HadrmakeA/N: The joys of having a cooperative mind and muse (or are those the same thing? Shoot...)
Something had wrapped its arms around his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Harry scrambled for his wand and managed to illuminate the area. He saw the others scrambling for their wands as well and lighting the area, causing the tendrils to seize up and freeze. It was absolutely disgusting, slime covering brown and black tendrils that seemed to be in the numbers of hundreds, if not thousands. Harry heard some yelps coming from Tracey and Hermione as he examined the thing that had them in its grasp.
He caught the word, "Snare," from Black. She knew it as well. They were caught in the Devil's Snare, a rather repulsive plant that shouldn't have been in the castle no matter how large nor old it was. These plants didn't grow in castles nor any enclosed area unless it had been planted by a Wizard or Witch. The Snare tended to grow in swamps or in jungles, moist, humid places with lots of small animals and water. It had the tendency to cause one to asphyxiate as it wrapped its tendrils around you, imbued with magical properties that allowed it to digest its ensnared victims over the course of hours. The only recorded deaths were Muggles as their Magical counterparts had the luxury to conjure whatever they'd need to get out of its grasp. From the recorded accounts, these deaths were excruciating, somehow recorded to feel a lot like burning.
He heard Tracey say, "Harry, what's this?"
He looked at her. Her eyebrows were knit together in worry, her mouth in a frown, and her brown hair all over the place. It was nearly as crazy as Hermione's. Nearly. Quickly, Harry said, "The Devil's Snare, and it's something that we can get out of. We just need a bit of…fire." Harry nonverbally conjured flames, scorching the plant and causing the tendrils to retreat rapidly. Everyone dropped to the floor of a cylindrical room.
They brushed themselves off and cleaned themselves up, but not before Harry said, "It seems like there are a lot of devilish things in here what with the Devil's Snare and the Cerberus." He then mentally winced as he realized that he was essentially quoting the Dursleys. How disgusting.
Daphne and Hermione emitted several snorts as they processed that joke while Black simply told Harry to shut up.
Harry then walked over to the final Witch mentioned and muttered, "Voldemort is trying to get the Stone."
Her eyes widened as she heard that, grabbing him without warning by the robes and shoved him towards the door. "Then go, Potter. Let's urry up, or else we're dead!" Black commanded Harry.
Not wanting to properly confront an angry Black, armed with Morgaine's memories or not, Harry rushed across a massive hallway and headed towards a massive hulking oak door. It was locked. Of course, he was a wizard and he wasn't going to forget that anytime soon, casting an Alohomora and flung the door open. He quickly walked into a massive chamber, a row of stone pillars on each side, not connected to any wall but instead the ceiling. He checked the door and cast the same charm as he couldn't open the door. He frowned as he felt the charm fail. Reaching out and 'feeling' the door, he saw several complex charms that he could dispel, but that'd take too long. He looked around the room, Black leading the rest of the group.
Then something caught his eye. It was up there, near the ceiling and between two of the pillars closest to him. It was a flock of silver…keys? That was a particularly odd thing for Harry, but then again, it was the Wizarding World, so anything goes. Not caring about magical finesse right now, he cast a Summoning Charm and over powered it in such a way that the magic should be able to fight against any minor form of resistance like those wings on the key itself.
Harry caught a rather massive ornate key. It was a show of master craftsmanship, the metal, presumably silver or iron, twisting this way and that. It also was ludicrously heavy for a key. Hefting the key into the lock, Harry used both hands to turn the key which caused the door to swing open. In Harry looked only to find himself looking at the back of hulking black, glossy figures. He entered through the doorway, the others muttering amongst themselves as they followed him.
When everyone was in, the door swung shut and the sound of a key being removed could be heard.
"Well," Harry said, addressing the group for once in the span of five minutes, "seems like we're trapped. I guess that we have to…what? Play across?"
And of course, Daphne spoke up. "No, Harry, we have to fly across. What do you think?" Several moments later, she then said, "Considering the fact that there are spaces between the chess pieces, couldn't we just slip right across?"
As if expecting those words, the King stepped off of the board and started speaking in a raspy, grainy voice. It seemed as if someone were clawing a chalkboard. It said with nonhuman fluidity, "No, Masters and Mistresses. You will have to play across. There is no possible way. If you try to skip this part, the door across will not open."
"Fucking great," Black muttered, just audible. In louder tones, "Get a move on, Potter. You're the one who arranged this entire 'investigation,' so you'd best command this chess board pretty damn well or else we're all dead."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered. He then said, "Daphne, you're the Queen. Black, you're the Bishop on the right-"
"Hey," Black objected, "I wanted to be the Queen."
"As you so delicately put it, Black," Harry ground out, "we don't have much time. And I'm the one commanding this board."
"I definitely don't think you're doing a decent job at it nonetheless," Black muttered.
Harry simply ignored her, putting Hermione as the left Bishop with Tracey and Blaise on the left and right knights (the latter two in that order). He got up on the King piece and started speaking. He had to make this rather fast, and Morgaine's childhood spent sewing wasn't helping.
-Many moves later-
Harry found himself in a rather peculiar predicament. It was one that could easily mean an injury to his friends, which didn't bode well for him. He felt the familiar stone of worry and the sensation of frustration settle within the recesses of his mind. God, couldn't he just make a different choice?
Of course, he could. But that'd mean that he'd spend another, what? Five to ten moves setting the trap and springing said trap. He palmed his forehead, wiped a bit of sweat off, and opened his mouth to tell Tracey.
"Hey Tracey!" Harry shouted to get her attention. "I'm going to sacrifice your piece so that we can capture the King."
She simply nodded, a shadow being cast across her face. Was it worry or fear? Harry paid no attention as, a few seconds later, he told the chessboard the next move. Suddenly, he saw Tracey's wand come up as the sword was raised. Tracey shouted, Molliare! Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant. She was thrown aside as her piece shattered. Harry was finishing the King off with one more move when Tracey stirred and got up, her wand in hand. The King toppled over, causing the door on the other side of the board to swing open with a loud creak that seemed to reverberate throughout the room. They all rushed towards Tracey, though Black was noticeably more…uncomfortable doing so. Tracey waved them off, saying that she was fine as she made towards the door.
Harry told her, just audible, "Good idea with the Cushioning Charm."
She gave him a warm smile and pushed Daphne away rather gently. Harry was then pulled by Black into a room that was empty, the Witch telling him that they should hurry for the third time. The room was deceptively empty, but Harry could feel a faint trace of magic in the room, a trace that he had encountered once already. Harry shoved Black to the ground and cast a Parseltongue shield specifically designed against arrows and crossbow bolts. It should certainly hold against a club.
And said club suddenly slammed against the shield, causing the others who hadn't come in the room to stay back. Black then said, as she got up, "Thanks." She then seemed to move her hand to cast a spell, but Harry was a step ahead of her.
Harry, who hadn't replied, took the shield down as the troll was recovering. He cast one of the fastest and deadliest spells he could think of, quickly taking aim. The spell was essentially a syllable and a series of rapid wand movements, not requiring much magic. It was also used to torture victims while rendering them immobile. It was a spell that Morgaine had seen and secretly learned in Walachia through the observance of a vampire/wizard half-breed named Vlad Tepes. It was a rather grim memory, even though she had been dead which was saying something. The spell was a rather guaranteed way to kill a person and was far more efficient that an Organ-Liquefying Curse. After all, it's efficiency coupled with the pain it induced was the main reason why it was such a favorite of Tepes.
It certainly did not disappoint Harry in the least. A spell the color of blood of blood came out of his wand. Small tendrils of magic swirled around the bolt of magic which spread as the troll or rather massive hulking piece of meat was hit. The creature howled an eerily familiar scream that made everyone's blood curdle. The troll was thrown against the wall of the rather massive room and violently convulsed. A hole slowly formed in its chest, blood seeping out as it grew and grew until Harry could stick his head in said hole. The skin ripped, muscle was shredded as the hole expanded. There were only a few twitches after a few minutes, Harry's modifications on the spell evidently hastening the effects of the spell.
Black looked at him, a glint in her eyes while the others looked at him in shock.
"Harry, how could you?!" Hermione cried out. "How could you torture it like that?"
Coldly, Harry answered, "You didn't have any qualms the first time." He Scourgified the place so that the blood wouldn't seep into their clothes and so that the shock value could possibly lessen. After that, no one said anything, everyone else noting the danger that Harry posed to his opponents. No one their age should directly confront him.
Harry briskly walked through the door on the other side, opening it and noting that there was another door on the other side. Immediately, ignoring the seven potions in eccentric bottles on the table, he went over and tried to open the door. But before he could reach the door, a curtain of black flames appeared, causing Harry to immediately recoil.
Not wanting to waste any time, he cast a Flame-Freezing charm and stuck his littlest finger through. That was certainly a decision that he regretted, he stifled a yelp, thinking of the worse things he had felt. Quickly, he healed himself and, rather grudgingly, he went back to the table and asked for Daphne for the parchment. She gave it to him, saying something about the third bottle.
Harry didn't pay attention, he mind focusing on the fact that they had wasted far too much time. He should've done this alone, right? They were slow enough. Had he been braver, if he hadn't been such a coward, then he could've stopped Voldemort far sooner from attaining eternal life.
The parchment said,
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."
It took Harry a minute or two, but then he reached for the third bottle, suddenly processing what Daphne had said. He, pausing briefly, smiled sheepishly at her who, in turn, simply glared. He uncorked the bottle and started to drink when a thought barreled through Harry's mind. He'd have to explain the situation to the others. After all, there was just enough potion for two or three people.
He sighed, corking the bottle again and placing it on the table. The others behind him were talking, Hermione with Blaise, Tracey with Daphne. Black was waiting for him. Quickly making his decision, he then said, clearing his throat to get their attention, "Quirrel wants the Philosopher's Stone and has gone through these…obstacles. Black and I are supposed to help Dumbledore stop him-"
"What're you doing, Potter? Shut up!" Black hissed. Harry simply ignored her.
"And, according to this riddle, this potion," Harry held the minute bottle up, "is supposed to take whoever consumes it past the black flames. There's only enough for two or three people if we take a minuscule sip. The one that's supposed to take you past the purple flames, back to the other obstacles, this one," He picked up the seventh one to the right, "is enough for three or four people."
Black was glaring at him, obviously wanting him to shut up, while the others looked at each other. Daphne spoke up, "I'll go."
Hermione didn't object, probably not wanting to contest her. Blaise and Tracey nodded, knowing that of the others, Daphne was the best choice. After all, she was typically second to Harry in Dueling and in their classes. They were also close.
Or at least that was what Harry thought was going through their minds when no one objected to Daphne going. Black looked like she wanted to talk to Harry, but probably decided against it, knowing full well that time was of the essence.
Harry gave the potion for the black flames to Black first, then Daphne, then himself. He gave Hermione the potion for the purple flames and headed towards the door, taking his wand out. He passed through the flames, feeling only a slight tingling, and opened the door, Black and Daphne behind him.
The room he had just entered was large to say the least. It was fashioned in a hexagonal manner; the outer edges being raised and the center of the room being a good foot or two lower. There were stairs that came from all of the edges and provided a small ramp for one to walk down to the center of the room. Pillars were strategically placed around the room.
In the center of the room was a mirror, one that looked ludicrously familiar to Harry. Approaching the mirror, Harry gave a jolt of shock when he saw his mother and father. He could see himself hugging them, his mother, a flaming redhead, giving him a big kiss on the cheek and a hug. Harry could see the Dursleys hanging in the background as his father played games with him. He saw himself laughing, his eyes no longer old and weary, but fresh. He was not scarred by his life. He could see him smiling as he saw a girl with red hair and chocolate brown eyes drape her arms around him.
Oddly enough, Harry felt his heart being wrenched out, tears starting to form.
Suddenly, the image shifted so that he saw a blonde-haired girl with sparkling blue eyes kissing him on the cheek…wait, was that Daphne? She smiled mischievously at Harry, pulling away and slipping something into his pocket. Harry could feel something small, spherical slip into his pocket.
Harry's eyes grew wide. He realized what the mirror was. It was the Mirror of Erised. But he destroyed it. How? How was it still here? Momentarily dismissing this for whatever, Harry then slipped his hand into his pocket and took the object out, it had held the Philosopher's Stone.
Without warning, it came flying out of his hand, ropes suddenly biding Harry and laughter echoing throughout the room. It was a familiar laugh, a laugh that Harry remembered himself emitting. No! It was Voldemort. Whirling around, he saw Quirrell descending down the steps, evidently wishing to taunt Harry.
It would give the Wizard the façade that Harry was scared. He let his wand tremble a bit as he pointed it at Quirrel. He then noticed Daphne and Black incapacitated on the ground. He cursed himself for his stupidity and carelessness.
Harry then said, "Quirrell. So, it was you who tortured me in the forest."
The Wizard cackled again. "Of course, Potter! Who else other than poor, stuttering Q-Q-Quirrell? So brave, Potter? Amusing."
"B-but Dumbledore hired you!" Harry said, giving his voice a slight tinge of fear. "You shouldn't be here!"
"Ha!" Quirrell exclaimed. "The would never had suspected me, for my master had given me a plan that was foolproof. He was always there with me, hiding in plain sight. I watched you, Potter, growing each day. And so, as my master had commanded it, I was supposed to lie in wait, slowly letting him grow stronger and stronger so that he could crush you. But now, thanks to you, he will grow far stronger than he could have in my body. He will use this stone to regain his life, defeating death. He is far greater than Merlin who had not conquered Death. He is more cunning than Salazar, he is more powerful than Dumbledore!"
Suddenly, his face grotesquely shifted so that the man that Harry had seen that night in the Forest appeared. "And here I am, Potter. The Mirror was such an elaborate defense. And it was such a distraction, Potter. The goat's own test working against him, imagine! I do love the irony. Are you ready, my dear boy, for the things that I will do for you? The things that will cause you to beg and to scream, to cry for mercy, to make you wish for death?'
He looked at him, rather curiously, as if examining a specimen. Harry made no move to try and get free, knowing that he was currently under scrutiny. It certainly wasn't hard to come to that conclusion. Voldemort then reached out to grasp Harry by the chin, Harry suddenly screaming in pain.
It should also be noted that Voldemort was very, very theatric. Even Harry was surprised by the sudden, cliché speeches that Voldemort was giving him.
The smell of burning flesh suddenly hit Harry's nose, triggering memories of his friends and family dying due to hatred and prejudice. He saw himself fleeing, his lover sacrificing their life for him. And it struck a chord that numbed the pain. Only then did he realize that Voldemort was screaming as well, clutching his hand in shock.
Harry let his magic overtake the ropes that bound him, summoning his wand into his hand. He let his anger burst forth, casting an Incarcerous. Voldemort was caught off guard, being forced into a kneeling position. Harry smiled, coming up to Voldemort. He didn't pay any attention to the wand in his pocket.
It was only him and Voldemort, and oh how he wanted revenge for all the things wrong in his life. The Dursleys, his parents, his fucking title. He let his magic gather in his hands, bolstering his muscles and bone. He hit Voldemort directly in the face, relishing the solid sound of his fists. The smell of burning flesh hit his nose again, fanning his scorching nonexistent.
How dare he hurt them?! How dare he take everything from him?! Anger took over rational thinking, Harry's memories fanning his anger, letting it grow to monstrous sizes. Harry driving his fists into Riddle's face, taking pleasure as bones shattered with a CRUNCH! He heard the Wizard scream, writhing and struggling like a trapped rat. Harry smiled as he continued to destroy Quirrell's body apart, not caring that he felt immense pain. All he wanted to do was make the man who had ruined his life feel his pain.
Suddenly, he stopped. Looking at the carnage on Quirrell's body. His face was barely recognizable, though the man was clearing breathing. There were parts of his face that seemed to be missing, burnt in fact. Bones were sticking out of his skin, the Wizard still somehow alive. Perhaps it was the unicorn's blood or the fact that Voldemort didn't die the first time. But Harry gave it no speculation, coming up with a brilliant idea. He held Quirrellmort's (which was a rather good name he'd thought of) head in his hands and proceeded to slowly crush. He felt the bones give way, the skin disintegrating. Harry was euphoric as the skull caved in. He then proceeded to work on the rest of the body, pressing against the torso and feeling the muscle and bone crumble to what seemed like dust.
When Harry felt nothing in his hands, his mind rebooted. He felt his anger dissipate as he saw whatever remained of Voldemort's body burn to a crisp, even the ash disappearing. Suddenly, something seemed to escape from the body, fleeing. What the bloody hell happened? That was the one question that he constantly repeated in his mind before, without his noticing, his vision turned black and he collapsed, feeling immense pain.
-Switching over to Albus-
Dumbledore had felt spells fly within the room that the Stone was being held in. Immediately, he knew that Harry and his group of merry friends must have been able to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. Flamel was giving off an air of annoyance at Dumbledore's insistence to have a copy of the Stone at the school. The Stone, Dumbledore had asked, would have been able to transmute things simply into leprechaun gold. That was it. But with Voldemort at hand, then the Stone would serve as an item of interest. Could Voldemort be there? A stone dropped in Dumbledore's stomach. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? Immediately, he called Fawkes and politely asked him to transport him to the chamber where the Stone should have been.
Dumbledore appeared right in front of the Mirror, seeing Harry, Daphne, and Black unconscious. He felt the residue of a presence he knew far too well. Voldemort had been here, his presence feeling as if he had been doused in oil and grease. It was a presence that completely disgusted him due to the Dark magic that stained him. Dumbledore cast several diagnostic spells, breathing a sigh of relief that they were simply unconscious. Harry had several fractures in his hands, but that was it. What had happened? Dumbledore cast a healing spell on Harry, knowing for certain that his bones would be set. All he would need was Skele-Gro.
Dumbledore surveyed the area around him, noticing that the copy of the Stone had been thrown onto a nearby step. He saw the remains of rope in two places, right in front of the Mirror and next to it. Harry was lying in front of the rope to the side, so he was interacting with Voldemort. Harry had his wand holstered, but a quick, surface Priori Incantatem showed that he had indeed cast the Incarcerous. The same showed for Quirrell's wand.
Dumbledore mentally pieced together what had happened. And what must have happened. Dumbledore knelt next to Harry, feeling his heart break.
"Merlin, Harry," Dumbledore exclaimed, tears steadily rolling down his cheeks, "what have I done to you? What has an old man's foolish mistakes done to you?"
It took him a few minutes to compose himself. He felt older than ever when he stood up. All he wanted to do now was protect the young Wizard, but what could he do as the Headmaster? All he had done was share a few books, discuss things for a few minutes, and…that was it. What could he d—oh. It was staring him right in the face. He asked Fawkes to bring them to the Hospital Wing. Their bodies went up in flames, immediately disappearing. Dumbledore stretched his hand out, feeling Fawkes land on him. And with a blinding light, he was back in his office. He had to think.
-Where was Harry now?-
Harry's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light that flooded a now familiar place. In the span of nearly two weeks, he'd been here at least five times. God, how the bloody hell did he keep on getting hospitalized? He was a Slytherin after all. Self-preservation was in the job description.
But Harry paid no attention to that, groaning softly as he realized that every inch of his body was in pain. It certainly wasn't bad as getting beaten up then being starved, but it definitely hurt. Harry reached for his wand, feeling its presence in the drawer. He let it roll in between his fingers, relishing the sense of his magic sparking and flowing through his wand. It was a current of water flowing through a pipe, and the more that Harry practiced with his magic, meditated, the pipe only grew bigger. It was much like the Force in that sense.
But instead, the body could only hold so much magic. People often overexerted themselves, causing them to fall into what is commonly called the magical coma. The body was essentially repairing itself. Why was he thinking about this again?
Harry shook his head. It was still disorganized from his encounter with Voldemort. He lay back into his bed, waving his wand over himself. He muttered a few words and felt the pain lessen. Good. That meant that they were only minor sores. Give it an hour or two and he'd be better. Harry ran his fingers up and down his wand, feeling the symbols etched into it, as he closed his eyes. It was a soothing experience, simply holding his closest friend. He knew all of its secrets and it knew his.
He felt a smile grace his face, hearing the wand sing vibrantly. It was dancing in his hand, the magic delicately twirling like a ballerina. Absolutely fucking beautiful. Suddenly the curtains were drawn back and Harry's eyes snapped open, the smile dropping from his lips. He saw Madam Pomfrey carrying a tray of potions.
"Well, Mister Potter. This certainly does seem like your favorite place to be after school." Pomfrey said, smiling.
Harry gave her a sheepish grin. "Things certainly do happen to me."
"It's almost as if trouble is after you, Harry," Pomfrey said, an odd nostalgic tone in her voice. "It's been two days and I have to say that you're looking extremely well. But you'll still have drink these and rest."
Harry complied, wanting to make sure that whatever happened between him and Voldemort didn't leave any side effects. The odd thing was that these potions had little to no taste, unlike before where they were gritty and repulsive. Harry suppressed his surprise and handed the empty bottles back to Pomfrey. She then said the standard 'stay in your bed and rest' drivel before leaving. Harry closed his eyes, placing his wand on the table next to him and let sleep wrap its cold, skeletal fingers around him, pulling him down into the depths of his dreams.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, hearing Hedwig hoot. The lamps were now burning brightly, the flames dancing happily. He carefully sat up, not wanting to strain his body, and reached out to fondle Hedwig's feathers. He felt her tiny heart beat vigorously, her eyes staring at him. She was concerned for him.
"Shh," Harry softly said to her, "I'm okay Hedwig. I'll be up and about soon."
He smiled at her, feeling the tension within her dissipate. She gave a series of soft hoots.
"Well, it was Quirrell. Apparently, he wanted the Stone. Eternal life and everything…" Harry's voice trailed off as he realized he didn't have the Stone. He heard Hedwig hoot several more times.
"Why're you laughing?" Harry asked confusedly, looking in the direction that she was looking. "Oh. Hi, Headmaster."
The wizard conjured a plush chair and sat down next to Harry. "Dumbledore, Harry. Call me Dumbledore."
Harry simply nodded.
"Are you okay?" The Headmaster's eyes were filled with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Good, good," he said, stroking his beard. "What, if I may ask, happened? Of course, you don't have to answer that what with you in bed, but perhaps it might help the both of us understand what happened a bit more."
Harry nodded again, thinking of what he was going to say. He had to be extremely careful, perhaps give a bit of information about his anger, but he'd have to keep Morgaine's information a secret. He opened his mouth and spoke about the first obstacle, about how Black sang that soft tune. Then he spoke of the Devil's Snare, saying that by then, he realized, it was a test. By the third task, Dumbledore's eyebrows rose as Harry talked about his use of the Summoning charm. The Fourth task was more interesting, Dumbledore closely watching Harry as he told the former of the need to sacrifice Tracey's piece. Dumbledore's eyes then sparkled when Harry told him of Tracey's plan. Harry then spoke of the next task, using a Reductor this time instead of a Banishing Charm as he told Dumbledore of the troll. Dumbledore's eyes managed to sparkle even more as Harry spoke of the potions and his need to give the others a basic explanation of what was happening, as well as Daphne's immediate and uncontested decision to accompany him.
By the time Harry spoke of the mirror, he told Dumbledore that he felt his anger take over. When prompted, he told Dumbledore that he hated Voldemort for killing his parents. The sparkling in the Headmaster's eyes dimmed as Harry said he wrapped his hands around Voldemort, the smell of burning flesh starting to become more prominent. Harry left out the bit about punching Voldemort and focused on the visual aspects. It was like Voldemort was parchment burning, his body being burnt to crisps. Harry then told Dumbledore that when the body was gone, he saw something fly out of the room before collapsing.
Dumbledore was quiet for a bit. Obviously, he was thinking. It was a rather awkward moment for the two of them. Then Dumbledore spoke.
"If I may ask, what did you see in the mirror?"
Harry looked at him, deciding whether or not Dumbledore wanted to exploit him. After all, it would've been easy for the Wizard to exploit him. Offer help to exploit Voldemort and Harry's reputation. But oddly enough, he effectively heard Morgaine telling Harry to trust Dumbledore. Taking a leap, Harry then said with his voice slightly shaking, "My parents. My mum, my dad, and a sister. And Daphne."
"Would you be willing to tell me any more details, or am I pressing too much?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes holding a sense of triumph. That was what Harry was afraid of, but he kept speaking.
"It's perfectly fine, Dumbledore. I was hugging my sister, playing games with Dad, and talking to mum. As for Daphne…all I'll say is that we were rather close."
Dumbledore had a smile on his face, saying, "Well, I guess that I was right. Daphne certainly did help you, albeit in a rather unique and unorthodox manner. Now as for the rest of the events. I hope that you have been dealing with the anger as it's a rather…potent manner. I speak from personal experience that you should learn how to properly handle anger. Of course, you won't be able to properly deal with it in the heat of the moment, but perhaps you'll be able to control it so that there will be little to no damage when you are trying to keep others safe. On a similar note, you should know that you can come to my office most of the time. I guess that you don't necessarily need to have passwords for the gargoyle, but I'll give you the passwords.
"The burning flesh seemed to be triggered by your mother's protections. Your mother, as I said before, was able to cast some protections that were potent back then and are still rather potent. I'm not completely sure if there are any drawbacks for this form of protection, but it certainly would have had large repercussions on her had she not…perished. On a better note, that means that Voldemort cannot touch you in the literal sense, if he's still alive. For both of our sakes, I hope that he is not.
"As for Quirrell's body, I could only detect a faint magical signature." Harry was surprised. He had thought only he could do that. Perhaps it came with the perks of being one of the greatest Modern Wizards who weren't magical constructs. "I can rather safely say that Quirrell had begun to harbor Voldemort during his trip to Albania. At the time that I had reinstated him as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, I had presumed that he had some unpleasant experiences with Vampires before being supposedly saved by a passing military patrol. It seems that this wasn't necessarily a possession, but was more like two souls within a body. And two souls within a body can have physical impacts on one's body, like how Quirrell shifted into the form of a different person." Dumbledore clapped his hands. "I do believe that this has been an enlightening experience for the two of us. You should recuperate from your encounter with one of the Evilest Wizards in living memory. And I suggest that you should search within yourself for anything related to Daphne. That could, just as well, be an enlightening experience."
Harry was confused by his consistent emphasis on his relationship, if one existed, with Daphne. But he pushed his thoughts aside as he saw Dumbledore slipping through the curtain. "Dumbledore?" The Wizard in question turned around. "What about the Mirror, Daphne, Bellatrix, and the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled again. Was that triggered by emotions? "The Mirror, my boy, is an exquisite piece of Wizardry. I had been able to just minorly replicate its effects onto a different, similar-looking mirror. I'm rather sorry that I lied to you at the moment in time. I was just…curious about how you would react. It's not every day that I see a Wizard your age with that level of maturity. Daphne and Miss Black have been coming in and out like your other friends. As for the Stone, it is a rather extraordinary piece of craftsmanship and shows magical prowess. What makes you think that Flamel would have wanted to truly part with it?"
But that means…"What?" Harry said, retreating back into his mind. Dumbledore had essentially told him that it was a fluke. "But then…what?"
Dumbledore had slipped out already, but Harry could hear him chuckling in the distance. That was…unexpected. Harry shook his head in amazement. His mind then turned to Voldemort. Could he truly be alive? He pushed that thought to the furthest edges of his mind, wanting to contemplate that later. He wanted to rest for now. Well rest he did, Morpheus ironically coming to attention and wrapping Harry in his own special blanket.
A/N: Hi. Thanks for reading. Review please. I'm actually liking the way that Black turned out. Sarcastic, biased...very fun to write.
You might have noticed that Dumbledore really wants Harry and Daphne to interact. I'm not quite sure whether or not you noticed that. Why, one may ask? Reasons. It's a simple two words. The word 'whim,' and the word, 'trope.' If you want, PM me or include in a review what you think it is. Now I sound like a bloody Youtuber. Forget all that then.
Life is great. Writing is fun. A bit of (obvious) foreshadowing here, an emphasis on Harry's emotions there. The fact that Dumbledore isn't a bloody bad person is a tiny detail...The story's turning quite all right in my eyes. Not the best during the first ten chapters, but it's good enough. Though, this story doesn't feel like it's got a plot! Sure, I have a basic beginning, somewhat determined middle, and end for the first few years, but I effectively writing it as I go. Might not be a bad thing...but it'll cause some problems in the long run, I guess. Pacing the story and stuff. Joy.
I love it when people say that this story's plot it good. I genuinely do. It makes me feel like I've made something properly coherent somehow.
Can't believe the past two chapters have been about 6,000 words long...It's a bloody milestone and shows me, at this age, that I'm obsessed.
Gime'SS: You're welcome for the chapter, kind stranger.
Mckertis: Sorry 'bout that. Added titles to the chapters and stuff like I said I would. And thanks for liking the story...makes me feel something warm. Whether it's good or bad, it's debatable, but people reading my story and liking it provokes an essentially indescribable feeling.
Hadrian Lannister: I've PM'd you. For those sharing the same opinion, remember, I'm a (very) immature and illogical teen who characterizes himself as a madman at times. And I'm making this up as I go.
Oh, and side note...would you kindly detail exactly what you don't like? (This is addressed to the people who'll come up and write down that they don't like the story)
Minase 2928: Thank you, reader.
Separ: Merlin, thank you. Perhaps not unlearn things though, just...I don't know, manage not to kill Hermione. That's probably what you meant. Forgive me for being redundant. I love Black when I'm both writing in fanfic and reading her in the canon books.
You all have a bloody fine day (night). Did I mention this: 12568760?
Cheers
HHS