I apologize ahead of time for making you reread the part about the obstacles. I did make some somewhat important changes, though, so I'm not very sorry.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except for parts of the story line and my little twists. Things you recognize are probably from the books or TV show.
BOOK ONE
Chapter VI
"I... I don't remember what happened," Neville was murmuring, sounding very confused.
Harry hesitated at the half-closed door of the infirmary to listen.
"What do you remember?" Madam Pomfrey asked kindly, licking the tip of her finger before turning the page of her book.
Neville started to shake his head and stopped with a wince of pain.
"Nothing," he whispered, twining his fingers nervously. "I don't even know how I got here, to Hogwarts. I was... on the train, I think, and then everything just goes black." He gulped. "Why can't I remember?"
"It's all right, Neville," Madam Pomfrey said briskly, snapping her book closed. "You had a fall and got a rather bad concussion. It isn't uncommon for head injuries to cause temporary amnesia. You'll be fine."
Harry pushed open the door softly.
"Madam Pomfrey?"
She glanced up and nodded to him, rising to her feet.
"It looks like you have a visitor," she told Neville cheerily.
Neville swallowed. Madam Pomfrey touched Harry's shoulder on her way out.
"Don't upset him," she murmured sternly. "I'll be back in five minutes."
Harry stared at Neville with some apprehension.
"Excuse me," said Neville quickly, shifting under the thin sheets. "Who are you? I'm sorry, I don't remember anything."
Harry forced a smile and sat down on the chair Madam Pomfrey had just vacated. He reached out and grasped Neville's hand.
"I'm Harry."
Neville smiled a very, very little and shook his hand.
"Neville Longbottom. But you already knew that, I guess."
Harry laughed uncomfortably and ran his hands through his hair.
"Um... yeah. Yeah, I knew that."
An awkward silence followed.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Neville asked, fiddling with the corner of his blanket. "The nurse thinks I oughtn't to know, but I'd like to."
"Okay," said Harry, thinking uneasily that he was starting off their real acquaintance with lies. "From what I've heard – I wasn't... there because I'm in Slytherin and you're in Gryffindor – you fell down a flight of stairs in the dorm and got knocked up pretty bad."
"What month is it?"
"It's March," Harry told him.
Neville winced.
"I'm missing about half a year's worth of memories, then." His eyes widened and he sat up straighter. "I'm missing practically all of my first year! I don't remember any of the classes!"
Harry shrugged.
"It's all right. I'm sure you'll be able to catch up. We didn't do anything too difficult."
"I don't know," said Neville, grimacing. "I've never been too great with books or spells."
"Neville," Harry started, picking his words carefully, "there's just one thing I need to know. You can't remember anything? Nothing at all about what happened between the train and now?"
Neville seemed confused by his solemnity.
"Um... No. No, I can't."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am," Neville insisted. "What's so important about it, anyway?"
"Nothing really," said Harry. He cleared his throat and rose. "Well, I've got to go, Neville. I'll come back soon."
It was weird to hear the story of Neville's "accident" from Ron's point of view.
"I was going to bed after my expedition in the woods with Hagrid," Ron was telling a group of awed students in the library. He had become quite a celebrity, having been first on the scene. "And I started up the stairs and I saw him lying on the ground with his head all bloody and smashed in, with a broken wrist and everything! So of course I brought him to Madam Pomfrey's and she said that he'd gotten a fractured skull..."
"It was just a concussion," Harry muttered from his spot on the sidelines.
Ron looked indignant but did not reply.
"Anyway," he continued, "now he's lost his memory and he'll be stuck in the infirmary for several days."
After the crowd had dispersed with a few lingering, admiring looks at Ron, Harry poked his shoulder.
"I never asked," he said. "How was your 'expedition in the woods'?"
Ron shrugged and scratched his ear absently.
"It turned out to be okay. Nothing much happened, but it was awfully dark. Hey, Harry, can you show me that essay Hermione corrected for you? She said I need to figure out how to do my homework on my own."
"I'm not sure this is what she meant," Harry said doubtfully, nonetheless digging inside his bag for the scroll.
"Oh, it's all right," said Ron airily, taking it with a wave of thanks and starting to compare it with his own. "Have you gotten anywhere with Snape and his intended quarry?"
"Not really," Harry replied, staring drearily at the fat raindrops sliding rapidly down the misty windows. It was very grey and very cold, and Mrs. Weasley's sweater was coming in handy, although Harry was beginning to see what Ron meant when he said it was scratchy. "I don't know where to keep looking, and to tell the truth there's really nothing left to be found. He isn't trying anything as of yet so I can't catch him in the act. I'm sort of at a standstill."
"Well, I have news," Ron informed him, rather proudly. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Dumbledore's gone to a meeting in London. If Snape tries anything, now is the perfect time."
"What can we do about it?" Harry asked, lapsing in languor again.
"I don't know. The problem is that all the professors trust him, so they won't suspect him. He'll even know how to get past Fluffy because, although he and Hagrid don't talk much, Hagrid basically just told him how."
"You think he was the dragon egg man?"
"I didn't say that," Ron protested. "And no, I don't think so. Maybe one of his..." he looked around furtively, "henchmen. Hagrid probably would have recognized his voice. I would have; I have nightmares about it. Anyway, I think it's our duty to protect the stone."
Harry was beginning to have serious doubts about the whole business.
"To tell you the truth," he said slowly, "I'm not sure if we're even right about this. We've never seen the Philosopher's Stone nor the contents of the package, so how do we know they're the same?"
"We don't," Ron replied, sounding frustrated. "But we can't just leave it to be stolen. We can at least check on it."
"Ron, we'd also have to get past Fluffy and all the other horrors the professors have set up to protect the mystery package. Snape is a much more skilled wizard than either of us, so for him it's much easier."
The rest of the students were starting to move about, picking up their books and bags, and Harry glanced at the clock. It was very old and the wood was starting to crack, and it was about thirteen minutes slow. He calculated the time quickly.
"Let's go. We don't want to miss dinner."
"Sounds good," said Ron, hopping off his perch. "Listen, I'll collect Hermione and we'll meet you on the third floor tonight."
It wasn't until Harry had already left his dorm that he realized he had never told his friends about the invisibility cloak. Ron was talking to Hermione in a low voice when he crept up.
"Hey!" he hissed.
Ron gave a squeak of fright and must have jumped a mile. Even Hermione looked flustered. Harry uncovered his head, grinning widely.
"What on earth..." Ron spluttered. "How did you... you're headless, just... just... the other way round!"
"I'm a specter," Harry told him wisely. "The specter of the head of Harry Potter."
Hermione reached out and blindly grabbed hold of the cloak.
"It's an invisibility cloak," she whispered excitedly, fingering the invisible material. "Harry, you never said you had one of those!"
Harry folded the cloak neatly.
"I forgot," he said calmly.
"You forgot," Ron echoed in disbelief. "You forgot!"
He shook his head incredulously. Hermione was still admiring the shimmery cloth in Harry's hands. She stroked it.
"It's so silky. I didn't think they... but come on. We can't waste time."
The door was unlocked, but they didn't think to question that, instead slipping in quietly in a single file. Fluffy was snoring and snuffling loudly, rolled over on his back, his legs splayed out every which way. He was displaced several feet from his prior position, and so now they saw the trapdoor.
The door itself was askew. It had been sloppily replaced by whoever was now exploring the depths below. It was strange to see physical evidence of another's presence; up until now they had always assumed that Snape was planning on stealing the stone, but they had never really thought of confronting him.
"Fluffy's asleep," Harry murmured unnecessarily, rubbing the smooth wood of his flute with his thumb. "Are you both sure we should do this?"
The vehement (but carefully quiet) affirmatives that followed decided that, and Harry hoisted up the trapdoor for Ron and Hermione. It squeaked and grated against the floor, and more than once he stopped to gaze back at the three-headed dog, which continued to slumber peacefully.
They ended up in a pile of what felt like a knotty plant. It was very difficult to find his bearings, and to figure out in what direction he was pointing. When he tried to move, he found he couldn't. Long, curling strands of a vine or stalk were wrapping around him, gripping tighter and tighter as he fought to get out. From the scuffling sounds nearby, Ron was trying to do the same thing.
"Stop," Hermione cried, her voice echoing weirdly in the empty darkness. "Don't move! It's a Devil's Snare!"
Harry froze, but Ron still thrashed about frantically.
"How does the knowledge that it's called a Devil's Snare help us?!"
"Stop moving, Ron!" Hermione snapped, more harshly than she'd probably intended. "The more you move, the tighter it closes around you. So stay as still as possible."
It was very silent when Ron did as he was told.
"I don't think we're doing much good here," Harry said finally, giving in and wriggling just a little. The plant started to swell around him and he quickly relaxed.
"I'm thinking, Harry, and you're not much help," said Hermione, somehow still primly in spite of her compromised position. "Listen, all we can do is give it time. Eventually it'll think we're dead and it'll let us go. So don't move a muscle."
At first it didn't feel like anything was happening. It was horrible, to sit in the dark with deadly coils wrapped around one's ribs and neck, and to know that a single movement might end up being one's death sentence. But then Harry began to feel the knots loosen, and then start to slowly push him under.
"What's happening?" he whispered.
"Don't move," Hermione hissed. "It's dropping us underneath. Let it pull away entirely... Now!"
They all three leapt blindly forward, bumping into each other as they landed.
"Lumos!" Hermione gasped. She spun around wildly. "There, a door! Hurry up or it'll catch us again!"
The door slammed behind them not a moment too soon; they heard a huge crash against the heavy wood as the plant continued its endeavors to trap them.
It was much calmer in this room. All around them were small objects with wings, fluttering and careening wildly around the room. On the other side of the room, there was a door. Harry walked across, almost expecting the little things to start attacking him, and drew a breath of relief when his hand closed around the door handle and nothing happened.
Nothing did happen. It was locked.
"Alohomora," he said, not quite believing his luck.
He tried it again. It was still locked.
"Let me try," said Hermione, pushing herself forward.
It didn't open for either of them, and Ron didn't even try.
"This is just perfect," he grumbled. "How are we supposed to keep going?"
"It has something to do with these little flying things," Harry said, staring upwards curiously. "I think they're keys."
"Oh, really?" Ron said sarcastically, rubbing at a welt on his arm. "And which one is the right one? If each one is a key, there are billions of them and we're never going to find the right one, so we'll be stuck down here forever, trapped between a murderous, man-eating plant and a stupid locked door. What an ignominious end."
"Oh, don't be such a defeatist," said Hermione. "We just need to look at the lock. The door's old and sort of embellished, so I'm willing to bet –well, I'm not, but that's hardly the point – the key is old-fashioned. Big, too, judging from the keyhole."
"There's a broom in the corner over there," Harry observed. "Which of us should go? I'm not very good with brooms."
"I suppose I could," Ron sighed. "Hopefully I don't fall and break my neck. Just one more miserable thing to add to the very long list of miserable things that have been happening to me lately."
He mounted the broom and rose a decent distance in the air.
"All right, then," he called, glancing downwards and quickly looking back up again with a shiver. "What am I looking for again?"
"A large, old key," Hermione shouted. "And hurry! We haven't much time if Snape got here before us."
"There's one with a crushed wing," Ron yelled some time later. "It's probably already been caught. It looks right. I'm going to get it."
He whizzed towards it and snatched at it, but came away with only air. The winged key had danced several feet away at lightning speed. It was clearly not going to be an easy task.
Ron carefully ignored the key and moved slowly in its general direction before lunging for it. It wasn't fooled. Ron nearly lost his balance.
"What do I do?"
"You'll have to chase it."
Ron gathered himself up and zoomed forward, slowly but surely gaining on the key.
"Ron, look out!" Hermione shrieked, but it was too late. Ron tumbled head over heels off the broomstick and landed heavily on the ground.
They both rushed over.
"Ron, you all right?"
Ron gave a very faint groan and rolled over. He opened his cupped hands to reveal the key. Both wings were crumpled now, and it was hovering very weakly over his palm. He grinned woozily.
"Told you I'd get it."
Harry helped him up.
"Good job. How's your head? You landed pretty hard."
Ron blinked.
"Okay," he slurred. "I'm okay. Jushhhht... a little... dizzy."
"Oh, no," sighed Hermione. "This is not good."
"Open the door," Harry told her, trying to support Ron, who was a lot heavier than he looked with his lean frame.
The key fit. The door swung open, and they were met with a large expanse of alternating black and white squares.
"Tell you a shhh... ecret," Ron said to Harry in a loud whisper. "That's a chess board."
"Oh," said Harry. "Thanks."
He stepped out on the first black square, and two human-sized chess pieces blocked his way. He stared at them uncertainly.
"I don't think they're going to let us go past," said Hermione.
"We have to go, though."
"What about Ron? He won't make it through," Hermione argued.
Harry stared at the chess pieces. They stared back forbiddingly and stepped closer together.
"Tell you what," said Harry, slinging one of Ron's arms over Hermione's shoulders and slipping from under the other. "I'll keep going. You stay here. I don't think they'll attack if you don't go across."
"But they'll try to hurt you," Hermione protested, staggering a little as Ron sagged some more.
"I'll be fine," said Harry, waving his hand dismissively. "Just keep Ron out of trouble."
He ducked under the arms of the two chess pieces without a word of warning, and he just missed being decapitated as the sharp whiz of a sword swept over his head. He threw himself forward, dodging as many pieces as he could, and they followed him, moving in their respective patterns, but quickly all the same. A knight nearly trampled on him as he dived for cover on the other end of the board. The pieces evidently could not leave the board, because they just gazed at him with wooden eyes as he wiped the sweat from his brow and continued onwards.
It was a relief to open the next door and find an unconscious troll rather than a vicious troll, ready and swinging its club (he was only half grateful because, well, whoever had vanquished it was his sworn enemy at the moment).
He stepped into the next room and immediately a mass of purple flames flared behind him. He flinched away, his eyes flicking over them fearfully.
When he turned, he saw the final obstacle. At least, he figured it was final because he'd counted the number of obstacles so far, and there was only one respective teacher left, and that one teacher was Snape.
It was a table with a row of potion bottles on it. There was a thin scrap of paper lying beside them. He walked over and picked it up, careful not to touch the bottles.
It was a riddle.
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."
He frowned after he'd read it. This wasn't really an obstacle; it was a puzzle. And if solved incorrectly, it would prove to be a deadly puzzle. If Snape was already inside, however, he would have used a little of the "onward" potion (and of course for him the riddle wouldn't have been a problem) and so the bottle would be partly empty.
Harry replaced the paper and examined the bottles carefully. The third from the left looked partially depleted, so he picked it up warily. It was a clear, pale blue. He hesitated, not really wanting to try it without some assurance that it was the correct choice.
The left-most bottle couldn't be nettle wine because there was nothing to its left and according to the riddle, there was always poison directly to the left of wine. The "onward" potion was, he assumed, third from left (so fourth from left was not nettle wine) and it also was the smallest, so that scratched out the dwarf part. The largest bottle was second from right, and so it couldn't be poison, but it couldn't be either onward or backward because it was twins with the second from left and there were no doubles for onward or backward.
That meant that both the second from left and the second from right were nettle wine, which meant the first on left and third from right were poison. The right most bottle was the backwards potion because neither end bottles were onward bottles and it had to be different from poison but both nettle wines were already found. That meant that the fourth from left was poison as well.
Which accounted for everything. He stared at the line-up apprehensively and swallowed the remainder of the "onward" potion in one quick gulp. He waited for several seconds with bated breath, half expecting to drop dead, but to his immense relief nothing happened. Then he plunged through the flames.
The first thought that popped into his head as he took in the scene before him was It's not Snape! and then he had to sort out his mind frantically to deal with the new and admittedly shocking turn of events.
"Professor Quirrell," said Harry, his head spinning. "What are you doing?"
Quirrell had been there every single time the headaches had started, and Harry hadn't even noticed because he'd been so focused on Snape's dislike of him. It had been a stupid, stupid, blind mistake.
Quirrell tore his gaze away from the mirror before him, his turban perched rather sloppily on his head. He smiled.
"Ah, Harry! Just the person I wanted to see! Tell me, how did you get past Severus' little trick? I made sure to leave you some. My master wanted to meet you."
"You're the one," Harry murmured. He pressed his fingers to his temple, his head pounding. "You've been the one the whole time."
Quirrell shrugged.
"It appears so, doesn't it?" he said brightly. "I don't think…"
He was cut off by a third voice. It was a cold voice, smooth and duplicitous, and it was difficult to tell from where it came.
"Enough with the pleasantries, Quirrell."
Quirrell flinched and took a step away from Harry.
"Yes, m… master," he stuttered, cowed once more.
"Unveil me."
Quirrell started to scrabble at the bindings of his turban, his hands white and trembling. With dread growing in the pit of his stomach, Harry watched as he pulled it off.
The very first thing he noticed was that Quirrell was bald, and then he marveled at himself for observing such a trivial piece of information. Quirrell turned, still trembling a little, and Harry looked on Voldemort for the second time of his life.
The Dark Lord was no more than a face on the back of Quirrell's head, but if his face already looked like this, Harry had no trouble understanding the terror of those who looked upon his whole figure. It was white and misshapen, and gleaming red eyes peered from under a high brow.
"What are you doing here?" Harry blurted out, breaking the silence only to calm his nerves. Voldemort remained annoyingly unshaken.
"What you have suspected all along."
"Why did I need to come?" Harry asked, wiping his sweaty palm against his pants.
Voldemort must have made some silent cue, because Quirrell turned again and grabbed Harry's arm. Harry would have pulled away, but, while frightened, he was curious, so he let himself be led in front of the Mirror of Erised (at least that was what he told himself; he didn't really have a choice).
Again, he saw nothing at all besides Quirrell staring at him with alarmed eyes.
"There's nothing," Harry said, quietly. "I didn't see anything last time I looked in this mirror, and I still don't. I don't know what you intended for me to do, but I can't."
"You lie!"
Quirrell flicked his wand with a muttered spell. A beam of red light shot out and Harry was only just able to dive out of the way, his heart pounding. He scrambled away.
"You're lying!" Quirrell screamed again.
"I'm not!" Harry gasped, holding up a placating hand. "I'm not, I swear!"
Quirrell threw another spell at him. Harry ducked, and it bounced off the reflective glass of the mirror, ricocheting back and slamming into Quirrell's chest. His head snapped forward. Harry caught a glimpse of his shocked expression as he was thrown back into the wall with a heavy thud and a snippet of grey ghosted from his lips, disappearing into thin air.
Voldemort was gone.
Harry stared at the spot where he had vanished. He could feel the tremors beginning, spreading from his core until his whole body was trembling.
He remembered Quirrell suddenly. The former professor was slumped against the wall, his back bent at an odd angle. His eyes were wide open but glazed over.
Harry couldn't help it. He sank onto his hands and knees and vomited. It tasted horrible and he couldn't breathe. Quirrell's eyes just kept staring at him, and staring at him, and when he finally stopped, feeling weak and sick, he staggered to his feet and walked through the flames, unable to stand another moment in the room.
Madam Pomfrey promptly put him to bed in the infirmary. Neville eyed him curiously until she had gone, and then he spoke up.
"What happened to you?"
Harry groaned and turned over.
"I got into a fight," he mumbled, feeling very miserable and still queasy. One of the teachers had gone to retrieve the body already. He hadn't been able to give them many details.
"No kidding," said Neville, sounding surprised.
"How's your head?" Harry asked, just to change the subject.
Neville pursed his lips, suddenly downcast.
"It's getting better," he sighed. "At least it doesn't hurt anymore." He paused, and added slowly, "You know, you asked me before if I remembered anything. I didn't then... but now something is coming back to me."
Harry perked up a little, his interest peaked. He turned back to face the other boy, sitting up straighter.
"What is it?"
Neville frowned.
"You have to understand," he said quickly, "I think this is complete rot, but I heard... well, I thought I heard this voice… this horrid voice talking to someone. They said something about a plan. Something to do with their leader... a lord. You see why it must have been my imagination?"
Harry was silent for a little.
"Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I see why. Don't worry about it, Neville. I'm sure it was nothing."
Neville shrugged.
"I couldn't make much sense of it," he admitted. "It was probably a nightmare." He gave Harry a slight smile. It faded quickly. "But I have a bad feeling about it, you know?"
Harry happened to have a very bad feeling about it, but he disguised it well with a cheery grin.
"I bet you just had too much dinner," he joked, pulling the covers around himself. "Go to sleep. I'm exhausted, anyway."
"All right. G'night, Harry."
"'Night, Neville."
Harry was woken very unpleasantly by a loud, terrified scream. He jolted up.
"Hermione?" he exclaimed, his voice still groggy from sleep. Her hand was frozen on the lamp switch. The light was on, blazing brightly overhead. Harry blinked, and looked towards Neville's bed, his sluggish mind unable to process what was happening.
He sprang to his feet with a choked yell. Neville was staring up at the ceiling with blank, empty eyes. His throat was slashed open and dark, clotted blood saturated his pillow, his sheets, still dripping languidly into a wet puddle on the floor.
Harry couldn't breathe. He couldn't. His eyes seemed glued to the slow drops that splattered one by one from Neville's cold, limp fingertips into the congealing pool.
Hermione's strangled breathing reminded him of her presence. He spun around, grabbing her and turning her face away. She was still clearly in a state of shock as he led her out.
Madam Pomfrey met them in the passage.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Harry motioned towards the door wordlessly, still struggling to maintain his composure. The nurse stalked in, and a moment later he heard her horrified gasp. He turned his full attention to his friend.
"Hermione," he said shakily. "Hermione, look at me. Hermione!"
He gripped her shoulders and shook them, much harder than he'd intended.
"Hermione! Stop it!"
"He's dead," Hermione said, highly and disbelievingly. "He's dead." Her voice cracked. "He's dead, Harry. His throat was slit."
She turned to face him wildly.
"What is this?" she cried. "What's happening? I... I..."
Her face twisted and suddenly she was sobbing. More people were gathering in the corridor, some asking questions and others peering curiously and obliviously at the half-opened door of the infirmary. Harry could barely think.
They said something about a plan.
I'm sorry about Neville, everyone. I like him, I really do... but it was necessary. On a different note, the school year is starting soon (as most of you well know). The chapters will probably not come in as often anymore, but I'll still be working on this. Just a warning.
Reviews – especially constructive criticism – are always very much appreciated! Thank you!