I apologize most sincerely for the lateness of this chapter. It was due to three reasons. One, I crashed because of the end of the semester finally hitting me (2 As and a C, by the way; I think I might retake Cal.3 next spring). Two, the scene between Chris and Quirmort was giving me a fit. I had three different ways of them confronting each other that ended up in my trashcan. I finally wrote the ending here that I was most satisfied with. Third, I have found an online game that is quite addicting. Ever hear of Wizard101? Yeah, look for me there. I was up late last night playing it.
Anyway, I shall not ramble anymore for right now. You have a huge chapter ahead of you to read. If you see anything there that shouldn't be, let me know. I am only human, after all, and make mistakes. More info at the bottom.
Trivia: Some quotes here were pulled or adapted from other movies or books. See if you can find them.
Warning: Some gore at the end that may be considered T-rated. Consider yourself warned.
Enjoy!
Chapter XI: Down the Rabbit Hole
But nothing happened. The days rolled gently from balmy April into an abnormally warm May, giving no indication of the danger lurking around the school. Every once in a while, Hermione, Chris or Draco would slip into the third-floor corridor and check on Fluffy; the low growls inside confirmed that the stone was still safe.
Chris decided to send his mother a letter, inserting an innocuous comment about Snape and his classes. Her reply, almost as if she had known the underlying message questioning Snape's loyalty, consisted of three words: Trust Professor Snape.
Exams came rapidly upon them. It was swelteringly hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.
They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuff-box – points were given for how pretty the snuff-box was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them almost all of them nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness Potion. Chris just ignored the man and made his perfectly, while poor Neville accidentally made his cauldron melt, even with Hermione pre-preparing and ordering his ingredients so there wouldn't be any mix-ups.
Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Chris couldn't help cheering with the rest.
"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione, as they joined the crowds flocking out into the sunny grounds. "We needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."
Draco groaned as he lay down under the nearest tree, followed quickly by Hermione. "Yeah, and I needn't have written two pages on that goblin." His hand flexed in sympathy pains.
But Chris wasn't listening, pacing instead of lying down with his friends. He could feel that something was about to happen, something bad…
Draco noticed his fidgety attitude. "Cheer up, Chris! Exams are over!"
But he couldn't. Something just wasn't right. From his position on the grassy slope next to the tree, he could see a lot of the grounds, including Hagrid's hut, where it looked like the huge man was bent over something.
And then it came to him.
He jumped to his feet.
"What?" snapped Draco from his comfortable position.
"I've just thought of something," said Chris, scrambling to his feet. "We've got to go and see Hagrid. Now."
"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up. Draco sighed, then hauled himself to his feet.
"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Chris, now walking very fast, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"
"See what?" asked Draco exasperatedly, but Chris, who had broken into a sprint across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer. Resigned, Draco and Hermione ran to catch up.
Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.
"Hullo," he said, smiling at the three panting children. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"
"Thanks, but no thanks. We're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"
"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn't take his cloak off."
He saw two-thirds of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows. Draco, having been raised in the Wizarding World and familiar with under-the-counter transactions from his father, was the only one who reacted without surprise.
"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."
His heart racing, Chris sank down next to the bowl of peas, trying to keep his tone even.
"What did you two talk about? Hogwarts?"
"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah...he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here...he asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after...so I told him...an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon...an' then...I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks...Let's see...yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted...but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home...so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."
"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Chris asked, struggling to keep his voice calm, though he was sure the others could hear his heart thumping in fear.
"Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep–"
Hagrid suddenly looked horrified. He wasn't the only one; at once, the Draco and Hermione's faces dawned with realization.
"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey – where're yeh goin'?"
For the three of them had bolted from Hagrid's hut faster than you could say "Rock Cakes."
"I knew something was gonna happen," said Chris. "I hate to say this, but we've got to get Dumbledore. He's the only one who can stop Voldemort."
He looked around wildly as if expecting to see directions pointing him to Dumbledore's office. Instead, all he saw was Professor McGonagall coming toward the castle with a stack of books. She had evidently chosen to do her reading outside today and he wouldn't blame her one bit. Well, better her than Snape, he supposed.
"Professor McGonagall!" he called.
The witch stopped, the pile of books quivering at the sudden lack of forward motion.
"Mr. Evans, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing inside?" she asked.
"Is Professor Dumbledore around?" piped up Hermione.
"No, I'm afraid he left ten minutes ago. An owl came for him from the Ministry, very urgent."
"Great, just great," muttered Chris.
McGonagall narrowed her eyes at this suspicious behavior. "What is going on?"
Chris blew out a loud breath, throwing caution to the winds. "It's the Sorcerer's Stone, ma'am."
Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms but she didn't pick them up.
"How do you know–?" she spluttered.
Chris shrugged. "Really, you tell the whole school an area's off limits, and you think not one student might accidentally run across it? Not exactly a good security system, don't you think?"
McGonagall stared at him in shock.
"I highly suggest you send an owl to Professor Dumbledore telling him to get back here," he continued.
McGonagall tried to interrupt him. "Now, listen here–"
"Furthermore," he overrode her, "Someone's about to steal that stone to resurrect Voldemort, which puts not only the entire school in danger, but every witch and wizard in existence!"
McGonagall swelled up in anger. "Mr. Evans! That will be ten points from Ravenclaw for your behavior!"
"And if Voldemort returns because of your inaction?" retorted Chris. He really wasn't in the mood for this. "You're in charge of the school while he's gone, Professor McGonagall! Can't you feel that something bad's about to happen?"
"That's enough!" she shrieked, causing several nearby students to run in terror and Hermione to cow behind the boys. "You-Know-Who died ten years ago! He's dead! You three will return to Ravenclaw Tower this instant! I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but it will be perfectly fine until Professor Dumbledore returns tomorrow. I will be speaking to your Head of House about this incident."
And scooping up her books, she angrily strode into the castle.
"It's now or never," said Chris, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor at any time. He found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."
"And I'm telling you, it can't be Uncle Severus," hissed Draco. It was the first time they had heard Draco refer to the Potions Master in a familiar way.
"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater," Chris shot back.
Draco's hands were drawn into fists. "I won't go with you if you keep thinking its Uncle Severus," he said stubbornly.
"Fine!" snapped Chris. "You coming, Hermione?"
The girl snapped out of the ping-pong daze she had been in and bit her lip. "But what if we get killed or worse, expelled?"
"BIG DEAL!" shouted Chris. "If Snape gets that Stone and brings Voldemort back to life, you and I are dead! Do you think he'd be nice enough to spare you because you're so smart? You're a Muggleborn! I'm a half-blood! According to that crazy nut, if you're not pure, you're not fit to live on this planet! He'd turn this place into a school for the Dark Arts! Without Dumbledore here, the Stone is ripe for the picking!"
Draco shook his head. "I'm gonna find Uncle Severus and tell him. You'll see, he isn't one of His followers anymore."
"No, wait!" shouted Chris, but Draco had already disappeared into the castle. "Great, now it's just us."
A rustling in a nearby bush got their attention and out of pure survival instinct the two had their wands pointed at the bush within two seconds. The bush shuddered once more, then disgorged the offender onto his back.
"Neville?" asked Hermione tentatively.
Neville, covered in grass stains, sweating and clutching his toad, who seemed to have resigned herself to being caught again, stared up at the two Ravenclaws who still had their wands trained on him.
"Hi, guys," he said weakly. "Erm, I think you can put those away."
Chris blinked, then, embarrassed a little, stowed the wand. "Sorry, you scared us there."
"I heard what you said," he said quietly. The toad gave a soft croak as he stroked it. "About You-Know-Who and Snape. Is there anything I can do?"
"Well–" hedged Chris.
"Yes," said Hermione, jumping in. "We'll need help."
Quickly, she briefed the Gryffindor in on the situation. By the time they were finished, Neville's face was white, but determined.
"So you see, we have to get the Stone before Snape does and tries to revive Voldemort" – Neville shuddered – "with it."
"I'll meet you two there," he said, his voice quaking. "I've gotta put Roverta back in her enclosure."
"Roverta, huh?
"Yeah, it's Trevor backwards, with an 'a' on the end. 'Cause it's a girl, yeah?"
Hermione looked impressed. "Wow, Neville"
The boy beamed.
Less than an hour later, the three were standing in front of the door to the third-floor corridor. The door was slightly ajar. Throwing caution against the wind, Chris stuck his head in the door, then withdrew it.
"Fluffy's sleeping. Looks like Snape's already been here; there's a harp playing."
Cautiously, the three sneaked in, where indeed, Fluffy was out cold, all three heads snoring in tandem. A huge harp sat nearby, enchanted to play a beautiful song.
Between the three of them, they managed to move the paw that was lying over the trapdoor and opened it. All they could see was darkness, extending for what seemed like forever.
"So…who wants to go down the creepy shaft in the floor first?" Chris quipped.
Neville blinked.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Sarcasm, Neville. Sarcasm."
"Oh."
Chris frowned. "Wait a second…do you hear anything?"
The children froze. The harp had suddenly stopped playing and Fluffy was starting to wake up, yawning.
"Jump!" yelled Chris, shoving Hermione and Neville into the hole and jumping in himself just before Fluffy noticed the juicy piece of meat standing right under his noses.
They fell and Chris had just enough time to register that there was indeed something on the other end before he landed on something soft.
"What are we on?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," replied Hermione. "Some kind of big plant."
Neville, however, was staring at the plant in shock. "It's Devil's Snare!" he yelled.
This was confirmed when the plant began wrapping tendrils around their legs.
"Don't panic!" yelled Neville. The plant had begun wrapping around his torso. "Fighting it will only kill you faster!"
"Thanks, Neville, that's really helpful!" snapped Chris. "What will get it to let go of us?"
"They hate light, warmth, anything with heat!"
"Right then! On three! One…two…three!"
In unison, three voices shouted "Lumos Solem!"
The brilliant flash of simulated sunshine from the three wands caused the plant to cringe and release its prisoners. They dropped through to the ground below, landing rather roughly on their backsides.
"Oww," groaned Neville, rubbing his backside. "I think I broke my tailbone."
"If Voldemort's at the other end, a broken tailbone is going to be the least of our worries," said Chris, lighting his wand with a normal Lumos Charm. He squinted through the brightness. "There's a stone passageway ahead. Can't go back, and only one way forward. So…onward!"
He bounced forward, Hermione and Neville following in his wake.
They walked for what seemed forever down the dank passageway, their footsteps echoing loudly. Water dripped steadily down the walls and onto the floor, making them almost slip a few times.
Suddenly, Chris stopped, causing Hermione and Neville to run into him.
"Do you hear that?"
From up ahead, there was a soft rushing and clinking. It almost sounded like a ghost, yet still solid matter.
"Look, there's a light ahead!" said Neville, pointing a pudgy finger in the direction of a shaft of light some twenty feet ahead. Shadows darted across it occasionally, confirming its solid origins.
"Wands at the ready," whispered Chris, bringing the lit tip to bear. The other two followed suit.
They reached the end of the passageway and stepped into a large, impossibly brilliantly-lit room. Above them, quite high, were sparkling things, catching the "sun" occasionally with brilliant reflections. Opposite the children was a heavy, wooden door.
"What are they?" whispered Hermione, putting her wand out, followed by Neville, though both kept them in their hands.
"I don't know," said Chris, frowning, as he did the same. "Whatever they are, they aren't here just for decoration."
Boldly, he walked across the room, as if daring the things to attack him. But they didn't and he made it across to the other side. Emboldened, Hermione and Neville ran across to join him.
They spent several precious minutes trying to figure out how to open the door. Even Alohomora didn't work.
"Now what?" asked Neville.
They squinted up, trying to see through the false sunlight, at the glittering things. Wait…glittering?
"They're keys!" exclaimed Chris. "Winged keys!" He looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "Look! Broomsticks! The challenge must be to catch the right key!"
"But there are hundreds!" exclaimed Hermione. "Which one's the correct one?"
Neville examined the lock. "The lock's silver, so the key probably is too. Old-fashioned, too, judging by the size."
Chris grabbed up a broom and immediately felt it come to life in his hands. For a second, he felt one with the broom and, ignoring the cries of Hermione and Neville, took off.
Thrilled, he twisted and turned the old broom, weaving between keys, searching for the right one. They darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.
Almost, being the key word.
As Chris searched for the key, his eyes became keen, studying each key as he passed. His hidden Potter blood sang in joy at the feeling of being in the air, thrumming with each turn.
On the ground, Neville and Hermione stared in awe as Chris flew dangerously close to the walls, then almost professionally turned, searching for the key.
"Are you sure he failed broom lessons?" asked Neville.
"P-positive," stuttered Hermione. "The broom wouldn't even go into his hand!"
But he wasn't now. He spotted the large key, one wing bent, like it had already been caught once. Really stupid, thought Chris, as he gained on it. I would've taken it with me.
He stretched out and nearly caught the key. Probably not wanting to suffer a second catching, the key darted downward and Chris followed, directing the key toward Neville and Hermione. Neville ducked, but Hermione reached up and, as the key passed, she snatched it out of the air and ran to unlock the door while Chris landed.
Dazed, the dark-haired boy could only say, "What a rush!"
The door opened and for a second, there was complete darkness. As Hermione stepped forward, the room lit up, revealing a huge chessboard. As they stepped forward, Chris used his broom to brace the door open before letting go. It was a good thing, because the door tried to shut, then jammed on the old but sturdy oak handle.
"Anyone good at chess?" said Neville.
"No," said Chris, wincing at his mother's continuous flattening every time they played.
"Not particularly," said Hermione. "I'm more of a Monopoly person."
Chris frowned at the board, then stepped on the edge. He tried walking across, but the pawns blocked his progress to the door opposite the one they had come through. Backing up, he went back to the other two.
"It looks like we have to play our way across," said Hermione, her voice dropping.
Chris glanced at the broom, then grinned. "Maybe not. Here–"
He opened the door again. "I saw two other brooms over there. Maybe we can fly over it."
Hermione and Neville ran back into the key room and came back with the brooms. The key took the opportunity to escape and disappeared back into the mass of keys. Chris mounted his, letting the door shut and relock itself. Oh, well.
"No need to rush, just push up enough to clear the board and tilt forward slightly. The broom will do the rest."
"How do you know what to do with a broom?" demanded Hermione, trying to keep hers steady. "You acted like you didn't know how to handle one back during lessons, yet you just handled that broom like you've been on it your entire life! Not to mention, I've read about professionals who never tried maneuvers like that for the very simple reason that they're supposed to be impossible!"
Chris winced. This must've been what his mother had talked about, as far as someone recognizing the style. According to books he had read on the Potter family, some of his ancestors had invented and proven a few of the world's most dangerous Quidditch moves.
"Well," he hedged, "I had an accident when I was young and my mum nearly had a heart attack. I promised her I wouldn't get on another broom, especially when I got to Hogwarts. She's gonna kill me when she finds out what I just did."
"Um, don't you think she'll kill you when she finds out the whole story?" asked Neville, trying to keep his broom level.
"Look, don't you think the issue of the bad guy at the end of the tunnel is a little bit more pressing?"
"He's right," piped up Neville, blushing. He had spoken more to the two Ravenclaws since they had come through the trapdoor than in the past year. "The more time we spend here, the more time Snape has to get the Stone."
"Speaking of which," said Chris, nodding, "we've reached the other side."
Wide-eyed, Hermione and Neville looked down. They had gone above the chessboard, avoiding triggering the pieces and were now landing gently on the other side next to the door.
Well, almost.
As they lowered the brooms, Neville's broom's tail brushed the tail of the opposing knight's horse. The knight immediately came to life and swung his ball and chain around, slamming into the broom and sending the broom careening into the wall. Neville's head hit the wall with a resounding crack and he landed hard on the ground. There was no movement, not even a groan.
"Neville!" screamed Hermione. She jumped off the broom the last two feet and rushed to Neville's side, feeling for a pulse. She sighed when she felt it, strong and steady, under her fingertips. "He's unconscious, but alive."
Chris sighed in relief. The events had happened so fast there had not been any time to react. One second, Neville was in the air, the next on the ground. But there wasn't time to go get help. They had to go forward.
"Hermione, we have to go on," he said. "Neville'll be fine. He'll probably wake up with a huge headache, but otherwise fine." He faced the door. "So…what d'you think's next?"
"Well, we've had the Devil's Snare, that must've been Professor Sprout's," said Hermione nervously, still watching Neville. The Gryffindor groaned a little.
"Professor Flitwick must've charmed the keys and Professor McGonagall the Chessmen," murmured Chris. "That leaves Professor Quirrell's defense and Snape's – whatever it is."
The door was not locked. Chris pushed it open, only to be greeted with a horrendous smell. Through his tearing eyes, Chris saw a troll unconscious on the floor, a bloody lump on its head, an equally bloody club beside it.
"Well, I'll give points to Snape for doing that for us," said Chris, his voice muffled by his robe. Behind him, Hermione gagged on her vomit, but swallowed it down.
They hurried through to the next door. There was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.
"Okay, I'll bite," said Chris, stepping over the threshold, Hermione right behind him.
Immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.
"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Chris looked over her shoulder to read it:
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 of our number hold only nettled wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tried to hide
You will always find some on nettles 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, are all different size,
Neither dwarf or 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.
"It's a logic puzzle," said Chris, frowning.
Hermione grinned back. "Don't you see? A logic puzzle is perfect! Most wizards don't bother with logic; why, when magic seems to solve every problem in your way?"
"Hm, true. So…how do we know which one to drink?"
She stared at the parchment. "Give me a minute."
She started walking back and forth, glancing at the parchment and pointing at them. Indeed, a minute later, she faced him again.
"Got it. The smallest will get us through the black fire – toward the Stone."
Chris squinted at the tiny bottle. "Um, I don't think there's gonna be enough for the both of us." He examined the rest. "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"
She pointed at a round bottle at the right end of the line. He sucked in his breath.
"Okay, this is going to sound like a foolish Gryffindor thing, but I need you to drink that bottle – no, listen" – for Hermione had opened her mouth to argue – "drink that bottle, get back through and take Neville to the Hospital Wing. Take the brooms past the trapdoor and Fluffy. Then, as much as I hate to say it, get Dumbledore. I don't know how long I can fend off Snape, but it won't be long."
He shoved the bottle into her hands and pushed her toward the purple fire. She had just enough time to swallow the potion, shivering as it activated in her system, before she was pushed through by Chris.
"Well, here goes," he said, muttering to himself. He picked up the smallest bottle and drained it, making a face at the tart taste and the feeling of liquid ice in his veins. He stepped forward through the fire, into the last chapter.
Just as he had predicted, there was already someone there – but it wasn't Snape. Or even Voldemort.
It was Quirrell.
Chris had the sudden urge to burst out laughing. Too late, he was practically rolling on the ground, tears of laughter running down his face.
"You?" he laughed, clutching his stomach. "You?"
"Yes, Evans, me," said Quirrell, irritated. "What is so funny?"
"Oh, nothing, I just lost a bet, that's all. I was so dead set that I'd find Professor Snape down here…well…"
"Yes, he does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
"Well, you certainly had me fooled," said Chris blithely. "I just thought you never went to your therapy sessions. For the stuttering. The Muggles make medication for that, you know. Ah, well."
This threw Quirrell for a loop. Why wasn't the boy afraid? Recovering himself, he snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thing air and wrapped themselves tightly around Chris.
"Regardless of your suspicions, I cannot let you live, Evans. Not when I'm so close to success."
Behind Quirrell, Chris could see a large mirror. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
"Huh," said Chris, cocking his head. "What's this, then?"
"This, Evans," said Quirrell, a little snappy now, "is the Mirror of Erised. The Stone is hidden inside." He walked around it, tapping the frame. "But how to get it?"
The first thing that came to Chris's mind was Distract him.
So, Chris began humming. Because, as everyone knows, the more you sing an annoying song, the more mistakes the enemy makes. He started out softly.
"I know a song that gets on Voldemort's nerves, on Voldemort's nerves, on Voldemort's nerves. I know a song that gets on Voldemort's nerves and this is how it goes."
Quirrell stood stock still, his complexion whitening.
"I know a song that gets on Voldemort's nerves, on Voldemort's nerves, on Voldemort's nerves. I know a song that gets on Voldemort's nerves and this is how it goes."
Where before the reflection was presenting the Stone to his master, now it was of him stuffing earplugs in his ears and running away. Curious…
"I know a song that gets on Voldemort's nerves, on Voldemort's nerves–"
"ENOUGH!" shouted Quirrell, making Chris stop mid-song.
"Hey, you could've let me finish the verse!" said Chris mock-angrily. "I mean, really, didn't your mom teach you any manners. Oh, right, she died giving birth to your ungrateful self. The least you could've done is gotten yourself a cat and named her after your mother. Then you'd really be a bad guy. Instead, what do you get? A snake. I mean, when was the last time you saw a stereotypical bad guy stroking a snake?"
By now, Quirrell could feel the anger gushing from Voldemort. This brat was riling him up, big time.
"Take Austin Powers, for example. Not the man, the movie. The bad guy, Dr. Evil, he didn't have a snake, that would've been creepy. Never mind the cryopreservation thing that stripped the cat of all its fur. What was its name? Biggle – Biggles – Biggies – aw, it'll come to me later. Mom didn't want me watching the movie, but I found a way to split the neighbor's satellite reception to my TV. Ooh, you should've heard his wife when the bill came in, she was not amused."
"SHUT UP!"
Chris snapped his jaw shut as a very different, very ticked off voice shouted its immense displeasure.
"Chris Evans," it continued, its voice silky smooth. It seemed to be coming from Quirrell, but the DADA professor wasn't moving his mouth.
"Yeah, and you would be the creep who decided the snake look was in," Chris responded casually. "Really, the back of Quirrell's head? Could you sink no lower?"
Voldemort ignored the jabs. "Help me get the Stone from the mirror and I can promise you whatever your heart desires."
"I don't think that would work. You see, the only thing my heart desires is to see you truly vanquished. In order to fulfill my wish, you'd have to self-destruct. See the problem?"
"Is it really?" said Voldemort. "Look in the mirror, Evans, and tell me what you see."
Quirrell waved his hand and the ropes dissolved into thin air. Rubbing his hands as blood rushed back into them, Chris stood before the mirror and had to fight to breathe.
For in the mirror were his birth parents, Lily and James Potter. They were smiling at him. His reflection, Chris noted, was actually him, but with emerald-green eyes instead of the sapphire blue he currently had. His face was structured differently, so that he appeared to be a clone of James Potter. To the left side of the mirror, Chris caught a glimpse of red hair before it disappeared out of frame. He returned his attention to himself. The almost-mirror version of him smiled before reaching into his pocket and taking out a fist-size, ruby red rock. With a wink, he put the Stone back in his pocket. Chris suddenly felt a weight in his right-pocket.
Somehow, he had gotten the Stone.
"Well, what do you see?" asked Voldemort softly.
"I see myself eating dinner up in the Great Hall. I guess the old saying's true. 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.'"
This time, Quirrell cursed.
"Really, didn't your mother teach you not to say naughty words? Honestly." He started walking away. Maybe he could get away before they realized he had the Stone. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm missing dinner up in the Great Hall."
He turned to leave, but the entrance suddenly went up in flames. Soon, they were surrounded by a ring of fire preventing his escape.
"Well that's not good," he had time to mutter before he was hit by a Stunner from behind.
Stunned, he could not help but watch as Quirrell approached him. Gathering what energy he could, he reached out and punched the man.
With a howl, Quirrell recoiled back, clutching his nose as dark blood dripped from it. When he removed his hand, though, Chris had to gasp.
Where before Quirrell had had a nose, not much of one, but a nose, there was now nothing there but the bone underneath, the cartilage appearing to have been burned off. With a roar of outrage, Quirrell reached up and snatched the turban off.
His head seemed to be much smaller without it. Turning on the spot, still dripping blood, Chris saw the remains of Voldemort's soul.
"What magic is this?" hissed Voldemort, "to cause this type of damage? Perhaps you are a Dark wizard, Evans, hm? Join me and together, we can rule this planet!"
Chris snorted. "For a wizard who hates Muggles, you sure seem to use a lot of their sayings. At least I know I'm not your son."
Voldemort roared and, turning back around, lunged at Chris, latching Quirrell's hands onto Chris's throat. Chris choked, desperately wanting the Dark Wizard to let go…
Another roar, this one of pain, and Chris watched in amazement as Quirrell's hands dissolved into dust before his very eyes. Somehow knowing what to do, Chris jumped up and grabbed Quirrell's face with his hands. The former DADA professor howled as his skull suddenly began dissolving into dust, working inwards from skin to muscle to bone to brain matter. He collapsed on the ground, his whole body now turned to dust.
As Chris fell into unconsciousness, his last thought was of hearing a rough male voice bark, "EVANS!"
16 pages on MS Word total. I hope y'all are happy. Me? I'm gonna go back and play some more on Wizard101 after I post this. Look for me there under "Jennifer Silverblood."
Roverta: You would not believe this, but as I wrote that part, we did indeed sort of "adopt" a toad that had decided to make our home her home. She has a mate we named Trevor that also likes to come in the house, no matter how many times we tell him no. My sister came up with the idea of reversing the name and adding an "a," because she's a female.
On the Yahoo Group: I am going to temporarily take down the barrier requiring approval before joining. This is so you can do it yourself, since roughly half of my reviewers do not have their e-mail addresses in their profiles and thus cannot be sent an e-mail. This will also help me deal with a month plus of backwork on sending invites. I only request that when you join that you put your name and profile link in the reviewer profile link folder. If you have changed your penname, please change it in the same folder if you can. If you can't, send me an e-mail and I will change it for you. I will put the barrier back up on June 1st, so get yourself secured in the Group before then. Remember: Group members get first read! It may be as much as two days before a chapter gets posted here instead of at Yahoo.
Reviews: I am backlogged quite a bit. Please, once you are a member of the group, post or repost your questions there. This way, I can respond and everyone can see and I don't get any wires crossed. I do read the reviews and occasionally twist the chapters in a better direction than I had because of those suggestions.
Reward: Um, how about some Mirror of Erised cookies? Not the best reward, I'm sure, but we're almost at the end of the year now.
Last chapter of Year 1: I will be continuing Year 2 with this story instead of creating a new one. The next chapter, however, will be the last chapter of Year 1. It will have several shifting points of view, so be prepared.
Extra Folder: Members may have noticed a special folder with some special documents in it. I am working on getting the whole set, so please be patient.
So, please, read, review, and I hope to get the next chapter posted sometime in the next week or so, depending on how hard it is to write. Regular updates should resume after that point, considering I'm thinking of leaving Year One on a dramatic note and I so don't want to be pelted with rotten tomatoes.
Thanks a bunch!
-MM