Sorry this is late, I've been really preoccupied lately (mostly money troubles, getting sick, and breaking my glasses, but I wont bore you with the details). A lot of stuff happens in this chapter, though, so I hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading!
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, I told Hermione about my idea.
"Would that work?"
She stared at me in shock. "I… I'm not sure. We should talk to the others, I think."
We met up with Neville and Malfoy in one of the unused classrooms, and spent the time between breakfast and our first exams discussing the plan. Though various small errors had been discovered, the main idea was sound and just needed a bit of tweaking to work. With everything decided, I assigned everyone to a job. Hermione would be in charge of the charm-work and build process, Neville and Malfoy would check the Yeerk Pool once a day to identify other Controllers and make sure the Yeerk's security didn't change, and I would follow Ron.
Feeling optimistic about the progress we had made, I went to my Potions exam. To my surprise, Hermione and Malfoy's discussion the previous day about Jiang's Observation actually helped me answer a few questions. The Potions practical was less easy. Snape loomed menacingly over my shoulder as I tried to remember how to brew a Forgetfulness Potion.
After that was the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. It was my best class, so I guessed that I would be alright. When Professor Quirrell rounded the desks to pick up our completed exams, he gave me a smile.
"I'm sure y-you've done well, Mister P-Potter," he said. He was a nervous, timid man, having apparently had a bad run-in with a vampire during his travels. You couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. "Y-you always d-do so well in my c-class, after all."
"I hope so, Professor," I said.
He gave me a shaky little nod and resumed collecting papers. There was only one exam left after that, History of Magic. An hour of questions about dead wizards who had invented self-stirring cauldrons was just as tedious as it sounded. But finally it was over—no more exams, no more tests, nothing for the rest of the year!
"That's a load off my mind!" Ron exclaimed as we went outside, intent on spending the rest of the day enjoying the summer sunshine. "Even if we failed, there's nothing we can do about it now. Hey, let's meet up with Seamus and Dean for some football."
"Actually, Hagrid's invited us to his hut, you know, to celebrate the end of exams," I said. I only remembered because Hagrid had sent me a note to remind me.
Ron and I walked down to Hagrid's hut. Hagrid was sitting outside in an armchair, sleeves and trouser-legs rolled up to fight the heat and drinking directly from a huge metal pitcher of ice-cold homemade pumpkin juice.
"Harry, Ron!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly behind his bushy black beard. "Finally finished with yer exams, then! How do you think yeh did?"
I grumbled a little and shrugged.
"That bad, eh?" Hagrid said with a sympathetic grimace. "Sorry t' hear that. Where's Hermione?"
"She's busy working on a project. You know how she is," I said. "By the way, she asked me to see if you had any bits of wood she could borrow?"
"What size?" Hagrid asked.
"Not big, just sticks really. Maybe about this long?" I said, measuring out a few inches with my hands. "She needs a lot of them if you can, please."
"O' course, no trouble at all," Hagrid said. "Just gimme a moment ter bring them out—I'll get you two a few cups o' pumpkin juice while I'm inside."
"Thanks," Ron said.
Hagrid emerged a few seconds later with another, smaller pitcher, a basket full of sticks, and two big mugs. He set the basket down and poured our drinks. "I had these sticks fer kindlin', but considerin' the weather lately, I probably won't need any fires fer a while."
He set to work, breaking the sticks into smaller pieces as easily as if they were toothpicks. We chatted about school and ate Hagrid's homemade sandwiches. It was a perfectly enjoyable afternoon in the sun, much needed after days of being stuck in classrooms and caves.
Ron and I eventually said our goodbyes and I gathered up the sticks for Hermione. We crossed the grounds and entered the Great Hall, where we found Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Quirrell.
"Yes," she was saying, "I'm afraid that with the Headmaster gone for the evening, I—"
I froze, dread instantly pooling in my gut. "Dumbledore's gone?"
McGonagall turned to look at us. "Oh, hello Mister Potter. Yes, Professor Dumbledore is gone. He means to be away from the school for the rest of the night."
It felt like the ground had fallen out from beneath my feet. "Why did he go? Why must he be gone all night?"
McGonagall frowned. "Not that it's any of your business, but he's received an urgent summons from the Minister of Magic."
"But he can't leave!" I exclaimed. My scar started to burn and ache just thinking about it.
"Mister Potter! The Headmaster is an important wizard—he has other responsibilities than just the school," said McGonagall. "If he has to leave, that is his right."
"But you don't understand!" I said. "It—it's about the Philosopher's Stone."
McGonagall's jaw dropped. "How on Earth do you know—?"
"That doesn't matter now," I said. "The important thing is that Dumbledore was the only thing keeping Voldemort from—"
McGonagall and Quirrell stared at me, eyes wide. Quirrell, who had gone even paler than usual, let out a startled squeak and started stammering in earnest. "Y-you c-c-can't be serious, H-he Who M-must N-n-not be N-named is dead, everyone kn-knows that!"
"Potter, I don't know how you found out about the Philosopher's Stone, but I assure you that it's perfectly safe," McGonagall said, her brows furrowed. "And You-Know-Who is long dead, and even if he wasn't, he certainly wouldn't dare to show his face at Hogwarts. Now go on, and I'd better not hear about you upsetting the students with your wild theories."
"I'm not making this up!"
"Good evening, Mister Potter," McGonagall said sharply. She turned away down one of the corridors and Quirrell followed, nervously stuttering about the protections the professors had put around the Stone.
"You think You-Know-Who is trying to steal the Stone?" Ron asked. "But he's dead, he couldn't… isn't he?"
I didn't answer him. If Dumbledore was gone, I knew Voldemort would use the opportunity to get the Stone. How could I stop him if none of the professors would believe me?
We went up to Gryffindor tower. I gave Hermione the sticks she needed, and then she eagerly went to work. Ron asked me to play chess with him, but for a second night I was unable to focus on the game.
"Maybe McGonagall is right," Ron said. "Even if You-Know-Who does try to take the Stone, he won't get past the protections the professors have put around it."
"He will," I said. "He'll find a way."
"But what can we do about it?"
That was a very good question. It was a question that I considered through the rest of the rather abysmal game, and through a dinner which I only picked at, and through Malfoy's attempts to cajole me into giving him something for his birthday. He pulled me aside after I left the Great Hall. It seemed that nothing would completely dampen his enthusiasm to try making friends with me.
"Well, are you at least going to go to the Circle party tonight?" Malfoy asked. "I know it's really for the end of exams, but I'm going to pretend it's to celebrate my birthday."
I had forgotten about the Circle's party. Most of the school would be there, surely—a perfect opportunity for Voldemort to go after the Stone without being seen.
If no one else would stop him, it seemed obvious that I would have to be the one to do it. I didn't think I could fight Voldemort directly, considering what had happened in the forest. But if I could get to the Stone first… if I could take it before Voldemort could get his hands on it…
"No, I'm not going," I said. "I'm not feeling well. Keep an eye on Ron for me? Hermione's busy and Neville…"
"…Has no brains at all?" Malfoy suggested helpfully. "Alright, I'll keep an eye on Weasley."
I returned to my dorm and got my invisibility cloak from my trunk. Gryffindor tower was mostly empty—either the students were still at dinner, or would be going directly to the Circle party afterwards. I pulled on the cloak and made my way down to the forbidden third floor corridor. I approached the heavy door barring the way.
Behind it I knew there would be the massive three-headed dog, which Hagrid had named 'Fluffy'. Beyond that… I had no idea. I paused. Beyond this point, I knew there would be no going back. If I made it through the obstacles and took the Stone, it was likely that I would be expelled. If I failed… death.
But it had to be done. I couldn't stand by while Voldemort restored himself and resumed his reign of terror. If I had the opportunity to stop him, then I had to try. It seemed no different to me than when I agreed to fight the Yeerks. I had to try, because no one else could.
Freshly determined, I pointed my wand at the door-lock. "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked open and I pushed the door ajar.
As soon as I entered the room, the dog was on alert, all three noses sniffing in my direction. Though it couldn't see me, it could definitely smell me. I closed the door behind myself and tried to crouch somewhere that the dog wouldn't be able to reach.
After a few moments of thought, I decided that the best way to get past the dog would be to acquire it. Hopefully, Fluffy would be put into a stupor long enough for me to sneak by and go through the trap door he was guarding.
I took a second to calm myself and focus on Fluffy. Unsurprisingly, it's not very hard to focus on an giant, angry, three-headed dog when you're locked in a room with one. In fact, I would say it's pretty hard to focus on anything else.
One of Fluffy's massive heads swung closer, nose twitching and snorting as it caught my scent. Each head was the size of a small car. Every tooth was long as my forearm, and I got a very good look at them when the dog's lips drew back into a snarl.
Fluffy reared back, preparing to strike. I lunged forward, hands outstretched. My palms struck Fluffy's right foreleg just as the giant dog's jaws snapped over the place I'd been just a second before. I closed my eyes and forced myself to concentrate, despite being almost certain that Fluffy was about to eat me.
The attack never came. Fluffy had fallen into an acquiring stupor.
Knowing I only had a moment to spare, I rushed to the trapdoor and swung it open. I saw nothing but darkness below. There wasn't enough time to morph into an owl or Billywig, so I'd have to jump with no idea how far it was to the bottom of the tunnel.
Fluffy blinked and slowly shook each of his three heads. The dog was recovering and could attack at any second.
There was no other choice. I jumped.
I have no idea how far I fell through the darkness. All I knew was that I wouldn't survive the landing. I tried to keep calm and morph into Hedwig, but it was nearly impossible to focus with my stomach firmly lodged in my throat and my mind busy dreading the hard stone floor rising up to meet me, even if I had no idea when it would happen.
I was just starting to feel the itch of feathers growing on my skin when—WOMP! I hit the ground, but it was much softer and springier than I'd expected. I tumbled end over end, half-human and half-owl, through squishy cords as thick as pythons. After taking a moment to finally finish the transformation, I looked around with my owl morph's sharp night-vision.
I was lying in the middle of a giant plant. It must have been planted there to cushion the fall. The thick, slightly furry vines grew all along the walls of the room, but the biggest, squashiest vines were on the floor near the plant's base.
On the opposite side of the chamber, there was a faint light shining from the end of a narrow passage. That was the only way out of the chamber, besides the tunnel I'd just fallen through. The Philosopher's Stone had to be somewhere beyond that corridor.
I was stretching my wings when I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look and saw that the vines were moving. The plant was alive, like a Venus fly-trap or an Ambling Bramble, and it was searching for prey.
A vine suddenly looped around me, moving in a disturbingly snake-like fashion. I quickly took off before the vine could tighten its grip, narrowly avoiding a second vine that had almost snagged my talon. Heart racing, I swooped away down the corridor. I could hear something rustling and a light clinking sound of metal on metal.
Suddenly, I entered a brilliantly lit chamber with a high ceiling. Flying above me were what looked at first like hundreds of small, colourful birds, but when I looked again I realized that they were actually winged, flying keys. I flew over to the door across the chamber. It was locked, which didn't surprise me. It was obvious that I would have to catch one of the keys and use it to unlock the door.
Soaring up into the air, I chased the keys around the room. I guessed that it would probably be a big, old-looking key, to match the old-fashioned lock on the door.
One by one, I caught keys and carried them to the lock, using my talons to turn them, until finally I found a match. The lock clicked and the door opened, allowing me to swoop into the next room.
It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see that there were several, looming figures in the room. My heart gave an unpleasant jolt. I thought that I had been surrounded by some sort of monsters. But then the lights flared up— revealing a giant, life-sized chessboard. The looming figures I had seen were the chessmen. All around me were the black pieces, and across the board were the white pieces. None of the chessmen had faces.
I could see the door on the other side of the room. I flew over the black pieces and crossed the board. But when I tried to fly over the white pieces—CRACK!—the white king had drawn his sword and hit me with it, hard. I was thrown back across the room by the impact, in considerable pain and completely disoriented. Blood was dripping from my head when I landed. I quickly de-morphed to heal the injury.
It seemed I was supposed to play my way across the board to continue. But I wasn't a very good chess player, and too much depended on me. Considering the infinite stakes, I couldn't risk losing the game. I had to find another way.
I morphed into a Billywig. They can fly so fast that humans can't see them. I hoped that whatever allowed the chessmen to see would also be fooled.
Flying as fast as I could, I shot across the room. The chessmen made no move to attack me, but I feared that they would at any moment. I had to land and de-morph in order to open the door. The chessmen did nothing. It seemed that they couldn't tell that I was now standing behind them. I opened the door and left the room.
With the help of my morphs, I was making great time. As long as I made it through the final obstacles, it seemed incredibly likely that I would be able to find the Stone and take it before Voldemort could. I wondered what I would have to face next.
The dog had been Hagrid's obstacle, and that strange carnivorous plant must have been grown by Professor Sprout. The flying keys and the chessboard had to be Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, though I didn't know who had made which. Most likely, that left Professor Snape's, Professor Quirrell's and Headmaster Dumbledore's obstacles.
At the end of the passageway, I opened another door. A horrible smell filled my nose. I could hardly breathe without pulling my robes over my face. Lying on the floor was a gigantic troll. I fought a troll earlier in the year, but this one was even larger. Luckily, it seemed to be unconscious. There was a bloody lump on top of its head.
Though part of me was glad I didn't have to fight the troll myself, it proved that I hadn't beaten Voldemort to the Stone. He had already made it this far through the obstacles. Maybe he'd already made it to the Stone itself.
I couldn't let him take it. I'd gone too far to turn back now. By the time I made it out and found someone who would actually believe what I had to say, Voldemort would have already escaped with the Stone, and then there'd be nothing left to stop him from regaining his power.
Even though I wouldn't have a chance in a fight against Voldemort, I couldn't just stand aside. I would either die in these tunnels or I would die later. Voldemort wouldn't let me live once he gained power. I certainly wasn't going to join him in order to save my life. So I would make my stand. And maybe whatever saved me that night ten years ago would save me again.
My mind made up, I continued on. I stepped carefully over one of the troll's massive legs and opened the next door. What I saw wasn't very intimidating. There was just a table with seven bottles standing in a line.
I stepped into the room. A fire immediately sprang up in the threshold behind me. The fire obviously wasn't the natural kind—the flames were dark purple. Across the room in another doorway, another fire had appeared at the same time, but that one was coloured black.
Wondering what to do now, I spotted a piece of parchment sitting on the table in front of the row of bottles. It was a riddle, saying that some of the bottles contained poison, some wine, one a potion to go back through the purple fire, and one a potion to go forward through the black fire.
I didn't have time to figure it out. Ashwinders were created by magical fires, so I hoped my Ashwinder morph wouldn't be hurt by the black flames. I used Gearwe Awendendylic and started to morph.
My skin became incredibly itchy until grey scales suddenly rippled over my body. As my face protruded and elongated, my eyes spread apart, losing their focus and strength. I fell forward onto my hands and knees, then onto my belly as my arms and legs began to suck back into my rapidly stretching body. My spine stretched out into a long tail.
Hide, hide, had to hide, find a dark place for eggs, lay eggs, nothing will find them, safe place for the eggs— I slithered underneath the table, leaving a trail of ash behind. Lay eggs here, nothing will find them, nothing will see, eggs will be safe, eggs will make fire, eggs will live—
No! I had to fight the Ashwinder's powerful instincts. After a few seconds, I regained control. After a little bit of trial and error, I was able to figure out how to slither without the Ashwinder's instincts guiding me. I slithered across the floor until I was in front of the black fire. In the back of my mind, the Ashwinder was telling me the fire was safe—the fire was home.
Assured that I would be able to pass through the fire unscathed, I slithered forward. The fire was all around me, but it didn't burn. Pleasant and warm, almost tickling where it touched my scaly skin, the fire filled me with energy.
I slithered through to the other side. I couldn't see well, but from what I could see, I was in a large chamber. It appeared to be empty, except for a large, rectangular shape in the distance. There wasn't much I could do while still in morph, so I returned to my own form.
Once I was human again and had human eyes, I could see that the rectangular shape was something I knew. It was the Mirror of Erised—a mirror that showed the person who looked into it their deepest desire.
Voldemort was nowhere to be found. Nor was the Philosopher's Stone.
Wondering what was going on, I took a few steps toward the mirror.
"Hello, Potter. I had wondered if I was going to meet you here."
I whirled around, heart pounding. Standing in the shadows beside the doorway was—
"Professor Quirrell?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"
There was a small smile on his face. He stepped out of the shadows. "It seems you aren't the only one who isn't what he appears to be."
He didn't stutter. He didn't twitch. He seemed perfectly calm. It sent shivers down my spine.
"When I saw you in the Forbidden Forest, I assumed that you were merely an exceptionally gifted owl Animagus, to have completed the transformation so young," Quirrell said. "Imagine my surprise to see you now in so different a form—and an Ashwinder, no less. How are you able to transform into more than one animal? What magic allows a first year student to do things that only a few fully trained wizards are able to manage?"
"You were in the forest?" I asked. A chill went through me. "You… You're working for Voldemort, aren't you? That's why you're here!"
Quirrell nodded. "You are far too nosy for your own good, Potter. You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You couldn't just go to the Circle party with your friends. And now look where it's gotten you."
He snapped his fingers. Ropes suddenly appeared out of thin air, binding me in place.
"So you've come here in some misguided attempt to stop me from taking the stone," Quirrell said. "All for nothing, I'm afraid. Soon Lord Voldemort will be reborn, and after he's found out the source of your strange transforming ability, he'll kill you."
"Don't do this!" I begged. "You can't possibly want Voldemort to come back! He's evil!"
Quirrell let out a quiet, sad little laugh. "You sound just like I did, once. I was young and foolish, with all sorts of ridiculous notions about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me the truth. He showed me how the world really is. You see, there is no such thing. Good and evil are only words. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Only with power do we regain control over our lives. Lord Voldemort has shown me this."
No. I refused to believe it. Voldemort was evil. The Yeerks were evil. That was real. Hermione, Neville, Malfoy and I were good because we fought the Yeerks, just like my parents were good for fighting Voldemort.
Quirrell walked past me and stepped in front of the Mirror of Erised. "This mirror must be the key to finding the Stone, but I can't seem to…" He wasn't talking to me any longer. Instead, he seemed to be talking to himself. "I don't understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
I began to think. If the Mirror of Erised really was the key to finding the Stone—perhaps, if finding the Stone was someone's deepest desire, the mirror would show them where it was hidden. I certainly wanted to find the Stone before Quirrell did. If I could look into the mirror without Quirrell noticing, I could find out where the Stone was hidden and think of a way to keep Quirrell from figuring it out. I leaned to the side, attempting to find a better angle to see the mirror.
"Help me, Master!" Quirrell pleaded. "I can't find it!"
"Use the boy…"
I jumped. The voice—it was the voice I had heard in the forest. My scar started throbbing. The voice seemed to come from Quirrell, but his mouth didn't move. Quirrell turned towards me.
"Use the boy."
"Yes—Potter, come here!"
The ropes released me and I fell to the ground.
"Come here," Quirrell said again. "Stand in front of the mirror and tell me what you see."
Cautiously, I took a few steps forward. I looked into the mirror, silently pleading that I would be able to see where the Stone was hidden. For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen. All I saw was my own reflection. I was starting to wonder if it had been broken somehow, when all of a sudden, my reflection moved.
In the reflection, I reached into my pocket and drew out a red gem that glittered brilliantly in the torchlight. I stared. It had to be the Philosopher's Stone. My reflection winked at me, then put the Stone back where he'd gotten it—I suddenly felt something heavy in my pocket.
I had the Stone! How it happened, I didn't know, but I had the Stone! If I could just find some way out without Quirrell noticing…
"What did you see?" Quirrell demanded.
"Nothing," I said. "It's just a mirror."
Quirrell cursed under his breath. "Get out of the way!"
I stepped back. Once Quirrell's attention was back on the mirror, I started to take more steps backwards, trying to move as silently as I could. Shaking with nerves, I glanced back at the black fire in the doorway. If I could sneak far enough away that I could morph without being noticed, I could go back through the fire, leaving Quirrell trapped.
Once I thought I wouldn't be seen in the mirror's reflection, I drew my wand.
"He lied!" the voice shouted. "He has the Stone!"
Quirrell spun around. "No! Expelliarmus!"
To my dismay, my wand leapt out of my hand and slid across the floor, far out of reach.
"Let me speak to him… face-to-face…"
"Are you certain? You aren't strong enough yet, Master."
"I have strength enough… for this…"
Hesitantly, Quirrell began to unwrap his turban. My thoughts raced. What was going on? Would I be able to get my wand if I made a run for it while he was busy? The turban fell away into a puddle of purple fabric. Quirrell turned slowly on the spot.
All of my half-made plans vanished instantly. On the back of Quirrell's head was a face—a terrible, inhuman face. Its skin was ghostly white, its glaring eyes fiery red, and it had only two small slits for nostrils. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But it felt as though my legs had been frozen stiff.
"Harry Potter…" it hissed. "See what I've become? Nothing but shadows and whispers… without form, unless I share the body of another… But unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Give me the Stone, and I will spare your life… Resist, and I will kill you and take it anyway…"
I shook my head. I knew I wouldn't be able to hand over the Stone. If Voldemort killed me… if I couldn't find a way to escape… I silently prayed that Hermione, Neville, and Malfoy would be able to fight the Yeerks without me.
"Don't be a fool," Voldemort said. "Did you know that your mother died trying to save you? You see… I would have been willing to let her live… but she tried to protect you instead… Give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died for nothing."
I backed away. There had to be something I could do to keep the stone away from him. But there was no escape. I could feel the heat of the black fire behind my back.
I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the Stone.
"Yes… There's a good, smart lad…Give me the Stone…"
"NEVER!"
I spun and threw the Stone as hard as I could at the fire behind me. I could hear it hit the wall in the other room and skip across the floor.
"No!" Voldemort screamed. "SEIZE HIM!"
Quirrell charged at me and grabbed my wrist. It instantly felt like searing hot needles were being stabbed into my forehead. I screamed and tried to pull myself away, but to my surprise, Quirrell let go on his own. The pain started to fade. I realized that Quirrell was hunched over in agony, staring at his hands.
"It burns!" he cried. "I can't—"
"Kill him! KILL HIM!"
While Quirrell was distracted, I tried to make a run for my wand. He got up and attacked again, throwing me to the ground and wrapping his hands around my throat. Though I was nearly blinded by the pain, I could see Quirrell screaming. He released me again, his hands bright red and covered in ugly, sizzling blisters.
I finally recovered my wand. "Gearwe Awendendylic!"
"STOP HIM! KILL HIM!"
I ran around behind the Mirror of Erised, trying to put some distance between us. I crouched down, focusing as hard as I could on my Ashwinder morph. It was so slow. Why did morphing have to take so long? Quirrell was getting closer and closer and I was still some horrifying mutated thing that couldn't move or defend itself—
In what must have been record time, the morph was completed and I slithered as fast as I could towards the fire.
"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
Quirrell grabbed me around the middle. Just like my burning scar, it seemed some things stayed with me when I morphed—Quirrell let out a howl of pain and threw me as hard as he could at the mirror. I struck the glass with a loud crack and fell to the floor. I couldn't move. My spine had been broken.
Without any other option, I de-morphed. I was exhausted. The pain in my scar and the strain of morphing so much was wearing down on me. Everything started to blur as I instinctively grabbed onto Quirrell's face—my head seemed to be burning with white-hot intensity, I could see Quirrell's flesh turn red and blistered, and Quirrell screaming and Voldemort shrieking "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"—
Everything faded into silent, painless darkness.