Harry rushed into the door Quirrell had pulled Professor Sinistra into, only to stop a moment later in complete and utter horror. He heard Hermione's muffled scream before she quickly turned into Harry's chest. He glanced towards Ron, noticing that the redhead too looked on in revulsion at the sight.

Thick crimson liquid, likely blood, covered the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. Death's smell hung in the air, leading no doubt about who had been the unlucky soul. Where the trapdoor had been previously, all that remained now was a wide hole in the floor.

Ignoring his gut feeling of intense dread and fear, Harry rushed towards the hole, jumping in a moment later. He closed his eyes, hoping that he'd land on something soon. With a soft thump, he did. The darkness unfortunately didn't let him see what he had landed on, but it luckily was soft whatever it was. He heard two more thumps on either side of him. A smile made its way to his face in response to the noise of his friends joining him.

"You two all right?" he asked quietly, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

"Yeah" and "Fine" were the responses a second later. He nodded in acknowledgement, feeling around to find a way to pull himself up out of whatever he had landed in.

"What is this thing?" Ron asked, struggling against the tendrils that slowly encircled his torso.

"Don't struggle!" Hermione shouted.

"Oh, yes, because I'd so rather it—"

"Devil's Snare, remember from Herbology?" She then huffed. "Never mind," she said, knitting her brows together in intense concentration. "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare, think, Hermione, think," she muttered to herself. She then pulled her own wand out, brandishing it expertly a moment later. Sending an exact replica of the fire spell she had used on Snape during Harry's first Quidditch match, she caused the plant's tendrils to retreat towards the darkness, freeing the trio instantly.

Once freed from the tendrils, Harry quickly set off down the passageway. He heard Ron and Hermione's footfalls behind him. However, soon, it wasn't the only noise he heard. Something that sounded like metal clinking together echoed down the long hallway. The three Gryffindors glanced at one another, gripping their drawn wands just a bit tighter in preparation.

As they walked into the large chamber a moment later, they glanced up at the numerous birds, or something that looked like them, that fluttered above them. The jeweled-birds didn't seem to be at all concerned about the intruders as they continued their flight non-stop. They jingled as they soared and circled the room.

"Huh, they're not attacking," Ron mumbled quietly.

"We probably haven't triggered that reaction yet," Hermione replied, observing them as a scientist would.

Harry glanced at the bird-like creatures one last time before he threw all caution to the side and ran full force towards the closed door on the other side. His fingers curled around the handle before he yanked on it as hard as he could. The door remained closed, though. Ron and Hermione soon joined, realizing that the birds weren't about to attack. As if to taunt them, the door stayed closed.

"NO!" Harry yelled, banging his fists against the door. He heard Hermione try her unlocking charm, but it had no effect. So he pounded his fists against the door once again. He didn't have time for this. Professor Sinistra didn't have time for this.

"It has to have something to do with those things," Hermione explained, glancing back at the bird-like creatures that flew about the room. "They can't just be here for nothing."

Harry whirled around, knowing that Hermione was right. He jumped back just as the bird-like creatures flew past him, giving him the perfect view of them. His green eyes widened as he caught the blurred outline of a key as they rushed past.

"They're keys!" he shouted, feeling his hope increase slightly. He then noticed the three brooms hovering a few feet from them. "Quidditch," he yelled, grabbing one of the brooms and zooming off to find the correct key for the lock. Relying on his amazing flying skill, he closed in on the silver key with damaged wings. Just as he'd catch the Snitch, Harry quickly closed his hand around it in a millisecond. He then touched back down onto the floor, rushing towards the door to unlock it. As soon as the sound of the door's heavy locks disengaged, he tossed the key aside and yanked the door open.

The next chamber contained a set of tall chess pieces that made Harry tremble slightly. They didn't have time for this! Merlin only knew what Quirrell was doing to Professor Sinistra. With a glance towards Ron, Harry made up his mind. Ron might have been a brilliant Wizard's chess player, but Harry just couldn't waste any more time.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said, rushing back into the key-flying chamber. He grabbed one of the brooms, hoping it'd work. He had learned this move from his dad and Professor Sinistra. He mounted it in a second and blazed past the shocked duo. The chess piece instantly swung at him with their massive weapons, causing Harry to dodge in the same manner as he would do with Bludgers headed in his direction. The door to the next way was luckily already open, so he just flew through it, touching down a moment later in the next chamber after whizzing past the dead troll Quirrell had left in his wake.

Purple flames sprang up behind him and black flames in the entryway in front of him, causing Harry to clench his teeth. He didn't have time for this. Though, he wasn't going to be a total idiot. No one, not even the Boy-Who-Lived could fly through flames and live to tell the tale. His green eyes darted about the room, resting a second later on the seven potion bottles on the table. This obviously was his dad's test.

Snatching the rolled up paper beside the bottles, Harry quickly skimmed the very bottom of the parchment:

To help you in your choice, we give you these four clues:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Harry reread the parchment before closing his eyes. He wished he had Hermione with him. She would have known which one it was in a second. Reopening his eyes, he glanced at the bottles and sighed. As stupid as it sounded, he knew he was just going to have to guess which one it was. Snatching the one closest to him, he rushed up to the black flames and tossed back the swallow of liquid. The small bottle fell to the floor as he felt ice flood his veins. Pushing back his fears, he leapt through the dark fire, hoping and praying he had grabbed the right one. He then rushed down the stairs.

"How nice of you to join us, Potter," snarled Quirrell as Harry emerged in the chamber.

"Leave her alone!" the young Gryffindor yelled, ignoring the fear that gripped his insides. His Holly wand was in his hand, noticeably trembling.

"Now, now, Potter," the Defense professor replied, chuckling softly as he glared at him. "We don't want a repeat of last Tuesday, do we?"

"You!" cried Harry. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. The smell that he had been so hard at trying to place was Quirrell. How could he have been so stupid? He had only smelled that horrendous scent all year.

"Had it not been for her, you'd have died, Potter," Quirrell snarled, flicking his wand at Sinistra to cause her to scream and arch her back a moment later as she lay on the floor. "Just as my master would have wanted, too, but NO, the DAMN WITCH had to PLAY HERO!" His eyes darkened as he continued his casting on her.

"STOP IT!" Harry screamed, sending sparks at the man. "STOP IT!" A moment later, the young Gryffindor found himself on the floor, staring upwards at the high-arched ceiling. His wand was a few feet from him on the ground.

"So, Severus didn't teach you anything. Pity, you could have been great, Potter, like me."

Harry was about to ask Quirrell what the hell he was talking about when his scar acted up again. He clutched a hand over it as it felt like it was being seared and carved into him at the same time. His screams quickly synchronized with Professor Sinistra's.

"Poor, poor Potter, nobody loved him" Quirrell said, chuckling.

"That's where you're wrong," a voice growled somewhere left of Harry just before the pain in his head ceased.

Closing his eyes from the bright colors that swirled around, Harry curled in on himself, protecting his head. He heard the snarled spells that were tossed about like chocolates. Curiosity soon took over, causing the young Gryffindor to raise his head ever so slightly.

"Dad?" he whispered, feeling his breath catch in the back of his throat. He watched his father send curse after curse at the Defense professor. It was working it seemed, since the Defense professor's spells were being sent in every which way other than where his father was.

Drawing in a breath to find his Gryffindor bravery, Harry slowly stood up. He needed to help his dad. Two against one always worked, didn't it? And with Professor Sinistra lying limply on the ground with soft moans coming from her, Harry knew that meant it fell on him.

"NO!" Severus yelled, flicking his hand towards Harry to get him back down out of the line of fire. That one motion, protecting his son, caused one of the spells from Quirrell to slam into him hard, sending him sprawling towards the hard stone floor.

"DAD!" cried Harry, taking his own eyes off Quirrell. Merlin only knew how badly that curse had hurt the older wizard. For a split second, focusing solely on his father, the young, foolish Gryffindor turned his back to Quirrell.

"Dammit, Harry," his father snarled, finally moving as he leapt towards the younger wizard to yank him down a moment later and cover his son's body with his own.

Harry felt his father tense against him as another spell struck him in the back. He was going to be the reason why he lost yet another father. No, no, that wouldn't happen. Wiggling out of the man's grip, Harry slowly went to his feet to send a spell, any spell a first-year would know, towards the monster.

Quirrell, however, lazily sent magical ropes that encircled the Gryffindor and his father. The smirk of victory on the Defense professor's lips only made the situation that much worse. His eyes then darted towards Sinistra. With just a finger, he levitated her into a standing position in front of the Mirror of Erised. His smirk widened then as he glanced at it.

"You, my dear, will assist me in retrieving the Stone," Quirrell drawled, flicking his wand towards her as his eyes darkened.

Harry turned his head as far as he could to watch her, assuming she'd fight like hell against Quirrell. He winced at the blood trailing down her temples from the obvious head wounds. Quirrell clearly had done a number on her before Harry had arrived to rescue her. Though, the young Gryffindor knew that, recalling how the Defense professor had slammed her head against the wall a couple of times before dragging her down here. However, it was the eyes that intrigued Harry the most. The warm chocolaty-brown eyes were glossy and clearly unfocused. It was as if she wasn't really there.

"Retrieve the Stone from the Mirror, Miss Sinistra, and I'll let them live," Quirrell said, his voice deeper and more menacing than before.

Harry watched her turn towards the tall mirror as if a robot following simple commands. He then watched her reflection while she stared into the Mirror of Erised. She clearly saw something in it. His eyes then narrowed on her for a split second when her eyes focused, if only for a millisecond, on, well, Harry assumed, his dad. His breath then caught in the back of his throat, silencing his scream as he watched in horror her banging her head, the only thing Quirrell allowed her to move, against the mirror's glass. It shattered instantly, falling to the floor with gentle tinkling sounds.

"NO!" Quirrell roared, tossing her to the floor. His eyes darted around the floor, searching for the Stone it seemed. However, there was nothing there but blood and glass.

Harry struggled against his ropes, which was what his father had been trying to do also. However, Harry could tell by the way his father was struggling that the man's energy just wasn't there anymore. It was almost as if someone had, well, zapped all of it out of him like the color had been done in his face. Wiggling back and forth as fast as possible, Harry tried every which way to free himself. He had to help her. He had stood by the first time and did nothing, but not this time. He would look past his fear of losing another person in his life who cared for him. He would brush off the self-doubt that said he was only a first-year. He would look inside himself and find a way. He had to. There was no other way. Glaring at Quirrell with the nastiest look he had as the wizard approached, he struggled even harder against the ropes.

When the Defense professor reached down and yanked him up, the ropes that had been around Harry instantly fell to the floor as a pile of ash. Harry's hands came upwards to shove the man away from him towards the glass. The phrase Harry had heard long ago from one of his Aunt Petunia's book club get-togethers echoed in his mind, 'If you prick me, do I not bleed?'

As his hands covered Quirrell's face, a burning smell wafted Harry's senses in addition to the Defense professor screaming and falling to his knees. Not taking time to think of the implications or even wondering how, Harry pressed his hands against Quirrell more. Harry ignored the smell of burnt flesh and the building pain in his scar. He had to keep at this, to stop Quirrell, to protect, to save. Burning the man with his hands upon his face, he quickly reduced the once-quivering Quirrell into a pile of ash. It was— it was—was so—so surreal.

Had he done that, he thought a moment later as the pain diminished in his scar. He glanced down at all that remained of the young professor that rest in front of his feet. He felt himself tremble in response to all the thoughts buzzing about his mind. He had killed someone, killed, like his parents had been, like his mother Lily. He glanced towards his father, noticing that the ropes were gone now.

"Dad?" he softly said, kneeling beside the older wizard. His father's eyes were closed and his head lolled to the side, but Harry could tell he was breathing. The younger wizard then rushed towards his Astronomy professor's side, kneeling beside her a moment later. She too was breathing, but much, much shallower breathes. Out of fear, he didn't touch her. He didn't want to burn either her or his dad by mistake since he wasn't sure what he had cast in the first place to do that sort of damage.

"You little fool," a voice snarled as a wind out of nowhere swirled about the room. "You think you've won, but you haven't, Potter. Someday soon I shall prove to everyone just how wrong they were when they named you the Boy-Who-Lived." Dark sinister chuckles erupted. "You're nothing but a pathetic little child, who is sorely out of his league. Until next time, Potter," it snarled before a mass of what could only be described as a ghostly mirage flew towards him.

With a scream, Harry fell backwards against the step, his head smacking against it a second later.

~FTT~

Groaning softly, Harry slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open with a smile rapidly overtaking his face. He attempted to leap towards his father, only to be stopped by the man's calloused hand against his chest. His father's lips, however, did curl slightly upwards towards him.

"Easy, Harry," his father said softly, "or Pomfrey will have my head on a platter."

"Dad, where's Mum?" the young Gryffindor blurted out, glancing around the hospital wing wildly. He couldn't see her anywhere, but his dad would have been upset if she was dead.

"Mum?" His father gave him a strange look.

Why had he called her that? Hanging his head in shame, he said, "I mean, Professor Sinistra."

"Aurora is resting in her quarters," his dad answered, still staring at him with that look.

"She's all right, though?"

"As well as one can be after slamming one's head through a mirror and suffering numerous bouts of Unforgivables," his dad quipped. "Your friends, too, are well."

"And the Stone, it's safe?"

"That's not any of your concern, Harry," his father replied, frowning as he winced while he moved his wrapped arm closer to his chest.

"It's been destroyed," the kind, gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore spoke as he approached the bed. His blue eyes twinkled over his spectacles as he glanced at them. "It is good to know that my staff cares so much about our students, wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

"Old man," softly growled Harry's father, "do not push me today."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my boy," Dumbledore replied with a laugh. "I must say, though. Your fierce ability to love, Harry, was a definite asset to have. Not many first-years would have done what you did, not many seventh-years either for that matter."

"He had M—Professor Sinistra," Harry stated, avoiding his father's eyes.

"Yes, love makes all of us do funny things that we wouldn't normally do." Dumbledore's eyes rested on Snape for a moment before he smiled pleasantly at Harry. "I am under the impression that you have questions for me."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Sure, he had questions, but he just figured he could ask his father. Though, glancing at the man now, he wasn't quite sure he'd get an answer.

"How'd I, um, well, it's just, well—?" Harry couldn't place the words in the right order to form his question. Hanging his head, he shook his head. He probably didn't want to know the answer.

"You did not kill him," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Voldemort did."

"Albus," his father warned with a look.

"Forgive me, Severus, but your son should not fear the name of his parents' murderer. There is a certain kind of strength in saying the name, one that you know rather well."

"Be as it may, Albus, I do not wish my son to say that name. That is my choice as his father. Now, unless you wish to petition—"

"I do not," Dumbledore replied, holding up a hand. "That is your right as his father." Turning back towards Harry, the wise wizard smiled. "It was your mother's love for you that gave you the necessary power to defeat him this time, Harry. Her sacrifice left behind a mark on you, something that Professor Quirrell recognized, hence why he avoided physical contact with you."

"But he said that Professor Sinistra saved me, too."

"And so she did, but she does not share your blood. In fact, she shares no bonds with you, Harry. So her sacrifice has left no protections from him, only your mother Lily has. However, love is his greatest weakness, Harry. You see, he does not understand it, and you, my boy, have shown a great capacity for love, weakening him greatly."

"Why didn't I remember that it was Quirrell that attacked me in the forest, though?"

"It was a traumatic event, Harry. As I've been explaining to you, you repressed the entire attack, which is normal in those circumstances," his dad explained. "No one is blaming you."

"But, Dad, I could have saved him," the young Gryffindor whispered.

"I'm afraid, my boy, that Quirenius Quirrell was beyond saving. There'd have been nothing left."

Harry nodded slowly, not believing it. He glanced at his dad and sighed. They were all safe.