Meeting Remus had been nice, but he really couldn't hold Harry's interest all that much over the next few days. He was thinking about the mirror, and what he saw in it. He visited it twice more, just staring at the image.

Of course Severus noticed Harry's increasingly odd behavior. And he noticed, because both he and Remus were spending a lot of time with the map trying to track Pettigrew, that Harry seemed to, in his overnight wanderings, head for the same place two nights in a row.

Curious, Severus disillusioned himself and followed Harry on silent feet. The boy was evidently completely unaware he was being followed, and Severus made a mental note to work with him on being more aware of his surroundings. Then Harry slipped into a normally unused classroom, and Severus followed.

He got one good look at what was in the room and cursed mentally. What in the name of hell was THAT doing where students could find the bloody damn thing? The Mirror of Erised was damn dangerous! Especially for someone like Harry, who'd had such a miserable life. He disillusioned himself and, careful to keep his eyes averted from the mirror (there was no way in hell he was going to let himself be tempted by the damn thing), he put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry jumped about ten feet in the air, whirled around, and let out a shriek all at the same time, eyes wide with apprehension. When he realized who'd found him, he put a hand to his chest.

"You scared me half to death!" Harry told Severus.

Severus allowed a small, amused smile to curl his lips. "So I noticed. Come, Harry ... you really should not be here. This mirror is dangerous."

"What do you mean?"

"It is called the Mirror of Erised, and shows what a person wants most. There have been documented cases of people sitting before it, refusing to eat and wasting away as they try to figure out how to get what they see, or they go mad because whatever it is they see cannot be obtained. I have no idea what it's even doing here." And Albus would be getting an earful later. Again. Damn man.

"Yeah, I kind of noticed the not-possible bit." Harry said, his voice sad.

Severus was willing to bet he had a fair idea of what Harry had seen, given his previous life. Severus would have seen the same thing when he was that age. "You never know, Harry. Sometimes ... things are not as impossible as they seem. You saw your family?" He guessed.

Harry looked up at him as Severus maneuvered them out of the room. "How did you know?" He asked.

"It's a rather understandable desire, Harry. You've not had a family for the bulk of your life. I know it's not the same, but once we get their portrait out of the vaults, you'll be able to have your parents around, in a way ... as well as most of your relatives on the Potter side through their portraits at the manor. And family is more than blood. You're getting very close to the youngest three Mr. Weasleys, and Mrs. Weasley sent you a present for Christmas, and you're quite close to Miss Granger."

Harry thought about that. "So I'm ... sort of making my own family, then?"

Severus nodded, and Harry smiled up at him. Maybe Severus was right. Maybe what he saw in the mirror wasn't quite as impossible as he thought it was. Because while Harry was fairly sure Severus would never say the actual words, he was at the least fond of Harry. And so was McGonagall. And Hagrid, of course, and maybe, given time, Remus. They made for an odd group indeed, but Severus was right ... the image was not as impossible as it seemed. And in the face of that, of his own family of people who cared about him ... who cared about an image in a mirror? Maybe he couldn't have his parents alive (and he might not figure out who the mystery man was), but what he had was a damn sight more than he'd had before.

HPHPHP

The rest of the Christmas break passed rather uneventfully for Harry ... well, aside from that whole 'Harry, I'm a werewolf.' thing with Remus. Still, Remus was nice, incredibly easygoing and good-tempered, so Harry just made due note to avoid seeking Remus out over the full moon and left it at that.

Well, that and the growing hints of ... well, something. Something that wasn't wrong, per se, but being ... left out, maybe? ... of what was being said. Harry was becoming more and more aware of certain gaps in conversations, of a certain awkwardness when specific subjects came up. At first, Harry had dismissed it as Remus and Severus having, as kids, been, if not enemies,then certainly rivals of a sort, and the memories of their school days therefore being fraught with rather ... touchy subjects. But after a while, he realized that while that may have been part of the problem, it wasn't the whole of it.

Unfortunately, before he could figure it out, everyone came back from the holidays and classes began again. Hermione was less than pleased with he and Ron over their lack of industry when it came to figuring out Flamel, but then she'd revealed that she'd fun across something.

"Flamel's known to Muggles. At least, in a way." She told them as they huddled together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. "I knew I'd heard the name somewhere! He was an alchemist, at least according ... "

She didn't get any further than that, because Harry abruptly remembered where he had seen the name. "Oh, of course! That's where I saw it! Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card! He's worked with Flamel!" Then Harry frowned. "Not that that helps us much."

"But it does! Alchemy, at least according to Muggles, was a way to turn other metals into gold." Hermione pointed out. "Through something called the Philosopher's stone."

Harry went wide-eyed. "Hermione ... the package Hagrid got out of the vault ... it was rock-sized." He said.

Hermione nodded. "And that's not all. I looked it up. The Philosopher's Stone was, if it was created, to be able to create an 'elixir of life'."

That made Ron whistle. "Gold and something like that? No wonder Quirrell's after it." They'd all, by now, seen Quirrell skulking about near the off-limits corridor. Ron had initially argued for Snape to be the one trying to get it, but after several months of seeing the man being something other than the 'evil, greasy git' his older brothers remembered and had told tales about, he'd been willing to drop Snape in favor of Quirrel.

"We better check to make sure the information's the same in the wizarding world." Hermione said. "Now we know what to look for, it should be easy."

Harry nodded. "I'm pretty sure Snape knows Quirrel's up to something. I've seen him watching Quirrell a lot."

At least they didn't have to fret so much about the thing being in danger.

HPHPHP

Before Harry knew it, it was time for the next Quidditch game, this one against Hufflepuff. After the rather brutal game against Slytherin, Harry was sure this one would be a cinch. At least the Hufflepuffs played fair. Harry wouldn't have to worry so much about getting thrashed with a Beater's bat (or some such thing) in the air.

Fifteen minutes into the game, Gryffindor was in the lead by thirty points. Harry, scanning the pitch from above the main part of the action, spotted the snitch and dived after it. Just as he was getting to top speed, the broom bucked under him, hard, nearly unseating him. He gripped the wood hard with his hands and kept going. A second later, it not only happened again, but the broom stopped dead in midair. Harry let out a frightened yelp as he started, thanks to momentum, to catapult off the front of the broom. Only the tight grip he'd had saved him from a brutal fall, and even at that Harry let out another cry as his arms were given a nasty wrench. Dangling from his hands a good fifty feet or more above the ground, all Harry could do was hang on for dear life as the broom jerked and writhed and bucked. But now the movements were smaller, more halting.

As he'd been almost to the middle of the pitch, Harry's plight had not gone unnoticed by the other players, and the game was rapidly abandoned as the Gryffindors raced to attempt to rescue Harry from the twitching, jerking broom. Unfortunately, every time someone approached, the broom jerked higher into the air. Fred and George circled well away from him, then raced upwards, managing to get above the level of Harry's broom before they raced towards him again, attempting to keep ... whatever was going on from jerking him higher. It seemed to work ... at least Harry didn't shoot up towards them anymore. Unfortunately, the broom just started shaking harder in response to anyone getting close.

In the stands, all hell was breaking loose. Hagrid and Ron watched in horror as something tried to shake Harry loose from his tenuous perch. Hermione, however, was scanning the stands frantically. Brooms were very, very hard to tamper with ... well beyond the skills of any student, and with all four teams having identical brooms, no one could have possibly known which broom Harry would be riding before the game. That meant whatever was being done was being done here and now ... a jinx or hex or spell. Finally, after what felt like far, far too long, she spotted the culprit, and without a word to Hagrid and Ron, raced through the crowds. There was no time ... and no way to warn Professor Snape. She'd just have to do this on her own.

Severus' world had narrowed to a single broom and the boy dangling from it. The first lurch of Harry's broom had not gone undetected, but Snape had thought it had been something Harry had done. The abrupt midair stop, though, had made it plainly clear something was very, very wrong. With no idea who was doing it, or what, precisely, they were doing, all Snape could do was mutter a general anti-jinx and pit his strength and will against that of whoever was trying to harm Harry. Whoever it was, they were damnably strong. Surprisingly so. But that knowledge was but a dim spark in the back of Severus' mind. He was almost wholly unaware of the mayhem around him.

Hermione wasted no time ... and no mercy. The moment she was in range, she fairly yowled 'Incendio!", lighting Quirrell's cloak aflame. He let out a shriek of his own and frantically yanked the burning cloak off himself, beating at it. Hermione quickly retreated, plastering herself against the stairs closest to where Snape would be descending.

Harry let out a relieved whoosh when the broom stopped bucking. Unfortunately, thanks to the wrench he'd taken, swinging himself up and onto his broom was proving to be impossible. Then the Gryffindor team, moving slowly lest the broom start bucking again, was around him and Wood, the oldest and strongest, hauled Harry onto his broom while Fred and George corralled Harry's broom, and the entire team headed for the ground. Within seconds, the staff section of the stands had emptied, with Pomphrey and Snape leading the charge. There was several minutes of confused babbling, and then Pomphrey was marching Harry to the Infirmary to deal with his injuries.

Hermione, hidden under the staff section of the stands, was the only one to see Quirrell head, not for the pitch or the castle, but for the Forest. She scurried out from under the stands and raced for Snape.

"Professor Snape! Sir! Wait!" She called out.

Severus whirled around, expression forbidding. "Miss Granger?"

"It was Quirrell! He was jinxing the broom. And he's gone into the forest!" Hermione fairly babbled. A second later, she was falling back and away from Snape, eyes huge and round.

Not that Severus would have blamed her. Even his anger at Dumbledore at the start of the year dimmed in comparison to this. "Thank you for the information, Miss Granger." He snarled, and then he took off for the woods at a dead run, fully intending to commit murder.

With the length of his legs and the speed at which he was running, it did not take him long to catch up to Quirrel. "Incarcerous!" He bellowed. And watched in surprise as Quirrell, someone he knew to be only a passable duelist, evaded the spell with ease.

Quirrell whirled on him and to Severus' stunned surprise, threw a nasty Dark spell at him. Severus whirled out of the way ... and the battle was on. And even from that first spell, Severus knew something was very much not right, here, though he couldn't quite figure out what as he snarled out spells and flung himself about to evade what spells he couldn't block.

For one thing ... Quirrell was no duelist. For another, as far as Severus knew, the man had never so much as touched the Dark Arts, yet he was slinging spells that only someone well-practiced in the art would ever dare to use. Severus was fully expecting the Unforgivables to show up at some point. And then there was the fact that, the longer they battled, the stronger the spells became ... and the more familiar the fighting style became.

By the two-minute mark, they were the only living things left in their corner of the Forest that were capable of moving. Around them, trees and bushes were catching fire, exploding into splinters, and twisting into hideous, deformed things as spells slammed into them. Great gouts of earth were exploding into the air at odd intervals, and what few trees weren't being destroyed by spells were being ripped out of the ground for use as shields and weapons.

By the end of the three-minute mark, Severus knew he was in deep trouble. Because he finally recognized that fighting style. He knew himself to be an above-average fighter ... he did not call himself a duelist, as the Dark Arts spells he was so good at were all forbidden in 'polite' duels, and he was more interested in surviving a battle than in giving observers a good show. Quirrell, he could have trounced any day of the week. Indeed, of the staff, only Filius and Dumbledore were better fighters. McGonagall's skill was too close to his own for him to know for sure who was the better. Severus was not afraid to fight dirty to win, to survive ... and yet, he was losing. More and more of his opponent's spells were breaking through his shields, narrowly missing Severus again and again as he flung himself out of the way. It was quickly becoming clear to him that Quirrell ... or, should he say Voldemort-possessed Quirrell, however that had happened ... was toying with him.

And then Severus got hit with a spell and went flying, smashing into a tree and collapsing to the ground, only partially conscious. But before Quirrell could finish the job he'd started, there was a brilliant flare of light and flame. Dumbledore had arrived.

If the previous fight had been amazing, what happened next was nothing less than spectacular. Severus, through dazed, pained eyes, watched as Dumbledore fought Quirrell to a standstill. Then, abruptly, Quirrell dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and a black, malevolent cloud raced out of the body and away from the two of them, deep into the forest.

Dumbledore whirled and the next thing Snape knew, he was being floated at about hip-height. Dumbledore gripped Severus' badly torn cloak, then glanced upwards before reaching a hand up. Fawkes, who had flashed Dumbledore to the forest, grabbed Dumbeldore's hand and flashed the both of them straight into the infirmary.

Harry, just being looked at by Pomphrey, let out a horrified cry when he saw the bloodied, torn wreck that was Severus Snape. Pomphrey hustled over and spells of an entirely different sort began to fly, as well as potions vials, as she fought to undo the internal damage the spell had done. Eventually, she sagged into a chair, and glanced tiredly up at Dumbledore, who she only just then realized had been assisting her as best he could.

"He'll be all right." She told the man. "He'll need at least a week of bedrest, if we can manage to keep him horizontal for that long." There was a glimmer of amusement in Pomphrey's eyes at that. Severus was rather a poor patient. "And we'll have to keep a careful eye on him for the next twenty-four hours in case there's a relapse, but if he avoids that, he'll be back to normal in two week's time."

From the bed across the room, Harry just stared at Severus in horror. He was nearly as white as the sheets he was laying on, but what was kind of terrifying was the fact that other than the white face and shredded cloak, there was now no outward sign that Severus was in as dire straits as Pomphrey seemed to be indicating.

"What happened?" Harry demanded, more than a little stridently.

It was Hermione, eyes glued to Snape, looking as horrified as Harry felt, that answered. "Quirrell. Quirrell happened, didn't he? He went after him! Oh, I shouldn't have told him!" She looked like she was half a step away from crying, and even Ron was looking completely horrified.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Miss Granger, you did precisely the correct thing. You had no way of knowing what would happen from there. Indeed, even I did not foresee this." And he had little doubt that once he was back on his feet, Severus would take him to task for missing the fact that one of the teachers had somehow become possessed by none other than Voldemort. Not that he himself would not be taking himself to task for missing it in the meantime, but Dumbledore would not deny Severus the right. "He will recover, as will Harry, and the matter is now fully dealt with." Hardly, but the aftermath was not something for children to concern themselves with. "Now, I believe Mr. Potter could use a bit of rest, so perhaps ... "

"We're staying here." Ron growled, looking exceptionally mulish. Pomphrey had succeeded in chasing off the Gryffindor quidditch team, but insofar as Ron (and Hermione) were concerned, there was no force on earth that would roust them from their friend's side. Hermione, though less pleased to be defying the Headmaster, had her chin at a stubborn angle.

Pomphrey snorted. "You will remain quiet, do you hear? If you disturb the quiet even once, you'll be out of here so fast your heads will swim!"

Ron and Hermione both nodded, and Dumbledore took his leave after giving them (and Pomphrey) an amused glance.