Harry and I both seem to make a point with not venturing back out to find the Mirror of Erised again, and with good reason. Dumbledore is right, after all, as he always is. It's sure to do nothing short of drive us mad, which is a short conversation both Harry and I shared on our way back to bed the last night we'd looked within it and spoken to the Headmaster about it. To be stuck still and staring at a life I'm not even sure will happen isn't how I want to spend my time, and Harry's sure he's okay with understanding that though he wont be able to see them anymore, unlike when he's gazing in the mirror, his family is still with him in spirit, and neither of us need such an enchanted relic to know that. Harry's family is with him in heart, and if I truly want to keep everyone safe and healthy, then I must act instead of wonder.

For the rest of the Christmas holidays we say nothing about it after the final night and leave it be. Of course, forgetting such a thing will be almost impossible, especially for Harry, I'm sure, but we're willing to give it our best shot to leave what we've seen behind.

Harry's seemed rather tired lately, as if something's been waking him in the middle of the night. I've been hesitant to ask, as I'm sure it correlates to what was in that Mirror, and so I won't bring it up. He's a strong boy, though we're ever so young, and he'll push through without a doubt.

It's on the day Hermione returns from home and questions Harry's tired look that he fills us in and confirms my suspicions.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," Ron says after Harry's finished telling us about the reoccurring nightmare with the flashing, green, brilliant light, and cackling laughter.

Hermione was furious when she found out we'd both been visiting the mirror, even if we'd both visited barely twice – Harry three times. She was both horrified that we'd been breaking the rules without her knowing, and disappointed that we hadn't found anything on Nicolas Flamel during all our spare hours.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

Lately, Harry has been awfully busy with Quidditch practice, and I can see the way the sport is both wearing him and brightening him up. He's both elated with being there, and so very tired, as practices are harder than ever, and his nightmares are still persisting. I asked him just yesterday morning if he's had any luck with them stopping, but his indirect answer told that he'd had no such luck at all.

With Harry being so busy and tired, with practice, his sleeplessness, and general study seeing as term is well and truly back in swing, it's been mostly just Ron, Mione, and I continuing on with our search for Nicolas Flamel, though we as a three have each decided we don't mind Harry not being able to help all that much considering everything else.

Today we're sat in the Common Room while Harry's at practice. Mione and Ron are well involved with a game of chess, and I'm sat and reading through Herbology class's reading material for our following week. Harry bursting into the room causes me to cough on the tea I'm sipping, a few droplets decorating the once pristine pages before me.

"Harry!" I bark at the boy after breaking from my fit. "Must you insist on bursting in like that? Merlin, you've almost made me ruin my book!"

He's wearing a sheepish and apologetic smile as he nears us and sits himself down.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron requests once Harry is situated and obviously ready to tell us all something. "I need to concen-" It's when he glances to the messy, dark-brunette-to-black-haired boy that he decides his next move in chess can wait. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

"Snape's decided he's going to be refereeing our next Quidditch game," Harry mumbles out quietly, and my shoulders tense as I see the defeated look written across his face.

"Don't play," Hermione pipes suddenly, and I nod in agreement.

"She's right, Harry. Snape's only going to make this hard on you! Plus, who knows what he's got planned this time? It's lucky Mione's smart so as to have avoided you falling from your broom last game," I add, and Harry glances to me.

"Say you're ill," then suggests Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione adds after.

"Actually break your leg," I say, causing all three to look at me funny. "It was a joke – It's called lightening the mood?"

"I can't," Harry sighs. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

The look of worry and defeat muddled in his eyes breaks my heart just a little, and for a moment I think back to the image of him I saw in my version of the Mirror of Erised. He was happy and content, and now seeing him like this, after witnessing that, no matter how unreal, hurts.

My concentration on trying to convince myself there's nothing I can do is broken when suddenly Neville Longbottom hops into the room with both of his legs stuck together as if he's been tied up. This is the work of the Leg-Locker Curse, something my family friends from Egypt used on each other when they once visited us. How he managed to get all the way here like this is a miracle.

"Neville?" I gasp as I stand, Hermione standing as well, while everyone else around us breaks into laughter. "What's happened to you? Who did this?"

"Malfoy," he answers shakily, and I feel my nails biting into my palm as I ball my fist. "I met him outside the library. He said he's been looking for someone to practice this on."

Hermione's quick to perform the counter-curse before she grasps a hold of my arm to hold me from walking out of the room to speak with Malfoy myself.

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" she urges him while her grip's tight on me. "And Y/N, you aren't going to find him, so don't even think about it."

"But he's being a twat!"

"I don't care! You aren't getting yourself in trouble because of this again!"

"Because of what again?" Harry suddenly interjects, just before Mione can reveal that I've been back and forth arguing with Malfoy in his, and other's names, Hermione speaks again.

"Report him!"

"I don't want any trouble," Neville whispers shakily with a shake of his head.

"Oh, he'll be getting trouble," I mutter as I rip Mione's grasp from me and storm to the door, but I'm stopped again, this time not by Hermione, but by Neville himself.

"Please don't," he says, and with a huff and a shake of my head I walk back to my spot and sit down with a scowl on my face.

Oh how Draco Malfoy makes me want to punch that face of his. I'm not usually a violent person, but for Malfoy, I'd make an exception. As well as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, he's been giving Neville a particularly hard time, and it's entirely unfair.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron tells from his place. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier." I nod in agreement.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," he chokes out as if he's on the brink of tears. I suspect he is as well.

I see Harry move this time, his hand digging around in the pockets of his robes before he finds something and drags it out, handing the object to Neville, and I smile when I realise it's a Chocolate Frog. One of the one's Mione gifted him for Christmas.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," he says, and I nod again, smiling this time. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville smiles slightly before opening the chocolate and making a move to leave.

"I still don't know why you all won't let me take him," I mutter, though no one seems to hear.

"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

Neville leaves now, leaving us all in the dim Common Room, Harry with the card in his hand. He's looking it over, but he has a look of dissatisfaction on his face, and I reckon he's probably already got the one Neville's given him.

"Dumbledore again," he says. "He was the first one I ever-" he cuts himself off with a gasp, and I jump to attention, as do our other friends. "I've found him!" he whispers forcefully. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: 'Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!"

Hermione's the first to jump to her feet, and as soon as she's up, after declaring a brisk 'stay there!' she's rocketing towards our dorm most likely to get whatever's just come to her clever mind. Not a few moments later is she back carrying a large book I've seen her carrying once before now.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispers excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" Ron's quick to question.

Hermione shushes him, and nor Harry or I pay his comment any mind as she's quickly flicking through the pages and we're sat watching her eagerly.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" Ron grumbles with his arms crossed and a roll of his eyes.

"Nicholas Flamel," she recites dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"

"The what?" Harry questions perplexed. Ron looks just as confused.

"Oh, my Merlin!" I exclaim as well. "Why couldn't I remember that!"

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look – read that, there."

Both boys look rather annoyed with having to read something, and so whilst chuckling, I take up the book and begin reciting the passage Hermione's referring.

"The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

"There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and art-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle, who's six hundred and fifty-eight."

"See?" Hermione pipes after I'm done. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts.!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying! No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it," says Harry.

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel is that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," adds Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

Snape seems to be lurking around every corner as of late, and according to Harry, he's been seeing him even more than I. I suppose that's because he's growing more and more anxious about his coming Quidditch match the nearer it drew, and for good reason. He says that it's been years since they've overtaken Slytherin in the House Championships, and the points from this game are sure to add plenty to our tally, but having such a biased referee is going to prove dreadful, I'm sure.

"Potter," Snape begins to drawl greasily through out Potions class. "Tell me, what does one do thirdly while brewing the Draught of Living Death?"

"I don't know, Professor," harry answers.

"Pity you don't pay attention. You've just lost Gryffindor a point, Potter."

"We don't go over Draught of Living Death for years yet, and you know it. What, are you afraid that without taking point off of Harry your precious Slytherins will lose this year? It's sounding as if you're scared, Professor," I call out causing some of the Gryffindors to chuckle and 'ooh', and for the Slytherins to scoff and retort.

"Detention, Miss Amethyst."

"Pleasure."

He's been making Harry's life even harder through these classes... I suppose that yes, I do understand that my retaliation will have no effect on this, but I can't quite find it in myself to sit still when he's being so blatantly evil.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

There's a nervous energy lulling through the air between us four as we wish Harry luck outside the changing rooms and he gives his thanks. There's a nervousness that something terrible might go wrong. After all, if Snape's so intent on getting this stone, and if he is starting to suspect that Harry knows, which he's expressed he feels as though Snape does, what's to say he won't get Harry extremely hurt over it? This is immeasurable wealth and immortality we're talking about after all. What's a single life to someone who could ever want something like that so badly?

"You think he'll be alright?" I ask both Ron and Mione as we make our way to the stands to watch them play. "You don't think Snape will get him killed, right? I mean, he wont – he couldn't – one of you please tell me he wouldn't."

"Calm down, Y/N," Hermione says as we find our seats. "You got like this last time, and he was fine then, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but Snape wasn't refereeing the game then," states Ron. Hermione turns an angry eye on him before looking back to me.

"He'll be fine. You worry too much."

"I know..." I sight as I look around the place. Someone then catches my eye that brings a bout of hope to my heart. "Hey! Look over there! Dumbledore's come to watch! Snape can't possible do anything with him here!"

"Well that's a load off," Ron breathes, letting out a long breath, and Hermione simply rolls her eyes, though I can she's equally as relieved.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron mutters to the two of us as we watch him keenly. "Look – they're off. Ouch!"

Someone's poked Ron in the back of the head.

"Oh, Sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," Malfoy sneers, Crabbe and Goyle standing guard at his sides as they always are. "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron doesn't answer him. I'm not as withheld as I once thought myself to be, though.

"Amethyst?" he asks me next, and I turn to make furious eye-contact with him.

"You jealous, Draco Malfoy? If I remember correctly, you're family has enough money to buy you a place on the Slytherin team, so why not go begging daddy about it instead of getting on our nerves while we're trying to watch, hey? You scared you aren't as good as Harry? Well you should be!"

"Honestly," Hermione adds from my side, looking at me. "What has gotten into you lately?"

Neville, who's standing with the three of us, looks nervous at the brewing conflict.

I look away from Malfoy's furious gaze to catch Snape awarding Hufflepuff a penalty because of George, who's just before hit a Bludger at him. I shake my head, but smile nonetheless.

"Jealous?" Malfoy suddenly pipes again, "of Potter? Do you know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" Snape awards Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason whatsoever. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains. And you, mummies girl – or not anymore, right? Perhaps they'll award you a spot for being an orphan as well."

Neville is the one to stand and retort before even I this time, with fire in his eyes that doesn't quite reach his voice, but he's standing up for both himself and our fiends, so I'm so very proud of him.

"Each of us is worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammers over his words, but he doesn't falter. His words don't seem to have the hoped for effect though, as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are all laughing hysterically.

"You tell him, Neville," Ron cheers him on whilst not removing his eyes from the game.

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron jumps around this time.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy – one more word-" he begins, but is swiftly cut off be Hermione, who's voice also collects my attention back up as well.

"Ron! Harry-"

"What? Where?"

I look to find that Harry's falling into a truly spectacular dive of sorts, and though for a second I'm terrified that someone is once again jinxing his broom, the look on his face suggests that he's actually seen what he's been looking for all game, and he's chasing it down.

"Come on, Harry!" I scream across the other roars of onlookers.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" Malfoy cackles. This is when Ron truly snaps.

He turns around bullet-quick and socks Malfoy right in the face, to which I'm immediately jealous of, and has him tackled to the ground as if they're wrestling. It's actually almost comical. I see Neville hesitate for a moment before stumbling over the seats to help. I'm about to move myself before, once again, Mione's hand is clamped on my robe sleeves holding me in place with that stare of hers that says 'don't you dare'. She turns back to the game, and hesitantly, so do I, trusting that the boys will be fine.

"Come on, Harry!" Mione mimics my earlier call, and I shout and clap loudly.

Up in the air, Harry pulls out of his dive, and he's got the Golden Snitch held in his hand. I jump up and down and cheer loudly for him, and the team of course, but mostly for Harry. Mione grasps my shoulders and we both call out happily.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor are in the lead!" she shrieks in excitement and looks around for our red-headed friend.

Harry jumps from his broom before he's even reached the ground, and he has an absolutely astonished and proud look plastered to his face, as well as excitement and relief in his eyes. Snape couldn't even deter our win – his win – and I can see how glad of that Harry is. Dumbledore is standing with him now, speaking to him kindly with a smile. I watch as Snape spits bitterly on the grass. What a sore loser.

A bunch of the Gryffindors, both on and not on the Quidditch team pull Harry up and plant him upon their shoulders crying out cheerfully, and patting each other on the backs. I run alongside Mione and Ron, the latter's nose bleeding from his scruff up with Malfoy, and we congratulate him on his win.

"You did amazing, Harry!" I call up to him from down below. "That has to have been a record! Fastest Snitch catch of all time!"

I turn to Ron after they've all left for the changing rooms and with a laugh and smile, I fix his nose for him.

"Episkey," I chant, and with a slight wine, Ron's nose goes back to it's normal state. We all walk back to the Common Room now, awaiting Harry's return to congratulate him properly.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione asks him as he finally wanders back towards the Common Room to find us well over two hours later.