A Jolly Family Reunion.

You blink your eyes, the dim light of the previous chamber has given way to a brightly light chamber. Standing in the middle of the chamber is a man in purple robes. He stands before a mirror staring into it, muttering to himself.

Behind him is a small boy- Harry- tangled in a mess of ropes. He's staring at the mirror intently, no one has noticed you yet.

"The stone, I can see it," mutters Quirrell, "I have it, I am presenting it to my master, but how do I get it?"

You can't see the mirror's face from where you are, but you feel the thoughts whizzing through your head. The mirror is clearly the puzzle, and clearly a magical item of considerable power. Harry seems to know what the device is, but that doesn't help you.

Your hand stays to your wand. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. There's something wrong here, something about the DADA Professor. The wand that Ollivander gave you trembles in your grasp. You realize that you are shaking.

Wands- what good was your wand here? Were you going to counter-curse a servant of the Dark Lord? You doubt that your wand would even serve you in such an instance, it was smart enough to not even try.

Wands are fickle like that. After all most enchanted items have a sort of sentience. Suddenly, as if a light had turned on in a dark room- you remember the conversation you had with Jennifer in the library back before Hallowe'en. These things had personality of sorts. The Headmaster had some wits about him. The mirror probably showed a different thing to each person based on their personality, and wouldn't surrender the Philosopher's Stone to a servant of the Enemy.

-Harry- you realize dully. He's the weak link, Harry might be able to get it where Quirrell could not. You start to feel queasy as a hissing voice whispers out through the room.

"The boy, use the boy!"

Quirrell nodded and turned to Harry and waved the ropes away.

"Potter, come here." He said softly. Harry stumbled towards the mirror. "Tell me what you see."

There was something about that hissing voice. Something terribly familiar, it was like something out of your nightmares.

Harry was staring into the mirror, you had to think of something-- Fast.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, you begin to realize you have a headache. You've had so many near misses tonight. You are scraping at the bottom of the barrel, you aren't sure if you have anything left. Harry begins to try to sneak away from the mirror.

He says something, you miss it, but Quirrell snarls and pushes Harry away from the mirror. Harry scrambles, he looks like he is about to make a break for it.

"He lies" the strange voice hisses. "He lies!"

You have to act...

"Hey!" You bellow.

Quirrell pauses and stares at you slack-jawed. You have his full attention. Now its you standing between the Enemy and Harry... terrific. At least Harry has a chance to get away.

Rather, he had an opportunity to get away. The Boy Who Lived was staring at you just as gobsmacked as Professor Quirrell. So much for that.

Quirrell starts to compose himself a mad light in his eyes.

"More students?" Quirrell snickers. "Dumbledore has let you all run wild. My, my you may find yourself in the Dragon's Lair."

Quirrell begins to reach for his wand. You have to act.

"Tom!" You call. "Are you still hiding?"

Quirrell froze, a look of agony on his face. He falls to his knees.

"Let me speak, let me speak face to face"

"No Master, you aren't strong enough." Quirrell blubbered.

"Worm, I said let me speak."

Quirrell reached up and undid his purple turban. The fabric fell away, leaving a small looking Quirrell behind. The beleaguered and tormented man slowly spun around on his knees, revealing a face on the back of his head.

Red Eyes, sharp teeth and nostrils like slits stuck out from the back of Quirrell's head. Somehow you knew this had been the answer to the mysteries of Hogwarts this year. It took Parseltongue to access the Gaunt vault, the ability was too rare for another servant to reasonably have it, so Voldemort had to be directly involved. Whether something in the dreams had tipped you off, or if the sinister voice of the Dark Lord was simply unmistakable you couldn't say. Your cousin's twisted face stared at you from the back of Professor Quirrell's head.

"So you're Morfin's Bastard." said the face, its eyes glinting. "I thought that I had destroyed the Gaunt family legacy by getting the old man thrown in Azkaban, but you've done so much better! A Ravenclaw indeed."

Harry, the lovable fool, is standing there his mouth agape. You wish he'd just run, but either way you had the Dark Lord's attention. It was hard to talk to the Dark Lord, something about him seemed to command silence and obedience. You steel yourself for what you have to do. ] If Harry won't run, then you'll have to stall until Dumbledore arrives.

"Well, I may be a Ravenclaw, but at least I am a Gaunt." Your voice mimics the tone of the portrait, the one of the condescending elder of the Gaunt line, and you see Voldemort's face scowl.

"Tom, I am sure you tried to live up to the prestigious legacy of the Gaunts." You sneer. You are sick to your stomach, and you hope that he doesn't see you shaking. "But frankly it was too much for you. There's no shame in knowing your limitations."

Harry looks at you in horror, he doesn't seem to understand the play that you are making, thankfully he does start to move. Voldemort is rising to the bait, and he hisses at you, more in Parseltongue than in English.

"I have no limitations, as I told that shattered old man. The Gaunt line ends with me, I am Lord Voldemort! I broke Morfin Gaunt, I rewrote his memories, and he served me! You will serve me, either willingly or by ****!"

Your knees shake, maybe a Gryffindor could stare down the Dark Lord, but you were less confident. Harry was edging closer to the door, he was probably about to make a run for it. You had to keep Voldemort distracted.

But who were you to him? A first year at Hogwarts? He was the most powerful Dark Wizard, maybe ever! Your vision swims, and you feel dizzy, you feel sick enough to vomit. You know what set him off. Acting like the stereotypical Gaunt had been what broke the calm demeanor of Lord Voldemort. The portrait had been vaguely aware of Lord Voldemort and was more dismissive than anything else. The Dark Lord was proud, he probably couldn't deal with being ignored. He wanted to be feared, loved, and obeyed. Worse yet, he was family. You know that once back after the Muggle War Tom had come to the house and had a big fight with the Patriarch. He clearly cared about the Gaunt name, to some degree.

Harry turned towards the door, his pace quickening. It was now or never.

"Why should I listen to you Tom?" You say your voice dripping in condescension. "You are a half alive, half-blooded, pathetic excuse for a wizard. You have no power left."

Voldemort snarls, and suddenly you are thrown across the room. Your body thuds against the wall by the door. Your vision is clouded with stars, and you wonder if you've cracked a rib. Silent incantation, casting with either no wand, or Quirrell's wand. Ok, so he definitely did have power.

"Master the Boy! The Boy!" Quirrell shrieked, as he stumbled after Harry.

The Potter boy is sprinting towards the door, when it slams shut. Harry tries the handle, but it doesn't move, he whips out his wand and turns and faces the Professor who is bearing down on him.

"A distraction," hisses Voldemort. "Clever." Quirrell's head is trembling as if the neck cannot hold up its weight.

"However, the games end here children. Potter, I will give you one chance, the same chance I gave to James and Lily. Give me the stone that is in your pocket, serve me and we will achieve great things."

"I will never be evil!" Harry retorts. He raises his wand as if to defend himself. Quirrell flicks his wand and Harry's yew wand wrenches from his grasp and clatters across the chamber.

"Evil?" Hisses Voldemort. "Is that what the fools call me? That's a matter of perspective. I saw a world that needed to be fixed, and I grabbed the power necessary to fix it. If being willing to hold the reigns of power makes one evil, then I suppose that I am."

You lie in a heap by the door, struggling to steady your breathing. Pretty much everything hurts. You clench and unclench your fingers, nothing on your right hand appears to be broken. You gently poke at your sides, you aren't sure but you think you might be able to stand.

Harry lunges at Voldemort, screaming about his dead parents. You try to get your feet under you, it's difficult work.

Quirrell screams in pain, apparently everywhere Harry's skin touches Quirrell erupts in boils and burns. Interesting. Quirrell staggers away as Voldemort screams, "Just Kill the Boy Quirinius!"

Harry leaps upon the wizard they begin their incantation. Harry and Quirrell tumble to the ground. You hear something clatter on the ground nearby. Harry seems to have lost consciousness. Quirrell is lying moaning on the ground.

"The STONE" hisses Voldemort, "Check his pocket worm!"

"Master," Quirrell cries, "It's not here!"

What? You were sure that Harry had gotten it, why else would he have ran? Either way, there was nothing to stop Quirrell from killing you both now. Dumbledore still hadn't arrived, you were doomed.

"I'd rather go out fighting." you think to yourself as you fumble for your wand. Your hand brushes across something hard and rough, but strangely warm. Grabbing it you hold it in front of your face, your eyes struggling to focus. It was a small red stone, about the size of a snitch. The stone almost seemed to glow with an inner light. The Philosopher's Stone you realized dimly. It must have flung from Harry Potter's pocket when he leapt at Quirrell!

"Marvolo" Voldemort snarled "Do not make the same mistake your father made." Quirrell began to crawl towards you.

"I will not be nearly as merciful to you if you defy me." Voldemort hissed.

You have to decide what you are going to do. You have the stone, but no time to think.