Who Am I to Say?
By Angelis Raye
Basis: What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?
Chapter 4: In the Realm of the Visible
There was a faint unwillingness of Draco's attitude that day that was driving Harry into the deep end – that is, if he wasn't there already, with all that happened the past few days.
"Will you please!" he hissed at his companion, glaring at him dangerously, which immediately never failed to shut the blonde up for at least an hour. Harry was attempting to get his homework and studying done for Potions, and admittedly, it wasn't coming to him as easily as it should have been. Blaming it on Draco, at first, with his loudness, was the first thing Harry could think of, but that theory fell through, as he still couldn't focus on the task set before him with the other boy being silent. The only other thing that Harry could think of to blame was the infernal burning of his scar that he'd earned from the Dark Lord all those years ago on Halloween.
He couldn't think of why he'd be experiencing this sort of pain, now, of all times. Really, he was in the Library, and it'd never done this to him before – so, perhaps it didn't have to do with the place, but the people?
Glancing around himself, Harry only saw Quirrell, who was acting very strange, in the corner, a book trembling in his hands, his lips moving, but Harry couldn't hear anything the man was saying. Other than the professor, the librarian and himself, the only person in the Library was Draco, who'd never caused him any physical problems before. So, that made Quirrell the source of his concentration issue, eh? Perhaps it would be who of him to ask what the professor was doing and then possibly finding out why he was having such a bad reaction to his Defence teacher when he hadn't before.
Just as Harry was about to rise from his chair, however, the professor put the book back on the shelf, nodded to Harry and Draco a little nervously and scurried out of the Library.
"That was odd," he muttered, scowling, his brow bent in concentration. At least, now he didn't have such a disturbance to deal with that was getting in the way of his studies. He'd deal with Quirrell over the winter hols, as it would be him, a few other students, and the teachers that remained over the break. Harry welcomed this much-needed break, as it would be a way of getting rid of the Malfoy for a few weeks and he deserved some time off.
–
Bliss. Freedom. Silence... at last!
Without Draco there, Harry was free to study what he wished, when he so desired to, and all without the constant nagging of a spoiled blonde brat. Draco often told Harry he was too pale, too thin, and too reclusive to be a proper eleven year old. Not that Harry paid any attention to these remarks.
No longer did Harry have to conform to a schedule – well, at least for a few weeks – and could spend ample time in the Library, studying. Of course, there were a number of professors that were much too keen to let Harry on his own too much, McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, especially. He couldn't imagine why the woman was so intent on making sure that he stayed out of trouble over the winter hols.
Might have something to do with how strangely Quirrell was acting around him, causing his scar to burn at time, Harry thought. It was disturbing that it was only on certain occasions that the professor's presence around Harry actually caused such a reaction. Whatever the reason, it was proving to be even more annoying than Draco, if that was probable, having a teacher around him almost all the time. How would he be able to put into practice the spells he was secretly learning from the books he'd taken from the Restricted section in the library (of course, with Snape's permission), which he'd disguised as fiction novels. Thankfully, he'd thought enough to disguise them as ones he'd already read.
Sitting at the table that had been placed in the centre of the great hall – the four large tables were pushed to the sides – Harry glanced at the others sitting there eating lunch with him. All the teachers, except for ones he didn't really know all that well, were present, including a few that he guessed to be the Ancient Runes and Arithmacy professors. It was all too surreal, the first time, but Harry got used to the experience by the second day.
"How's your studies coming, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, smiling cheerfully at him.
"Well," he responded, not looking up but for a second to acknowledge the wizened wizard.
"Mr. Potter," came another voice, one he wasn't too familiar with – the Arithmacy teacher, Harry noted as he determined who the voice had come from. "I do hope that you decide to take my class next year – I've already talked it over with Professor Dumbledore..."
Harry didn't really care what the woman was saying, to be honest – he'd rather hurry and finish the meal and leave to find himself an empty classroom to practice his black magic in. Well, perhaps he wouldn't be so daring as to do that during the middle of the day, really, but he was looking forward to being alone in the Slytherin common rooms again tonight.
"I'm sure that Mr. Potter prefers to keep to himself, Madam Vector." That was Professor Snape, thank Merlin, who interrupted her inane ramblings, providing Harry a method of escape.
"Excuse me," he murmured, pushing his chair in behind him as he left for the Library once more. Suddenly, he felt the pain in his scar return, causing him to glance over his shoulder as he caught eyes with Quirrell. Harry honestly didn't know what the creepy professor wanted from him – but he certainly was going to find out very soon, no matter the circumstances.
–
Christmas morning, Harry came downstairs into the common room to find a pine tree all dressed up with a festive skirt, lights, and so forth in the middle of the room, with Professor Snape lounging in the chair, observing his Slytherin student, looking up from his book.
"I didn't know the headmaster was so inclined," Harry muttered, not helping but notice a single gift under the tree that was addressed to him. "Interesting..." he whispered, pulling the wrapping apart after reading the card that stated: "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you."
Within the wrap lay a silvery material that Harry couldn't help but feel awe over. "Merlin," he breathed, examining his only Christmas present he'd had in year. "What is this?" he asked his professor, looking over his shoulder, wondering if the older man knew anything about it.
"It's something that should be used in only dire circumstances, Mr. Potter – an invisibility cloak of the highest grade, I'm afraid," Severus Snape told his student, pausing for a second. "If I do catch you using that infernal thing to sneak out and cause mischief, I'll confiscate it until you've proved yourself worthy and mature enough."
–
But, of course, that very night found young Harry Potter wandering around the empty hallways of Hogwarts, looking for anything that might just be interesting enough to pique his curiosity. He didn't find it the first night. He did, however, manage to nearly get caught by Professor Quirrell, who was making his rounds around the halls, presumably. It was strange that he was suspiciously hanging around the third floor, which was supposed to be off-limits. What was it that he was so interested in?
Harry preferred to do a bit of research before diving into something. Mostly to save his own arse from getting into a good deal of trouble or from the painful consequences of being unprepared. He'd learned his lesson enough times from his younger days living with his aunt, uncle, and Dudley. Especially from that mentally deficient "Aunt" Marge and her bloody dogs. Harry cultivated a hatred for all things dogs, be it domestic or wild – the things just couldn't be trusted to play nicely with him, even if they are supposedly "trained".
So, this lead Harry to retire early that night (well, early for a night of exploration and mischief, that is) and dedicate himself to finding out what just might be lying behind that mysterious locked, door on the third corridor.
After a week of extensive reading and gathering of information, Harry merely knew that it was likely to be whatever Professor Snape picked up in Diagon Alley when he was with him. And what that was, he hadn't much of a clue. Other than the fact that whatever it was, someone had wanted it something fierce, breaking into that particular vault in Gringotts. And Gringotts was thought to be impenetrable? Well, obviously, not entirely.
Wait…
Wasn't Quirrell pacing the third floor corridor? And wasn't he the one that alerted the staff of the fact there was a troll on the loose on Halloween night? There was just a bit too much suspicious activity surrounding those aforementioned events to be merely coincidence.
But did that mean that Quirrell was his prime suspect? There could be a very good explanation for this from some of the other professors, but Harry would rather not raise any of the professors' awareness of his interest in the whole deal.
Under the radar was the best place to be, in Harry's opinion – being just below the sweep so he could get away with more things than others. He got excellent grades on his papers, but not too wonderful, as not to stand out too much, but well enough to appease himself and the professors. Doing well in classes also got the very same professors from breathing down his neck about doing assignments and so forth. And he only helped out Malfoy because he couldn't avoid it. Which was very unfortunate, indeed.
Concerning Quirrell, though, Harry wasn't sure how to approach this, exactly. Perhaps he should offer to help the "poor" and "stuttering" teacher some help with things? That might be a little direct, and he'd have to observe for a while before making his move, but Harry deemed that was the best route to finding out just what the Defence professor was up to.
--
In the meanwhile, however, Harry spent his time wandering and exploring the inside of the rest of the castle, eventually running across a room that was nearly empty. The room was empty: vacant, dust almost an inch thick on the floor and the chests and chairs, which were pushed up against the walls of the abandoned classroom; all except for a lone mirror that was very beautiful in and of itself, standing in the corner, very out of place amongst the dust and dirt.
The way it had been placed so specifically in that very corner, not exactly perpendicular to the door of the classroom, made Harry believe that someone put this mirror, for all its wonderful appearances, here on purpose. Whoever put it there didn't expect the room to be found all that easily, simply deciding to place the reflecting glass right out in the open. Obviously, the person hadn't expected that Harry would find the corridor the room was situated in to begin with.
Well, then… was all Harry could think, faced with the strangeness of this grand affair.
Perplexed, he moved slowly towards the mirror, examining it with care, his steps measured and purposeful; making sure that the invisibility cloak was still tightly wrapped around him. 'It could be a trap,' something in him whispered, full of suspicion and warning tones, but coming across as knowledgeable and experienced, all the same, causing Harry to err on the side of caution.
Finally close enough to make out the minute details, Harry found that the mirror had something engraved upon it: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
Initially, Harry dismissed it as some archaic language, but after peering around himself again, casting only a small glance to the reflecting glass, itself, a thought dawned upon him.
"I show… no-not your face… but yo-your…heart's desire," he whispered as he figured it out. Unbelievingly, he repeated it, mentally, in more coherent manner, still staring at the engraved words, not really seeing them anymore.
Once the thought of it sank in, Harry immediately looked away from the mirror, unsure if he wanted to know what his heart's desire was. Was he afraid of what he'd see, perhaps? Harry wasn't all too sure of it, himself, at the moment, but he knew that he'd regret it if he didn't find out. After all, would he be able to find the classroom again?
Hopefully, he would, but then, there was the matter of if the mirror would still be housed here. After all, this looked very much like a temporary storage area for it.
Torn with indecision for a few minutes, Harry debated with himself: should he look or forever hold his peace? A mental nudge arose from within him – sounding much like the voice from earlier – telling him, 'Look, will you?' sounding very impatient this time, throwing caution and suspicion out the window without a care, driven more by curiosity than anything else.
And so, Harry looked.
To be Continued.
--
Well, this was done in two parts, really. The first half was accomplished rather soon after I'd posted chapter 3, but I got side-tracked with school and didn't feel very motivated to finish the chapter -- until today, when I wrote the second half. That's that and now this one's finished. I hope that the voices of the two parts aren't too horribly different and conflicting -- I started watching Dexter about a month or so ago... and it's rather influence how I write Harry Potter fanfiction, I think.
Reviews, comments, questions (which will, as always, be answered as quickly as humanly possible), and whatever else you feel is an appropriate responce to this chapter is very welcome.
