Chapter 10 – Into the Corridor

They opened the trapdoor quietly and jumped into the darkness beyond. Harry went first, forcing himself to relax as the Devil's Snare wrapped him it its vines. He hit the floor below before the next person had even jumped and prepared his wand. The second to jump was Hermione, who panicked a little, but not as much as Ron, who landed next to her and proceeded to scream his head off. Neville, who jumped last, was the first to recognise the plant, and between he and Hermione they worked out that relaxing would release them. Moments later the pair of them landed on the cold stone floor beside Harry.

'Having fun?' Harry asked, rubbing his knee where he had landed awkwardly.

Neville coughed, a little winded from the fall. 'More than he is.' he flicked his gaze up to where Ron was starting to yell incoherently. Harry tried to suppress it, but a grin spread across his face.

'Devil's Snare hates fire, isn't that right, Neville?' he said, nodding up at the hanging knot of vines. Ron's foot had poked through and was thrashing about violently. 'Hermione, you're good with fire.'

Hermione nodded. Getting to her feet she drew her wand and summoned the cool blue flame that she favoured. Holding it up to the struggling vines they quickly retreated, releasing Ron who fell to the floor gasping and, once he'd caught his breath, swearing profusely.

'Who's bloody idea was it to stick a ruddy great man-eating plant below a ravenous three headed dog!' Ron raged as he got to his feet. Drawing his wand he fired a hex at the plant, which recoiled before whipping a vine down at him in retaliation.

Neville shrugged. 'Professor Sprout's, I'd guess. Pretty smart too, actually. The plant softened the fall from the trapdoor.'

'Yeh, and then nearly ate us!'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Get a grip, Ron. We need to catch up with Professor Quirrell.'

'Hermione's right.' Harry agreed. He pocketed his wand and strode towards the single door in the room. 'Let's go.'

The next room was just as Harry remembered it. Madam Hooch had created a swirling whirlwind of flying keys of all shapes and sizes, and supplied them with simple school broomsticks. Harry took one and launched himself into the air, on the search for the one key with a broken wing.

'Brass.' He heard Hermione say from below as she inspected the next door's lock mechanism. 'Probably quite big and old.' Ron had the same idea as Harry and had joined him in the air, and then there were two searching.

Ron spotted it first. Taking a swipe at it he almost fell off his broom, to a shriek of concern from Hermione. Once Harry had it in his sights however, it didn't take long to capture, at which point the other keys attacked. A few minutes of batting angry keys away from their faces, and with a few more bruises dotted around their bodies, and the four children stumbled through the heavy wooden door and slammed it shut behind them. Hermione pulled a stray key from her hair and stamped on it until it stopped flapping its magical wings.

'I've got a new respect for Madame Hooch.' she admitted.

'And Flitwick.' Neville said, inspecting a cut on his shoulder where one of the sharper keys had sliced through both his school robes and the skin underneath. 'I think I might pay attention more in Charms from now on.'

The room beyond was bare, except for the troll that lay slumped against the far wall. Harry wondered how Quirrell had managed to convince Dumbledore that he had nothing to do with the troll break-in at Halloween when he obviously had such an affinity with them. Perhaps the troll that had gotten loose was the one from this room...

'Is it dead?' Ron said eventually, the first brave enough to approach.

Neville stepped up beside him and poked it with his wand. 'No. It's still breathing.'

'Well don't wake it up!' Hermione whispered harshly. By now she was inspecting the next door. 'Fighting one troll a year is more than enough for me. This door is open already, let's go.'

They piled through the door and into the massive chessboard, which looked more like a battlefield than a scaled up version of a popular after dinner diversion. Bits of destroyed pieces, of both colours, scattered the alternating black and white marble floor.

'Oh, cool!' Ron exclaimed. He walked up to the black queen and investigated the detailing. 'This is so cool!'

'Do you think we have to play?' Neville said as he walked between the pieces on their side of the board. 'There are pieces missing.'

'Maybe they were lost in the game Quirrell played.' Hermione suggested.

'We'll take their places.' Harry said, stepping into a vacant bishop's space. 'Ron, tell us what to do.'

Ron blinked his surprise. 'Me?'

'You are the best one of us at chess.' Neville said with a shrug as he stepped into place within the line of pawns. 'Just, try not to play too aggressively. I have a feeling this might be a little too much like real wizards chess.'

Indeed, it was exactly like wizards chess. Within five moves, two pawns had been completely obliterated, and a knight had been decapitated along with his horse. Harry watched the game with no small amount of concern. He had planned to play himself, but that had been when he was doing this alone. He knew Ron was still his superior at chess, even as this young age, but there were more spaces missing that in that original game, and more damage that could be done.

After many nerve-racking minutes of play, where Hermione got a cut above her eye from a piece of flying marble that had once been the arm of a rather brave but reckless bishop, Ron managed to put the opposition king into check. Harry scanned the moves ahead to make checkmate and sighed. He had hoped to avoid this, but it seemed that some things were destined.

'Ron...' Neville, it seemed, had spotted the problem too.

'What?' Hermione said, frantically trying to work out what they had seen that she had missed. 'Ron? What's going on?'

'It's okay, Hermione.' Ron said softly. He shared a look with Harry that expressed the exact opposite feeling. It was also a look that said he knew that it had to be done. 'It's the only way. When Neville makes his next move, the white rook will move to cut him off, at which point I'll move to put the king into check again.'

'Then we win?' Was Hermione's hopeful reply.

Harry grinned, and for a moment Ron grinned back. Hermione had always been terrible at chess.

'No. The queen will take my piece, but then you can move and checkmate the king. Harry will tell you where to go.'

'But, Ron!' Hermione's voice was a little panicked. 'No! When it takes you...'

'He'll be fine. Hermione.' Harry said soothingly, although he was trying to reassure Ron and himself as much as her. 'Obviously, Flitwick and McGonagall set this trial up. They wouldn't make something that could seriously hurt anyone.'

'And I suppose the three headed dog would have stopped at a little light mauling, would it?' Hermione asked sarcastically. The tone was completely out of character for her, and showed just how distressed she was being out of her comfort zone.

'Trust me, Hermione. Harry's right. I'll be fine.' Ron nodded reassuringly. 'Okay, Neville. Take one pace forward. Let's get this over with.'

The rest of the game played out exactly as Ron had predicted. Ron seemed to take a little delight in smashing the opposition rook to pieces, and then went flying as the white queen swooped in to counter the move and remove check. With Hermione's scream still ringing in his ears, Harry instructed the distraught girl to move forward three squared, at which point she put the white king into check for the final time. With a clatter, the king's sword fell to the floor as he conceded the match, and with a soft click the door to the next room opened.

Of course, nobody took any notice as all three children who remained standing rushed to where Ron was lying prone on the marble.

'Ron!' Neville was the first to reach him. With a grunt of effort, he turned Ron over and leant his ear close to Ron's chest. 'He's breathing!' he exclaimed.

Harry sighed with relief. The nagging thought that perhaps last time they had just gotten lucky had been lurking in the back of his mind. He supposed it would still be there until this was all over and Ron was up and being Ron again. But for now, Harry still had a job to do.

'Neville, stay with Ron.' Harry called out. 'Hermione, we need to keep going.'

Hermione's concern for Ron was clearly expressed on her pallid face, but she complied. 'We'll be back as soon as we can.' she said to Neville.

The boy nodded fretfully. 'Please do.'

The door on the far side of the chamber was unlocked, and Harry and Hermione pushed through it with no problems, except that as they cleared the doorway a purple fire erupted from the floor behind them, barring the way back. Similar flames appeared before the only other door in the room, towards the mirror chamber. Hermione shrieked in surprise, but recovered quickly.

'Blimey.' she said softly, 'We really shouldn't be down here, Harry.'

'A bit late for regrets now, Hermione.'

The room beyond was smaller than all the others, but Harry knew the test that Snape had set up here was potentially the most dangerous. Arranged neatly on a low table were a collection of seven vials of different shapes and materials. Beside the last vial a parchment had been placed, on which, Harry knew without looking, a riddle had been written. He also knew that three of those seven vials held poisons that would kill them, and for the life of him, Harry couldn't remember which vials were which.

In his defence, whilst his memories of this day were vivid, they were now more than 25 years old. Technically, the memories were older than he was.

Harry found himself secretly relieved that Hermione had come through with him. The first time around it had been she who had decoded the riddle, and although Harry was confident that he'd have a good chance at working out which potion to drink, Hermione had already proven herself capable of overcoming the challenge. When it came to ensuring neither of them poisoned themselves, it didn't pay to take chances.

Hermione read the parchment aloud and within moments she had isolated the two potions they would need.

'This one,' she said, holding up a small clear vial, 'will allow us to go through the fire blocking that door.' she nodded in the direction of the mirror chamber. 'But there's only enough for one of us.'

'I'll take it.' Harry said immediately. There was no chance he was letting Hermione go ahead alone. 'You take whichever potion allows you to go back and help Neville get Ron to the infirmary. You'll have to use the brooms to get yourselves up through the trapdoor, and don't forget about Fluffy.'

'Shouldn't we wait for you?' Hermione asked, reaching for a larger purple vial. Harry was relieved to see that there was plenty of potion inside this one, should he need to use it after her.

'No.' Harry replied, trying to inject as much confidence into his voice as he could. 'I'll go in there and make a nuisance of myself. Quirrell wants to steal the stone, but I can't see him actually going through me to get it.' he lied. Hermione hadn't seen Quirrell's attack on Harry in the corridor earlier, and to Harry's mind she was likely to accept the fact that a Professor would do a student no harm without question.

Hermione nodded. 'Stall him for as long as you can.' she said, 'and we'll go get some help.'

'Thanks, Hermione.' Harry said, swigging the clear potion in one gulp. It felt like ice going down his throat, before the feeling spread to his extremities. He shivered. 'See you in a bit.' he said.

'Be careful, Harry.' Hermione called as he approached the door. 'Don't take any risks!'

Harry grimaced as he stepped into the flames, relieved as they lapped at but failed to harm him in any way. It was already too late for that.

The room beyond the door was larger than Harry remembered it. A vaulted ceiling hung above a wide and featureless room that housed one object, the familiar Mirror of Erised, placed in its dead centre. Pale sunlight streamed in from narrow slitted windows, glinting off the gilded metal frame of the mirror, making Harry realise that he'd only ever seen it at night. It seemed smaller and less impressive in the cold light of day.

With a jolt, Harry realised that he wasn't meant to be alone in the room. Quirrell was in here somewhere, along with Voldemort, and there was only one place they might be hidden. A moment later Quirrell's tall form, made taller still with the turban atop his head, rounded the mirror, peering intently at the etched words in the frame.

'I see it…' he mumbled to himself, or perhaps his master, 'I see it, but I do not understand…'

Harry crouched and tried to slink quietly into a window alcove. He had lied to Hermione, as in truth he had no intention of stalling Quirrell at all. If anything, he needed to take care of the man before any teachers could be summoned, or he'd miss his chance. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't take stock of the situation first. Perhaps he could simply sneak up on Quirrell whilst the man's back was turned, or just lunge at him bodily. There were enough options that it was worth taking his deciding the best course of action.

Of course, whilst Quirrell was entirely focusing on the Mirror, he wasn't the only dark wizard in the room, and as Harry attempted to move silently across the stone floor, a cold rasping voice filled the chamber.

'We are not alone.' it said.

In an instant Quirrell had turned, his wand already outstretched towards the intruder. His eyes widened slightly as he recognised his adversary.

'Harry Potter?' he said, his face lighting up with delight. 'Why, twice in one day! You're making a habit of being in places where you're not permitted.'

'Professor Quirrell.' Harry said, realising that despite the fact that he had little respect for the man, he couldn't bring himself to call him anything else. He straightened and adjusted his grip on his own wand, ensuring that Quirrell could see it in his hand. Harry's power might not be sufficient to actually duel Quirrell successfully, but perhaps it would make the professor think twice before making any moves.

'Professor Dumbledore asked me to check up on you.' Harry lied. Realising, belatedly, that he couldn't reveal everything he knew immediately. Quirrell might not survive this encounter if all went to plan, but Voldemort certainly would. Harry would have to watch what he said even more closely than normal to ensure he didn't give away any information he didn't want Riddle to know. 'He's been on to you for months now!'

Quirrell scoffed. 'So Dumbledore sends not only Snape, but students to do his spying now, does he?' the man laughed, a hollow and bitter sound. 'A great mind, indeed. Students see all and gossip more, but in this instance a miscalculation. He will regret sending you to spy on me, at least.'

In an instant, Quirrell's demeanour changed. Standing taller, he shouted an order. 'Come here, Potter!'

Harry tried to raise his wand, but whatever magic Quirrell had used was quick, and it was powerful. Harry's arms snapped to his sides and he flew across the stone floor to stand rigid beside Quirrell, facing the mirror.

'Now, before I turn you into a lesson for the Headmaster to wallow in despair over, I have a task for you. Take a look into this mirror, and tell me what you see.'

As much as Harry was loathed to follow Quirrell's instructions, with his body in a full bind and nowhere else to look, Harry was forced to watch as his reflection smiled and waved happily back at him, looking much smaller and weaker than Harry's own mental image had formed of himself, especially when stood next to someone of Professor Quirrell's impressive height. He half expected to see his family standing around him again, but as nothing materialised beside his mirror-self, he considered that perhaps the mirror had broken in some way.

Then her realised his mistake. Right at that moment he wanted nothing more than Quirrell's demise. Harry saw only his and Quirrell's reflections, but then the mirror Harry winked at him and reached up to touch the bare hand Quirrell had placed on his shoulder, causing the man to turn to dust.

Notably, there was no Philosopher's Stone in sight.

It made sense, Harry decided, because Harry had no real desire to possess the stone. He knew the protections Dumbledore had placed on it would keep Quirrell from getting access to it indefinitely. In fact, the last thing he wanted was for the stone to magically appear in his pocket, where Quirrell could take it from him.

'Well?' Quirrell said, impatiently shaking Harry. 'What do you see?'

'I see… I see myself with my family.' Harry said softly, concocting a lie on the spot, 'And I'm older. I've won the Quidditch Cup!'

'He lies!' said the otherworldly voice again, and Harry's scar suddenly started burning. He gasped, the jolt breaking whatever magic had been holding him in place as he slumped to his knees, hands flying to his forehead.

Quirrell grabbed Harry by the back of his robes and lifted him to his feet. 'The Stone, boy!' he growled, 'Where is the Stone?'

Harry tried to reach for Quirrell's hand, but a swift flick of the professor's wand forced Harry's limbs to his sides once more.

'What stone?' Harry asked, 'I don't see a stone!'

'The Philosopher's Stone, boy!' Quirrell snarled. 'Don't play dumb! I don't believe that Dumbledore would enlist your help without telling you what was at stake!'

'I detect no lie.' Voldemort's voice said, sending another dagger of pain shooting through Harry's scar. 'He is ignorant, just as Dumbledore wishes his servants to be.'

'Your words are truth, my lord.' Quirrell said to the air, 'But if the boy is ignorant, what is our next step?'

'I will do what I failed to all those years ago.' Voldemort said softly, 'Release the boy, Quirinus, and let me face him.'

Quirrell, for the first time, seemed to shrink a little at the order. 'But, my lord, you are not yet strong enough…'

'Silence!' Voldemort's voice said, magically amplified and immediately halting Quirrell's words. The pain in Harry's scar flared and he dropped to his knees again. Harry had forgotten how painful his scar could be. 'This I must do myself.'

Quirrell took one last look at Harry, his expression a mixture of fear and loathing, before turning away from him, unwrapping the purple turban around his head as he did so. Harry, from his knelt position on the floor, watched with a mix of curiosity and horror as the event played itself back as if from his own nightmares. As the purple silk wound down, it slowly revealed more and more pale and sickly looking skin, until suddenly recognisable features revealed themselves. A thin, evil looking mouth, stunted ears that had melded and intertwined grossly with Quirrell's own, slitted eyes, and where a nose should have been, only two holes in the skin. It was a hideous approximation of the face that Voldemort would return to some day, and all the more terrifying for it.

'Harry Potter.' The face said, red eyes gleaming. 'So, this is the boy that claims credit for my absence?'

'It is, my lord.' Quirrell said. 'A boy much undeserving of the praise.'

Voldemort's face made an approximation of a smile, but it pulled and stretched his features in odd ways and it made Harry feel ill to look at.

'For years, I have heard your name, Potter.' Voldemort said, 'The boy who 'defeated' the Dark Lord.' Voldemort laughed, although the sound was not joyous or pleasant in any way. It sounded bitter and cruel. 'Such lies. If only they knew.'

'They will, my lord!' Quirrell said breathlessly. 'Soon, they will all know the truth!'

'Silence, Quirinus!' Voldemort barked, and the man wilted once more. 'I have no use for sycophants! Be sure, once I regain my body, that I still have use for you.'

'Y-you will, my lord!' Quirrell's voice shook as he spoke, 'I-I have contacts still! Please! I am your loyal servant!'

'Your loyalty stretches only as far as your lust for power!' Voldemort snapped. 'Do not make the mistake of thinking that I cannot see your true motivations. You are a worm, Quirinus. Now, be silent, or your end will be as swift as Mr Potter's.'

Quirrell's body was rigid with fear, his shoulders twitching, but he complied. Voldemort returned his attention to Harry, who knelt upon the stone before him.

'So, Harry Potter, it lies with you.' he said, a grin stretching across his approximation of a mouth. 'What delightful symmetry, that the boy-who-lived should be the one to return me to my body.'

'I won't!' Harry cried defiantly, trying desperately to ignore the burning sensation of his scar and regain his feet. It was challenging. Voldemort's physical proximity seemed to amplify the pain, and made deliberate muscle movement sluggish. 'You can't make me!'

Finally, Harry managed to get his feet under him, and one thought occupied his mind. He needed to touch Quirrell's skin before this went any further. Voldemort wasn't strong enough to survive without either his servant's body, or the elixir of life, and he could get rid of one of them right now.

'Oh, don't be so sure!' Voldemort said.

At that moment, Harry lunged forward, throwing his weight at Quirrell's back. A surprised cry went up from Quirrell, and then a pained one as the pair hit the flagstone floor hard. Harry's hands frantically searched through the fabric of Quirrell's cloak, trying to find access to the man's skin. A sleeve, an edge, the collar. Anything, but it was as if the professor's cloak had taken on a life of its own and was fighting back. The more Harry struggled, the more he seemed to get nowhere.

With a final cry of annoyance, Quirrell rolled Harry off of his back, and Harry hit the floor heavily. He swore as he watched Quirrell get back to his feet. Opportunity missed.

'Bad decision, Potter.' Quirrell snarled, drawing his wand. Harry scrambled to summon a protection spell as Quirrell advanced, but they both paused as a billowing black shape, accompanied by a moist chill feeling, filled the air between them.

'No!' Voldemort's voice said, and Harry realised with horror that the black shape was the Dark Lord. 'Potter is mine!'

Harry tried to turn away, but he barely had time to flinch before the dark shape lunged at him, hitting him square in the chest.

Harry was thrown back. He felt his shoulder and head make contact with stone, but his thoughts were elsewhere, rebelling against a presence that had violently inserted itself before them. Pain shot through every fibre of his being. It was like the crucio curse, but amplified by the abhorrent blackness of the being that had entered what felt like his soul. He screamed, but more shockingly, so did someone else.

It felt like minutes, but in reality only a fraction of a second had passed before Voldemort's ethereal being was violently ejected from Harry's body. With a gasping breath, Harry regained himself, feeling as if his entire body had just been dunked in ice-cold water. Shaking, twitching, and with the taste of blood in his mouth, Harry struggled to sit up and take stock of the situation.

Quirrell hadn't moved. The professor still stood before him, wand out, but the man's expression was one of shock. Harry looked around for Voldemort, and for a moment was puzzled to see no trace of the dark wizard. Was it over? Had Voldemort's soul been banished once again?

Harry's brief elation was cut short as a piercing shriek filled the air, causing both Harry and Quirrell to cover their ears. Harry's scar flared to life once again, but it barely registered when compared to the experience he had just endured. He watched, horrified, as the black mass of Voldemort's remaining soul appeared, pouring around the Mirror of Erised like a malevolent black mist. It was ethereal, but it writhed violently, as if parts of it became briefly solid and made an effort to break free, only to be dragged back in. It was sickening to even look at.

With another shriek, it lunged suddenly at Harry, malevolence rolling off of it in palpable waves. Harry raised his wand desperately, but he knew he was too late, and too weak, to protect himself. He braced himself for more pain, closing his eyes and turning away.

A loud noise, like a clap of thunder, echoed around the chamber, and Harry flinched. He yelled, expecting pain, but none seemed to come. Confused, he opened his eyes.

A flash of light and a crack similar to a whip caused him to flinch again, but this time he comprehended what was happening. There were others in the chamber. Adults. Teachers! Harry sighed with relief as he recognised the tartan cloak of Professor McGonagall and the long black robes of Professor Snape. They had their wands out, sending curses around the room as the black mass of smoke that was Voldemort darted evasively about.

With another ethereal scream, Voldemort's form flew at Quirrell, but the man ducked, fearful. McGonagall sent a spell at the swirling mist, but missed, hitting Quirrell in the chest instead. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Streaking away, Voldemort flew at the open door. With a flick of his wand, Snape attempted to close it, but was too late.

Voldemort had escaped.

'What in Merlin's name was that?' McGonagall gasped. 'Severus, have you ever seen the like?'

Snape, composing himself, surveyed the room carefully, taking in the sight of the mirror with distrustful eyes. 'Some sort of lethifold, perhaps?' he said, 'Although, I sensed a much darker aura from it than I would expect from a dumb creature.'

'Darker than a lethifold?' McGonagall gasped. 'I dare not think on it, and Quirrell? What's he to do with all this?'

She too had been surveying the room, and was the first to spot Harry, who had managed to scramble towards the unconscious Quirrell. Harry pressed his hand against the bare skin of Quirrell's neck, but without effect. Without Voldemort's corrupting presence, Harry's touch could no longer harm the man. The chance to kill Quirrell was lost.

'Mr Potter!' she exclaimed as Harry got shakily to his feet. 'Would you care to explain yourself? What is happening here?'

Harry started to mentally prepare a lie, but an untimely intervention from Professor Snape saved him the effort.

'I doubt this is the time for questions, Minerva.' the bat-like professor said, swooping down to check on Quirrell's prone form. 'We can't be sure that thing is gone. We best remove ourselves.' he locked his dark gaze upon Harry's.

'Answers will come later.' he said, his voice dripping with the implied threat that Harry wouldn't dare hold anything back from them.

McGonagall sighed and nodded. 'Indeed, Severus.' she said, throwing a worried look at the door through which Voldemort had escaped. 'Come, Harry. To the infirmary with you.'

As McGonagall placed a supporting hand under Harry's arm, Harry tried to feel relieved. He had survived, again, and that was a good thing. He had stopped Voldemort getting hold of the Philosopher's Stone, and that was great too. However, as he watched Snape use his wand to levitate the unconscious but still living body of Quirrell, he felt his heart sink.

The timeline would never be the same again.

Author's Note:

26 Oct 2020: There are two corrections to this chapter. A couple of reviewers pointed out that I mistakenly attributed the 'plant trap' to Madam Pomfrey, rather than Professor Sprout, and the 'flying key barrier' to Madam Hooch, rather than Professor Flitwick. These mistakes have now been fixed (although, I do feel that Hooch might have helped with the 'key barrier', so I changed the prose to credit both her and Flitwick).

How I mixed up Pomfrey and Sprout, I do not know, but thank you once again to everyone reading this, and especially to those that help me make it a better story. All feedback is greatly appreciated!

Chris