Hot off the presses, so there are sure to be issues. Also, thanks to all my supporters, who are the reason that this fic was updated. There's not a lot of Tom in this chapter, but I promise next chapter will be all Tom and Harry.

Tom arms had tightened around Harry to an almost painful point as Harry described his first few months at Hogwarts. Still, he'd kept silent, given Harry space to tell his tale. The story of the founding of his friendship with Hermione was the tipping point, as Harry had known it would be. Tom had growled at points, had snarled, but only now did he speak.

"A wolf?" he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "There was a wolf lose in your school?"

"A wolfdog," Harry answered, tilting his head back so that it rested on Tom's shoulder and staring up at the ceiling. "Animal control figured it out once they came in to take it away."

"A wolfdog," Tom corrected, his voice like ice. "A wolfdog that attacked you."

It had been Hagrid who had come to take control of the dog while they waited for animal control. His experience with animals and his large stature had made him the best choice. When animal control had come to take the dog away, Hagrid had shaken his head in disgust.

"It ain't right, what they did to that dog," he said. "Took a beautiful animal and turned him into a weapon, is what they did."

Animal control had agreed. The wolfdog had been trained. They were incredibly lucky, they were told, that they had immerged unscathed. The dog could and would have killed them, if given the chance.

"It had been trained as an attack dog. It's teeth were filed down," Harry said. That would be enough for Tom to put the pieces together without Harry having to go through everything again.

Tom's grip tightened, and Harry let out an involuntary hiss of pain as his nails dug into Harry's stomach. Tom stopped at once, but Harry could feel how stiff the man was behind him. Stiff and trembling with barely contained rage.

"Who do I have to kill, Harry?" Tom said.

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself relieved about how things had unfolded.

"No one," Harry said simply. "He's already dead."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in the Gryffindor House common room, tucked away in the corner to minimize the chance of being overheard. They'd been hounded by people of all houses since the "incident", as the faculty liked to call it. Ron was calling it "that one time we all almost got eaten by a giant hybrid." Incident was far shorter, but there was no denying that Ron's description was more accurate. Everyone wanted to hear the story, wanted to know every detail about what had happened.

Harry hadn't liked being the in spotlight, and Hermione found the implications that she was a damsel in need of recusing infuriating. Ron had loved the attention, but after being hounded at all hours, it was starting to wear thin even for him. They were all eager for a chance to just talk about what had happened.

"Something isn't right," Hermione said. "About that...the wolfdog. Something isn't right."

"Of course something isn't right," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "The thing tried to eat us."

"That's just it," Hermione replied. "I mean, someone had to train that animal. A hybrid, which couldn't have been easy to acquire, trained to attack. That animal had a purpose."

Harry saw where she was going at once.

"Which raises the question, what was it doing in the school?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Harry sat back and ran his hand through his hair. It was a good question. Hermione was exactly right. Someone had trained that dog to do something. The question was, what?

"Maybe someone holds a grudge against the school?" Ron offered.

Harry shook his head.

"No, if they wanted to hurt students, then there are easier ways to do that. Ways that would ensure more students got hurt. Again, there are much better ways. This will be a small scandal, yeah, but something the school should have no trouble recovering from."

They all sat there in silence.

"What kind of thing would you need an attack dog for?" Harry mused aloud.

"To attack someone," Ron offered.

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look, but a quick glare from Harry kept her from saying anything. It might have sounded unhelpfully, but Harry knew better. Ron was trying to process, to kick start his brain.

"Dog fighting rings," Hermione offered.

Harry shook his head.

"There would have been old injuries then. Scars."

The pieces started to come together for him.

"No. No, that dog was trained to attack people, not other dogs. Which means that it was probably meant to be someone's personal weapon. The kind of thing to make people who dealt with them afraid."

There were only so many kinds of personal that could apply to. Criminals, all of them. The kind who tended to make people they didn't like disappear for good.

Harry shared as much, and watched his friend's faces turn grim.

"But was it guarding someone, or something?" Hermione asked.

Harry blinked, surprised. The kinds of people he was thinking of wouldn't hesitate to have a deadly security system.

"That makes sense," Harry said. "That makes a lot of sense. It's not someone's personal weapon. It's part of a security system."

"But how did it end up here?" Hermione asked, sounding frustrated. "That's the part that still doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," Ron said, an understanding slowly dawning on his face. "It makes perfect sense."

When both Harry and Hermione gave him blank looks, he grew even more excited.

"Think about it. Hogwarts has a huge campus, and acres and acres of woods. Just off the English wing. If someone was up to something they didn't want anyone noticing, something illegal, that would be the perfect place for it."

"The forest is huge," Hermione said.

"Not to mention that the school has a lot of big names as alumni," Harry continued the train of thought. "I mean, can you imagine the kind of fuss the parents would throw if anyone even thought about searching the school? And these are people with serious clout and political connections." He shook his head in disbelief. "You're right, Ron. It's perfect."

"Perfect for what, though?" Ron asked.

"Help!" someone screamed. "Someone, help!"

Harry jerked his head around and found one of the older Gryffindor students running frantically into the common room, eyes wide with fear.

"Help me!" the student begged.

Harry stood, Ron and Hermione hot on his heels, determined to see what was going on. By the time they arrived, there was a small circle of students surrounding the junior, and Harry could only catch glimpses of his frantic face as a chorus of voices demanded to know what was wrong.

"What's all this then?" Hagrid asked, pushing his way easily to the other

The junior looked up at Hagrid with tear-filled eyes.

"It's Matthew, sir," the boy answered, his voice trembling. "Something...something isn't right."

That was all it took for Hagrid to take off at a loud run up the stairs towards the junior's suite. The crowd all exchanged looks, wondering what, if anything they should do. Several of them had settled on doing their best to interrogate the boy who had raised the disturbance in the first place.

"I don't know," the boy answered his voice shaking almost as hard as his body was. "One minute he was-and then he just...his eyes went blank and he fell over."

"Someone call 911, now," Hagrid barked down the stairwell. "Use the house phone. When they're on their way, call Poppy and get her over here in the meantime."

Matthew Pent had been rushed to the hospital in a coma. Drugs, the word slowly spread. An overdose, everyone whispered. And then it happened again. And again. Once a month, almost like clockwork. It seemed to be random. The only thing the students had in common was the insistence of everyone who knew them that they would never touch drugs.

The school was cracking down, searching rooms and lockers at regular intervals. But it wasn't enough. They weren't listening the students, everyone waving off their concern. Friends, they said, are often the last to know.

Harry knew better. And he wasn't just going to sit around and let this happen. If no one else would do anything, then he would. No matter what it took.

Which was how he found himself meeting Draco Malfoy in the boathouse at midnight, two hours after curfew.

"Potter," Malfoy said, as Harry emerged from behind one of the boats. "I have to say, I thought this might all be part of some elaborate trap.

"That's more your speed than mine, Malfoy," Harry replied with an eyeroll, thinking of the fight Malfoy had tried to goad him into shortly after the hair incident. Harry had refused to be baited. It had been so obvious it was a trap that Harry honestly found the attempt insulting.

"What do you want?" Malfoy snapped.

"Who's your connection on campus?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sniffed derisively in response.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It was a good attempt. It probably would have been successful, if he'd tried it with anyone else. Malfoy had an excellent poker face. But Harry had grown up with a master manipulator. Harry wasn't easily full.

"Your drug connection," Harry said instead. "I know you have one."

"I have never taken illegal drugs in my life," Malfoy said, outraged.

Harry was surprised to find it was genuine. Still, he knew Malfoy was on something. Just because it wasn't coke didn't mean he didn't have someone. Prescription drugs, if he had to bet.

"Taking prescription drugs without a prescription counts Malfoy."

The boy's aborted flinch let him know he was right. ADD meds, probably. Trying to get an edge. Hermione was the top of every class, after all, and it obviously didn't sit well with Malfoy to be beaten by someone without blue blood.

"Campus this small, there's only going to be one person," Harry said with a shrug.

"You in the market, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry shook his head.

"No. I just want to talk to them. Find out what they can tell me about what's happening. I don't care about the dealing. I just want to know what the stuff it cut with."

Whatever it was, the doctor's were fairly certain it was what was causing the comas. Bloodwork couldn't identify it. As far as the doctor's could figure though, it was the only hope they had of maybe bringing everyone back. They'd need to know what it was, know how it worked, to know if it could be cured.

Malfoy snorted.

"You won't be getting that from my connection," Malfoy said with an eye roll.

"Why not?" Harry asked, arms crossed.

"Because there's no way in hell those scholarship kids could afford to pay the prices she charges."

Harry froze, the pieces coming together.

"Scholarship kids," Harry said. "They were all scholarship kids."

"Which explains it, as far as I'm concerned. They can't afford to buy the good stuff."

Harry ignored him.

"Scholarship students. The kids without parents in high places. Parents who would push hard and throw money and yank connections until they had an answer. No, just the scholarship students. The ones no one cares about except their parents. The kind who could die, and nobody important would kick up a fuss. Kids who don't matter," Harry said.

"What are you on about Potter?" Malfoy said.

Harry ignored him. Instead, Harry ran past, giving Malfoy a friendly pat on the shoulder as he did.

God, it was so obvious. How hadn't he figured it out before? Harry shook his head at his own foolishness, sprinting across the grounds, not caring if he got caught. No, he needed to tell someone. He needed to tell them as quickly as possible. Before anyone else got hurt.

He saw Ron standing outside, staring down the road. Looking for him, if Harry had to guess. He'd told Ron what he was doing, but hadn't brought him with him because Ron would have antagonized Malfoy enough that they'd never had gotten anything out of him. Still, for all that Ron had agreed, there had been a glint in his eye. One that made it clear he'd be following Harry come hell or high water. So Harry had waited until Ron had gone to shower, and then snuck out while he had the chance. Ron would be pissed, but it was worth it. Malfoy had given him the answer, even if the boy didn't know it himself.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, running over and grabbing his friend's shoulders. "Ron, I've figured it out! I know what's happening!"

Then he caught sight of Ron's face and froze.

"Ron?" Harry asked cautiously. "Ron, what's wrong?"

"It's Percy," Ron answered. "They just took him to the hospital. Same as all the others."

Harry blinked at him, shocked. Percy was one of Ron's older brothers, a prefect for the dorm. He was painfully by the book, responsible to a fault, and terribly, terribly ambitious. He had his sights set on politics. Harry had heard him reaming Fred and George out about how their irresponsible actions reflected on the family as a whole. He would sooner die than touch drugs of any kind.

Ron looked at Harry with desperate eyes.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me who did this. Tell me how to help Percy. He's an utter ponce, but he's my brother. I...I don't..."

Ron's eyes were shining brightly, and Harry didn't know what do to. He didn't have any experience in consoling people. Still, Harry knew he needed to say something.

"I'm here," Harry said simply, reaching out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm here, Ron."

Ron sniffed loudly, rubbing furiously at his eyes before he squared his shoulders, jaw clenched.

"Tell me," Ron said, his eyes blazing. "Tell me what happened to my brother."

"I think someone is poisoning the scholarship students with drugs," Harry said.

Detective Alistor Moody Stared at him as if he were crazy.

"Come again?" Detective Moody asked.

Harry couldn't exactly blame him,. It did sound more than a little crazy. Ron and Hermione were both on the other side of the hospital waiting room along with the rest of the Weasley's. They'd come to pick Ron up, since the twins had gone with Percy in the ambulence. Mr. Weasley's face had been wan, while was red and wet with tears. She'd wrapped Ron in a hug as soon as she'd seen him, tears dripping down her face as she wept.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered, rocking back and forth on her feet as she stroked Ron's hair. "This is something else. I know it. And Percy will pull through. He's too stubborn to do anything else."

Harry wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure Ron or herself. Still, looking at the two of them, Harry knew that he couldn't do nothing. So he walked over to tell Mrs. Weasley how sorry he was, only to be pulled into the hug himself. Harry returned the embrace, determined to give comfort to the woman who had first shown him what famiy was really supposed to be like. Ron had dragged Harry home with him for Christmas, and while it had been much simpler than the giant spectacle the Dursley's put together, there was no question in Harry's mind that it was the best Christmas anyone could ask for. Ever since, she'd insisted on talking to him as well during her weekly phone call to Ron, and whenever his roommate got a care package, Harry did as well.

Harry would do whatever it took to return the kindness. And Percy was an ass, but, well...he looked out for them, in his own way. Harry was going to make sure that he and all the others pulled through. So as soon as the detective arrived, Harry had gone over and pulled the man aside.

"Someone is testing drugs on the scholarship students," Harry said again, doing his best to remain calm. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but he knew he was right. "Every single student who's landed in the hospital because of whatever this drug is has been a scholarship student. They could never afford the sorts of drugs your considering."

"Listen, kid," the detective said gently, "an addict...they'll do whatever it takes to get the cash they need. If those kids were hooked..."

"But they weren't!" Harry insisted. "If they were, *someone* would have know, but no one on campus does."

Harry laid out the rest of it as patiently as he could. The wolfdog attack earlier in the year, and how he and his friends had decided it was gaurding something on campus. A drug facility, he was fairly certain. The timing of the overdoses, the people they targeted.

"I think someone is testing a new recipe or maybe even a whole new drug on the students," Harry said again.

The detective looked at him, all traces of amusement gone.

"It's just a theory, kid," the detective said. "It's a hell of a theory, a bizarre conspiracy. I would need some kind of evidence to justify going forward."

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth.

"There are tests you can do, right? To see how long someone has been taking drugs?"

The man gave him a thoughtful look.

"We'd need to get permission from parents to run those tests, and the results would take weeks to come in," the man said. "Still..." he trailed off, blue eyes darting around almost crazily before he gave Harry a firm nod. "We've hit a dead end. We'll take any lead we can get."

That said, the gruff, scared detective jerked his head towards the Weasleys.

"Let me worry about the case. You worry about your friend."

Of course. Of course the officer wouldn't listen. They never did. Harry had tried to tell his friends that there wasn't any point, but they hadn't listened. They'd insisted. It had been nothing but a waste of time. Time Percy didn't have.

Harry walked over and sat down across from Ron and Hermione, shaking his head in answer to their hopeful looks.

Hermione, lover of rules that she was, looked crestfallen. Still, it was Ron who worried Harry most. He didn't look upset, he looked defeated.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked in a concerned voice. "I mean, you're right. You're absolutely right. But what do we do?"

One thought for the rest of the scholarship students who might never wake up, one look at Ron facing the possibility of losing his brother was enough for Harry to have his answer.

"The police need evidence, right?" Harry said.

Hermione nodded, giving him a wary look.

"Then let's go get some evidence."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all peered through the trees at the building before them. It had taken them hours of wandering through the woods in the dark, but finally they'd found it. Calling it a building was perhaps a little generous. It looked like it had once been a garage of some sort, big enough for two cars and a handful of storage. The roof was made of rusted metal, the concrete walls were crumbling, and the doors to the two car bays looked like they hadn't moved in decades.

Still, for an abandoned building, it was teeming with life. It was nearly two in the morning, but Harry could still make out the silhouette of someone standing by the only door. In the moonlight, the outline of several dogs was visible, and Harry shuddered, thinking of the last time they'd run into the animals.

Harry set his mouth in a grim line before turning back to his friends.

"We need to get in that building," Harry said was surprised when he was met with only grim nods. He'd been expecting Hermione, at least, to want to call the police now that they finally had something to show them. Apparently his conversation with the detective had done more to disillusion her than he'd thought.

"What do we do?" she asked instead.

"I'll lead the dog's away," Ron said. "You two get up in that tree and make a run for it once the cost is clear."

"No," Harry said sharply. "We saw what one of those things could do. A whole pack would have no trouble tearing you apart."

"Harry," Ron said seriously, "dogs like that? The only way to get them away from what they're guarding is to give them something to chase. I'll get them to follow me and then get up a tree. That should not only clear the way for you two, but it'll also pull people away too."

His jaw was clenched stubbornly, and Harry knew there would be no changing his mind. Ron was much too pigheaded for that. Harry heaved a sigh, but he nodded. It was the best way.

Ron pulled them both in for a tight hug before he took off into the woods. Harry began to climb the tree and hissed sharply at Hermione to do the same when she stood there, staring at the place where Ron had been. She spent one last moment staring at Ron before she began climbing up behind Harry. Harry was a practiced tree climber, and made it easily from one branch to another until he sitting comfortably on a brach about seven feet above the ground. Hermione required Harry's help and ended up settling on a lower branch, but she was soon out of the way of obvious harm. As soon as they were situated, they fixed their attention on the building, waiting.

They didn't have to wait long. Ron broke out fo the trees on the other side of the shed and darted forward. That was all it took before one of the dogs began to bark, the others not far behind. They took off into the woods after Ron, who had turned and ran back to the treeline as soon as he was certain he'd gathered enough attention. Just as Ron had hoped, the man guarding the door nearest them had taken off after the dogs, shouting for others to follow him.

Harry waited a moment after the last figure had darted into the woods to be sure that no one else was on the way out. When the door remained closed, Harry dropped out of the tree, reaching up to catch the branch to slow his fall before dropping to the ground with ease. Hermione, however, had to climb back down, and she was shaking so hard the entire time Harry was afraid she'd lose her grip.

"Come on," he said as soon as she was on the ground. "Let's make sure Ron didn't just do that for nothing."

Hermione's face was pale, but she nodded firmly in agreement.

The two dashed across the open space between the building and the treeline, Harry's body jarring with each each step as his foot connected with the ground. A moment later they were pressed against the cinderblock wall next to the door, each panting hard. Harry's heart was pounding painfully against his chest, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to be distracted by fear. Now was the time to focus.

Harry turned and tugged on the door only to come to a horrible realization. The door was locked.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, staring at the lock in front of him. "Shit, shit, shit!"

If it had just been a standard lock, Harry wouldn't have had any trouble. He'd learned to pick locks long ago, and there were enough bits of metal and other garbage around that he wouldn't have had no trouble improvising some lock picks.

But it wasn't a regular lock. It was an electronic lock. One that looked especially high end and complicated.

Stupid. Stupid. How could he have been so stupid? If they had trained attack dogs and armed guards, of course they were going to have more than a cheap hardware store lock. He should have anticipated this.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Harry stepped back and showed her the electronic keypad that stood between them and the building.

"I can open it," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry said.

"I can open it," Hermione said. "I've been tinkering with electronics since I was three," she said. "Locks like this? They have failsafes. If there's power failure or an emergency, then the door unlocks automatically so that no one get trapped inside."

"You're going to cut power to the keypad?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"No, there's two power wires, and I only know how to find one of them. If only one was cut, it would set of an alarm."

"So what's the plan?" Harry asked her.

"I don't have anything to use to overload it," Hermione said simply. "And I'm not likely to find anything around here."

She squared her shoulder and stared him straight in the eye.

"I'm going to start a fire," Hermione said simply.

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Hermione. Straight-laced, straight A Hermione. And she was about to commit arson. And it was clear from her face that there would be no changing her mind.

"I think we've been a bad influence on you," Harry said simply.

Hermione gave a small laugh before darting forward, wrapping her arms around him.

"Once the fire gets started, I want you to get out of here," Harry told her as she hugged him. "Call the police and help Ron."

Hermione nodded against his shoulder before pulling back, giving Harry a weak smile. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the digital camera she'd gotten for christmas, handing it over to Harry.

"Be careful," she told him.

"You too," Harry said.

And then Hermione was gone, running over to the other side of the building.

Harry turned away from the door and ducked behind the corner of the building closest to the tree line, waiting. He didn't have to wait long. The woods weren't as dark as they should have been. The light grew brighter and brighter, casting flickering shadows on the the tall trees that surrounded them.

The door banged open a moment later, and Harry ducked behind the wall, listening carefully as three or four sets of footsteps made their way to the other side of the build. He waited one moment, two, his heart pounding in his ears, praying that Hermione had managed to get away before they'd come to investiage. When there were no other footsteps, Harry took a deep breath before dashing around the corner, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open before darting inside.

The sight that greeted him had his mouth dropping open. Most of the space was filled with metal tables, covered in plastic tubing, glassware, and bunsen burners. It was a mess, with large vats of chemicals stored both on and under the tables, not to mention the giant stack off to one side. The entire space was filled with the smell of ammonia, only stronger than Harry had every smelled before. It burned his nose every time he took a breath.

A meth lab. It had to be. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the camera, working his way through the space, snapping pictures, his stomach turning the entire time. When he'd take the picture of the last of the containers stacked in the corner, he stood and shoved the camera back into his pocket.

He had the evidence. More than enough to show exactly what this place had been. Scrolling back through the pictures, Harry was surprised to find several shots of men coming out of the garage. Hermione, he realized. She must have taken pictures as they were running after Ron. This would be more than enough for the police. Harry was sure of it.

Harry shoved the camera back in his pocket, reaching up to wipe the sweat off his brow. There was one more thing he needed before he could even think about leaving.

There. The table across from him. It was much cleaner than the others. More organized. Harry crossed the space over to it, sweating profusely. He looked down at the chemicals. The names were unfamiliar, which after all the different bottles he'd seen today was something of a surprise. Harry looked over the table with a careful eye, searching desperately for a sample of whatever it was that the mad scientist had been cooking up.

Harry found something even better. Under a cloth that had been tossed down, he saw the corner of something. Harry yanked the cloth off and threw it aside, revealing a notebook. Picking it up with trembling hands, struggling to pull air into his lungs, Harry opened it, flipping through the pages. Lists of materials, instructions, diagrams of chemical reactions. All of it laid out clearly in writing.

Writing that was terribly familiar.

"Potter. I should have known it was you."

Harry slowly looked up and found himself staring at Professor Quirrell, his chemistry instructor. The normally timid, unremarkable man stood on the other side of the room, his lip drawn back in a snarl.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry said, unable to help himself.

He'd known that it must be someone on staff, but Quirrell?

The man gave him a truly unkind smile in response.

"Yes. Exactly. After all, who would expect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry clenched his jaw. Of course. As a chemistry teacher, Quirrell certainly had the skills required. The meek, mild-mannered cowardly persona he put on in class would have put him beyond suspicious. He was always willing to help, after all. Working with students one-on-one, supervising sports games. Plenty of opportunities to slip the drug into a water bottle unnoticed.

"You fucker," Harry said.

"Language, Mister Potter," Quirrell tutted.

"You almost killed more than a half-dozen students!" Harry shouted, hands fisted.

"Do you really want to waste your air talking about this?" Quirrell asked him.

Harry shot him a quizzical look.

"Your friend set a fire, Mister Potter. One that my inept associates were unable to extinguish. A fire that will spread to this lab in only a matter of moments. Haven't you noticed the heat? Felt yourself sweating? Short of air? Noticed that the lighting isn't quite what it should be?" Quirrell said, pointing upwards.

Harry allowed himself only a quick darting glance, but it was enough. The lights were obscured, the ceiling of the garage covered in thick smoke.

"All the chemicals around here are flammable, Mister Potter." Quirrell said simply. "You are standing in the middle of a bomb that is just waiting to explode."

Harry grit his teeth, the flammable warning he'd seen on all the bottles flashing through his mind.

"So are you, Professor," Harry said simply.

It was true. Quirrell knew everything that was in this room, knew exactly what would happen when the fire spread. So when it had become clear that it couldn't be extinguished, why hadn't he run? Why hadn't he cut his loses? No one would be able to connect him to the crime. Not with all the evidence up in flames. The only thing that tied Quirrell to this place was his notebook, which would burn with the rest of the building.

The notebook. The one with at least a years worth of research and results in it, if not more. Quirrell had to be close to whatever it was he was trying to achieve, if he'd started testing his product on people.

"This," Harry said, staring down at the notebook in his hands. "You came back for this."

Quirrell's jaw clenched, his eyes alight with rage. It was more than answer enough.

"Hand it over, Potter," Quirrell snapped. "Hand it over, and I'll let you live."

Harry had to fight the urge to snort. If Quirrell was in charge of this operation, as Harry was beginning to suspect, then there was no way he would be walking out of here alive. Those in the drug business weren't well known for allowing witnesses to live, after all. As far as Quirrell was concerned, Harry was a dead man walking. It was just a question of how he died.

"Like hell you will," Harry said simply.

Quirrell glared at him for a moment.

"Fine. It will be easy enough to remove from your corpse."

Quirrell pulled out a gun and pointed it at Harry.

"Any last words, Potter?"

Harry was more a man of action than he was of words. He reached forward and grabbed one of the vials of chemicals off the table. As soon as it was in his hand, he threw it. Harry didn't bother to see if he had hit the mark. He took of running towards the door as soon as the glassware had left his hand.

A crash and the sound of a high pitched scream was the only sign he had that his aim had been true, and Harry allowed himself a grim smile as he ducked around and under everything that stood between him and the door.

Just as he was about to reach it, the roof collapsed in front of him, blocking the only exit.

Harry stared at it, mouth hanging open in shock.

No. Not like this. Not when he was so close to giving everyone the Professor had poisoned a chance.

Harry looked up at the hole where he was certain the ceiling had once been, smoke streaming out into the night sky. Taking a deep breath, Harry fight the urge to hack and cough. Instead he blinked hard against the stinging sensation of the smoke in his eyes before he threw the journal as hard as he could.

Harry waited with baited breath, watching as the journal disappeared into the thick grey cloud above him. When it didn't come back out, he allowed himself a smile. He just hoped it was far enough clear of the fire to survive.

Behind him there was a roar, a sudden rush of heat, and a blast of pain.

Harry knew no more.