It happened late one evening. I was heading up to Dumbledore's office after curfew to speak to him, as was our custom. There had been no attacks, no hints of danger since the troll, and it was making me uneasy. What was Tom waiting for? If, indeed, he was looking for the Philosopher's Stone. After much cajoling, I had persuaded Dumbledore to tell me where it was hidden. He was reluctant to divulge his secrets, but eventually he had told me its location, and revealed the numerous tests and traps that guarded it. I secretly wondered if he was going a bit overboard; if perhaps it would just be better for me to guard the Stone, but I decided to trust his judgment. My role, after all, was to protect Harry. The Stone was Dumbledore's problem.
I opened the door to his office and walked in, expecting to see Albus sat behind his desk. There was no one there. I frowned, and made my way over to the desk. Resting atop the polished wood was an envelope, sealed with wax. Evangeline, it read in tight, looped handwriting.
Carefully, I unsealed the letter and unfolded it. It was brief, concise.
Just had an owl from the Ministry. Urgent. I leave the Stone and the school in your hands.
Albus
Fantastic. Dumbledore had ditched and left me to take care of everything. I wasn't sure why I was surprised.
That was when I felt it. A tremor, like a faint breeze. A burning sensation on my forearm. I looked down at my wrist. Pulsing, like a heartbeat, a tiny green rune was glowing just under my skin. That could only mean one thing. My wards had been set off.
Harry had left Gryffindor Tower.
I apparated across the school in a heartbeat, silently cursing. What the hell was Harry doing out of bed at this hour? Materialising outside the door to the Gryffindor common room, I glanced around for Harry, but he was nowhere in sight. Swiftly, I pulled out my wand, projecting a shimmering, holographic map of Hogwarts into the dim, dusty air. The tiny, white blob that represented Harry was bobbing along a staircase- the staircase that led to the third floor. The exact place where Dumbledore had hidden the Philosopher's Stone. It couldn't be a coincidence.
I shoved my wand back into my pocket and willed myself to become invisible. Then I apparated to the third floor.
Harry was already gone. The door was ajar, and through the crack I could see a vast, three-headed black dog, shifting about above a trapdoor. There was a harp lying on the floor. So, Harry had managed to get past the dog. I was a little impressed, despite myself. And yet, why was he going so obviously after the Stone? Was it possible that Tom had possessed him, and was using him as a puppet to get to it? Or did Harry want the Stone for himself? I couldn't even comprehend how Harry could've even found out about the Stone in the first place. After all, Dumbledore had managed to hide its presence from me.
I pushed the door open briskly. The dog stirred, and began to growl, but I snapped my fingers and soft piano music surrounded us. It lay back down, and went to sleep. A little concerned by how very easy it was to bypass the guard dog, I pulled the trapdoor up and looked down. The bottom was so far I could barely make out anything in the gloom, except for a peculiar blue light that emanated from the depths.
Of course. Devil's Snare was the next line of defence, and Devil's Snare's weakness was light. Harry must have managed to escape its clutches using blue fire. That was an uncharacteristically intelligent move for him. Perhaps he was being possessed. The notion filled me with dread, and I shivered involuntarily before jumping through the trapdoor myself.
As I fell, I surrounded myself with a cocoon of purple flame that ripped through the Devil's Snare and cushioned my landing. I sent another wave of fire outwards, and the plant disintegrated around me, withering into glittering ash. There was a stone passageway to my right, and I took it. It reminded me oddly of the Chamber of Secrets, with its glistening stone walls and steady drip of water.
I arrived at a large, brightly lit chamber in time to see Harry- and his two friends- run through the opposite door. What the hell were they doing with him?
Glancing upwards, I noticed the winged keys, darting about like silvery fish. There was one with crumpled, battered wings, hovering lopsided a touch lower than the other keys. It fluttered about helplessly, struggling to keep aloft, and I felt an odd surge of sympathy for it.
There were broomsticks propped against one wall, but I ignored them.
"Hello," I said gently to the key. It skittered away from me in something akin to fright. "Are you going to let me catch you?"
It flapped desperately away.
"I guess that's a no, then," I said, with a touch of sadness. Then I reached out my hand, willing the key to come to me. It resisted, but in the end my magic overpowered it, and it zoomed unhappily into my palm. I unlocked the door, and slipped into the next room.
I emerged into the midst of a colossal game of chess. The floor was chequered black and white, the space peopled by towering stone figures. Harry and his two friends were stood on the board, already playing, and I was suddenly very glad that I'd remembered to make myself invisible.
One Harry finished this game of chess, there were only two more lines of defence between him and the Stone. What should I do? Should I try to get to the Stone before him? Appear as Zara and stall for time? But then what excuse could I give for being there?
Suddenly, I had an idea. A way I could get Harry to turn back without revealing myself as Zara.
I materialised slowly, my invisibility fading away, and used transfiguration to morph my features into those of Evangeline Chambers.
"Harry?" I called out.
All three of them froze, then, very slowly, turned to face me. I walked out of the shadows into the light, my long black hair feeling like a deadweight now I wasn't used to it. I was taller, too, and it felt strange, but not unwelcome. There was something nostalgic about being in this skin again.
"What are you doing here?" I asked sharply.
Harry frowned, looking at my face oddly. Then a look of realisation dawned over him. "Auntie Evangeline?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"
"Dumbledore sent me," I said, figuring that would satisfy them.
"To look after the Stone?" he asked immediately.
"…Yes" I said, frowning. "How do you know about that?"
"Snape's after it," Harry said eagerly. "He wants the Stone, and we've got to try and stop him."
"Snape?" I said in surprise. Of all the things I was expecting, this was not one of them.
"Yes," Harry insisted. "I don't have time to explain, but—"
I held up a hand, cutting him off. "Harry… I have quite possibly the worst opinion of Severus Snape, but I can assure you that he is not trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
"Then who got here before us?" he said angrily. "Did you see the harp, next to the trapdoor?"
I vaguely recollected something of the sort. "I assumed that was yours."
"It was there when we arrived."
My eyes widened. "Tom," I whispered, in realisation. It had to be him. He had to be here. How could I not have noticed it? "Stay here," I instructed the trio.
"What about the chess game?" the ginger one asked.
"Forget chess!" I called over my shoulder, and strode right across the board to get to the door on the other side. Perhaps the magic of the board wasn't working quite right, or Dumbledore had changed the enchantments to allow me through, but none of the pieces moved to stop me. I didn't care, as long as I got to Tom first. I didn't have time to consider what I was going to do when I saw him. I just knew I had to see him.
The next room bore a massive troll carcass. I ignored it, forging on to the final test. It was a small chamber, with seven bottles on a table at the centre. Purple flames sprang up over the door way I'd just come from; black flames guarded the doorway that would lead to the Stone- and Tom. There was a sheet of parchment on the table, but I didn't bother reading what it said. I'd grown up around potions; my mother had been a keen potioneer. I could recognise the correct potion to get me through a blackfire blindfolded. Quickly, I uncorked all the bottles, sniffing them, before pausing on the smallest vial. I took a large gulp of the liquid, and it slipped like ice down my throat. Then I ventured through the inky flames and into the final room.
Quirrel was stood there, in front of the Mirror of Erised, and I felt a surge of disappointment, and maybe even relief. So it wasn't Tom, after all. Just a greedy thief.
I laughed, a bit breathlessly. "Here I was, expecting a dark lord, and all I get is you," I said, smirking. I sauntered towards him. "Couldn't resist it, could you? Eternal life?" I laughed again. "I know how that feels."
"Who are you?" Quirrel asked, his face cold, firm. His voice wasn't quavering. My smile dropped a bit.
"No one," I said, frowning. Something was horribly wrong here. "What did you want with that Stone?"
Quirrel sneered, and it was an ugly look. He snapped his fingers, and ropes appeared from thin air, attempting to coil around me. They dissolved into golden dust with half a thought. "Who are you?" he hissed in surprise, baring his teeth.
I tried to use legilimency on him, look in his mind, but his thoughts were barred to me, concealed with powerful occlumency. I gazed at him in shock. "Who are you?"
He smiled, menacingly. "A humble servant."
"Of whom?" I asked, my eyes narrowed.
It was his turn to laugh. "Who do you think?"
Then came a disembodied voice, an awful, hoarse voice that seemed at once to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was faint, and yet simultaneously piercing.
"I know that voice," it said.
My blood turned to ice. I went pale, and felt myself begin to shake. The whole world seemed to be caving in on itself.
"Master," said Quirrel, surprised. I couldn't see who he was speaking to. "Who is she?"
The voice was silent for a while. "Let me see her," it said eventually, in that terrifying whisper.
Quirrel was quiet for a second, and I stood rooted to the spot in apprehension. Then he lifted his trembling hands to his head and began to unwrap his turban.
"No," I whispered, a terrible, awful realisation dawning on me. "That's why you felt so familiar. But- no- it can't be."
His turban now fallen away to the floor in a heap of purple fabric, Quirrel pivoted slowly on the spot.
Where the back of his head ought to have been, there was the face of my nightmares, chalk-white, with eyes like glowing coals. Tom's face.
We stared at each other in silence for what felt like eternity.
"Evangeline," he said at last, very quietly, as if it was a prayer. I swallowed, my whole body numb. Inside my head there was only silence. The only thing I could feel was the blood pulsing through my veins, my heart squeezed so tightly I thought it might implode.
"Look what I have become," he said softly, when I didn't answer.
"You haven't changed so very much," I said quietly. "I can still see you, behind those eyes."
He laughed. "You're delusional."
"You're the delusional one," I replied, a bit louder. "I warned you about horcruxes. Looks like I was right."
"Without them, I would be dead," he sneered.
"I wouldn't be complaining," I shot back. It was a lie, and I regretted it the instant I said it.
We were both quiet for a moment longer. At last, I said, "I knew you weren't dead. Even after I saw the body, even after I buried you, I knew you were still out there somewhere. I never gave up hope."
"Hope?" he echoed incredulously.
I shrugged wearily. "I never wanted you to die, Tom."
"Last time we saw each other, you stabbed me," he said flatly.
The corner of my mouth quirked upwards in a half-smile. "I knew you'd survive."
He was silent for a long moment. "This doesn't change anything."
"I know."
"I will get the Stone, Salazar. I will regain my body, and when I do, the world will tremble before me. And you, Salazar… you will die by my hand."
"Perhaps," I said.
Just then, Harry burst through the black flames behind me, skidding to a stop when he saw me and Tom. "Auntie Evangeline!" he cried.
"I told you to stay behind, Harry," I replied, an edge of anger to my voice. Did he not realise what danger he was putting himself in?
Tom's eyes widened slightly in recognition, and I subtly moved my body so that I was shielding Harry a bit more.
"Harry… Potter?" he asked softly, looking back and forth between us.
Harry paled, but to his credit, did not back down. "What's it to you?" he asked defiantly.
"Harry," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. "This is Lord Voldemort. Try not to upset him."
If anything, that made him more obstinate. "You killed my parents," he said, with frightening, cold fury.
"He's killed a lot of people, Harry, so I'm afraid if you want revenge, you're going to have to wait in line."
Tom chucked faintly, and I swivelled to face him. "Harry Potter," he said, laughing softly. "So that's who's taken my place in your life."
"No one could ever replace you, Tom," I said.
He sneered at that. "I should've killed him eleven years ago."
"You tried," I said. "Remember?"
His face twisted into an ugly look. "I won't fail this time."
My face hardened, and I drew my wand. "I won't let you hurt him."
"Try and stop me," he spat.
As if obeying some silent command, Quirrel drew his wand and advanced slowly on me, walking backwards so that Tom's eyes never left mine.
"Harry," I said lightly. "Turn around."
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't want you to see this," I said, my gaze still irresolutely on Tom's face. "Turn around."
I didn't look to see if he obeyed. As soon as Quirrel was within a few feet of me, I raised my wand.
"You cannot kill me," said Tom, laughing. "I am immortal!"
"You're right," I said gravely. "I can't kill you. But I can buy Harry some more time."
Tom opened his mouth to speak, but I slashed my wand through the air in one, swift, brutal movement. There was a sickening thud, and then another, followed by a kind of whoosh and a gust of wind. I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, Quirrel's decapitated corpse was sprawled across the floor, and his head had rolled to a stop at my feet. I nudged it over with my foot, but Tom's face was gone.
"Is he dead?" Harry asked quietly. The poor boy was gazing resolutely at the wall, away from the gruesome scene.
"Which one?" I asked. "Quirrel, yes. Voldemort… no. But at least he no longer has a body." Sighing, I put my wand back into my pocket and went over to Harry. He suddenly looked so childlike, so young and breakable, like a china figure. I took his hand and led him away from the scene.
"Is the Stone safe?" he asked on the way.
"Yes," I replied. "The Stone is safe. Thanks to you."
I delivered Harry to the Hospital Wing, where his two friends already were, and passed him over to the care of Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore met me in the corridor as I was walking away, although I wasn't sure where I was heading.
"Evangeline!" he said, when he saw my face. "What's happened? I felt something—"
I raised a hand to cut him off. "Everything's been taken care of," I told him wearily.
"The Stone?" he asked.
"Still in the Mirror," I said.
"And Voldemort?"
"Turns out he'd been possessing Quirrel all year. Quirrel's now dead, and Tom… he- he escaped."
Dumbledore paused, studying my face with his piercing blue eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said slowly. In truth, I wasn't sure how I felt. "Just… tired."
The end of year feast went swimmingly until Dumbledore got his hands on the house point system. I was sat next to Draco, my features reverted so I now looked like Zara again. The Great Hall was decked in emerald green banners trimmed with silver, signifying Slytherin's impending win of the House Cup tournament, and the flatware sparkled in the candlelight. It was noisy, especially at our table, where we were all drinking and toasting to Slytherin's seventh victory in a row. However tired I was, however drained by my encounter with Tom, I had enough vivacity left in me to enjoy the meal, and Draco was excellent at keeping my mind off what had happened in that room. I think he sensed that I was a little out of spirits, but he joked and laughed until I was smiling too.
Dumbledore just had to go and ruin it with his meddling.
The Slytherin table sat in absolute shock as he reeled off an absurd amount of points to be bestowed upon various Gryffindors. Fifty to Harry's friends, sixty to Harry himself, ten to Neville Longbottom, the almost-chosen-one. I felt that, since I had been the one to actually kill Quirrel, I at least deserved some points, but none came.
"Unbelievable," I said to Draco in outrage. "Blatant favouritism! It's a disgrace." Not to mention the irony that Dumbledore was lavishing points on a house that he hadn't even been a member of. Perhaps it was to keep up the 'golden Gryffindor' act. I caught Dumbledore's eye, and I could've sworn he winked. I scowled at him to let him know we would be having serious words later. He just smiled and snapped his fingers, and the banners all changed to crimson and gold.
"My father's going to be hearing about this," said Draco, looking mildly murderous.
P.S. Thank you so much for 50 followers! Not sure if I should do some sort of bonus scene or something in celebration. If you have any ideas, let me know. Love you guys xxxx
