The Final Chamber

This was it. No turning back now.

He'd just made it through the last obstacle - a riddle he believed to be crafted by none other than Professor Severus Snape - and he was on his own now. He'd needed Tom to get past the giant chess set for him (seeing as he didn't know how to play chess), and between the wards and the high-stakes chess game, the Dark Lord was so spent that Harry could barely feel him in the back of his mind.

But it was alright. Harry knew what he needed to do. He even had a mental checklist:

Subtly discern Professor Quirrell's loyalties. Subtly. Craftily. That was important.

Escape if he and Tom had been mistaken, or if someone else showed up. To that end, he kept his invisibility cloak handy.

Kindle a brand new friendship if they weren't in any danger and, as they thought, Professor Quirrell was 'friend material', so to speak.

Easy. Simple. He could do this.

"Here I come, Professor Quirrell," he muttered as he drained the little bottle in his hand in one gulp. The effect was immediate - cold water rushed over his skin and ice crept through his veins, causing him to shiver uneasily. Convinced that the potion had done its job, he put the bottle down and stepped forward into the fire before him.

Black flames licked at his skin and grabbed at his clothes, but sure enough, he couldn't feel them; they were little more than an illusion - a frightening one; the few moments when he could see nothing but burning blackness around him were disconcerting to say the least – and a moment later he was on the other side, in the final chamber. And sure enough, Quirinius Quirrell was standing right there in front of him, staring into a very familiar mirror.

It was that same mirror he'd seen in the abandoned classroom, those months ago – that frightening object cursed with some strange spell designed to remind him of things he did not want to remember. And yet...somehow, its presence was much different - this time, it didn't seem as ominous.

What the mirror was doing there, he didn't know, but that's not what he was there for. He was supposed to make a friend.

"Good evening, Professor Quirrell," he said softly with a slight smile.

The man spun around, shock crossing his face – shock, not fear - but then he smiled back at him. The usually nervous man's face wasn't twitching at all – it was still, firm, and almost eerily serene. "Potter. What a pleasant surprise."

Harry nodded a bit, stepping forward tentatively. Apparently he was a pleasant surprise. So far so good.

"You don't seem surprised to see me here," Professor Quirrell commented, one eyebrow raised.

Harry shook his head. "That's because I'm not. You weren't as subtle as you should have been, professor – you know, it wasn't very smart to let a troll in as a distraction when the obstacle you chose to hide the Philosopher's Stone was a troll as well," he commented mildly, assuming that the troll in the other room had been the Defence of the Dark Arts professor's doing. Given the variation in the obstacles he'd overcome to reach the final chamber, he'd deduced that several professors – Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape to be precise – had had a hand in protecting the Stone...it seemed only reasonable that one had also been the work of the Defence against the Dark Arts professor as well.

"So you knew about the troll, did you?"

"I figured it out a while ago. It was a bit of an obvious distraction."

Harry was hoping he didn't offend his potential new friend, so he was relieved when Professor Quirrell chuckled. "You really are a quick one, aren't you, Potter? I'm surprised you didn't end up in Ravenclaw – my old house, you know."

Harry nodded, pleased by the compliment. "The hat certainly thought about it." He frowned a bit. "You don't seem surprised to see me here either."

"I knew someone would try to stop me," Professor Quirrell said, "Of course I'm not surprised that it's the Boy Who Lived. You may be a Slytherin, Potter, but heroism is in your blood. Which reminds me..."

He snapped his fingers, causing ropes to materialize around Harry, hugging him tightly.

"I can't have you interfering."

Harry grimaced. "You know, I'm not here to stop you. I was just curious. I wanted to talk to you."

The Professor barked out a laugh. "You know, Potter, for a Slytherin, you're a rather pathetic liar."

Harry frowned. "That's because I'm not lying. I really did just come to talk to you. If I wanted to stop you, I would have gone to a teacher long ago; I told you, I figured all this out a while back."

Professor Quirrell grinned at him, clearly amused by his words. "Is that so? I admit, I'm surprised you would see past my facade. I would have thought that no one would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell. I am curious, though, when exactly did you know? Was it when I tried to kill you?"

The man's smile sharpened, and Harry got the impression that his professor was trying to intimidate him with this revelation (which wasn't really a revelation, seeing as Harry already knew all this). It wasn't working.

"Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you; another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom, no doubt. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you," the man said grandly.

"Ah, so it was him with the counter-curse," Harry said thoughtfully.

...

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