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"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back...."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He putted out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy -- he didn't feel much like singing.

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"Erm --"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

"He saved his life."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

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"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"