Um… yeah I really have no excuses. I'm so sorry – I am alive, contrary to popular belief on here… life got busy, I went to college, I got distracted from the story, etc. But here's a chapter if anyone's still reading. :)
Chapter 12: The Stone
"Wait… what?" said Harry blankly, stunned. "The Dark Lord? Are you feeling all right, Sonia?"
"I'm fine," she snapped, but her yellow-green eyes were suspiciously watery. She breathed in shakily and turned away from him, blinking rapidly. "I don't know what to do," she said hopelessly, putting her hands to her head in anguish.
"Well, you can start by showing me what you saw," offered Harry. He was still regarding her at a bit of a distance – both because he was no good with distraught girls and also because he wasn't quite sure what was going on with her.
She swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Come on, quick."
She held up the invisibility cloak so that he could fit under it as well, and the two of them set off up a flight of stairs. Harry felt distinctly awkward being so close to her while she was upset, but pushed his discomfort down and listened to what she was saying.
"I took the cloak from you because I needed some time to be alone… completely alone," she whispered as they traveled. "I got a letter from my parents yesterday morning."
She paused as they took care to jump over a trick step, but Harry noticed she took an extra long time to speak again, as if she were composing herself. Indeed, when she spoke next, her voice was strong but carefully dull.
"My family now has me betrothed to some pureblood going to Durmstrang," she said flatly. "He's apparently a much better deal than we ever could have hoped for, what with our family's recent reputation… for squibs, you know," she added bitterly.
Harry had no idea what to say to this, so he remained silent.
Sonia let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yes, he's seventeen right now and was shown pictures of me…he was very impressed by me, apparently… and his family agreed. So it's all decided now," she said in a dead voice. "We're to be married once I graduate school. What a sick bastard – to look at a twelve-year-old, and to think I'm someone he wants… like – like that… and me – just an item! A fucking thing to trade away!"
Her voice had risen with anger. Harry still had no clue of how to deal with this, so he motioned for her to keep the volume level down. They were still under the cloak, after all; it wouldn't do for someone to come around the corner and hear their voices with no bodies.
"Sorry," she relented, winding down a bit. She led him out onto the grounds and they walked towards Hagrid's hut. Harry wondered where in hell they could be going.
"Anyway, I needed some time to be alone. And it was incredibly stupid of me, but I love being outside – it just calms me. So I was out here, under the cloak near the edge of the forest," she motioned as she led him along.
"I saw something moving just into the forest, not far past the edge of the trees, and I thought it was strange that a creature would be so close to the school," she began, stopping near the tree line. Harry noticed a spattering of silvery goop on the ground – unicorn blood. His neck prickled uncomfortably with dread.
"So I looked closer and I saw–"
"That's quite enough, Miss Moon," a deep voice sounded from behind them.
They both spun around in shock, knowing they were under the cloak far from the school – who knew it was them and had followed them out here?
It was Professor Quirrell; Sonia gasped but Harry let out a little sigh of relief. At least Quirrell was the one professor who wouldn't get him in trouble for having the cloak. As Quirrell's brown eyes continued to stare into him, though, even though he was invisible, he began to feel a bit disconcerted.
"You can see through invisibility cloaks, sir?" asked Harry.
"H-h-harry," Sonia breathed, "it's–"
"Silencio!" cried Quirrell at once, cutting her off.
"Sir?" said Harry, looking from him to Sonia, who was still gesturing wildly to him. He couldn't understand what she wanted him to know, though – she was being too frantic.
"Potter, Moon," he said, eyeing the two of them. "Come with me."
Harry glanced to Sonia again. She looked positively sick with fear. "Where are you taking us, sir?" he asked suspiciously.
"Be quiet and do as you're told, Potter… unless you'd like to be forced?" suggested Quirrell menacingly.
Harry knew what he was implying – the Imperius curse… or perhaps something worse. The most terrible part about it was that he knew Quirrell was quite capable of anything he might threaten with dark magic.
"No, sir," he responded quietly, although inwardly his mind was working furiously.
Quirrell took him and Sonia up to his office. The whole way there, Sonia was motioning to him incomprehensibly. Harry wished fervently that he knew Legilimency so that he could see her surface thoughts, but he only had ever practiced Occlumency. Just as they were going through the threshold to Quirrell's office, Harry noticed a speck of silver sparkle on the bottom of his robes. Unicorn blood – on Professor Quirrell's robes!
"Sit," ordered Quirrell, gesturing to the two armchairs. Sonia and Harry sat.
"I am aware of what you witnessed today, Miss Moon," Quirrell said quietly, his voice deep and severe. Harry's eyes shifted between the two: Sonia, who appeared panicked, and Quirrell, whose visage was more serious than he'd ever seen it. "So regrettable that you both had to be young Slytherins with so much potential… I would have preferred it if some impetuous Gryffindors had found me out…"
Harry wondered if Sonia had seen Quirrell practicing dark magic, and had in her distraught state confused him with the Dark Lord. "Er… why, sir? We'll keep your secret safe better than any Gryffindor would be able to – that you're a dark wizard and all."
Quirrell laughed mirthlessly. "So naïve, Potter. I'm not just a dark wizard, as Miss Moon was unfortunate enough to discover. I…" here he paused dramatically, suddenly smiling, "I am privileged and honored to be the host to Lord Voldemort."
The words fell flatly on Harry's ears, so unexpected that they almost became devoid of meaning. What the hell? Sonia had silent tears trailing down her cheeks and she looked like she was having a hard time breathing. Harry glanced at her in concern but then looked back to Professor Quirrell.
"So as I was saying, it is regrettable that I will have to kill you both… especially you, Potter," he noted as an afterthought. Harry didn't understand how he could continue so calmly after revealing that his body was hosting the Dark Lord. "You truly could have become something great."
Harry was barely able to force out some words, his throat felt so tight. "N-no need to kill us, Professor," he managed.
Quirrell appeared pensive for a moment. "You're right, Potter – I really only need to dispose of Miss Moon, here. Before long your Occlumency will be strong enough to protect your mind against all attackers. She," he continued, gesturing to Sonia, "does not have that luxury and so even if I obliviated her, she'd be susceptible to someone discovering the memory charm."
Harry felt rage suddenly bubble up from deep within him. "You can't kill her, either!" he shouted.
Quirrell's eyes turned cold. "I suggest you keep quiet, Mr. Potter. You have been extremely fortunate thus far to have been learning both dark magic and Occlumency from the knowledge of Lord Voldemort himself – I would not recommend angering me."
Sonia glanced at him curiously through her tears, surprised.
Just then, a deep, frigid voice sounded from behind Quirrell. "Use them," it said. "Use them to get me the stone..."
"Y-yes, my lord," said Quirrell, suddenly sounding like his usual stuttering self for once. Sonia started shaking. Her eyes met Harry's for a fleeting moment, and Harry suddenly knew that that voice was Lord Voldemort's.
"Where is he?" asked Harry tightly, referring to the disembodied voice.
"Right here," replied Quirrell quietly, gesturing to his turban. He slowly unwrapped it, and Harry felt an impending sense of dread fill his whole body. Once the turban was off, Quirrell turned around so that the two Slytherins could see the back of his head.
Harry would have screamed, but his throat felt constricted and thick. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, and it was the most terrible, revolting face that Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white, with glaring red eyes. It simply would have seemed albino, but it was distorted to a point of inhumanity and had small, thin slits for nostrils… like a snake.
"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another's body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…. Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past few weeks… the girl over there saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me at the edge of the forest… and once I have the Sorcerer's Stone, I will be able to create the Elixir of Life to make a body of my own."
Harry gaped. Quirrell had been hosting Lord Voldemort on the back of his head this whole year? The idea would have been laughable if Harry wasn't worrying about Sonia being killed. Still silenced, she was pressed up against her armchair in pure fright, features frozen in a look of shock and dread.
"Quirrell…" said Voldemort, "Use them to get you to the stone… then you may kill them as you wish…"
"Of course, my lord," said Quirrell quickly. He grabbed the turban and immediately began to tie it back up again. Just before Voldemort's face was covered by it, he locked eyes with Harry, gleaming scarlet against bright emerald.
Quirrell made short work of securing his turban and then turned around once more to face the two Slytherins. He strode to the door of his office. "What are you two waiting for? You heard the Dark Lord. Come with me." He paused for a moment. "Actually, put that invisibility cloak back on, first. Then get going."
He quickly shot a silencing charm at Harry, who, caught by surprise, let it hit him. Now both he and Sonia were unable to speak.
Heart beating wildly, Harry reached his hand out to Sonia to help her up off the chair, and after throwing the invisibility cloak around their shoulders, the two of them trailed Professor Quirrell out of the office, clearly heading to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. As they followed their defense professor, Harry couldn't help but stare at the turban at the back of his head, now knowing what abomination was hidden beneath it.
Sonia was sobbing mutely beside him under the cloak. Awkwardly, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. 'I won't let you die,' he mouthed to her, hoping she could read lips better than he could. She nodded and her lips curled into a small, grateful smile. Steeling her resolve, she seemed to straighten and pull herself together.
They finally arrived at the door to the room containing the three-headed dog. "Alohamora," said Quirrell with conviction, breaking the lock. Before he opened the door, though, he slid ring off his finger and began transfiguring it. Harry and Sonia both watched in fascination, despite the dire situation, as the ring grew bigger and then began to change form. Quirrell was performing some complex transfiguration, far beyond the simple transformations they'd done this year in class.
Finally, the ring molded into a small harp, complete with strings and an authentic gold finish and carvings on the frame. Harry wondered absently if Quirrell had always been this magically strong, or if hosting the Dark Lord had added to his power.
Satisfied with the harp, Quirrell opened the door, ushering them inside. Harry was expecting the dog, having seen it once before, but Sonia was startled and flinched fantastically at the sight of the beast. The monstrous dog filled the whole space between ceiling and floor, its three heads and three drooling mouths snapping viciously at the lot of them.
Quirrell, supremely unconcerned, simply got the harp out and began plucking at the strings. As melodious notes filled the air, even though it wasn't really a song, the beast's six eyes began to droop. Harry's eyes widened. Interesting that music would put it to sleep…
Once the dog was snoring and slumping on the ground, Quirrell gestured to Sonia. "You – open the trapdoor."
Harry suddenly noticed the trapdoor that was half-underneath the sleeping beast. Sonia's eyes flicked to it for a moment, and then stared pertly back at Quirrell. Harry would have chuckled if he hadn't been silenced – he could tell that for the most part, she just didn't want to get close to the sleeping, smelly dog.
"You'll do as you're told, girl," Quirrell threatened darkly.
Sonia glared at him, took a deep breath, and started making her way slowly toward the three-headed dog. Her face was contorted as she scrunched it up, smelling the disgusting breath of the three heads as they puffed putrid air in her face. Carefully, she pushed a gigantic paw off of the trapdoor and in one sweeping motion, she grabbed the handle and pulled it open.
Harry approached, standing next to her. They both looked down into the hole revealed by the trapdoor and stared into the blackness. Still plucking at the harp, Quirrell strode forward to stand next to them and peered into it himself.
"Right then," he said, "Jump on in."
He again was staring at Sonia, and his insistence on risking her life was making Harry furious. He got Quirrell's attention and gestured to his lips angrily.
"Oh fine," relented Quirrell reluctantly. "Finite incantatem," he said, pointing his wand at Harry and Sonia in turn.
"There's no way I'm jumping in there," said Sonia haughtily, squinting down the hole.
"I'm afraid you haven't a choice," remarked Quirrell easily.
"I'll go instead," offered Harry, not caring that he was acting like a Gryffindor.
"No," said Quirrell sharply. "I want the girl to go. She is more disposable than you."
"She is not!" insisted Harry, glancing at Sonia, who looked hurt despite herself.
"Get down there, girl, before I make you!" growled Quirrell.
When Sonia didn't budge, he drew his wand and pointed it at her. "Imperio!" he bellowed, dropping the harp.
Immediately Sonia's eyes lost some of their usual intensity and the muscles in her face became lank and dead. Harry pointed his wand at Quirrell to try to stop him, but just as he opened his mouth, Quirrell made Sonia jump down the hole. A moment too late, Harry's disarming curse hit Quirrell and the professor's wand came flying through the air at Harry, who caught it expertly.
Behind him, the dog was making restless noises, slowly waking up. Frantically, Harry started humming loudly, even though it was the last thing he felt like doing. The dog seemed to settle down.
"Idiot boy," hissed Quirrell, who rushed at Harry to get his wand back. Harry, who was more worried about Sonia than Quirrell getting his wand back, yelled down the hole between hums, "Sonia!"
"I'm okay!" she answered back, though her voice was faint as if she was very far away.
Meanwhile, Quirrell tackled Harry to the ground and roughly hit him in the face as he ripped his wand from Harry's grasp. "Ow!" said Harry. "Get off me!"
"Harry…?" said Sonia, now sounding anxious. "I'm not so sure anymore about this plant that I'm on…"
His cheek still smarting from where Quirrell had hit him, Harry scrambled up off the floor and immediately jumped down the trapdoor. With the lack of music, the dog was almost fully awake again and had begun growling. He'd much rather help Sonia than stay with the beast….
With a surprisingly soft thud, Harry landed on what felt like a slimy cushion and felt around, eyes not used to the gloom. "Lumos," he said, blinking.
With horror, he saw Sonia bound in long creepers, struggling to get free. Unfortunately, the more she moved, the tighter the plant twisted around her, sending out vines perilously close to her neck. A page in a book suddenly appeared in Harry's mind – Devil's Snare, the plant he'd been researching before he'd talked to Hermione in the library for the first time.
"Stop moving!" he shouted, even as tendrils of plant started to curl around his own ankles. Brandishing his wand, he sent bluebell flames at the plant beneath Sonia's feet. It shivered and slowly loosened its hold on her, shying away from the heat.
Sonia breathed a sigh of relief and her eyes met his gratefully. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Barely a moment later, they both turned to look at Quirrell, who landed beside them. "Good to see you took care of the problem," he said flippantly, although he was grinning. His casual demeanor only pissed Harry off more.
Harry sneered at him. "With a lot of help from you, thanks for that," he said sarcastically.
"What can I say? My Lord was right, as he always is. Using you two to test out the way is much easier."
Sonia huffed in frustration, and nose high in the air, began to head down a stone passageway which was their only way out. Harry glanced sourly at Quirrell and then followed her. If they couldn't get out of the situation now, they might as well help Quirrell… before he decided that bringing them along wasn't worth it. They reached a room which was abuzz with glittering things flying through the air. At first Harry thought they were jeweled birds, but then he realized that no, they were actually keys with wings.
Sonia groaned. "No way," she sighed, putting her hands to her face. "There are hundreds of them! How in the world are we going to pick the right one to get through the door?"
Quirrell appeared next to them, and the three of them peered up into the high ceiling of the room where keys flitted this way and that, in different colors and sizes.
"They'd have to be charmed to do that, right?" muttered Harry, deep in thought.
Sonia laughed derisively. "No, Potter, keys normally fly. Of course they're charmed, you dolt!"
Harry glared at her. "That's not what I was getting at. All I'm saying is that anything that's been magicked has an aura, right?"
Quirrell turned to him, surprised. "Where have you been learning that, Potter?"
"Places," said Harry evasively. "I'm right, though, am I not?"
"Yes, you're correct," said Quirrell, still looking at him suspiciously.
"So I'll bet anything that that key will probably have a special aura – after all, it's the only one in here that actually goes into opening a lock, so I reckon it'll feel different than the others," reasoned Harry thoughtfully as he watched the flapping keys.
"I also think that it'll match the lock," Sonia pointed out, her eyes fixed on the door. "Silver, big, and kind of antique looking."
Harry closed his eyes and thought back to his lessons with Lyrian where he'd become expert at following auras. Still in that mindset, he opened his eyes and let his instinct guide him more than anything. The auras swirled around him in a great mass, all identical except some which were a little bigger than others, depending on the size of their corresponding key.
A headache started to set in due to the sheer number of them, but Harry continued feeling out the auras of the hundreds of keys. He was just about to give up, when suddenly one stuck out to him. Automatically, he pointed his wand at it as if it were one of the targets he'd practiced on. "Cerulem via!" he shouted, using the more powerful form of the color spell he'd used when tutoring Tracey.
The jet of dark blue light crackled out of his wand and hit the key, causing it to shine brightly with color. Sonia gaped at him, her yellow-green eyes wide. Even Quirrell was staring at him oddly. "Even more a reason to keep you alive," Harry heard him mutter under his breath.
"If you want me alive, you don't kill Sonia," he quipped back, although he still had a bit of a headache. He also hadn't forgotten the pounding pain in his cheek; he was certain if there wasn't one already there, that he'd have a large purple bruise on the spot before long.
There were broomsticks available in the room, but to be honest, Harry wasn't much up to flying to get it. "Will you just use the pulling spell to get it down?" he wearily asked Quirrell, who nodded in response.
"Traxi blue key," said Quirrell, but the key remained twittering around the room innocently. "It's resistant," he explained, frowning.
Sonia frowned at Harry. "I think you'll have to get it. I'm shit on a broom," she lamented.
Harry sighed and reluctantly climbed onto the broom nearest to him. "Here goes nothing," he murmured, and then shot up into the air. As if on cue, the keys started flying more furiously and more erratically, turning and twisting at odd times. Harry focused on the sparkling blue key and nothing else; he flew faster than he could ever remember, doing loops and corkscrews as the key tried to outwit him.
Finally, like the seeker he was, his grasp closed on the key, squishing its wings. Harry could have sworn the key gave a little squeak at the indignity of being crushed. "Got it," he pointed out unnecessarily as he lowered to the ground.
"Nice flying," said Sonia, smirking.
"Yeah, whatever," said Harry, tired. "Here."
Sonia took the key and immediately jammed it into the lock, turning it so that the door opened. They all stepped into the next chamber, which was at first quite dark but then filled with blinding light as soon as they entered.
They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind black chessmen which looked like huge carved statues made of ebony. "This must have been McGonagall's test," said Quirrell. "Only she'd do something like this."
"What do we have to do?" asked Harry, staring at the eerie faceless white chessmen on the other side.
"Play our way across, obviously," said Sonia a bit snappily.
"Well I'm no good at chess," said Harry. "You've always beaten me, the few times we've played."
Sonia sniffed. "Barely. I'm hardly better than you are."
They both turned to Quirrell. "Well?" said Sonia impatiently, waiting for him to weigh in on the situation.
Quirrell grimaced sheepishly. "I'm rubbish at chess as well."
"Great," muttered Harry.
"Don't worry, though," added Quirrell with a dark chuckle. "I happen to have a master strategist on the back of my head."
- - -
"Where the hell is Potter?" snapped Draco. Night had fallen rapidly, and the four Slytherin boys had agreed to meet that evening. They'd planned on waiting for the three Gryffindors by the Forbidden Forest when they came out – that was, if they came out. They needed to make sure the Gryffindors hadn't chickened out and shirked their side of the deal.
"Probably in the forest with the Weasel and Mudblood," said Theo, sneering.
"Not that Potter, you stinking idiot. Harry," clarified Draco in exasperation.
"Well, Merlin's balls, Malfoy," said Theo irritably. "There do happen to be two of them with the same surname; don't be such a prick about it."
Blaise sighed, used to their bickering. "I haven't seen him in a while, actually."
Theo paused, and then his eyes lighted up. "I told you guys! I bet he went and told his Gryffindork brother not to show."
"Maybe, but then we'd still be able to tell on Hagrid," reasoned Blaise. His eyebrows furrowed suddenly. "Unless they dragged him out there with them or something…"
"Why would they do that? Golden Boy hates his twin," reminded Draco.
"I dunno," said Blaise slowly. "But you have to admit, he's quite a bit more powerful than the average wizard. Could be good protection for them."
"Yeah," agreed Theo. "You should have seen him that one day I walked in on him doing accidental magic."
"Maybe he's stronger than the two of you, but speak for yourselves," sniffed Draco, miffed.
A moment passed, and Theo checked his wristwatch. "It's way past the time we agreed to meet."
"This isn't like him," said Blaise thoughtfully. "You don't think anything happened to him, do you?"
"Aww Blaisey, are you worried?" cooed Draco.
"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," snapped Blaise. "Just because you're a heartless, frigid bastard doesn't mean the rest of us are. Besides, this is hardly an emotional concern. He wouldn't want to miss this and lose face in front of us Slytherins, so I highly doubt he'd not show unless something was going on."
"Fine," said Draco stiffly after a moment. "Would you like to be the one to go to Dumbledore, then? Because I'm sure not too keen on revealing just why we're out here."
"Not particularly, no," said Blaise dryly.
"Let's check around the most likely places and then if we can't find him, go to Snape first," suggested Theo. "Yeah, he's a hard-ass, but he'd go easier on us than any of the other professors would."
Draco and Blaise looked at him. "Yeah, okay," agreed Blaise. "I'll look in the library – Draco, you search the common room and our dorm, and Theo, check the kitchens and the owlry."
Draco nodded. "Let's go."
The three boys clambered off in their separate ways to check their respective areas. Each boy, however, had no luck, and twenty minutes later they reconvened, all looking dejected.
"Down to the dungeons to find Snape then?" asked Blaise quietly taking in the sight of the others without Harry.
"Yeah," said Theo, and so they all scrambled down to the dungeons, heading for their Head of House. Before long they were standing outside of the door to Snape's office, but no one made any sudden motions to knock on the door.
"You do it," hissed Draco at Theo, gesturing to the door.
"Why not you?" retorted Theo, his dark eyes challenging.
"We already decided to do this, you know," pointed out Blaise. He rolled his eyes. "You guys are such cowards."
With that, Blaise stepped forward and rapped sharply on the door twice. He stepped back and waited expectantly with Draco and Theo. Trepidation ran through the lot of them as they heard steps approaching.
Frowning, Severus Snape opened the door to the sight of three first year Slytherins, standing before him. This was another reason he hated being a Head of House… "Yes?" he asked slowly, as if speaking to someone mentally deficient.
"We're concerned that Harry Potter's missing," explained Blaise, when it became evident that neither of the others was about to speak.
Snape blinked. That wasn't what he was had been expecting to hear. "Why?"
"He was supposed to meet us," said Theo, "hours ago. There's no way he'd not show, and no one's seen him all afternoon. We looked all around the castle."
Snape surveyed them shrewdly. "Meet you for what?"
The three of them shuffled uncomfortably. Finally, Draco spoke up. "We… we sort of challenged some of the Gryffindors in our year… to go out into the forest… we were going to make sure they did it."
"You childish imbeciles," spat Snape. "Which Gryffindors?" he asked heavily, with the distinct impression he already knew the answer, even without Legilimency.
"Eric Potter, Ron Weasley, and the Mud- er, Hermione Granger," replied Blaise, wincing.
"Great – you're risking Dumbledore's 'Golden Boy's life," growled Snape, beginning to pace back and forth. "And did you see them go in or out of the forest tonight?"
"Well… no," said Draco, "but Professor, about Harry-"
"I think Harry Potter is our lesser concern at the moment, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape stiffly. "I will go to Dumbledore and have him take care of the matter of Eric Potter… then I shall go searching for his twin myself, if that will appease you…"
They nodded silently, suddenly feeling like this was more trouble than it was worth.
Snape began to make his way up to Dumbledore's office, brushing past the boys, when he heard a call behind him.
"Wait," said Theo in a small voice, "Are you going to tell Dumbledore that we put them up to this?"
Snape just stared at him stonily, but when he opened his mouth his words were actually rather soft. "There is no need to inform him. There is enough hatred for Slytherin in this school, and it would be best if that is not antagonized further."
Theo smiled, but Snape simply rolled his eyes and swept past them, cloak billowing with the force of his stride.
- - -
Stupid young Slytherins, Severus thought for the fourth time, shaking his head in frustration. Merlin knows Eric Potter needs a good scare, but Dumbledore will have my head if he dies by my students…
He finally approached the Headmaster's office, spoke the password (Acid Pops) and climbed past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance. As he headed up the spiral stairs to where Dumbledore would be, another thought popped into his head.
And yet Harry Potter actually seems to have made some friends… he mused. They were worried about him, even if they didn't want to admit it. Interesting.
Sighing, Severus knocked on Dumbledore's door.
"Come in," called the distinct voice from within. He opened the door to reveal Dumbledore sitting quietly at his desk, sipping some tea.
"Tea, Severus?" offered Dumbledore amiably, not seeming to notice or care that the potions master was obviously not in the mood for pleasantries. Severus pointedly ignored the offer.
"Sir, Eric Potter and his two friends have been challenged to go into the Forbidden Forest tonight," he began. "They've not been seen going in or out, but I suspect that the Gryffindors would not back down from something like that, rash as they are."
"Oh dear," said Dumbledore lightly, but his eyes sharpened. He stood up. "I'll alert the faculty to be on the lookout throughout the school, and send Hagrid into the forest at once."
Dumbledore paused before moving and locked eyes with Snape. "Thank you for informing me, Severus."
Severus nodded curtly and exited the office. At least that duty was done. Now to search for Harry Potter…
Leisurely, Severus strode through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, idly thinking of Harry Potter. He still hadn't found any evidence that the boy had stolen the cloak, and he remained frustratingly baffled that the kid had managed to somehow learn a significant amount of Occlumency throughout the short months of the school year. Severus descended a flight of stairs to the third floor, and his thoughts turned to that damn Cerberus of Hagrid's that had taken a significant chunk out of his leg not long ago. He knew Quirrell wanted to get the Stone, but so far he didn't think that the man had gotten past that vicious dog.
The beast on his mind, Severus veered off into the Forbidden corridor, and his heart nearly stopped at what he saw before him. At the end of the hall, the door to "Fluffy's" chamber was ever so slightly ajar.
"Oh, shit," said Severus, before breaking out in a run.
- - -
"She can't go there!" cried Harry.
"Quiet, Mr. Potter. Do not argue with the Dark Lord's decision, I warn you," hissed Quirrell. "Miss Moon, move to E8."
They'd been playing the game for nearly an hour and the board was almost clear of pieces. It had been especially disconcerting when Voldemort's voice sounded at times, suggesting one move or another.
"That bishop will knock me out!" protested Sonia furiously, eyes ablaze and dark brows arched. "I'm not your sacrifice!"
"Aren't you?" said Quirrell quietly. "This is exactly why the Dark Lord suggested I bring extras along…"
"Extras," growled Harry, echoing the man.
"I'll ask once more, Miss Moon," said Quirrell. "Move – before I make you do it."
Sonia glanced fearfully back at him, clearly remembering being controlled to jump down the trapdoor. She looked at Harry briefly, and he could see the fear clearly in her eyes. He stared back at her, feeling sick. She took a shaky breath but then straightened, pushed her long black hair back, and walked slowly to E8. Before Harry's eyes, the faceless white bishop sprang on her, punched her roughly aside and threw her across the board, where she slid pathetically off the edge.
"Sonia!" he yelled desperately. He saw her twitch, and then lay still.
"You bastard," said Harry to Quirrell, seething. He felt the air around him start to crackle as his magic responded to his anger.
"The boy is strong…" said Voldemort suddenly, his deep raspy voice sounding oddly pleased.
"Shut up!" snapped Harry. "Capimorsus!" he shouted at Quirrell, needing to channel all of his hate into dark magic. As soon as he cast the spell, he felt the familiar rising wave of pleasure at using raw magic, and he shuttered at the sensation.
Quirrell ducked the dark spell and regarded Harry speculatively. "Good, Potter," he said, smiling. "You have such natural talent with dark magic for one so young; it's astounding."
"Fuck you," replied Harry, itching to leave his square on the chess board and attack Quirrell physically. Quirrell raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't respond.
"Go on then, Potter. Checkmate them," said Quirrell placidly, gesturing to the white king.
Harry bit his lower lip, knowing there was no fighting it, and approached the king. As soon as he reached the square, the white king reached up and dropped his crown on the ground, where it landed with a heavy thunk on the marble board.
The chessmen then parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. Harry, unconcerned with the next room, rushed to Sonia, who was lying limp on the ground.
"Sonia!" he cried again, throwing himself next to her. One of her arms looked bent at an unnatural angle, and a deep bruise had spread all over her shoulder and right side. Unconscious, her breaths came shallowly, as if breathing in deeply would cause her pain. Harry desperately hoped that no damage had been done to her internally.
"Come on, boy," said Quirrell restlessly by the door. He pointed his wand at Harry in exasperation, and Harry felt a sharp tug on his body, pulling him away from Sonia. Reluctantly, he turned away from her and hurried after Quirrell into the next room.
A disgusting smell filled their nostrils as soon as they passed through the threshold. Scanning the room, Harry first noticed two large, moldy-looking feet. In dread, he followed the feet up to what they supported – a fully grown mountain troll, stomping around, muttering to itself.
Harry suddenly remembered hearing that Eric and his friends had defeated a troll on Halloween. How had they done it? He was still curious…
"Well, I'll make short work of this, Potter," said Quirrell casually. Harry raised an eyebrow. "I have a special talent with trolls," Quirrell explained.
Indeed, Harry would later admit that he had never seen anything like it. It was as if Quirrell knew exactly what the troll was thinking and where it was going to move next, even if its motions seemed erratic and random to Harry.
Quirrell distracted it by transfiguring a small dog to run around the area, while he shot spells at the troll's various weak points – his armpits, the back of his knees, his neck, and his eyes. Just minutes had passed before Quirrell successfully hit the troll with a Conjunctivitis curse in the eyes, causing the thing to stomp around in pain and blindness. No longer able to see its attacker, the troll turned his back to Quirrell, allowing the professor to send a vicious slicing charm at the back of its neck.
As the troll stumbled forward, Quirrell bellowed a series of blasting spells at its thick skull, and only after around seven spells had hit him did the troll suddenly cry out in pain as his skull cracked. The troll slumped down, lost consciousness, and began drooling pathetically on the floor.
Calmly, Quirrell sauntered up to the troll and sent more blasting spells at it until its head looked mangled and deformed. Finally, he cast a killing curse at the bloody mass that was once the troll's brain. Harry watched by the entrance, half in fascination, half in revulsion. The stench was even worse now.
"Come along, Potter," said Quirrell primly, brushing his robes off and heading for the door ahead. Harry grinned despite himself – Quirrell's tone was as calm as if he'd invited Harry for afternoon tea.
Harry gave one last glance at the dead troll as he scurried after Quirrell. Well, at least now he knew how to take one of those down, should he ever need to…
In the next room there was nothing nearly as frightening as a mountain troll – just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line. As soon as Harry and Quirrell stepped through the doorway, though, a strange purple fire sprang up behind them, blocking their way back.
"Hmm," murmured Quirrell, eyes on a roll of paper lying next to the bottles.
He picked it up and unfurling it. Harry came to stand beside him and read the message, which he soon realized was a riddle. Harry couldn't help but snicker. Snape's test was a logic puzzle?
"Sweet Salazar, he would do this…" muttered Quirrell, obviously frustrated.
"I can figure it out," offered Harry.
"Yes, boy, give it a try. If you can't get it, I'll consult my lord."
Harry read over the scroll a couple more times, thinking hard. It really wasn't too difficult, he realized after a moment. One potion allowed you through the black flames to the next room; another let you go back from the purple ones. The rest were poisons of various kinds.
"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently after a moment.
"I'm thinking," snapped Harry, although it was a complete lie. He'd figured it out, but now he had a choice…
He had the power now to give Quirrell one of the poisons. He could be done with the man right here and now – he wouldn't get to the Sorcerer's Stone, and he would no longer be a danger to him and Sonia. Harry knew he wouldn't stand a chance against the Dark Lord should he be resurrected completely. What if he could get rid of it all… end it all… right now?
"This one will get you through," he stated, holding up one of the phials. The green liquid in it sloshed innocently as he held it up.
Quirrell nodded and took it. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
As Quirrell brought the potion to his lips, Voldemort's deep voice sounded, muffled slightly by Quirrell's turban as usual. "He lies…"
Quirrell jerked the potion away from his mouth as if burnt. "You would dare try to poison me, boy? I, who saved your life? I, who taught you Occlumency and dark magic from the Dark Lord?" he hissed.
"You, who hurt Sonia? You, who drank unicorns' blood? You, who have been deceiving everyone all along?" spat back Harry, his green eyes glimmering. His anger pushed away all of his fear. "Yeah, I do think I dare."
"Impetuous boy!" screamed Quirrell. "Destero!" he shouted, sending a blue-purple jet of light at Harry. Harry ducked and took out his own wand.
"Geractus!" he yelled back; it was another dark curse he'd learned, but this was one Quirrell had taught him. The tingling pleasure of dark magic drove him to cast another in quick succession. "Romperio!" Harry gasped.
Quirrell brought up a shield, off which the two curses bounced harmlessly. The first spell shot across the room, dying when it hit the wall, but the second one was deflected right into the potions – shattering half of them when it impacted.
Quirrell watched the potions shatter and then let out an inhuman yell, animalistic and base. He rushed at Harry, shooting hex after hex. Harry was able to avoid most of them (he was rather small and quick, after all) but a couple of them managed to hit Harry in the legs. "Aggh," cried Harry as a dark curse impacted with his left arm – his wand arm.
Harry screwed his face up in pain as he watched his forearm literally bubbling. His skin rippled and was the consistency of magma; Harry felt himself scream as the sensation made its way through muscle and reached his bone, melting it.
Almost delirious with pain, he switched his wand to his right hand. "Flectus morsibus!" he breathed, but the spell required a complex pattern for wand movement, and, unused to using his right hand, the spell exploded outward from his wand in a nova – definitely not what it was supposed to do.
Quirrell tried to put up a shield to stop the wave, but the one he conjured didn't stop the botched spell, and instead it ripped through his shield and blasted him to the far wall. "My Lord!" he gasped as the side of his head collided painfully with the stone.
"Let me deal with him," said Voldemort menacingly. Quirrell whimpered and quickly tore off his turban.
Harry was still gasping at his forearm, which had since stopped bubbling but was now a cooling, mutated mess. He looked up to the sight of the scarlet eyes and white skin of Lord Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head.
"I haven't seen a young dark wizard with so much potential in many, many years," said Voldemort, using Quirrell's body to circle Harry in long strides. "But you, Harry Potter, will not stop me from returning."
No, that's my brother's job, thought Harry as he watched Voldemort warily.
Faster than Harry could react, Voldemort shot a wordless slicing charm at his face. Harry felt a gash explode on the side of his cheek, and warm red blood began flowing out of the wound. Harry instinctively put a hand to the slice and when he pulled his fingers away, they were sticky with blood.
"How does it feel to be weak, Harry Potter? How does it feel to be the lesser one, the one with no power?" said Voldemort as his grotesque, lipless mouth curved into a pale grin.
Harry didn't respond. His mind was working furiously. How the hell was he going to survive this? He glared back at Voldemort as his body ached in pain.
"I thought as much. There is no good and evil, Harry Potter. There is only power and those too weak to seek it," said Voldemort reverently.
"My lord…" Harry heard Quirrell say feebly from behind Voldemort. "My lord my strength is waning… you're… my body is not strong enough for this for much longer…"
Harry suddenly realized that every time Voldemort used Quirrell's body to speak or act, the man was drained, probably magically as well as physically. He shuttered at the idea of inhabiting a body of another magical being, sharing its power source.
"Hush, Quirrell," snapped Voldemort, scarlet eyes flashing. "Boy – is the correct potion still intact?"
Harry looked over to the table, where about half the potions had been smashed by the errant spell, but a few had remained upright. He noted with a mix of dread and happiness that the correct one was still there. "Yes," he said lowly.
"Drink a mouthful of the potion and continue on."
Knowing he could hardly argue with this, Harry chose the correct phial and took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat slowly, and a feeling of ice spread through his body. With a glance at Quirrell/Voldemort, he stepped through the black flames as they harmlessly licked his body. Just as he opened the door to continue, he saw Voldemort behind him pick up the same flask and drink out of it.
The last chamber was completely empty, except for one thing – the long floor-length mirror that Harry had found one night, which had showed him a vision of himself in the future, loved by his parents. Harry purposefully didn't stand in front of the mirror; he did not want to see that cruel picture again.
Seconds later, Quirrell/Voldemort joined him in the room. Immediately, he stood before the mirror, gazing at it longingly. "What is this trick of Dumbledore's? I can see the stone! It's right there…"
"Potter!" he barked suddenly. "What do you see?"
Reluctantly, Harry stepped in front of the mirror. This time, the Harry that peered back at him wasn't older, but instead the same age as he was now. The Harry in the mirror was confident and uninjured, and Harry looked jealously at his reflection's normal forearm and unmarred face. The reflection winked at him and then took out his wand. "Factus unicas animas," his reflection whispered, whipping his wand at Quirrell/Voldemort.
"My lord, I cannot… sustain this much longer…" gasped Quirrell weakly from behind Voldemort.
Harry was still staring, wide-eyed, at his reflection in the mirror. The other Harry's spell hit Quirrell/Voldemort, and both of their voices screamed in agony, as they fell to the ground.
Merlin, Harry thought in disbelief, He's showing me how to defeat them… it's showing me what I truly want right now!
"Well, boy?" said Voldemort, although Harry thought he was sounding weaker now than before.
Harry grinned at the mirror, who smiled back at him, and in one swift motion, drew his wand, pointing it at Voldemort. "Factus unicas animas!" he shouted, with as much force as he could muster. Voldemort's red eyes widened, and he stumbled backward, conjuring a shield, but the approaching spell was too powerful, and slipped right through it.
Harry was breathing hard as he watched the jet of light hit Voldemort; his magical reserves felt dangerously low. That spell had taken a lot out of him, taxing his already injured, bleeding body. He suddenly felt very sleepy, and without warning his knees buckled, causing him to fall harshly forward.
Blinking, he watched detachedly as Voldemort and Quirrell began screaming in pure, unrestrained pain. They fell to the ground, and as bloodcurdling screams ripped from both of their mouths, suddenly Voldemort's face began to swirl on Quirrell's head, until in mere seconds a fine gray mist erupted from Quirrell's skull. Voldemort's face was now gone, leaving the back of Quirrell's head raw and skinless. The mist drifted away and Harry lost sight of it; he instead stared at Quirrell.
Quirrell was writhing on the ground, bleeding from his head. Harry caught a glimpse of Quirrell's face and he saw that blood was also seeping out of his nose, eye sockets, and mouth. Quirrell suddenly became quieter and quieter, and Harry knew. Quirrell was dying.
Harry's lips were dry and his head felt like mush. He blinked a few times, trying to stay awake, but sleep, or perhaps unconsciousness, was calling him. Just as his eyes were fluttering shut, he barely registered another person come barreling into the room.
"Potter?" the voice said in surprise, but the word sounded slurred to Harry.
"V'mornquirl…" muttered Harry incoherently, and then all went black.