Phew.Well, trying to finish this chapter was about as hard as trying to give birth. Writing complicated plot is hard. In my case, it often involves hours of staring at a blank screen and twiddling my thumbs while I try to figure out what to do.
duj: In general, I would agree with you about Riley being the sole arbiter of which fics our favorite green feathered beast ought to be able to play in, but this situation is sort of exceptional because as far as I know, Riley has totally left the fandom, and I'm not sure how to contact her. If I'm wrong, though, do let me know. :)
To everyone else: Thank you for the lovely reviews, without which I'm sure I never would have been able to get this chapter done. I'm flattered and pleased that you're enjoying the story!
Notes for ch. 4:
1. Anyone who used to play DOS games back in the eighties and early nineties and remembers a certain "maze of twisty little passages" should catch my nod to Colossal Cave in this chapter. ;)
2. The PoA scene where Hermione smacks Draco was too good to leave out of this story entirely. Chortle.
Draco was still carefully cradling the injured arm, but he was largely ignoring it as he gazed in wonder around him. Hermione hit the ground a few feet away from him with a muttered "oof," but as soon as she saw where she was, she too was rendered speechless as she looked around herself.
They were in a cavern with a ceiling that must have been thirty or forty feet high, arching down on all sides around them. What made it most spectacular, though, were the crystal formations that flowed down the walls like water, reflecting light prism-like in a thousand directions. But the chamber was too round, its formations almost too perfect, to have been made by nature's hands.
Hermione's reverie ended when she turned around and abruptly noticed that there was no way to climb back up the incline that had led her down. In fact... she looked all around the upper walls and ceiling. The entrance wasn't even visible now at all? "But - wha-" When logic failed her, her first instinct was to panic.
"It's probably magic," Draco said. "What did you expect?"
"Something that at least made some sense! I mean - when I go in somewhere - I should at least be able to get out the same way!"
"The staircases in this school also move. Does that make sense?"
"Well... no, but - " Hermione started sputtering on about everything she knew that might be of at least minor relevance, like spells for making crystals grow, the way other magical caves she knew of had been enchanted, and that water was the element associated with Ravenclaw. Draco let her drone on until her voice became background noise.
He sighed to himself. If he told her the truth about why he'd done this, he lost a friend. If he didn't tell her the truth until they managed to get out and his father found them, he still lost a friend. It seemed that the fate of a Malfoy was to be forever followed by brainless minions attracted by the name, the prestige, and the money. Never by one with interests so nonmaterial as hers.
To live a life unplagued by sycophants and carefully dressed, pre-planned destinies that had been designed for him before he'd even been born - these simple things that so many others could take for granted were denied to him. It made him wonder about the point of it all.
He sighed to himself again. Woe is me. "Hermione, I have something to say."
Hermione smacked Malfoy across the face as hard as she could. Her entire body radiated fury, from the set of her posture to the tips of her hair. Who would have known how quickly she could morph into raging predator when defied? Of course, no one at Hogwarts had seen one of her rages before. At home, in the muggle world, it had been well known to her childhood friends and younger neighbors how quickly one bossy girl became punitive when disobeyed.
"How could you?" she fumed. "After all this while of pretending to be on my side, you do this, you bastard."
Draco, like the male lead of Macbeth, had courage that was inversely proportional to that of the woman involved. The more enraged she became, the more he shrank away from her, looking more like a quivering puppy than the self-assured prince of Slytherin. "I'm sorry. When Father wants something, I have no choice!"
"Some defense," Hermione scowled, crossing her arms and feeling deeply proud that one side of his face was now markedly reddened to match his injured arm. "Snape was right. You're a pathetic, useless - "
"Hermione, listen. You don't understand how things are in this world; you always assume it's just like your muggle life was. Maybe your father actually cares about you. Mine doesn't." He made a sour face and seemed to be settling down to start feeling sorry for himself.
She turned away from him, arms still crossed, and starting pacing. The very last thing she wanted to do was forgive him, but they needed to get out first. And then after that was done she could go back to hating him.
Making up her mind, she pulled off her scarf and tossed it back over her shoulder. "Why don't you try and get that arm wrapped up or something. I'm going to see if I can do something useful and figure out how we can get out of here." Donning her most supercilious face, Hermione stomped off, trying not to acknowledge to herself that what she was doing was closer to angry stalking than actual reconnaissance. Her mind was certainly far too distracted to be paying much attention to the terrain.
Not for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, she wondered what in blazes she was doing in this world. The magical world, in its meager attempts to meander its way forward with the progress of time, seemed to have gotten stuck in the Victorian era or so. They still had a hereditary class system, ignored their women, and passed laws that served no purpose other than segregation and preservation of tradition. And forget about asking if there was an actual democratic government. What was she doing, living in this world? Was she hoping to singlehandedly persuade it to adopt the values of 20th century muggles? If she wanted the rights and respect she deserved, hoped to never be called 'Mudblood' again, and never wanted to have to rely on someone like Draco Malfoy because he had seemed to be the only one who didn't hate her, the obvious solution was to just go back to what she'd left behind.
And yet it wasn't so obvious. There was so much she would leave behind here too. She wasn't sure if she could ever live as a muggle again now that she'd seen what amazing possibilities magic opened up for herh.
It was just a matter of changing the entire bloody system of the magical world, that was all.
She sighed and put her hands on her hips, glancing up and around herself. She was still obviously under the strange crystal formation, since the sparse ambient sunlight was filtering through the roof and walls to give a dull blue-gray cast to the rocks around her. On the plus side, at least it wasn't pitch dark. On the minus side, it was possible they were all the way under the lake at the moment.
Wait. She'd been here before. She must have somehow been walking around in circles in the underground cave; it was easy enough to get disoriented wending one's way through the twisty little passages of the cavern. Walking in circles definitely wasn't a good idea. In fact, she mused, maybe she could mentally plot out the passages and she might find an exit neatly located on the other side of the lake. Then it would just be a matter of coming back to drag that filthy Malfoy out, and once he was safely in the infirmary she would never have to speak to him again.
She was certain the last passage she had emerged from was the one to her left, so she chose a different passage, a steep climb in the southeast, and started scrambling up to see what lay ahead. Going up was definitely desirable; she might break through to the surface. It quickly became clear she hadn't found an exit, though, when the passage ahead of her took a downturn again. After another half dozen meters, the passage opened up again, and Hermione at last clambered out huffing and puffing. The new chamber she'd reached was also lit with blue-gray ambience from above.
In fact... it was exactly like the previous chamber.
Hermione was not generally in the habit of swearing, but this time she muttered under her breath, "Oh, bugger."
The final staff meeting of the term convened in the morning as the students were trudging down to the train station, heading home for Christmas.
"Severus, I noticed on my way here," remarked Minerva McGonagall, her tone light but laced with a playful competitiveness as she settled into her chair, "the points hourglasses are looking rather imbalanced. If I didn't know better, I would think Gryffindor's is more filled than Slytherin's for once."
"Indeed," he mused, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "Your efforts at sabotaging my students' work have been of unusually passable quality lately."
Both tiny Professor Flitwick and elaborately-garbed Professor Vector, who was wearing a colorful headdress typical of her native Cote d'Ivoire, seemed to be trying to prevent themselves from laughing. McGonagall scowled across the room at Snape but didn't bother to retort, turning to the chair on her other side inside. "May we keep this brief, Dumbledore? Some of us have family to be with on the holidays."
He attempted to keep his tone of voice neutral, but his eyes were atwinkle anyway. "Of course, Minerva, and my apologies for calling you all here when you should have been on holiday. There are just a few --"
The door to the staff room banged open to admit a somewhat winded Hagrid. Dumbledore had started to push himself to his feet, but Hagrid interrupted with his announcement before anything else could be said. "Beggin' yer pardon, Professors, but I was seein' the firs' years off on the train, an'... well, there's two missin'."
He awoke blinking. It was difficult to tell while underground, but Draco imagined it had been the better part of a day. The crystalline growths arching across the ceiling didn't permit a view of the outside world, but they did admit a nauseating sort of gray light for the dishearteningly few hours each day the sun was up in the winter. He'd watched day fade into night yesterday, becoming very unpleasantly hungry and thirsty in addition to his having to cope with the ache of his arm, and settled down to sleep with his cloak used as a blanket. Light was emanating from the roof again, suggesting it was already the next morning. The train would have left already, and his absence definitely would have been noticed. What he found himself thinking of the most, though, was that his father would absolutely kill him for failing this. Now both Father and the mudblood were mad at him.
It was easiest for him to think of her as the mudblood at the moment. It helped him pretend he didn't care what she thought of him.
Hermione was standing over him, looking not so much infuriated as terrified. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and attempted to assume his usual facial expression, only partially successfully. "Wasn't sure you were ever coming back, Granger."
Her lips thinned. "Malfoy. We have a big problem."
The last bits of anything resembling confidence drained from Draco's face. "Another one?"
She nodded grimly. "It took me hours of random wandering just to get back here. There's no straightforward way to map the cave. This place - it wasn't made naturally. You were right, someone did it with magic." She frustratedly ran a hand back through her already-frazzled hair. "I don't know how it works, exactly, but if you try to move you end up back in the same place! Or another place that looks just like it. Or... something!" Hermione flopped down on the ground and made a loud noise of exasperation. "Look, Malfoy, I really don't want to be around you right now, but I don't know what else to do. I think we have to work together."
Draco carefully counted out a few seconds before responding. So she didn't hate him entirely enough to just desert him. Something was finally going his way, and he didn't want to mess it up by sounding too interested. "So it's a truce, then?" he finally drawled.
Hermione looked pained at being forced to acknowledge that fact a second time. "Yes. I guess it is."
"All right." They shook hands on it, then got to their feet. "You know, Granger, when places look too much alike, sometimes you've got to drop something to make them more different." He gathered up his cloak and other appurtenances carefully. "We've got enough stuff, I think."
"You mean... oh!" Hermione's eyes widened with comprehension, and then she felt herself starting to blush. "That's a good idea. I guess I was just too nervous to think about that."
"Instead you panicked and just ran back and forth." Draco started to smirk, but when he noticed her glowering at him, he begrudgingly forced himself to keep a straight face and stick to his most neutral drawl. "Right. Ready to try?"
They started back into the maze of the cavern.
An anxious afternoon passed in which the school and grounds were all searched twice. Dumbledore even had Filch go down to the sculpture garden and make sure no one was being held captive by the old Druid Dumuzi, who still liked to fancy himself a warrior now and then. Though there was nothing Harry and Ron could do, Ron seemed somewhat preoccupied with worry for Hermione during the several games of chess they played. Harry suspected, however, that he wouldn't have minded if Malfoy fell into a hole and never came back.
Dinner was especially good that night. It seemed the elves felt themselves underworked having to cook for so few people for a change, so they'd put in a great deal of extra effort preparing gourmet meals that could have rivaled those at the start of term feast. The effect was clearly lost on much of the teaching staff.
"Notify the parents, Dumbledore," Minerva was saying, her face looking lined and weary. "We can't do any more tonight."
Flitwick, who had spent most of the day skillfully negotiated the difference between Albus's optimism that the children might be found quickly enough to be sent home without any additional fuss and Minerva's words of caution, surprisingly chimed in to support her. "The train will almost have arrived by now, you know. Better they find out from us than that way."
Although it was clear that Dumbledore didn't like the prospect, especially since he as headmaster would most likely receive the brunt of the parents' anger, Severus knew he was about to give in. He impaled a piece of steak and put an expression of boredom on his face as he waited for the words to come.
"Very well. I will go to the Grangers," a defeated-looking Albus sighed. Snape let out a small, victorious smile. "Severus. You're their head of house. Go to the Malfoys."
The latter part had been unexpected. Severus was unable to stop himself from sputtering in outrage before he forced himself under control, not wanting to reveal overly much given who else was at the table. He settled for gritting his teeth and fuming.
"What is it, Severus," Dumbledore muttered in his direction in a stern undertone, no doubt having expected this reaction.
What is it. There were times when he wanted to choke Dumbledore. He was sending away the only two people in that room who had brains, if the headmaster did indeed possess a brain. "I do not think it is wise for both of us to leave grounds while he is here," Severus hissed through his teeth.
"And I do not think there is reason to suspect any person on these grounds. Is that clear?" the older man replied, sounding increasingly angry. Severus twitched in his seat, forcing himself not to reach for his wand and hex the damned old bat, and maintained an enraged silence.
"Are there any other objections?" Dumbledore inquired in a more regulated tone, this time to the entire table, and was met by silence. "Very good."
As several members of the faculty got up from their table to leave, Harry felt a hard elbow jab into his ribs. "Did you hear that?" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore's gone. Whatever that dog's guarding, whoever's going to steal it is going to do it tonight."
This was supposed to have been his holiday, but he found himself yet again engaged in a routine he thought he'd long ago left behind: slipping out to the apparation point behind Hogwarts for a conference with the elder Malfoy at his estate. With the fall of the Dark Lord, the surviving Death Eaters had become far more circumspect as to their activities, and most had broken off social ties with one another. It was simply too risky to chance exposing their connections. Although Severus suspected Lucius Malfoy was still in the habit of keeping a few muggle women chained up in the basement of his estate for satiating his carnal tastes, both of body and of bloodlust, the conniving scion of wizardom's most pompous family line had of course refashioned his public face along with the rest of the old crowd. He was quite the upstanding citizen these days. He only carried out his vendettas against those of lower blood in private now.
This would in theory be a straightforward visit; Severus would inform him of the situation with his son, offer his insincere condolences and fallacious assurances that it would be resolved soon, and get the hell out. He had far too much past experience with Lucius, though, to believe so naively that anything would be straightforward. Lucius was the slimiest species of Slytherin. He couldn't move one finger without being suspect. If nothing else, Snape mused, it would be interesting to attempt to figure out which pies Malfoy had his fingers in these days. And he had to admit it was sometimes rather nice to be in the company of someone who actually appreciated his off-color and vicious humor. Minerva never liked Severus's dead baby jokes.
Severus reached the bottom of the hill, cloak billowing behind him in the melodramatic manner only a swishing charm could bestow, and disapparated immediately after crossing the edge of the wards.
Some had joined the Dark Lord out of fear and some had joined because they expected he would ultimately emerge victorious and they wanted to reserve themselves a slice of the power, but Lucius, without a doubt, had joined because he got his jollies out of tormenting anyone he could construe as lesser than himself. And Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, Lucius was probably still being Lucius.
It was with the most delicate of pops that he appeared outside Malfoy Manor. Although it was still only early evening, the house's occupants were clearly already home, since multiple lights were ablaze and visible through the windows. Naturally, Severus mused. Whatever is it that Lucius does which he considers work? Bribing ministry bureaucrats? He let his mind wander to the most pleasant fantasy of being wealthy enough to not have to teach the Longbottoms of this damned world and witness his lab being blown up several times weekly.
A house elf came to greet him at the door, and Severus donned his most bored and condescending expression. "Ah, Master has been expecting you, sir!" the elf chirped, chivvying him inside and directing him towards the sitting room.
The blond man was seated in a tall-backed leather chair gazing into the crackling hearth in front of him while taking a slow drag on a pipe. "Good evening, Severus," he murmured in a low, hypnotic sort of tone. "I take it my son has somehow managed to bungle things up again, so Dumbledore thought it fitting to send you to offer platitudes?"
"You've noticed that your son hasn't made it home. Such astute parenting."
Lucius snorted a low laugh. "You haven't changed. Take a seat." Severus swept over to the other chair by the fire without further urging. "Brandy?" He nodded curtly, then accepted the proffered glass. Silence reigned for a few moments.
It was Lucius who finally spoke again. "So tell me, what has my son done this time?"
Severus studied the brandy dispassionately. "He and Miss Granger have managed to disappear."
Lucius liked to think himself terribly clever, but his expression became oddly closed for a small fraction of a second after hearing this detail. Severus silently drummed five thin, bony fingers against his glass and suppressed the urge to grit his teeth some more. Naturally. So this bastard was the one who'd dragged Hermione into it. "I don't suppose you know something about their whereabouts?"
Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were here to keep me apprised. On that note, what do you think it indicates, a Mudblood being sorted into Slytherin? Some are calling it a sign of some sort, and others, a call to action."
Severus sighed to himself. So much for the visit being a pleasant social call. Of course, it was folly to expect less from a Slytherin.
The note that had come wrapped with his best Christmas present had told him to use it well, and the first use it would be put to was indeed a worthy one. Huddled under the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron slipped out of the Gryffindor dormitory at a quarter of eight, being careful to stay in lock-step to keep the cloak as securely over the both of them as possible.
It was a chill winter night, and the corridors of the castle were so cold they could see their breath clouding in front of them as they made their way to the third floor. They couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves by lighting a wand, so they were forced to navigate by the tiny spills of moonlight that trickled through the windows. In the darkness, every statue's shadow loomed over them like some horrible beast. It hardly seemed a good omen for what was to come.
"We're going to set up camp under the cloak," Harry whispered, "take turns sitting awake in front of the door to keep watch... unless - "
They rounded the final corner approaching the door they'd gone through the last time they'd encountered the three-headed dog. Unlike the last time they'd seen it, however, the door was ajar, its lock broken open by a hex. Ron swore under his breath.
"... unless someone's already been here," Harry finished lamely. His stomach fluttered with sudden fear. For the first time, he truly appreciated what a crazy thing they were doing in going to face an adult wizard, and most likely a dangerous one. One part of him wanted to run straight to Professor McGonagall and get her to fix things for them, but another, stronger part of him knew there was no time now.
"Last chance to go back, mate." Ron looked paler than usual, but he was steeling himself for what lay ahead, which he clearly did intend to face.
"No way," Harry breathed. They approached the open door at a steady pace, and, under the cloak, aligned themselves shoulder-to-shoulder so they could squeeze through the gap in the door without having to risk moving it. When they got through, they found they needn't have bothered to be so circumspect, since the enormous dog was in a deep sleep, one of its heads snoring loudly and another drooling on its paws while dreaming.
"One obstacle down." Harry cautiously pushed the dog's paw off the trapdoor it was covering and peered down into the shaft below. "We have to go down together if we want to keep the cloak on. Ready?"
Ron nodded grimly, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and they pushed off the side of the trapdoor...
... and fell straight down four or five meters onto a hard dirt floor. Harry groaned, but he seemed to be unhurt, so he gingerly pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off. A stream of muffled curses was coming from his right. "You okay, Ron?"
"I think so," the redhead replied with a grimace, "but I don't know what in the bloody hell the person that designed this thing was playing at. That's their protection for the Stone, they're hoping anyone who tries to take it'll fall down and break his neck?"
There was a small plant sprouting from the dirty walls of the chamber, its stumpy snakelike tendrils writhing frantically as they struggled in vain to catch the boys. "I don't think so. We just got here too early, that's all. If that plant'd had time to grow some more, it would have been the trap."
Ron shot a nervous glance at the moving plant, its tiny arms still flailing in his direction. "Creepy."
The boys grew silent again and rearranged the invisibility cloak around themselves as they approached the single sloping passageway leading out of the dirt-walled chamber. It was impossible to know who might be waiting for them or where. The passage seemed to be deserted, though, as it wended its way down further and darker with each step. Harry idly wondered if they might keep walking down and down under the earth forever. That fear was allayed when they found themselves entering a glowing chamber. This chamber presented a challenge as well, but it was a magnificent one for Hogwarts' youngest seeker. Ron kept the cloak on and ran to the door leading to the next room while Harry, on broomstick, managed to snatch the appropriate key out of the air.
"Wicked!" Ron remarked with a laugh when they got into the room beyond, slamming the door behind them and pulling the cloak off again when they got a glance of what lay ahead. For the first time since entering this bizarre labyrinth, he almost didn't sound nervous. "It's almost like someone made this course just for us; that Quidditch challenge for you and a chess match for me."
Harry studied the life-sized chess board silently. "Doesn't that almost make you worry, in a way?" he asked in an undertone.
"Like a trap?" Ron answered, his face falling and his voice now also in a hush. "Yeah, I guess that's a point." He furrowed his brow seriously, the way he always did when thinking hard. "Would it matter, though? We can't go back now. We do that, and the Stone's gone."
Harry knew he was right, although he still wasn't thrilled with the situation. Maybe he really did have to go ahead, though. Everyone was always saying he'd never done anything to deserve his reputation, Malfoy and Snape and all of them, and maybe for once he'd have a chance to change that. Maybe he could really do this. He and Ron would be heroes.
It was with that hopeful mantra repeating in his mind that he stepped onto the chessboard, taking the place of a rook while Ron took the queen side bishop's square, calling out orders to the chess pieces, his eyes having to flick all around the board to figure out what to do next - it was no easy task playing chess when you were at the eye level of the pieces.
The game went on for what seemed like hours, Harry's knees and sometimes every inch of his body trembling each time he watched a chessman smashed to dust on the board in front of him. He felt some small consolation when he wondered if the fact that the entire chess set was intact when they'd gotten there meant no one else had been here yet, but when he noticed that the broken pieces on the side of the board were reassembling themselves, that hope was smashed just as hard as if bludgeoned with the opposing queen's stone arm.
It only ended when Ron sacrificed their remaining knight so he could checkmate the king. The king threw his crown at Ron's feet and the remaining pieces on the board parted to let him and Harry across, but Ron looked very shaken. When Harry ran up to him, Ron whispered, "If we hadn't had that last piece left to sacrifice, it would have been one of us..."
They put the cloak back on and opened the next door by the smallest crack that would permit them to squeeze through. Their surreptitiousness had once again been unnecessary, though. The next room was also deserted, although this time the challenge facing them definitely did not make Ron laugh.
The two of them stared at the array of potions lined up on the table in front of them, fire raging both in front of and behind them. They looked from the accompanying riddle to the bottles and back again in silence for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them either wanting or needing to admit to the other that they had no clue what to do.
Quirrell was pacing jerkily in front of what otherwise could have been an entirely ordinary looking glass. "I don't understand! What sort of test is this?"
An angry hiss of a voice answered him. "Unwrap me, you fool, if you are incapable of doing this yourself."
Despite a part of him that would rather have done anything else, Quirrell immediately acknowledged his master and acquiesced, his internal conflict betrayed only by a small whimper he couldn't entirely repress.
"Useless coward," Voldemort snarled as the host body he lived off of as a parasite turned itself around so he could look into the mirror. Before him spread a vision of himself, in his own body, intact just as it had been when he'd first begun to delve into the dark arts. The young man almost would have been handsome were it not for the venomous glare of his eyes. The Dark Lord's image clutched the Sorceror's Stone, the source of his power and eternal life, and he saw now that his old followers were beginning to appear around him again. Larger and larger the numbers grew until he was surrounded by an entire army.
"It shows me what I want to see. If only you were so accommodating, yes, Quirrell?" Voldemort let out a high laugh. "The looking glass does no magic. It only creates illusions. If the Stone is here, this trinket cannot hide it for long..."
The Dark Lord made a face into the mirror, trying to force it to misread his will, to mistake his desires. As he became increasingly angry, though, all that happened was his reflection became more and more gleeful. Mirror Voldemort had Dumbledore now, tormenting him with round after round of Crucio with each jab and twist of his wand. "This is just the sort of trickery the old man would create. He would think it profound... but it is shallow and meaningless." Voldemort snarled. "I don't suppose you have any ideas, Quirrell?"
His host whimpered. "I shall work on it, master!"
"Work faster," the Dark Lord hissed sibilantly. "Now walk me around the back of the mirror; I wish to see it more closely."
"This is bloody awful," she muttered.
Draco glanced sideways at Hermione. "Never known you to swear."
She turned back in the direction from whence they'd come and used her wand to mark the passage with a flaming X. "I suppose I've been doing it a lot today. Special situation." In truth, though, she was only half-thinking about their current predicament, the other half of her mind still preoccupied with how the wizarding world had ended up the way it was. Draco's words to her earlier echoed in her head. You don't understand how things are in this world. It shouldn't have had to be so complicated. She shouldn't have had to choose between being a witch and living in an equitable world. Here, everyone looked down on her for being an outsider, and maybe they were justified.
The thought made her even more miserable, and for the first time, she really began to doubt if she was anything at all. Just a Mudblood.
Draco had gotten a handful of steps ahead of her while she was lost in thought, and she trotted to catch up with him, the already-sore balls of her feet bemoaning the beating they were taking. "Malfoy," she panted, grabbing his upper arm when she got to him. "You suppose we could take a break soon?"
"Why not," he drawled. "The hunger's killing me, anyway."
"I'm not even awfully hungry. It's thirst I can't stand," she sighed as she sank down to a sitting position. Draco made no answer. He seemed to be preoccupied with unwrapping his arm to check the swelling. From what she could see, the wrist was bruised and somewhat swollen, but it didn't look like too bad a break. Maybe it was even just a sprain. Judging from Draco's countenance, though, it may as well have been castration. No one could accuse him of being stoic in the face of pain.
Attempting to keep her tone neutral, she abruptly inquired, "So. Do you feel the same way about me your father does? Just a worthless Mudblood?"
His face abruptly became inscrutable, which was an impressive accomplishment for him, since he was in the midst of rewrapping his arm and Hermione suspected he wasn't normally capable of being that phlegmatic about even a hangnail. Without looking at her, he answered, "I might've thought that at first. You surprised me, though. Never met a Mudblood before, and you aren't like what I expected."
Hermione, too, kept a stone face. She wasn't entirely sure what Professor Snape would advise her to do, but maybe it was all right to ad lib. "Does that mean I'm a friend?"
"Well. It means thanks for coming down here after me."
One corner of her lip quirked upwards. That was probably the best that could be expected from him, and for now, she'd take it. Perhaps she had a Malfoy on her side after all.
They once again stood before the mirror, still staring into it in silence.
"Quirrell." The Dark Lord's voice was soft. "Break the mirror."
"What?" Quirrell sounded panicked. "Bu- but if you are wrong, master, we - you - might never get it."
"Break the mirror."
Trembling, Quirrell fumbled in his robes, withdrew his wand, and pointed it at the mirror. The Mirror of Erised shattered, and a moment later, an explosion of bright light flooded the room.
"And how is my cousin?" Severus inquired idly, stirring his tea with a gingerbread man with the legs bitten off and looking rather disinterested despite the fact that he had charmed the confection to scream small, high-pitched shrieks of pain.
Lucius was still taking swigs from the bottle of brandy. There were some things that never changed, and Lucius having the tolerance for alcohol of a thousand-pound hippogriff was apparently one of them. "Ah, I'm sorry Narcissa couldn't be here to see you. She's visiting with a family friend in Italy--"
The next thing he knew, his left arm had exploded with pain. He dimly registered that he may have been screaming, and Lucius seemed to be as well. The teacup had shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor, and sharp fragments seemed to rebound off the carpet in slow motion. He knew no time. All he knew was the pain radiating from the Dark Mark.
Harry was slumped down against the cold stone of the wall, dark flames lapping up to the ceiling on both his left and his right where the entrance and exit to the chamber should have been. Ron continued to circle around the table of phials, reading the parchment with his brow furrowed.
"So if the small one is nettle wine, then the one on its right is poison and - no, I think the small one has to be to go back - unless of course this one over here is the one to go back, so then the small one can't be wine either - though maybe I should just give 'em all a whiff, don't you suppose poison would smell poisonous? Nettle wine smells awful too, though, I remember once Fred and George..."
A sound like an explosion resonated through the stone of the chamber, so loud it seemed to have come from right beyond the next door. Harry lept to his feet and grabbed his wand, but the wall of fire separating them from the next chamber stood firm. The nausea he had abruptly begun to feel was mirrored in Ron's face.
"Bloody hell... what if we're too - "
Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - stepped over Quirrell's crumpled body, savoring the feel of his fingers wrapped about the Sorcerer's Stone, stretching his young body with relish. It was such a beautiful thing to be alive again!
He prodded Quirrell with his foot to see if he was dead or merely unconscious. Dead, it looked like. Disdainfully rolling Quirrell's corpse over onto its back, Voldemort found his former host's wand clutched between his still-warm fingers. It would not be as good as his own wand, but for now, it would suffice. He pulled the wand out of Quirrell's hand and once again delighted in the feel of an object against his fingers. They were immortal fingers, now. He caressed the Stone in his other palm lovingly.
As tempting as it was to wait for Dumbledore to return so he could kill him on the spot, Tom knew that wasn't an adequate plan. Dumbledore was almost never found alone, and besides, he would need his own wand back in order to stand a chance in single combat. Time to summon his followers, then.
Young Voldemort pointed Quirrell's wand at a wall of the chamber. "Reducto."
The entire section of wall exploded magnificently, leaving a smoldering hole connecting the interior of Hogwarts to the winter night outside. Voldemort smiled toothily. It was nice to know that even with a strange wand, he was still a preposterously gifted wizard. He conjured a slide leading from the hole down to the ground below, then calmly walked to the threshold and swung his legs around to the outside of the wall.
"See you soon, Dumbledore," he whispered to the building, then slid down to the ground in a billow of robes and started jogging out to the apparition point to meet with his adoring followers.
Draco's head popped up through a hole in the ground on the far side of the lake, shortly followed by the rest of his body as he flailed and pushed himself out with one arm. Once on the familiar soil of Hogwarts grounds, he flopped onto his back, breathing heavily and paying no mind to the winter iciness of the turf beneath him.
Hermione emerged a few moments after, panting just as hard and having to look at the school for a long glance to believe it was true. "We did it. I almost don't believe it." She couldn't wait to find Professor Snape and tell him how right he had been. Clearly, she needed more practice before she could call herself a true Slytherin.
Draco rolled onto his side and remarked dryly, "Happy Christmas. Want to stop at the kitchens before heading to the infirmary? I'm still starving."
End of part I.
In the next chapter, let the shipping - and the war - begin in earnest. (evil grin.)