(thanks for reaching the end of this book with me, guys! Serpent will be going on hiatus while I work on other projects, but it will make its triumphant return later! Aegis Online will still be getting uploaded as usual, and I'll add a new project to replace this with for now. thanks for sharing this journey with me! I love all of you guys!)

 

As Quirrel examines the Mirror, I notice Harry wince and rub at his scar.

“He barely left me alone,” the Professor says conversationally, as if simply chatting over tea. “But he doesn’t understand… I’m never alone. Never. Now, what does this mirror do?”

 Harry and I watch as Professor Quirrel stares into the reflective surface before him, the ornate frame twinkling in the torchlight.

“I see what I desire. I see myself holding the Stone… But how do I GET IT?!”

An answer comes, a dry, rasping whisper that comes from no visible source. “Use the boy… and deal with the girl, too.”

I draw, firing off a Stunning spell as Quirrel whirls, his own wand in hand. He Shields himself, faster than I expected, then launches a trio of jinxes at me. I dodge the first two and Shield the third, as Harry ducks to one side.

“Bombardo!” I fire of a bolt of yellowish light that detonates in a fierce explosion, rocking the Mirror and sending Quirrel stumbling back a foot or two.

 “Wretched. Little. GIRL!” He snaps, glaring with hate-darkened eyes at me as I ready myself.

He flicks his wand at me. “Impedimenta!” I manage to cast a Shield charm once again, but his next curse hits. “Expelliarmus!”

My wand skitters across the floor, rolling to a stop at the foot of the Mirror, and Quirrel sneers. “Petrificus Totallus!” My body locks up, and I crumple, stiff as a board. Harry darts out of cover to catch me, leaning me against the wall by the entrance to the chapel.

Catching his breath, Quirrel roars, “COME HERE POTTER! Or I’ll make sure to finish your little friend off. She’s… insurance, to ensure you get me what I want!”

I grit my jaw, trying to swear at the renegade Professor, but all I can do is stare on in impotent fury.

“NOW!” Quirrel barks, and Harry turns from me to descend the stairs, getting further and further away from me, closer to danger.

Finally, Harry stands before the Mirror once again, Professor Quirrel hovering close. “Now… tell me. What do you see?” he rasps, his eyes feverish.

The pair of them stare into the Mirror. I can’t see anything from my current predicament, and, as much as I hate to give him any credit, Quirrel knows how to use his wand. I’m completely unable to move, not even my fingertips or toes.

“What is it?! What do you see?!” Quirrel barks, looking from Harry to the Mirror and back again, like a hunting dog catching a scent.

“I…I’m shaking hands with Dumbledore. I’ve won the House Cup.”

The awful, dissonant rasping voice comes from nowhere again.  “He lies…”

Quirrel bellows in fury, spittle visibly flying from his lips, drawn back to show his teeth. “TELL THE TRUTH! WHAT! DO! YOU! SEE?!”

The dry, dead-leaves voice returns. “Let me… speak to him….”

Quirrel instantly becomes submissive, wringing his hands together in supplication. “Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough… for thisss….”

Obediently, Professor Quirrel reaches up and begins unbinding the ostentatious purple turban he always wears, layer on layer of fabric falling away.

Harry turns, shooting a worried look at me, but I can’t even twitch. If only I’d been faster, if only Id thought further ahead! Then maybe we wouldn’t be in this whole mess…

The last layer of cloth falls away, and I manage to let out a muffled yelp of shock. As if some mad wizard has combined two head into one, back and front, Quirrel’s skull doesn’t end in a smooth, bald dome. Instead, a second face protrudes from the back of his head, moving on its own. The eyes swivel, and the lips move, revealing the source of that cold, dry voice.

“Harry…Potter…. We meet… again…”

Harry’s voice is audible enough for me to hear, and the word he utters sends a shiver down my spine. “Voldemort…”

The greatest and most terrible Dark Wizard of an age is here, sticking out of the back of a teacher’s head? Merlin’s beard!

The Dark Lord rasps, “Yes… you see what I’ve become? See what I must do to survive…live off another… a mere parasite…”

Quirrel’s face is pale, as if his strength is waning.

He Who Must Not Be Named continues. “Unicorn blood can… sustain me… but it cannot give me a body of my own. But there… is something that can…something that, conveniently enough, lies… in your pocket!”

Harry whirls, bolting for me. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named grates, “stop him!”

Quirrel snaps his fingers, and the flames flickering in the sconces roar into life, cutting off the lower part of the stairs, trapping Harry inside. I’m unable to do more than shriek wordlessly, the heat boiling up in front of me.

The Dark Lord’s voice rises above the flames. “Don’t be a fool… why suffer a horrific death, when you can join me… and live?”

Harry’s answering shout of “NEVER!” is encouraging. Somehow, he’s still capable of defiance, even in the situation he’s in.

A dry, withering chuckle rises in return. “Bravery… your parents had it too…Harry….tell me, would you like to see your mother and father again? Together… we can bring them back…”

I try to scream again. I want to shout, “No, Harry! He’s trying to get inside your head, he can’t do that! He’s just trying to distract you!” but my voice doesn’t obey, no matter how hard I try…

Lord Voldemort wheedles, “All I ask… is for something in return…”

Ii can’t see what’s going on, but the ominous feeling in my chest is only growing stronger.

“Yesss…. That’s it, Harry… there is no good and evil… There is only power, and those too weak to seek it… together, we’ll do… extraordinary things….just GIVE ME THE STONE!”

No, no no no, this isn’t happening, right? Is Harry… falling for the Dark Lord’s manipulations?!

Suddenly, a shout of “YOU LIAR!” echoes around the chamber, followed by a raspy, rage-filled “Kill him!”

A few moments of scuffling, obscured by the flames, and then… screaming. Horrible, agonized screaming. It’s Professor Quirrel?! Why-how?! What’s happening?!

A pained cry comes from within the flames. “Whyyy?! What IS this magic?!”

“Fool! Get the Stone!”

A brief flurry of noise, followed by more screaming. Something formless and wraithlike rushes past me, and I collapse into a sitting position against the wall. Quirrel’s curse is broken? Then...

I stumble to my feet. Without my wand, I can’t cast with anywhere near the power or capability, so I bunch my robes around me and dive through the flames, beating them off as I burst into the lower part of the sacellum. Harry’s lying there, unconscious, with no sign of Quirrel except his robes and a heap of clay or dirt. I sprint of my wand and scoop it up, returning to Harry’s side, sitting on the steps next to him. I have to keep him safe. I… have … to…

Blackness.

 

When I come to, I’m lying on soft, starched cotton sheets in a cool, crisp bed, a small, fluffy bundle curled on my chest, watching me with big, dark eyes. Mini! As she bathes my face in tongue-lashings, I look around, giggling softly. The Hospital wing?

“Why am I…” when I try to sit up, my head reels, and I sag back on my pillows. Turning my head to my right, I can see Harry lying in a bed of his own, surrounded by gifts from well-wishers. I smile, relaxing, as he starts to stir.

“Hey, sleepyhead. We… we did it, right?”

Ii giggle softly, as he reaches for his glasses. The swish of robes, and Professor Dumbledore enters the room.

“Good afternoon, Maxine, Harry.” He makes his way to the foot of Harry’s bed. “Tokens, from your admirers?”

Harry blinks. “Admirers?”

Dumbledore looks back over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. “What happened down there in that dungeon is between you and Professor Quirrel. So, naturally, the whole school knows about it.”

He rummages among the sweets at the foot of Harry’s bed.

“Ah, I see your friend Ron has saved you the trouble of opening your Chocolate Frogs.”

Harry’s eyes light up. “Ron was here?! Is he alright? What about Hermione-”

Dumbledore holds up a hand. “Fine. They’re both just fine.”

Harry ponders for a moment, and then bolts up. “But what about the Stone-?!”

Dumbledore smiles. “Relax, dear boy. The Stone has been destroyed. My friend Nicholas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it was for the best, all around.”

He moves to sit on the side of Harry’s bed, smiling kindly.

“But Flamel… he’ll die, won’t he?” Harry looks down briefly.

Dumbledore pats Harry’s knee gently. “He has enough Elixir to set his affairs in order… but, yes, he will die.”

Harry blinks. “How is it I got the Stone, sir? One minute I was staring I the Mirror-”

Dumbledore cuts him off. “Ah. You see, only a person who wanted to find the Stone-find it, but not use it-would be able to get it.” He leans in and whispers something in Harry’s ear.

Harry frowns. “Does that mean… with the Stone gone, that is… that Voldemort can never come back?”

Dumbledore’s solemn face shows only his age briefly. “Ah… I’m afraid, that there are ways in which he can return…”

The Headmaster pauses for a second. “Harry… do you know why it is that Quirrel could not bear to have you touch him?”

Harry shakes his head, and I lay there, eyes wide. Dumbledore continues, “It was because of your mother. She sacrificed herself for you. And that kind of act… leaves a mark.”

Harry reaches up to his scar, and Dumbledore shakes his head.

“No-no, this kind of mark cannot be seen. It lives… in your very skin.”

Harry asks softly, eyes shining, “What is it?”

Dumbledore’s smile widens, almost imperceptibly. “Love, Harry. Love.”

He slowly gets up, smiling towards me, and I blink, wondering what I’d just witnessed.

On his way out, he pauses, turning back to the sweets.

 “Ah, Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans! I was most unfortunate in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one. Since then, I’m afraid I’ve lost my liking for them. But… I think I could be safe…” He hovers his hand over the open box, “with a nice toffee.” He makes his pick, popping the small candy into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“Alas! Earwax.”

 

A couple of hours later, Harry and I exit the Hospital Wing, another small dose of Polyjuice Potion, enough to get me on the train to London without changing back, tainting my mouth with its disturbing lack of flavour.

On an upper-level staircase, Ron and Hermione are waiting, engaged in quiet conversation. When we approach, their heads turn, and Ron’s eyes light up.

Harry asks, “Alright there, Ron?”

The redhead smiles. “Alright. You two?”

I shrug and nod. “I’m still not great, but I’m able to leave.”

Harry shrugs. “Alright. Hermione?”

She gives us a beaming, beautiful smile. “Never better.”

 

In the Great Hall, the feast is in full swing as we enter and find seats at the Gryffindor table. Emerald banners hang from the walls, each emblazoned with a coiling silver serpent. As Mini burrows into my robes, yapping crossly at me for ‘leaving her to fend for herself’, Professor McGonagall rings her spoon against the side of her crystal goblet, silencing the din of hungry students. Professor Dumbledore stands.

“Another year, gone.” He begins.

“And now, as I understand it, the House Cup needs awarding, and the points stand thus. In Fourth Place, Gryffindor, with 312 points.” A smattering of applause rings out, before dying away.

“Third Place, Hufflepuff, with 352 points.” More applause.

“Second Place, Ravenclaw, with 426 points!”

I can see the ashen-blonde girl clapping along with her Housemates. Something about her is… weirdly captivating….

“And in First Place, with 472 points… Slytherin House!”

As the applause from the Slytherin table boils through the air, Dumbledore raises his hand. “Yes, yes, well done Slytherin, well done Slytherin. HOWEVER! Recent events must be taken into account. And I have a few… last-minute points to award.”

“To Miss Hermione Granger, for her cool use of intellect, while others were in grave peril… 40 points.”

As the Gryffindor table applauds, I can see Malfoy and his shapeless cronies looking perturbed by this, although with Crabbe and Goyle, it could just as plausibly be constipation.

“Second, to Mr Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess that Hogwarts has seen these many years… 40 points.”

Third and fourth, to Miss Maxine Darcy and Mr Harry Potter, for pure love, and outstanding courage… Maxine, 40 points, and Harry Potter, 50 points!”

Hermione leans in and hisses, “we’re tied with Slytherin!” her eyes are sparkling, before Dumbledore speaks up once more.

“And, finally, it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies… but a great deal more to stand up to your friends. I award 10 points… to Neville Longbottom!”

As the Slytherin table turns pale with indignation, Professor Dumbledore raises his hands. “Assuming my calculations are correct… I think a change of decoration is in order!”

 He claps, and the Slytherin banners billow back as though caught in a strong breeze, the colour shifting to scarlet and gold, a rampant lion on one quarter.

“Gryffindor wins the House Cup!”

 

The next morning, after breakfast, we stand shivering in the grey light of dawn, the damp, drizzly platform swept by the steam pumping from the Hogwarts Express’ chimney.

Hagrid chivvies everyone along, as Harry hands over his owl’s cage to be safely ensconced in the luggage car. Hermione leans out of the door. “Harry, come on!”

“Just a minute!” he hurries down the platform to the bearded man-mountain. I don’t hear their conversation, as Hermione tugs me into the carriage and sets us up in a four-person compartment.

“For your change, Maxine. Oh, I’m going to miss you!” she gasps, and pulls me into a hug. “But it’ll only be for summer break, and then we’ll be back at Hogwarts!”

As we take our seats, Harry enters, holding a small, leather-bound book. He’s staring at it in a kind of way that indicates we shouldn’t disturb him for now. As the Hogwarts Express begins to power its way back down the rolling Scottish hills towards London, I recline in my seat, sighing. The next term can’t start soon enough…

END OF FROM A SERPENT TO A LIONESS: YEAR ONE