Harry stumbled thought the black fire and into the last chamber and, as he expected, there was already someone there, it was not, however, who he expected. It was Quirrell. Quirell saw him and smiled, "I was wondering if I would see you here, Potter." Harry smiled grimly back,

"So it wasn't Snape after all, I didn't think it was. It seemed too obvious and all along it was you." Quirrell laughed a cold, sharp laugh,

"Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? It was so useful to have him swooping around, next to him who would suspect p-p-p-poor st-stutt-ttering P-Professor Quirrell? Though I suppose I did perhaps seem a little too innocent. Snape suspected me all along."

"That was why he threatened you."

"Indeed it was, as though he could when I had Lord Voldemort on my side." Quirrell gave a twisted smile. "My, my Potter, you have done well. I'm almost impressed. It's a shame, Potter, because I'm going to have to kill you."

Quirrell snapped his fingers and ropes sprang out thin air. They wound themselves around Harry, holding him even tighter than the Devil's Snare had. "You're to nosy to live and my master has wanted you dead for a very long time. He grows impatient. Now wait quietly, Potter." Quirrell turned his attention back to the Mirror, starting walking around it and muttering spells under his breath, cursing when they did not work. All Harry could think to do was to somehow keep Quirrell from giving his full attention to the Mirror. He even tried looking in the mirror himself but the ropes prevented him from moving. Quirrell was still talking. "We have very little time master, and I cannot break whatever spell Dumbledore has cast. We must remove the Mirror from the castle." Then an unearthly voice filled the room.

"Use the boy … Use the boy …" Harry knew instinctively who that voice belonged to and shivered. Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes. Potter – come here." He clapped his hands and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry tried to edge away, he knew now that he could not look in the Mirror but Quirrell grabbed him by the collar. "Come here, boy." He repeated. "Look in the Mirror and tell me what you see." Quirrell held him in front of the Mirror. Harry saw his reflection, scared at first, but then he saw it smile holding a blood red stone. Harry felt the Stone fall into his pocket. Somehow he'd got the Stone.

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

"I – I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry invented wildly. "I've won the – the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor." As Quirrell cursed and threw him to one side Harry congratulated himself on a job well done, but even as he lay sprawled on the ground a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies … the boy lies, I can feel it …"

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted and grabbed his shirt, pulling him back towards him.

"You do seem to like grabbing me don't you?" Harry didn't know what made him say it. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was the surety that he was going to die so it didn't matter what he said anymore. Quirrell screamed with rage and raised his wand to curse him when the high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him Quirrell … face to face … let me teach him the meaning of fear …"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"Do not question me … I have strength enough … for this …" Quirrell slowly unwrapped his turban and turned around so the back of his head was facing Harry. Harry wanted to scream. On the back of Quirrell's head was a face, chalk white with glaring angry red eyes.

"Harry Potter …" it whispered and Harry could feel ten years of hatred behind those words. "See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour …"

So this was it, the … thing that had killed Harry's parents now, as he himself put it 'mere shadow and vapour'. Harry felt a vindictive pleasure that Voldemort had suffered so much and, under his breath, whispered,

"Good." Voldemort either didn't hear him or decided to ignore him.

"... I have clung to life despite facing certain death but the cost … the cost … I have form only when I can share another's body … there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds … it is a gift I have … Unicorn blood has strengthened me but I need more … I need the Elixir of Life … Now … why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. Harry tried to run backwards. "Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Join me, give me the Stone … I will give you more power than you could ever dream of … I could even bring your parents back … Or you could die the most painful death imaginable, like your parents … they died begging for mercy …"

"LIAR!" Harry yelled. "You killed my parents! You killed them!"

The evil face smiled. "How touching," it hissed, "how pointless. I always value bravery … Yes, boy, your parents were brave … your father put up a fight. It was over in seconds, of course … I was much too powerful for him but he still fought … but your mother needn't have died … she was trying to protect you … Now give me the Stone, unless you want your precious mother to have died in vain."

"NEVER!" Harry sprang towards the flame door shooting every spell he knew at Quirrell and Voldemort but Quirrell deflected them.

"SIEZE HIM!" Voldemort yelled and Harry felt Quirrell's hands close upon his wrist. A needle sharp pain seared across his scar; he felt like his head would split in two. Harry's last coherent thought was that it was all over. Voldemort would return. To Harry's surprise, however, Quirrell let go of his wrist, screaming in pain and clutching his own hand, staring as they blistered before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort and Quirrell lunged, but he soon fell back, howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands! What has he done to me?"

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" Voldemort screamed, incandescent with rage.

Quirrell raised his wand to perform the deadly curse, but Harry, ignoring his own pain, knowing it was his only chance reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face. Quirrel fell back and raised his wand again. For some reason, Quirrell couldn't touch his skin. Harry knew that his only chance was to keep Quirrell touching his skin. Harry lunged forward and clung onto Quirrell's arm, Quirrell screamed and tried to throw him off, the pain in Harry's head was building but he still hung on, it was his only hope. Harry couldn't see anymore but he could hear. There were Quirrell's screams, Voldemort's yells of "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe only in Harry's head, crying, "Harry! Harry!" Harry smiled; he wanted to go towards the voices in his head. They sounded like they cared.

Harry felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp and yelled out, if he stopped touching Quirrell it was all lost. Harry fell into blackness.

"Good afternoon Harry." Harry blinked. It was Professor Dumbledore and he was looking impossibly calm.

"Professor? What-" then he remembered. "Sir! The Stone! Quirrell! Quirrell's got the Stone! Sir, quick, he's going to give it to-"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore with a faintly amused smile. "Quirrel does not have the Stone."

"Then who does?"

"Harry, my brave boy, please relax or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out, Headmaster or no." Harry looked around. He was in the hospital wing. Next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the sweet shop. Dumbledore noticed him looking.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers." said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened between you and Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the school knows, although I have heard several different versions. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, has confiscated it. I can, however, pass on their compliments on breaking a dozen school rules and managing to go unpunished, although I believe Professor McGonagall disapproves." Harry grinned, then he asked,

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days. Mr Ron Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger and," he lowered his voice, "Sirius and Remus of course, will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone-"

"I see you are not to be distracted," said Dumbledore with a fond smile. "Very well, the Stone. Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say. You are a remarkable boy, Harry Potter." Harry blushed. Dumbledore must have noticed and he said softly, "You are Harry. There are not many who would have done what you did."

"But I almost failed, he almost got the Stone."

"Indeed you did. I arrived just in time just in time to pull Quirrell off you-"

"It was you."

"The effort nearly killed you, for one terrible moment I thought it had, but you showed remarkable determination and resilience. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"But your friend – Nicolas Flamel?"

"Oh you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you?"

"It was Hermione who figured Flamel out," Harry mumbled, "I couldn't have done it without both of them."

"And you make a fantastic team. It is a fool who insists on working by themselves when there are those will and able to help, remember that Harry. But yes, Nicolas, Perenelle and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best." Dumbledore chuckled at the look of amazement on Harry's face. "I know it must seem incredible to one as young as you, but to the well organised mind death is but the next great adventure."

Harry lay in his bed, trying to understand the Flamels' decision, but gave up, perhaps, like Dumbledore said, he would understand when he was older.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking – even if the Stone's gone, Voldemort," Harry noticed that Dumbledore did not flinch as other wizards did when they heard the name. Dumbledore smiled,

"Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Always call him Voldemort Harry. Your question?"

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back isn't he? I mean, he's not gone, has he?"

"No Harry, he has not. I have no doubt that he will attempt to return to power once more. We can only hope that we are as successful at preventing as we were this time." Harry nodded, then said,

"Sir, I want to know, if you can tell me. Well … Voldemort said that he only killed my mum because she tried to stop him killing me. But why did he want to kill me in the first place?" Dumbledore sighed deeply and his cheerful demeanour faded.

"Alas I cannot tell you. Not today, not now. You will know, one day, when you are older," Harry rose in his bed and Dumbledore raised his hand, "I know you hate to hear this Harry, but please just trust my judgement, for now." Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?" Dumbledore looked both sad and happy,

"Your mother died to save you and that created such a fierce protection that the curse Voldemort intended to kill you rebounded on him, reducing him to his current state. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He considers it a weakness that he is above and so he cannot understand that a love as powerful as your mother's could destroy him." Harry sniffed. He had only known his mum through photographs and stories and as brilliant as they were – much better than the Dursleys' pretence that his mum and dad never existed - but this made her somehow more real to him. Somehow the tangible proof that she had loved him, although he had never doubted it before, warmed him.

When he found his voice again, Dumbledore had been briefly incredibly interested in a bird on the windowsill, he said, "How did I get the Stone out of the Mirror?" Dumbledore smiled and explained, as he called it, one of his more brilliant ideas.

When Madam Pomfrey finally relented and let Ron and Hermione in he had been in the hospital wing for a week and had eaten nearly all his sweets. "The whole school's talking about it," Ron told him with a grin, "I've got Seventh Years coming up to me and congratulating me. What really happened?" Harry told them everything: Quirrell, the Mirror, the Stone and Voldemort and they talked until Madam Pomfrey bustled them out.

Harry only managed to get out of the hospital wing just in time for the end-of-year feast because Madam Pomfrey had been reluctant to let him go. The Great Hall was already full when he arrived as Madam Pomfrey had been fussing and checking him over up until the last minute. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to get a look at him. Fortunately Dumbledore arrived a moment later.

Dumbledore walked onto the Great Hall, feeling a lot happier than he had in a long time and delighted to see that Harry had taken his place at Gryffindor table. He had a feeling that his end of year speech was going to be even more 'eccentric', as Minerva put it, than usual. "Another year gone!" he beamed to the hungry students, who, he knew, couldn't wait to start the feast. "I'm afraid I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … luckily you have the whole summer to get them nice and empty again before next year starts. Now, as I understand it, the House Cup needs awarding and as the points stand the Cup will go to Slytherin."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from Slytherin table. Snape was looking quietly smug.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin. However, recent events must be taken into account." Dumbledore allowed himself at small smile at the looks of shock and apprehension on the Slytherin faces. Snape merely looked resigned. "I have a few last minute points to hand out. First – to Mister Ron Weasley for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." And so it went on, Dumbledore handed out points, all the time with a small smile on his face. Harry ended up being raced around the Gryffindor table on the Weasley twins' shoulders and Neville, Ron and Hermione were buried under celebrating Gryffindors. Harry looked over to the teacher's table and saw McGonagall looking as close to ecstatic as she ever came. To his surprise, he also saw Snape incline his head so slightly he thought he might have imagined it. Harry grinned back.

Soon they were on the train back home, then getting off the train onto the Platform, being let through the gate in twos and threes. Harry thanked Mrs Weasley for the fudge and wandered over to where Remus was standing in a corner, out of sight. Remus hugged him fiercely. "You idiotic, brave boy," he said, "nothing's ever going to make you sensible and let other people do the fighting is it?"

"No," replied Harry simply. Remus chuckled,

"I think you're too much like your mum and dad for your own good."
"Thanks."

Chapter 1 of 'Another Life: Year Two' (I know, really imaginative title) is now up.