” Only then did McGonagall noticed his ripped robe and bloodied arm. Severus was livid as he shook the Headmaster. She could see the pain behind his maddened eyes. “How did they find out about the Stone, Albus?! How much are you trying to turn my son into your perfect soldier?!”

“Contrary to your beliefs – and, no doubt, Narcissa’s as well – I am not trying to force Harry into anything other than what he is.”

“Then, why–?!”

Severus stopped cold as if choking. He looked up at the ceiling and watched as dust began to fall in a cloud upon the dark face of the desk. The floor suddenly began to tremble, pieces of stone from the walls fell. A sconce fell to the ground, still burning. Fawkes let out a shrill shriek.

Dumbledore’s gaze was suddenly incredibly ancient as he looked into Severus’ horrified eyes and whispered, “It’s begun.”

***

Limping, bruised and bloody, the trio pushed open the last door, a thick wooden one with rusted bolts. It gave way easily – “well that is a very efficient locking device!” “Thank you, Mr. Obvious!” – and stepped into the room.

It was a small antechamber. Pillars stretched to the back and sides. They were lit with a faint orange glow coming from the fire basins toward the front of the room. However, the fire was low and did not reach to the farthest corners of the stone room. Walking in slowly, they took their time to look around and relax just a bit.

The room was empty.

“What is that?” Hermione asked, looking at Draco out of the corner of her eyes. He merely shrugged nonchalantly and Hermione’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“It’s a mirror,” he replied calmly, allowing Hermione to tow him slightly. He avoided her gaze even as she held tightly on his arm so he could keep his balance.

“It’s the Mirror of Erised,” Harry whispered, the room so silent that his friends had no trouble hearing him.

Harry walked down the stairs slowly, stopping in front of the glass. He gazed longingly at what he say, placing one hand gently against it. Hermione and Draco watched him as he bowed his head, sweaty curls shielding his eyes from them.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Draco asked, normally though inside he was screaming that nothing felt right. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand. He felt eyes on his back. Yet he looked and saw just the empty room behind them.

“Well, it has to be here for a reason,” Hermione said smartly, feeling safe enough to let her bossiness shine through.

“We find the Stone…” said Harry, a wobbling in his small voice. “We find the Stone with it.”

“Yes, children… It’s for you to find the Stone… and give it to me…”

The voice was sickeningly familiar. Harry froze cold. Hermione’s breathing sped up. Draco watched as they both struggled to stay calm. This was not the Forbidden Forest. This was Hogwarts castle. They were safe.

Were they not?

Then, they heard another voice, softer unlike the other which seemed to reverberate inside their heads. “You will give it to me.”

A man shimmered into view. Long blue robes. Tall, skinny and pale. A shining sweaty face. Beady little muddy brown eyes.

And a turban on his head.

“Prof-Professor Quirrel!” Hermione exclaimed in outrage and shock.

Draco supposed that it was out of her belief that her teachers were all saints. He found that he wasn’t surprised to see Quirrel – which shocked him more.

“Who is the stuttering fool now, Miss Granger?” Quirrel asked amused, in perfect elocution. He held up the shimmering fabric in his hand, tossing it carelessly aside. He looked at Harry “Potter should take better care of his belongings.”

Draco remembered Harry dropping it as he saw the mirror. He and Hermione had walked past it with false security. Feeling something dreadfully cold run swiftly by his arm, he stood with unseeing eyes as images flashed quickly through his mind.

Of Hermione screaming.

Of the mirror shattering.

Of Harry lying still and bloody, lying dead, pieces of the mirror gouged into his chest

Then as quickly as it came it was no longer pictures but flashes of colors and garbled sounds. He felt his mind being torn away. He could feel his conscious slowly began to glide away from him as if drifting off to sleep.

Hermione screamed, shrill and short, then a slapping sound has she covered her mouth with one hand. She gripped Draco’s arm tighter.

His eyes snapped open.

Quirrel stood only a few feet from Harry. A long bloody gash now marred Harry’s cheek, blood running down his neck like a small river. Harry stood, facing the man. Draco was surprised at Harry’s lack of shaking. He did not look panicked or teary-eyed, only still with uncharacteristic resolve.

Draco cast a glance at Hermione. Her feet were planted to the floor. He watched as her whole body trembled – as if she were struggling against an unseen force to move. He tired to peel off her fingers but they were like vices holding him in her grip. Even tears fell from her unblinking eyes

Mind control, Draco wondered. Quirrell never gave me that impression before but – His eyes became horrified. No way! He can’t be–

“I can’t be what, Mr. Malfoy?”

It was that voice again. Quirrel’s lips did not move. Draco felt his calm turn to shreds as a black mist rose above the man’s robed form. It took the vague image of a human only with red reptilian eyes staring at him cruelly.

“I can’t be… inside Hogwarts, perhaps? Inside this chamber…?” the voice laughed, a sound that hurt Draco’s ears. He winced uncontrollably and cast a glance at Harry. Surprisingly, he still looked calm.

The particles shifted and creped closer to Draco’s body. “Inside your own mind…?”

Draco felt his heart grow cold.

His vision was not a prospective future for when they failed. It was a prediction.

They were going to die.