--Harry Potter and the Curse of the Sorcerer's Stone--

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But somehow I suspect Harry prefers it that way.

Summary: Things go differently when Harry tries to stop Quirrell from acquiring the Sorcerer's Stone, causing a chain of events which will change Harry's life forever. WIP.

Spoilers: All books, eventually

Notes: AU. Splits off from canon at the end of SS chapter 16. Some portions (mostly dialogue) from SS used in the first chapter; other dialogue may be used later.


It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them -- for the moment he could see nothing but dark fire -- then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.

It was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Harry.

"Oh yes," said Quirrell, without a hint of his previous stammer. "I'd wondered if I might be meeting you here."

"But I'd thought…Snape…"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, not sounding the slightest bit uncertain, but suddenly cold and sharp. "Convenient enough that he already seems the type, always skulking around. With all that, who would ever suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't believe this. This just couldn't be true. It couldn't!

"But Snape, he tried to kill me!"

"No, I'm afraid I was the one who tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger managed to accidentally knock me over when she was rushing to stop Snape at that Quidditch match, breaking my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and you'd have fallen off that broom. And you wouldn't even be here now if Snape hadn't been trying to stop me with a countercurse. "

"Wait, so Snape was trying to save me?

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why else, then would he want to referee your next match? He wanted to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really…he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore around, anyway. All the other teachers were convinced, after all, thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, so he only made himself unpopular…what a waste of time, since after all of that, I'm still giving you over to Voldemort tonight."

Harry felt a growing sense of horror as Quirrell cast some sort of curse he didn't recognise, and felt immediately queasy when it seemed that the walls around him seemed to melt and blur. A strong set of hands pushed him down by the shoulders, leaving him sitting on a set of stone steps.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to find out what was guarding the Stone. "

"Wait…th' troll, that's you?" Harry tried to respond, but he was beginning to have some trouble getting sentences to come out properly.

"Well certainly," replied Quirrell hastily. "I have a special gift with trolls—but that's besides the point now. Why don't you just wait there quietly for a moment, Potter; I need to examine this interesting mirror."

With growing (if muddled) alarm, Harry realised what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"Now, this mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, mostly to himself, while tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… But as he's in London, everything will be over with by the time he gets back…"

Quirrell stood in front of the mirror and stared hungrily at it. "I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

Harry gave a low moan of despair and struggled some more words out, in the dim hope that he could distract Quirrell. "What d'you want th' stone for then?"

Quirrell turned back towards him with eyes shining bright with fanaticism. "The Dark Lord is with me wherever I go," he mused quietly. "I met him when I travelled around the world. What a foolish young man I was then, with ridiculous ideas about good and evil. But Lord Voldemort taught me how wrong I was. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him and that power within him, faithfully. But I…made mistakes, and failed him. He punished me…decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Harry's thoughts wandered, remembering his first visit to Diagon Alley… How could he not have known? He'd even seen and met Quirrell that very day, shaking his hand in the Leaky Cauldron.

Frustrated, Quirrell cursed under his breath. "I don't understand it. Is the stone inside the mirror? Do I need to break it? " He looked over to Harry, hoping for a glimpse of inspiration, but the boy's face was already going slack—a sign of the jelly-brain curse he'd cast earlier.

Harry was still aware of enough to notice Quirrell looking at him piercingly, while mumbling, "I won't be able to get it like this. What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy…Use the boy…"

Quirrell turned around towards Harry, squeezing his hands together while looking back and forth from the boy to the mirror. "What if…" he found himself grinning slyly, "I had the help of an innocent…"

He walked over to Harry, still sitting placidly on the stone steps, and pulled on his arm until he rose. Clasping his own hand over the boy's, he crossed back over to the mirror.

"Here, Harry," coaxed Quirrell. "Why don't you have a look in this mirror and tell me what you see…"

Harry's own mind was screaming in terror, but in some dark, quiet, closed-off place... He saw himself, briefly, in front of the mirror, then squinted his eyes shut.

I wish this was over, I just wish this could be over.

When he reopened his eyes, he saw himself again staring at his reflection in the mirror—small, pale, and scared-looking. But then suddenly, the image of himself in the mirror flickered and he then saw only Quirrell, who had been standing behind him.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently, "What did you see?"

Harry turned back around towards the man, quietly terrified. Through the layers of confusion brought about by Quirrell's curse, he had the growing realisation of the Stone's weight within his own, real, pocket. But he was powerless to prevent Quirrell from finding out; he felt like a three-year-old trying to keep a secret.

Quirrell frowned at the addle-headed boy in front of him, shoving him roughly aside. The small part of Harry's mind that still had a fix on what was going on thought he might just have a chance, after all….

But it was only a second later when a high clear voice sounded; though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"The boy…the boy…Let me speak to him…face to face…"

"Master…you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough…for this…"

Still trapped by the Jelly-Brain curse, Harry hadn't moved from where Quirrell had pushed him away a minute ago. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and turn his body so he faced back at Quirrell. He watched dumbly as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away, and Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned around slowly on the spot.

If Harry had been capable, he would have screamed, but he just stood there and gawped. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered. "See what I have become? Just shadow and vapour. I can assume form only when I share the body of another. There have always, of course, been those who were willing to allow me into their hearts and minds...Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…Quirrell here has gathered it for me in the forest. And with the Sorcerer's Stone, I can acquire a body for myself on a more…permanent basis."

Was this what Quirrell had been up to all along? Harry tried to summon all the strength he could, managing a stumbling step backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me…or you'll meet the same end as your parents…They died begging me for mercy…"

"Liar…" Harry managed to croak weakly, as he sank to his knees, whimpering.

Quirrell walked backward towards Harry so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face had a grin of triumph.

"It's a pity, you know," the face hissed. "I'd always thought this would have been more difficult, getting the Stone. I think you ought to hand it over to me now- it isn't safe there in your pocket."

Harry was having trouble following what was going on by now, but was still trying to scoot away from Quirrell. He was aware, though, of the man suddenly spinning around with his wand at the ready…

"Stupefy!" shouted Quirrell.

There was a flash of white light, and he felt the hands and arms of the other man on him, but for a while, no more.


Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room:

Neville had been stuck in the body-bind curse for the whole night. Things had been mostly uneventful, but he now had a serious understanding for what it might be like to be a suit of armor. He had mostly spent the hours lying on the floor staring at the cold fireplace. He had counted the number of stones, and memorised the pattern of the embers, but mostly he had simply let his mind wander. He had only been interrupted once –by the appearance of Peeves, (the one time he'd been grateful to see the poltergeist), but it seemed he himself hadn't been noticed.

Only when the room was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of the upcoming sunrise did things begin to liven up. He began to catch sight of pairs of legs, as they walked past, some distance away, but they were few and far between. Trevor, his toad, had also made a brief appearance as he hopped past his face.

Somehow, with the year having gone like it did for him, he'd become a bit resigned to things like this happening…he'd always been prone to accidents, but it was awkward being wedged like this, on the floor by the grandfather clock. Neville had started to think that he might just end up stuck here until the end of term, when he'd be found as they cleaned up, then marked down as a squib, and finally, sent home, no special handling. He'd actually begun resigning himself to this sad fate until...

They walked down the stairs together, shoeless, half-asleep and still in their pajamas, red hair in clumps and still tousled from their pillows. Their eyes were still a little crusty but they grinned at each other when they weren't grumbling.

"Stupid Percy!"

"Blithering git! Says prefects should get the first shower, does he? Even when he isn't even awake yet!"

"Oh yes, and such a prefect, too."

"Mummy's favourite little badge-polisher.."

"We'll be sure to show him where being a prat is bound to get him, wouldn't you say, dear George…."

The twins made their way down the stairs into the common room, having decided it was likely best to stay quiet before everyone woke up. Still oblivious, they made their way towards Neville and the grandfather clock behind him, until George suddenly tripped.

"Ow! Who left a log here?"

"Aha, my dear brother, but that's no log, It's an ickle firstie!" Fred gave a grin to his brother.

George straightened himself up somewhat, and nudged the boy with his foot. "My, but that looks uncomfortable…"

Fred scratched his head. "Wait, I know this firstie!"

"Well you should have at least seen him around before. After all, he seems to be a Gryffindor."

"No no, remember, this is ickle Neville! Remember, he's that one who.."

George suddenly remembered. "Oh wait, was that the time when Filch caught us…?"

"Yes! And we got off the hock because of that explosion in the hallway!"

"So that means we owe you, young Neville!"

Fred gave a smirky little grin. "So then, dear Neville, how did you, our new firstie friend, wind up like this?"

"He can't answer you, o brother of mine – He's frozen."

"I know that, o mine brother. Of course."

"Then, why are you trying to talk to him?"

"It's called a rhetorical question." Fred waved his arms around theatrically as he spoke. "It doesn't need an answer. That's why it's fun!"

George shook his head. "You've been talking to the Ravenclaws far too much, dear Fred."

Neville sincerely hoped that all of this wasn't just for his benefit. He was mortified to be found like this by anybody….especially by anybody he knew. But being found by the two worst gossips in Hogwarts….

"Now then, young Neville…."

"--He still can't answer you…"

"We're actually here today.." Fred's eye had a wicked glint in it, "on business."

"But we," said George, "will happily take time out of what promises to be a busy morning," He gave a grin back. "--since you're such a dear friend after all, to help you out." He nonchalantly flicked his wand at Neville as he said, almost as an afterthought ' finite incantatem.'

Meanwhile, Fred tapped the tip of his wand against the clock cabinet door to reveal a hidden slide-out tray bearing a dizzying array of items Neville mostly didn't recognise--but some of them he was quite sure were strictly banned at Hogwarts. George caught Neville's eye in his as he was glancing back at Fred, who was happily tossing certain items into a suddenly-appearing moleskin pouch. As his body started to loosen up, he began to shiver uncontrollably.

George, leaning back against the wall, gave a offhand look towards Neville, who was still lying on the floor, shivering. "That would be your body, coming on out of it. It's got to make up for not shivering through the whole night, I think."

"Yeah, remember, Great Aunt Muriel used to cast it on Great-Uncle, overnight so he wouldn't snore, remember?" remembered Fred, still busy going through their stash.

"And you should have heard the racket once she dispelled it in the mornings!"

"Anyway…" Fred was finishing up, and gave a quick, concerned-looking glance over at George.

George tossed a ragged-looking blanket that wrapped itself around Neville. It was scratchy, and smelled a bit like wet dog, but at least it was warm. He still couldn't stop shivering, though. And it was getting a bit hard to concentrate.

Fred nodded his head towards Neville. "Quickly now, we need to heat things up."

His brother looked around the room, first being tempted as his wand alighted on the still-open clock, and then the couch nearby, but decided it would be best to go with the easiest solution. He simply murmured 'incendio' and flicked his wand at the cold fireplace.

Together, they carried the somewhat-conscious Neville towards it, who slowly began recovering his color, and started once again to look like he belonged among the living. He was finally sitting up, only a little bit groggily, about ten minutes later.

The sounds around the three of them had begun to rise in volume, but it was only when a fourth-year boy came down the staircase into the common room did Fred and George realise how late it had become. Without a word, George made his way over to the open clock, somehow managing to appear entirely unsuspicious as he whispered some secret incantation to hide their supply of contraband. Meanwhile, Fred dragged Neville off to a coat closet underneath the stairs, and somehow, into a small room which he'd never seen before. It was ancient and seemed carved out of stone.

"I know what you're thinking," whispered Fred to Neville, and holding up a finger, "You had no idea there was an extra room back here. But stay quiet a second…"

George appeared just a moment later.

"All clear, dear Forge?"

"All clear, dear Gred."

As soon as everyone was inside, there came a grinding noise as the room apparently sealed itself off, leaving it suddenly very dark. One of the twins (Neville couldn't tell who, especially not in the dark) lit up an old-fashioned lantern on the wall, and they relaxed again. They sat down on opposite stone benches—Neville found himself facing identical grins...and he wasn't sure he liked the looks in their eyes...

"Now Neville..."

"Yes, Neville..."

"We were happy to help you..."

"But we wouldn't have wanted you to find out so many of our secrets."

"However, I'm afraid you have."

Neville felt his throat growing tight in fear.

"So what we'll be doing here is..."

"Making sure you won't remember it well enough to tell anyone."

Neville gasped. "Please! I'll do anything! I can't manage remember anything as it is!"

George (or was it Fred? He was too scared to concentrate.) raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

He shrugged like he'd been planning for this all along.

Fred continued instead, improvising. "Well, in that case, I suppose we have no other choice. You'll just have to...go along with us."

Neville felt himself calming back down, if only slightly.

"You'll just have to be our bitch."

Fred elbowed his brother and shot a quick glare at him. "Ah...what we really mean is...our lackey." He flashed precisely the sort of grin that Neville had already learned to be terrified of.

What had he gotten himself into?


Harry was aware again of light—a steady stream of bright light. Somehow, he couldn't quite recall how he'd gotten here, wherever this was, and he hurt all over. He opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of a window showing the midmorning sun.

With a slow realisation of increasing horror, he stirred himself into facing the other direction only to realise that he was lying in bed in the infirmary. He turned his head only to see Madam Pomfrey disappear around a corner. A weighty sigh distracted his attention towards a chair across from the foot of his bed.

"Oh my boy, my poor boy," sighed a bearded shape sitting alongside the wall. "Go ahead," he spoke as he motioned, "you can put your glasses back on; they're waiting for you on the windowsill."

Harry did so, and was alarmed at the look on Dumbledore's face. Normally unflappable, the characteristic bit of sparkle was gone from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but was suddenly aware of an intense pain in his throat and chest.

"No Harry, you won't be able to speak for awhile, so let me, instead." Dumbledore lost a little bit more of his composure in that instant. "Harry, we almost lost you—it was only a matter of a few minutes..."

But the Stone, where's the Stone?

A somber look from Dumbledore made him realise what had happened. "Once we'd made it past the enchantments, which
were, of course, intended to protect the Stone—oh, don't stare at me like that, Harry, I haven't read your mind, I can read it on your face—and taken down the door, we were in time only to see Quirrell bending over your body. He escaped on the back of a broom, I'm afraid. The Stone was nowhere to be found."

Harry covered his eyes with his hands. Dumbledore continued speaking, almost absentmindedly, in this new, more direct fashion which he was beginning to find unsettling.

"So the worst has come to pass. I never would have thought that one of our own, a professor of Hogwarts, no less, could betray us in such a way. But at least we managed to save you, Harry," Dumbledore patted the bedpost.

Harry wanted to tell him-- no, to shout to the Headmaster about what had happened with Quirrell, but again found his throat wouldn't let him. A corner of the room darkened as someone stood in front of a wall sconce.

"Now Harry, this is important," continued Dumbledore with renewed urgency. "It is vital that you listen to me. We know that you were placed under the jelly-brain curse as Quirrell stole the Stone, so you may not recall much, but it is imperative that your fellow students at must not learn about the events of that night. "

Harry would have wanted to argue about that, but Madam Pomfrey seemed to have suddenly appeared at his bedside. Wordlessly, she gave the boy a gentle push back down into his bed, and forced some sort of viscous liquid down his throat that instantly stilled the rebellion inside, and made everything go numb.

The world would have to wait.


So then, everybody, this is my first attempt at a longform HP fic, so any reviews, comments, or feedback are greatly appreciated! Future chapters will not have nearly as much content reproduced in the fic- this was mostly used to provide the exact timeline as well as a few comparisons... Anyway, thanks for reading, and especially thanks to GrasshopperKnight for being my beta!

Edited 06/24/08 for typesetting.