The Forbidden Corridor

Harry stood in the chamber at the end of the Forbidden Third-Floor Corridor. The obstacle course had been a pleasant break from studying. Fluffy had been frightening, but she wouldn't actually hurt students, so they'd just danced around until they'd had a chance to get through the trapdoor.

The one with the keys and the broomstick had been nice. He'd worried for Ron when he'd been hit by White Queen, but Harry had learned the Reviving Spell from Tonks, and after he'd used it, Ron had popped back up, none the worse for the wear aside from a slight unsteadiness that had passed after a minute.

The troll had terrified Harry, and he'd wondered what on earth it was doing in an obstacle course, but once he'd understood the rules, it had been his favorite obstacle of all. Shooting different targets with different first-year Defence spells had moved different parts of floor up and down, eventually allowing them to trap the troll in a corner.

The logic riddle at the end had been the worst. Harry had stood around feeling useless while Hermione solved it. There had, fortunately, been seven sets of bottles, with plenty of blank spaces showing where previous sets must've been, so Harry supposed that if they'd waited any longer in the year to try the course, there might not have been enough left for them all to get through.

Ron looked at the mirror as the others waited.

Eventually, Hermione said, "Ronald, you've been looking in the mirror long enough. It's my turn.

Ron reluctantly stepped aside told them he'd seen himself as Quidditch captain and Head Boy, etc

Hermione rolled her eyes (Ron didn't see, fortunately) and then Hermione gazed into the mirror, enthralled.

When Hermione had been looking into the mirror longer than Ron had, Harry told her it was Neville's turn. When Hermione had pulled herself away from it, Ron said, "Hermione, what did you see?"

"None of your business."

"That's not very friendly."

Harry said, "Ron, she doesn't have to say if she doesn't want to." They'd already established that the mirror showed 'Not your face, but your heart's desire,' and that might be private.

Ron said, "I said what I saw."

Harry said, "And that's fine too."

Hermione said, "If my deepest, most powerful desire was to be Head Girl and Quidditch Captain, I wouldn't brag about that."

Ron said, "Probably all you saw was a report card of nothing but Os."

Hermione snorted. "That wasn't what I saw. But I hate to break it to you, Ronald, but if you want to be Head Boy, you'll need to get a lot of Os, and not complain all the time about studying."

Neville stood before the mirror, the argument continued, and Harry sighed. He liked them both separately, but together they were a bit much. Like baking soda and vinegar. Unfortunately, they were usually together, since they were usually with him.

The bickering had died down by the time Neville had had a long enough look. Harry pulled Neville away, and Ron said, "What did you see?"

"M-my parents. They were..." Neville trailed off, and, perhaps because he was fresh from arguing with Hermione, Ron didn't pry about what his parents had been.

Harry took his turn, wondering what he'd see.

Earlier, Hagrid had let Flamel's name slip, and when he'd mentioned it to Tonks, she'd told him all about Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone, so for the briefest moment, he wondered if the Stone might be hidden in the mirror. But he no longer thought it was in the Forbidden Third-Floor Corridor at all, and he wasn't very concerned with finding it.

Looking into the mirror, he saw himself and about 10 others. A red-haired woman standing right behind his reflection, smiling and waving, yet crying. The black-haired man beside her put his arm around her. From the pictures and the memories Tonks had shown him, Harry recognized his parents.

And there were other people in the mirror, people with green eyes like his, noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly eyes. And standing at the edge of the reflection, some distance from the others, was Tonks, giving him a grin.

He glanced away from the mirror, at Neville. The two of them had more in common than Harry had first thought.

#

#

The night after exams, Quirinus Quirrell stood at the end of the Forbidden Third-Floor Corridor.

The Forbidden Third-Floor corridor was such an obvious red herring that Quirrell had assumed the whole year that the stone wasn't actually there, and he'd made only token efforts to get in, feigning incompetence. But every place he'd checked, even Dumbledore's private quarters (which had been hell to get into) had showed no sign of it, and at last, the day after exams, Quirrell had had no place left to look.

Getting through the obstacle course hadn't been easy for him, and it galled him that at least twenty children had been through it. Variable difficulty was ancient primal magic, of the sort that had little to do with wands, and Dumbledore was using it for a calculated insult.

But at last, Quirrell was through, staring into the mirror. In the mirror, he saw himself holding the stone. But was that just an illusion? Just another red herring? A few detection spells indicated the stone really was in the mirror, but he'd expect Dumbledore to add that sort of layer to his red herring.

The mirror had an inscription, but neither he nor Lord Voldemort recognized the language, (Quirrell thought it looked a little like basque except there weren't any Zs) so there seemed to be little help there. It all came down to skill in magic, and even as learned and powerful as he was, Quirrell knew he would've been lost without his master's instructions.

Even so, they were balancing on a razor edge, the slightest mistake away from being trapped in the mirror along with the stone.

But in the end, by the thinnest of margins, no mistake was made, and out of the mirror came a blood-red stone.

Hands trembling, Quirrell cut himself on it, let the blood soak into the stone, and out of it came a clear fluid not unlike water, if water shone.

He drank it, and energy filled him. His pains, his aches, the slow rotting of his flesh, all gone, all banished, the liquid healing him more even than Unicorn blood had. With this, he could survive his master's exit.

Quirrell said, "My Lord, should we conduct the ritual to restore your body here?"

The hissing voice of Voldemort said. "There's too much chance we'll be interrupted. Proceed to the edge of the grounds as if nothing is wrong, then apparate to hideout three."

Passing through obstacles that were no obstacle at all when going backward through the course, Quirrell said, "The Elixir of Life is just how I thought it would be."

"...Is it now?" said Voldemort.

"I feel so alive."

Still high on success, thrilled by the energy coursing through him, Quirrell spoke out of turn to his master as he seldom did. "Dumbledore should've protected it better."

Voldemort hesitated, too briefly for Quirrell to notice. "It is surprising. But he is getting old. Making mistakes. Letting things slip."

Quirrell came up through the trap door, the Cerberus still asleep to the music. For the briefest moment, Quirrell considered killing it, but Lord Voldemort had warned him of Dumbledore's plans within plans and the danger of doing what was unnecessary.

He ghosted through the still, dark castle reigning in excitement, and caught sight of a small, familiar figure.

"What providence," murmured Voldemort. "Kill him. Not with magic. More indirectly."

Quirrell reached into his pocket.

#

#

Harry's alarm went off, and he rolled out of bed and slipped on his shoes. Followed by pants, a heavy shirt, the jumper from Ron's mum, his robes, and a warm wool cap. It was cold outside.

He had mentioned to Tonks that he'd never watched the sun rise, and according to her, that was unacceptable. Sunrise in Scotland in June happened at an ungodly early hour and Tonks wanted them to watch it 'from even before the sky starts to lighten,' so he was meeting her at the top of the Astronomy Tower at three-thirty in the morning. She'd promised to have pastries and strong coffee.

He slipped on his invisibility cloak last of all, given that that curfew hadn't ended, and exited quietly through the portrait hole.

He headed toward the Astronomy Tower, and before long, took a wrong turn. Hogwarts was dark, lit only be low candles widely spaced and the light of the half moon, and peering through the thin fabric of the invisibility cloak didn't help. Though he was nervous about Filch, he took the cloak off.

He reoriented himself when he realized where in the castle he was, continued on, and a voice said, "Potter."

He jumped, turned and saw the distinctive silhouette of Professor Quirrell, turban and all. Harry shrank, thinking he should've put the cloak back on once he'd figured out where he was.

Harry said, "Professor Quirrell. I'm sorry. I'm up early, not late. I'm meeting my cousin at the Astronomy Tower to watch the sun rise. Please don't take any points."

From his pocket, Quirrell drew a long dagger covered in black inscriptions. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not taking any points."

"Professor?"

Quirrell advanced, knife raised. "Hold still, Mr. Potter. It'll be easier on you that way."

Harry did not think. He reacted to an adult coming at him with a dagger exactly as Tonks had taught him to. "Flipendo! Impedimenta! Petrificus Totalus."

With a flick of Quirrell's wand, a dark grey shield rose, like thin black gauze. When each spell struck it, light flashed and thunder rumbled. Quirrell wore an expression both surprised and pained, and Harry shouted, "Fumos!"

A thick, opaque cloud of dark grey smoke billowed out of his wand, blocking Quirrell's view.

Quirrell cast the counter spell and the smoke dispersed, revealing an empty corridor.

"What?" said Quirrell.

Beneath his hastily thrown on invisibility cloak, Harry held his breath.

"Amplio Auditus," said Quirrell, pointing his wand at himself.

Harry didn't know the spell. But Amplio was like amplify, and auditus... like audio? Amplify Sound? Quiet. Quiet. He had to stay quiet. For several long moments it seemed to work. His lungs burned, but he could let them.

Quirrell smiled. "I hear you, Harry Potter!" Quirrell's wand flicked again, and Harry flipped through the air, his invisibility cloak torn from him. He hit the wall with a thud, his wand flew from his hand, and blood trickled down his forehead and hung on his eyelashes. He was screaming and didn't know it.

"Don't move," said Quirrell, leaning over him, extending the knife.

As it plunged toward him, Harry batted it away with his left hand, too frightened and full of adrenaline to even notice the bloody gash the contact drew on his left hand.

White fire exploded around Professor Quirrell.

#

#

As she walked through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, a blanket under one arm, the handle of a picnic basket over the other, Tonks worried about Harry. Not for any rational reason. She'd worried about Harry frequently ever since the troll. The fear struck her at odd moments, like the thought that something dangerous was hidden in the dark, or the sudden, baseless suspicion that the house would be robbed while she and her parents were away. And she told herself, as she always told herself, that it would be fine, as it always was, and she would feel silly after.

Still, she couldn't help thinking that she should've met Harry right outside the Gryffindor dorms.

So when she heard three large booms, she was primed to draw the correct conclusion.

Before the third boom was over, Tonks had dropped the blanket and set the picnic basket down, hurriedly but not carelessly, since it was probably just some prank of Peeves and she'd be a bloody idiot if she ruined their breakfast for that, and she took off running in the direction she thought the booms had come from.

Another bang adjusted her course, and increasingly close yelling adjusted it further. She dashed down a spiral staircase and saw two figures against a wall not far from the bottom of it. A screaming from a student the size of a first-year, and a familiar turbaned form.

Though she was still whole flights from the bottom, she jumped off the spiral staircase, silently casting Arresto Momentum on herself as she did, keeping her descent just slow enough that she could safely land.

Silver light of the half moon glimmered off Quirrell's raised dagger.

Tonks knew a multitude of fire spells, but even later, looking at the memory in a pensieve, she couldn't say which she used. All of them, perhaps.

White flame blazed toward Quirrell, scorching the stone and roaring like a dragon.

Quirrell whirled, raising his dark shield, and it wasn't quite enough. Tendrils of white flame broke through, reaching for him like a live thing, and even as he dispelled her flame, his skin burned where the flames brushed him, and his turban was set alight.

The tip of his wand batted her Stupefy aside, and a motion of his off-arm threw off the burning turban.

"Kill it," said a sibilant voice even as Quirrell said, "Avada Kedavra!"

Green light flashed. She dived aside while conjuring a wolf to take the curse for her, and she silently cast Reducto as Quirrell stumbled, the casting of the Killing Curse appearing to have taken a lot out of him.

Quirrell deflected her blasting curse into a wall with an instinctive Protego. He rifled through a blinding fast series of dark curses that she frantically blocked or dodged, and she was finally caught at the end by the simplest and quickest spell of them all.

Expelliarmus. The Disarming Jinx, cast with no little power. She fell to her knees and her wand flew into Quirrell's open hand.

Though she'd always thought it would be cool to face death with eyes wide open, her eyes flickered shut.

And flickered open when Quirrell screamed.

#

#

When Tonks appeared and attacked Quirrell, Harry thought she would take care of everything. Just like the troll.

Then Quirrell tore his turban off, revealing that he had a face on the back of his head.

The face's eyes stared into Harry's, and Harry stared into them.

"Kill it," the face said, even as Quirrell tried to hit Tonks with the green light of nightmares.

Harry thought killing it sounded like an excellent idea. He climbed woozily to his feet as Tonks and Quirrell exchanged a dizzying array of spells, an exchange Tonks was clearly losing from how she was dancing around while Quirrell stood in place.

He didn't see his wand, so he ran at Quirrell.

The face looked surprised. The face said, "Quirrell!"

Then Harry was leaping on Quirrell's back, digging his sharp chin into the thing's face, clawing at Quirrell's own face, burrowing into the Professor's eyes with thin fingers, and Quirrell screamed as smoke rose, Harry not even noticing that wherever he touched, Quirrell's skin burned, and wherever his blood touched, Quirrell's flesh boiled off

Tonks lunged forward and tore her wand from Quirrell's grasp even as her left hand pinned Quirrell's wand arm.

Wand tip right to the man's stomach, she shouted, "Stupefy," and followed it immediately with a silent disarming, hurling Quirrell's wand halfway down the corridor.

Unconscious, Quirrell fell forward and Harry slipped off his back.

"Incarcerous, Silencio," Tonks said, binding Quirrell in tight cords.

Pitted and burned though it was, there was recognizably a face on the back of Quirrell's head, and as she watched, it twitched, one blue eye tracking her wand.

"Bloody hell," whispered Tonks.

Harry spotted his wand, and, still heart still beating so fast he heard his own pulse, he grabbed it immediately.

Grey mist rose from the face, and the grey mist had a face. Vague, like a child's painting, or an oddity of cloud formation, yet even as the mist moved, the face remained.

Harry batted at the grey mist, blood spattering from the deep gash on his hand, and wherever the blood flew, rents were torn through the mist. He waved his wand back and forth through it, sparks fountaining from his wand. Not a spell, but, pure, unshaped magic, the contact of the sparks with the grey mist creating a cracking hiss like pouring cold water on a hot pan.

Harry knew he could do better than sparks. Months ago, on Halloween, Tonks had told him about a spell for doing real damage to a spectre, and she'd said it was probably beyond him. He'd learned it so she'd be impressed.

Harry and Tonks screamed "Neco Wight!," at the same moment.

The grey mist fled down the corridor, and Tonks chased it with another spell. "Expecto Patronum!" she cried, and the shining hare went after it down the corridor, and when it reached the grey mist, the shining hare did what Tonks had never heard or read of a Patronus doing.

It swallowed the spirit whole.

:::

Um, so, I see the last two updates are getting a lot of reviews. But for whatever reason, I can't view the reviews. It's really annoying. I want to read my reviews. They make me happy inside. Please continue reviewing, even in the face of this futility. I assume I'll get to see them someday.

Monstrosity, by JLL. It's on amazon, in the books department. It only costs 99 cents. For a while, I wasn't posting this request at the end, but then I looked at on the Kindle reader again, and reminded myself that it really is pretty good. Adventure, mystery, violence, mostly unstated romance, a twist ending and a weird narrative flip.

I love reviews of my fanfics on this website. But reviews of my book on amazon and goodreads? That's something else.

I feel like this was a good chapter.