The ancient stone chamber pulsed with an eerie, flickering glow. Shadows danced across the arched ceiling, cast by the magical fire that separated Harry from the one man he never suspected.
Professor Quirrell stood before the Mirror of Erised, trembling hands outstretched toward the glass.
Harry's breath came in shallow gasps as he stepped into the room, heart pounding. Ron and Hermione were somewhere above—safe, hopefully—but Draco had insisted on following him all the way here. Now, the Slytherin boy hovered just behind, his wand drawn and jaw clenched, pale eyes flicking from Harry to Quirrell.
"I told you to stay back," Harry whispered.
Draco didn't answer. He wouldn't leave.
"You," Quirrell rasped, eyes burning with something too hungry to be human. "You're here… just as he said you'd be."
Harry raised his wand. "Stay away from the Mirror."
Quirrell let out a low, breathless laugh.
"The Mirror shows us our deepest desires… but I—I cannot see it. Not truly. I only see myself giving the Stone to my master. But you—"
He took a step closer. "You, Harry, you can find it. You've been marked by him. You're the key."
Draco moved in front of Harry without thinking. "He's not doing anything."
"Oh?" Quirrell tilted his head. "And you must be the other one. The Malfoy heir who's been hovering around the boy who lived like a lovesick puppy. I thought your father had better control over his son."
Draco paled.
Harry shoved past him, furious. "You're working for Voldemort."
Quirrell's face twisted. "He is with me always."
Then, slowly, trembling fingers reached for the turban wrapped around his head.
"No—" Harry stepped forward.
But it was too late.
The cloth fell to the floor.
And beneath it—
A face. A face where there shouldn't be one. Pale. Grotesque. Embedded in the back of Quirrell's skull.
Voldemort.
Draco stumbled backward, nearly dropping his wand.
Harry froze.
"Harry Potter," the voice whispered, ancient and cold. "We meet again."
Quirrell's body trembled as the dark lord hissed through him. "Give me the Stone. You see it, don't you? The Mirror has revealed it to you."
"I don't have it," Harry said, lying, as he felt the Stone press heavier in his pocket. Somehow… it had appeared when he'd wished for it.
"He lies!" Voldemort shrieked. "Seize him!"
Quirrell lunged.
Draco cast a hex without thinking, but it bounced harmlessly off Quirrell's cursed protection. The professor shoved Draco aside and reached for Harry.
And then—
A flash of black.
"Expelliarmus!"
The force of the spell sent Quirrell flying into the stone wall. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Snape stepped into the chamber, robes billowing like a thundercloud, wand raised and eyes ablaze.
"Severus," Voldemort snarled, his voice twisting through Quirrell's lips. "My faithful servant comes to betray me?"
Snape's face remained a mask of icy disdain. "I am no servant. Not anymore."
He stepped between Harry and Quirrell.
"I should've known you'd leech yourself to a coward," Snape said coldly, circling the other man. "But to cling to a weak-willed fool like Quirrell? How pitiful."
Quirrell screamed, stumbling upright, his skin blistering where Snape's defensive spell grazed him.
Harry clutched the Stone tighter in his pocket. "It's burning him," he whispered. "When I touched him before—he couldn't stand it."
Snape heard.
He turned sharply to Harry. "You still have it?"
Harry nodded.
"Then listen carefully. When I say run—run to the exit. Do not look back."
Harry opened his mouth to protest.
Draco grabbed his arm. "Just do it."
Quirrell lunged again, and Snape blocked him with a shield charm that flared violet in the dim light.
Voldemort screeched. "You will not take him from me again, Severus! He belongs to me!"
But Snape was no longer listening.
"NOW!" he roared.
Harry bolted.
Draco followed, his hand never leaving Harry's sleeve.
Behind them, spells shattered against stone, and Voldemort screamed—not with words, but with fury and hunger and death.
Just before the tunnel curved out of sight, Harry turned back—and saw Snape standing firm before the Mirror, face lit by firelight, eyes never leaving the dark lord's face.
Then they were gone.
---
Later – Hospital Wing
Sunlight slanted through the windows when Harry opened his eyes.
Draco was asleep in a chair nearby, head tipped against the bedpost, hair a silver tangle. Hermione sat beside him, clutching a half-read book, and Ron had clearly dozed off mid-sentence, lips parted, blanket drooping from his lap.
Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a tray, but behind her…
Snape.
Bruised. Pale. And uncharacteristically quiet.
Harry blinked. "You… saved me."
Snape nodded once. "Don't let it go to your head."
Harry managed a small smile.
Snape lingered a moment, then turned to go.
"Sir?"
Snape paused.
"…Thank you."
For a brief second, Snape looked back—and there was something in his expression that Harry couldn't quite name.
Pride? Sadness?
Maybe both.
Then he was gone.