Sorry for the delay! Haven't had a night free to post this. Meant to last night, but it was my academic dad's birthday, so we all went out for drinks :) Good times! Not only that but there's been much Glee goodness, making me read glee fics instead of typing ;P
It's been hard to get times to write, so I'm hoping things will settle down soon. I also have a crossover fic idea which is just not leaving me alone, so might have to type it up before I get more of this one done :(
Apologies for the length and thanks for all the reviews last chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the HP universe or anything contained there within. If I did I'd use the money to buy the rights to Glee!
Chapter Twenty
It was only three days into his summer holidays, but Harry had spent all his time studying the stone and reading any books that could possibly relate to it that he'd purchased on his first day back on a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase himself enough books to satisfy him for a few weeks at least. And in only three days, Harry was very close to admitting defeat: the stone had taken many years for Flamel to correctly synthesise, after having decades of learning and theorising beforehand: it would be a miracle if he found a way to work it properly. He thought he'd have just the slightest bit of an idea, had he had the Potions classes on basic Alchemy, but that wasn't covered until sixth year in the N.E.W.T classes. Once again Harry was laid out on his bed, simply staring into the red stone's depths, his focussed slipping further and further away from his body until he was concentrating completely on his former defence professor and inhabitee who were currently pouring over texts searching for any means to restore the Dark Lord's body.
So far there had been several mentions of a 'horcrux', though Harry didn't know what that was, the term having never appeared in any of his books leaving him to assume it was some form of Dark Arts. He had finally learnt where they were that morning, when Quirrell hesitantly questioned how long they would be staying in Little Hangleton, to which Voldemort had sneered before crippling Quirrell in pain for nearly a minute.
Harry hadn't been surprised when news of the stone's theft had reached the paper. Though the Ministry, Flamel and Dumbledore all refused to comment on who the thief was, Flamel had been quoted saying he was most displeased that it was stolen as he had been assured it was extremely safe and would remain so. There was much speculation on why the stone had been moved to Hogwarts in the first place, and great outcry over the risk it had posed, keeping such a sought after object in a school.
He would have rather liked to see Voldemort's reaction upon hearing the news, however the man didn't receive the Daily Prophet, and so he would just have to wait: not much longer though, as Harry was about to move to plan B.
As he hadn't really expect himself to be able to figure out the mechanisms for the stone (plan A), he had already set up his next strategy, and was prepared to execute it tomorrow.
Finally resigning himself to his defeat at the hands of the inanimate stone, Harry flicked off his light, lay down and tucked the stone underneath his pillow alongside his wand, slowly falling asleep.
The next morning, Harry left the orphanage before seeing any of the other children: he had managed to avoid them so far this holiday, and was just waiting for the first encounter, hoping they would be content to leave him be.
He took the Underground to the station nearest Diagon Alley then walked the rest of the way. It was nice to have so much freedom again, after having been cooped up inside the, albeit large, castle for several months. Being able to go wherever he wanted, whenever, was something he greatly appreciated the orphanage for, and had greatly undervalued it until it had been taken away.
He headed to the post office first, hiring an owl and offering it the strongly bound newspaper and parchment before sending it off with directions to drop it then make a quick escape. Harry wasn't sure whether the owl understood, or he was just too use to his close bond with Hedwig and her incredibly high level of intelligence.
However, he watched it swoop out of site, hoping he wouldn't be sent a bill for a non-returned owl before heading back into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.
He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, as he drew his cloak closer around him, the hood shadowing his face, before slipping down the darkened alley to visit Borgin and Burke's. He'd scoped out the area last summer, but hadn't had a need to enter any of the shops beyond curiosity. Now he entered the dank, musty shop at a slow pace, observing the wares for a good minute before approaching the owner at the till.
"Can I 'elp you, sir?" The man Harry presumed to be either a Borgin or Burke asked, his voice cautious, yet curious.
"There are two things I require, Mr..." Harry trailed off, and it took the man several moments to realise he was waiting for his name.
"Borgin, sir, and what might they be?" His eyes had become greedier as they conversed.
"Discretion and information."
"Well, you'll be finding both of 'em here. Whe'er you get 't though, depen's on what you off'ring."
Harry pulled a small bag, filled to the brim with galleons from his robes, careful not to touch anything in the shop as he did so.
"One hundred galleons, dependant on what you've offering," Harry mimicked Borgin's original statement.
"What d'you wanna know?" He was almost salivating over the gold, and Harry could see his hands edging towards it. He gently placed his wand on top of the sack, waiting until the shop keeper met his eyes before speaking.
"Horcrux."
Harry had assumed the word related to some form of Dark Arts. What he hadn't predicted was Borgin's face turning ashen, his hands retreating quickly to his side, one entering his pocket where Harry could tell he was fingering his wand ready to draw it at any time.
"Don' deal wit' stuff like that here," he told Harry quickly who continued on as if Borgin hadn't reacted.
"I want to know what they are, and if you have any books on them."
Borgin merely shook his head furiously, before turning and heading towards the back of the shop. Harry sighed, pulling a larger pouch from his pocket and placing it beside the original. "Three hundred galleons. And not a word of what was mentioned here will be spoken of elsewhere, by either of us."
Harry could see the indecision easily when Borgin froze, turning slowly to look at the money bag before making his way back, muttering darkly under his breath.
Harry was safely ensconced back in the orphanage, in his own bed, when the letter he'd sent was found my Quirrell. Thankfully the owl had dropped it through the open window to the study earlier on when Quirrell had been in the dungeons and had disappeared since, returning to its post for rest in Diagon Alley.
It showed how aware he was that, as soon as Quirrell walked into the room, he was straight over to the desk where the post lay, wand in hand and casting several detection charms, only one of which Harry recognised, over the bound papers.
It was almost fifteen minutes before he was apparently satisfied that there wasn't any spells on it at which he swiftly unbound the cord with his wand, watching them unwind.
His hand reached first for the letter, before the headline caught his eye and he froze: "Philosopher's Stone Stolen Whilst Kept at Hogwarts: No Comments Made by Ministry." He paused for a moment, staring at the title, confused and shocked, before straightening the letter out with vigour.
Harry already knew what the letter said, so didn't bother focussing on that as it was read: instead he watched the way Quirrell's hands began to tighten, the knuckles turning white the further he read.
It was only once he was finished the letter that he fell to the floor, an agonised scream breaking from his mouth and tears trekking down his cheeks. "You fool! How could someone else have stolen the stone when you failed?"
"What do you want me to do, Master?" Quirrell snivelled, his limbs spasming from the pain.
"I want you to do what you should have done in Hogwarts! Steal the stone! Go and meet this person when they require. Find out how they managed to steal it when you failed and how he knows where we are!"
Harry continued to watch for a while longer, before drifting off to sleep.
The next day, Harry woke to the sound of tapping on his window. Quickly waking, he opened the window and stepped back as the, rather statuesque, eagle owl flew through, settling next to Hedwig who gave it the once over with her amber eyes.
The scroll it offered him was from Draco who regaled him with the details of his shopping trip in France and what he had been doing so far in the holidays at Malfoy Manor, before trying to extract what the 'business' he had declared he had was. The questioning wasn't even subtle, and Harry wondered if he was just doing it to annoy him, when it was impossible for Harry to glare at him until he stopped.
What didn't pass his attention, no matter how subtle Draco tried to be in this regard, was the mention that his father was keen on talking with him. Harry hadn't really expected either Draco or Theo to keep what he'd told him to themselves, the main reason he hadn't told them any more than what he did. It was also the reason he was putting off his stay at their manor until after his meeting with Voldemort: he wanted to know what was happening fully in regards to Voldemort before being questioned by the elder Malfoy.
So he drafted a quick reply, stating merely that Draco sounded like he was having a good time, Harry's holiday was rather mundane, and that he would let him know when he was free to spend some time with him: he made no mention as to his own business, and let him think he had gotten away with Lucius wanting to speak with him.
Done with that, he set out again to Diagon Alley, hoping to buy enough books to last him several weeks. He only had a day before he met with the Dark Lord once more, and, if all went to plan, he didn't know when he'd next have a chance to buy more books.
I hope too many people don't hate this chapter. I'm trying to keep Harry in character and realistic. The Philosopher's Stone was a huge alchemic success, I just can't imagine it being extremely easy to use, especially for a twelve year old, no matter how smart they are.
Let it be known that I hate writing accents. I'm pretty sure Borgin didn't sound like that... '~'
Reviews are appreciated.