Authors Notes = A/N
"Normal Speech."
'Thoughts."
"Foreign Language."
[Sacred Gears/Weapon spirits speech.]
{Sacred Gear/ Weapon spirits thoughts.}
A/N:
Oh, rapid fire update here people! Told you all I'd get something done for Friday. Took a little bit out of me, but to be honest with you all I just want to get out of Harry's first year at Hogwarts because, to be perfectly honest with you all, I have SO many more interesting things planned out for year two. So I've made the decision to blitz through to year two ASAP.
Now, with regards to the last chapter, I'm glad that so many of you were happy with the way I tried to portray Quirrel. I too have grown tired of seeing a Quirrel who is weak and pathetic getting curb-stomped by some overpowered, normally time-travelling or master-of-death-like Harry. The way to fix this?
Make him a badass mercenary/ vampire slayer/ treasure hunter/ monster hunter turned teacher!
Simple.
Everything else also seems to have gone down quite well with you all, which I'm REALLY glad to see actually. It means that I've managed to entertain you all, which is why I write these stories, folks!
Oh, and before we get started, I'd just like to say that I've posted up a poll in regards to the harem. As I should have expected, there's been mixed responses to the size limitations I've said I wish to adhere to: so I'm turning it over to you guys. Make sure that you vote wisely and that your read the information provided about each of the choices that are on offer, as you'll only get the one vote. So make sure to go visit the poll after you've read the chapter if ya'll want to make your voice heard on the matter!
Alright, admin and what not done.
Let's get this show on the road!
(Disclaimer: See chapter one)
(Last time in 'Code: DxD Potter'.)
"You shall meet me by the painting of Barnabas the Barmy, which can be found in the seventh floor corridor on the left hand side tomorrow evening after dinner. Tell no-one of your lessons with me, or they shall end…Harry. If asked where you are going, say that you are going to ask me some questions regarding the homework I shall set you tomorrow.
Now off with you, before curfew comes into effect."
The young Potter nodded before he swiftly made his way to the door. Upon reaching it, he turned around and offered his new master a tame fair-well before disappearing into the corridor outside of Quirrel's room. Said ex-mercenary continued to stare at the door for a while before he allowed one final stray thought to cross his mind as he turned to his desk with the intention of devising a training programme for his new apprentice.
'I just hope I can prepare him in time. The path to the summit of this world is a long and dangerous one. I suppose I can only pray now that he'll be strong enough to make the tough choices when they come…..
Especially if this country is to survive what is to come.'
(Chapter two: Hogwarts Year One, Part Two of Two).
(With Harry, walking the Halls of Hogwarts, 6:00 PM, four weeks after the fight with Quirrel.)
Harry let out a small yawn as he slowly trudged through the corridors of Hogwarts without much sense of direction: simply travelling through its winding corridors without any single destination in mind as he attempted to slowly clear his head of the backlog of thoughts that had been building up over the past few weeks. All of which had been interesting, to say the least: especially now that his apprenticeship with Quirrel was now well under-way.
To say that the man was a harsh task-master was putting it very, very lightly indeed. In fact, Harry would go so far as to say that the only reason that he was still alive was due to the fact that he had already conditioned his body fairly well whilst he trained at home: something he almost wished he hadn't done now. The reason was that Quirrel used Harry's fitness and conditioning, along with his naturally stubborn nature, to devise exercises that normally left the youngest male Potter fighting to keep hold of his consciousness. He'd broken more bones in the past two weeks alone than he had in his entire life, whilst tearing muscles that he didn't even knew existed.
And whilst the training was brutal and his master unrelenting, Harry couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that he was already reaping the benefits of such intense training. His magical reserves were growing steadily with each and every passing session, as was his toughness and physical strength and speed. Now these changes were not awesome or stupefying in that he could go toe-to-toe with a Ultimate class Devil or SS-Class Yokai, like some movies would have you believe. No, such changes were impossible to make in such a short span of time: but what Harry was doing was equally as impressive, only in a real-world scenario. Already, he'd managed to knock almost two thirds of a second off of his casting time, and his control had improved dramatically.
The young Harry knew that he still had a long way to go, and many obstacles to climb. But every success must be valued equally, lest you lose hope and belief long before you reach your goal.
'Just like Quirrel said….'
(Flashback, Two weeks ago, in the room of requirement.)
"ARGH! GOD FUCKING DAM-IT!" Harry howled out as he crashed to the floor unceremoniously, clutching his now-mangled right hand. The appendages' entire form had been compressed into around two-thirds of its original size from where the majority of the bones had been ground into little more than splinters and dust. The youngest male Potter sat there for what seemed like an age, moaning pitifully until another voice interrupted his moans of pain.
"You're still not condensing the power enough Harry. In order for this technique to work, you have to focus your magic until its threatening to overflow and blow your hand off: anything less than this will result in a similar result to…. this." Quirrel intoned calmly as he gently took hold of the arm which Harry's mangled hand was attached to, before allowing his magical power to flare slightly as a green seal emerged in-front of his hands and encased Harry's hand in a gentle green glow. Within moments, the searing agony that had been throbbing from his hand slowly began to fade as the powerful healing magic seat about restoring Harry's bones and healing the bruised flesh. It was as if the damage was being reversed in-front of their eyes: and like every other time his master used the power, Harry couldn't help but watch with a small sense of twisted fascination.
Whilst no-where near as powerful as Light-based healing magic, or the power of the 'Twilight Healing' Sacred Gear, basic healing magic which was used by most Witches and Wizards was still incredibly effect: just not as potent as the other types available. However, Harry wasn't going to complain about it: so long as his hand was fixed. Harry sat there with his master, lost in his own personal thoughts until finally, after what seemed like an age, his new 'master' spoke to him.
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Stop beating yourself up about being unable to perform the technique." Quirrel responded sharply, earning a small frown of confusion from Harry. His master often taught him one new spell per lesson, and the one that he had chosen for Harry today was one of his personal favourites. And yet despite is supposed power and skill, Harry still could not perform the technique for love nor life: and it was driving him insane, something which he happily voiced to his master.
"But master, you said that you expect me to become the best one-day. So how on Earth can I hope to do that when I can't even get a simple A-class spell right. I mean, I didn't have this much trouble with learning Crash, so why now?" He asked in a sombre tone of voice, eliciting a small sigh from Quirrel as he seemed to plan a response in his head before finally answering his pupil's question.
"Harry, what makes a great Witch or Wizard great is not the rate at which their magical reserves grow or how quickly they learn new spells. From Merlin to Dumbledore, every great ma – no, every single great being has hit a seemingly unassailable cliff during their ascent to the top of the supernatural world. And the reason that they have become as powerful as they have is because they kept throwing themselves at the cliffs that blocked them until they finally scrambled to the top.
So what are you going to do, Harry? Are you going to give up like every other person and settle for being average or above average? Or are you going to keep going and going until you finally scramble to the top?"
"But what if there's another cliff in my way?" Harry asked softly, casting his eyes down slightly as he contemplated the damage that making little to no progress could have on his plans. He sat there like that for several moments before his masters strong voice broke through the silence, with his words carrying the wisdom that the youngest male Potter needed to hear.
"Then you keep climbing, no matter what. You keep climbing. You keep working. You keep striving.
Of all the things that matter most in this hellish world that we call home, the will to win and never concede is perhaps the one trait above that will carry people like you and me safely home. Sometimes, your will may be all you have to rely upon: so never let it falter. If you can do that, it will guide you through even the darkest of nights.
As such, when you succeed in something: be happy. It may sound silly, but finding happiness within even the smallest of accomplishments can do wonders for keeping your moral up."
Harry sat there for a while, contemplating his master's words as he did so. The young Potter wasn't sure as to how he could best explain it, but the words his master had spoken seemed to resonate with his very soul, causing his fears to flee and leave his heart more resolved than it had ever been. And it was with this renewed and strengthened sense of ambition that the youngest Potter male jumped to his feet, fixing his gaze at one of the target dummies.
"Then let's see if I can't give myself something to cheer about, eh?"
(End Flashback)
Harry smiled to himself as he thought back on that particular training session. He accomplished his goal not long after his masters' little pep-talk, and from that point on he had stuck by his master's words in almost every situation. Whether it be his own personal training or writing an essay for Herbology, Harry refused to allow his work to beat him like it almost had that fateful afternoon. After all, what kind of great wizard would he be if he couldn't defeat a foot-long parchment essay on … some magical plant that he couldn't remember the name of for the life of him.
'Leave botany and all that stuff to people with a real talent for it, for god's sake!'
Harry continued his evening walk without any true goal in mind, simply allowing his mind to process all of the information that he had gathered over the course of September and October that related to either the school itself or whatever happenings that he'd managed to hear about during his first two months at the school. Most of it had been rather useless information that Tracey had told Harry and the rest of his group during meals or when they would sit down in the common room, but a few bits and pieces did actually stand out to him somewhat.
For example, if the words of Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnegan and several other young Gryffindors were to be believed, then the reason as to why not students were allowed in the third floor right hand side corridor was due to the presence of a Cerberus in the room. Now normally, Harry would have just laughed them off and completely ignored their words as little more than tall tales. However, the sheer fear in their voices and the way in which they described the beast was far too realistic for Harry to pass their words off as a lie: their pattern of speech and the way in which they spoke about it was far too organic and realistic. As such, this brought up a whole new set of questions that Harry wanted answers to, but knew that he wouldn't get simply due to his hectic schedule and his lack of time to investigate the issue. Had he not been receiving almost nightly lessons with Quirrel, then he would have set aside one evening to do some investigating: even if it was only for the sake of his own personal curiosity.
'I may see if I can't stay over the Christmas holidays, so that I can get some work done on that….. but that means breaking my promise to Lucy, and god knows I can't say no to her or break my promises.
Damn it, why do little sisters have to hold so much sway over the lives of older siblings?' Harry thought to himself with a small smile playing at his lips as he thought about his youngest sibling. He received weekly letters from the young girl, asking him about Hogwarts and the things he was learning there. And Harry, being the doting older brother that he was, would entertain her with letters that were pages upon pages in length which his mother would read to the younger girl for entertainment, in which he detailed his shenanigans and occasionally embellished on the truth in order to satiate her questions. It was nowhere near as enjoyable as when Harry used to tuck her into bed and make up stories on the spot for her to listen to, as it lacked the physical interaction or presence: but the letters themselves were special to Harry in their own way.
They allowed him to not only to keep in contact with his baby sister, but they also allowed him to detach from the road he had set himself on for a few hours. Instead of being Harry Potter, the boy training to become the strongest being alive, he was just Harry Potter: a loving older brother who missed his little sister terribly …
But no so much his parents.
Following his polite refusal to be sorted into another House and what not, his relationship with his parents had been strained at absolute best. At first, they had written to him directly in a rather blunt manner in the hopes of changing his mind. But when those attempts failed, his parents and siblings began to try and guilt and / or pressure him into accepting their requests. Had he not been backed by his master and Draco, then the youngest male Potter may well have collapsed under their pressuring by now. But as it was, he was still standing strong against the tide of their complaints and pleas.
'It's strange to think that I'm already starting to stand alone. I know that I shouldn't be so keen, but this just feels right to me. I need this, and there's nobody alive who can sway me otherwise, so help me god.' Harry mused to himself as he continued his aimless trek through the halls, deliberately ignoring the surrounding world in an effort to focus his mind on the millions of thoughts that were racing through it. In fact, so lost in his thoughts was Harry that he did not realise that there was another person directly around the corner he was turning….
SMACK!
"Aaaah! / Crap!"
THUD!
….. Until he walked into them.
Shaking his head lightly, Harry quickly forced his dazed and confused body into a sitting position so that he could check on the other individual he had walked into. He felt a small amount of anger build up in his body as he realised that the other person may well have been paying attention, and thus could have helped to avoid this troublesome (and slightly painful) situation. However, that small amount of anger was completely washed away when Harry realised just who he had walked into.
"Shirley?"
Shirley, for her part, looked slightly dazed for several seconds as she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. Shaking her head lightly, Harry watched with a small amount of amusement as the young Fenette cleared her head before realising who she had just walked into and had just spoken to her.
"Harry?"
"In the flesh."
The next thing Harry knew, his rib cage felt like it was going to explode as the young girl opposite him wrapped her arms around his rib-cage in what he assumed was supposed to be a 'warm' hug. The young Potter attempted to be polite and not say anything about Shirley's greeting: but after several seconds (and an increase in the creaking sound from his ribs), Harry was forced to pry the girl from around his ribs whilst barely managing to utter out his reasoning at the same time.
"Shirley….ribs…. please…. let go!"
The moment he finished his sentence, the young Fenette pulled back from her friend and let out a small sheepish chuckle as she watched Harry take several deep breaths in order to re-inflate his lungs. Eventually, after several seconds of awkward silence, the young girl finally decided to speak up.
"Sorry, Harry. It's just that I haven't seen you in such a long time, and I, well, was kind of excited to see you again." She said sheepishly, causing Harry to smile at her words before allowing a small peel of laughter to burst from his lips as he responded to Shirley.
"Don't worry about it Shirley, I haven't exactly been outgoing of late. And for that I apologize deeply: I should have made the time to seek you out and see how you're doing, seeing how your new to this world and all." He responded solemnly, eliciting a light gasp from the young Fenette. Normally, Harry wouldn't have been so expressive towards another person (minus his younger sister), but there was just something about Shirley that made him feel comfortable in expressing his emotions more freely. He didn't know exactly why it was, but he assumed it was due to the fact that out of everyone that he knew, Shirley Fenette would probably be the only person who would not judge his choices or actions at purely face value. It wasn't a thought that Harry could communicate with words, but if he had to try, he would call his assumption about Shirley instinctive.
And Harry trusted his instincts to not lead him astray.
Shirley smiled at Harry's words as he helped her to her feet. Once she was firmly situated on her feet once again, the young Hufflepuff decided to allay the fears / worries / concerns of her Slytherin company.
"No Harry, you have nothing to apologize for. I should have made more of an effort to see you! I know that you being sorted into Slytherin must have caused you some problems over the past few weeks, and as such I should have made sure that you were doing okay.
So if anyone should be apologizing, it's me, and most certainly not you." She responded firmly, earning a small shake of the head from the youngest of the male Potters. Smiling lightly at her, Harry decided to repay her kind words with his own. The way that his Hufflepuff companion had spoken made Harry realize that she was probably going to beat herself up over what she thought were her 'failings' as a friend. As such, he decided to stop her from thinking like that and putting her through any form of emotional stress. It wasn't so much because they were true 'friends', but rather because Harry was able to be more like his rea self when he was around the girl. It was selfish reasoning, yes, but he couldn't honestly call her a friend when he had spent barely a few hours talking with her on the Hogwarts express. As such, he wouldn't have been too fussed if he caused her a small amount of emotional turmoil, but seeing as having her upset would be detrimental to Harrys' own needs, he decided to act slightly more friendly towards her than he actually felt.
That wasn't to say that he wouldn't eventually befriend Shirley: he was just being honest with himself.
"Don't worry about it Shirley. I've gotten plenty of support from my friends in Slytherin, so don't panic so much. We're both new to Hogwarts, and we've both been surrounded by new people, so it's only natural we wouldn't see each-other for a while." He responded truthfully, causing the young Fenette to snap out of her thoughts and smile at his words.
"Thanks Harry, that means a lot to me." Shirley responded softly, causing Harry to smile and shrug his shoulders, as if to say 'don't worry about' to the young Hufflepuff. The two of them then stood there for several seconds, unsure as to what to say to one another. Eventually though, Shirley managed to break through the stifling silence that had begun to suffocate her and her Slytherin companion.
"So, where are you heading?" She asked as calmly as she could. Harry breathed a sigh of mental relief, thankful that the Hufflepuff first-year had managed to break the painfully awkward silence that had been engulfing them. Shaking his head lightly, Harry shrugged his shoulders before responding honestly to the young girl's question.
"I was just wondering about really. I needed to get away from the crowds and clear my head a little." He responded softly, causing Shirley to smile brightly before she reached over and grabbed Harry by the arm and set about dragging him with her as she began to walk down the corridor that she had been following before Harry had bumped into her. Too stunned to say anything, Harry merely remained quiet as the girl kept a firm grip on his arm and spoke out to him as they began to traverse the halls.
"In that case, you can come with me to the library. I wanted to get some extra information for the homework that Professor Flitwick set our class today before you decided to walk into me: and I know of no quieter place than the Library in Hogwarts." Shirley replied chipperly, which was enough to snap Harry out of his slightly dazed state so that he could offer a sarcastic remark.
"Yeah, because otherwise that old banshee will destroy your ear-drums." He muttered darkly, referring to Madam Prince: the school librarian. Shirley turned around and lightly swatted Harry on the arm before responding to his rather dry comment.
"Be nice! Perhaps if you stayed quiet, you wouldn't have to be reminded by her." Shirley responded cheekily, earning a shake of the head from Harry as the two continued their trek towards the legendary Library. Normally, Harry would have raised hell about someone handling him like this, but for some reason the whole situation was highly amusing to him, so he decided to let this all play out: if only because it would offer him some sort of distraction from the one thought that Harry was desperately trying to ignore and thus avoid thinking about this evening.
After all…..
Who wanted to think about how a Dark lord tried to murder them and their baby sister six years ago to this very day, on Halloween no less?
(Two hours later, with Shirley and Harry)
"You couldn't have just asked where to find the book, Shirley?"
"I knew where it was!"
"Like the library? Also, is that why it took you nearly two hours to find the damned book?"
Shirley pouted lightly at Harry's reply, much to the Slytherin first year's amusement. The Hufflepuff who Harry was walking next to had been adamant that they would not be spending long in the library, as she had acquired the directions / information required to locate the book she needed. However, it also transpired that Shirley had a less than excellent memory when it came to directions, and an even worse sense of direction, as it took them almost fifteen minutes more than it should have to find the library, and another hour and forty minutes to realize that she couldn't find the book. It was something that annoyed the young Hufflepuff greatly, and entertained a certain violet-eyed Slytherin greatly.
Which was a fact that he was only too happy to share with his irate company.
"Shut up, Harry." Shirley responded sharply, although her 'offended' tone was ruined by the amusement that crept into her voice and the fain giggling that followed her statement. Harry just laughed at her response before falling into step next to his female companion, his smile never once leaving his lips, much to Shirley's annoyance. The two of them continued in this manner, trading jibes and sarcastic comments with one another as they began to make their way back towards the Hufflepuff common-room (which was on the way to the Slytherin ones in the dungeon). And for the time that their 'banter' lasted, Harry couldn't help but wish that it would never end. He hadn't been this open or talkative since his discussion with Draco several weeks ago, in which he affirmed the young Malfoy as his first true 'friend'.
And it was a welcome change.
In Slytherin (and by extension, around Hogwarts), Harry had maintained an ice-cold and stony visage in order to ensure that he was not consistently harassed by other students. On several occasions, his demeanour had scared off several head-strong students from both his own year and the year above who sought to pick a fight with him. And whilst it was a useful deterrent, his front could only be held for so long: after all, he was only elven years old. And no matter what anybody said, no eleven year old, regardless of their family of training, could hold such a cold front twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty five days a year. Therefore, Harry's conversation with Shirley served as not only a distraction from his dark thoughts, but also as a means of releasing the pent-up stress that he had accumulated from maintaining his cold and stoic mask.
After a while, their talking slowly began to peter out, and eventually Harry and Shirley were left in a comfortable silence that neither of them seemed too keen to break any time soon. The rest of their journey continued in such a manner until they finally came to a halt outside the Hufflepuff common room, which was located not far from the Great Hall or (rather usefully) the Kitchens. Turning to face her male companion, Shirley allowed an apologetic smile to cross her lips as she cocked her head to the side, gesturing towards the painting that Guarded her common room.
"Well, I guess this is where we part ways." She said, earning a nod of agreement from the Slytherin Potter that accompanied her.
"Sure is. Take care, Shirley." However, before the youngest male Potter could make any form of significant distance between himself and Shirley, he found himself being called back by the young 'Badger's' voice.
"Harry!"
Halting his advance and turning around, Harry caught site of a smiling Shirley standing in a now open entrance, the portrait having swung out of the way to reveal the passage that would take the young Fenette girl to her common room. Cocking an eyebrow, Harry watched as the girls smile seemed to grow before she finally elaborated on why she had stopped him from returning to his own dormitories.
"I had a lot of fun tonight. I hope I can see you more often ….. I don't have too many friends here at the moment, so I'd like to spend as much time with those that I do have!" She said with hope in her voice, clearly wishing for Harry to say yes. Had it been any other person, Harry would have blown them off in as polite a manner as possible: but he couldn't do that to Shirley.
The reason?
Because he felt exactly the same way.
He hadn't laughed or joked as much as he had this evening in a very long time: and that was something that Harry treasured. He may joke or laugh with Daphne, Tracey and Draco, but the simple fact of the matter was that he was still incredibly reserved around them. With Shirley, he could just let all of his walls drop and act like the eleven year old boy that he was, and not the great 'wizard-in-training' he forced himself to be most of the time.
Smiling slightly, Harry nodded his head at the young girls words before finally responding to her.
"I'd like that Shirley." He responded kindly, earning an even brighter smile from the young girl, who's hopeful aura was replaced with one of pure happiness.
"Great! Maybe next time we can introduce our friends to one another and get to know more people!" She exclaimed joyfully, earning a small laugh from Harry as he turned back around and began to make his way towards Hogwarts dungeons.
"We'll see. Take care of yourself Shirley!" He called out as he neared the corridor that would begin his descent into the dungeons. The young Hufflepuff called out to him one last time, wishing him good-night, before she herself turned around and began to make her way to the Hufflepuff common room, causing the portrait to slam back into place once more.
(With Draco, in the Dorm)
Draco sighed as he slipped his silk pyjama top on, a sense of contentment and calm flowing through his body as the soft material clung to his thin frame. Casting his arms above his head, the young Malfoy let out a small grunt of satisfaction as he felt several bones in his back click as he slowly made his way over to his bed. After several sleep-weary steps, the young Slytherin was by his large and comfortable bed, and within several seconds he was smiling as he threw the large duvet over himself. The beds had been charmed and inscribed with runes that ensured that the temperature was always comfortable for the person in the bed, whilst cushioning charms and relaxation runes ensured that the four-poster bed was more comfortable than anything a muggle craftsman could produce.
Rolling onto his side, Draco rolled onto his side so that his back was facing the other bed in the room, and he went to call out a good-night to his roommate. However, he stopped himself before he so much as uttered a syllable as he remembered one important piece of information,
Harry wasn't back yet.
Mentally rolling his eyes, Draco gently rolled onto his back before making a temporary lean out of his pillows. Then reaching out lazily, the young Malfoy grabbed hold of a book on his bed-side table and opened it up on a random page. And although he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the pages he had opened the book on, his mind was focusing on something completely different to the story being told within the book. Because instead of reading and immersing himself into a story of a legendary Dragon slayer, Draco's mind was focusing on the conversation he had with his new roommate and friend, which they had all the way back on their first full day at school.
And what an enlightening conversation it had been.
In all honesty, Draco wasn't sure as to what he really expected to hear from the young Potter heir. A part of his mind argued that all he would have to listen to would be a rant about how he hated that his siblings were better than him at everything and that it all wasn't fair: or at least something along those lines. However, another part of Draco's mind had argued that Harry Potter would not waste his opportunity to form a firm friendship with Draco by speaking of such trivial matters, and that he actually had something far more interesting for Draco to hear.
And that portion of his mind had been correct. Even now, the young first-year Malfoy could recite his friends mini speech word-for-word, although he could never truly hope to convey the raw emotions that Harry had when he spoke.
"All of my life, everyone who's ever met me has simply compared me to my siblings: commenting on how I have to be as smart as my older sisters, as brilliant as my brother at Quidditch or somehow special like my little sister. But when they find out that I'm not as smart as my eldest siblings, as skilful as my brother or as special as my sister seems to be: they just ignore me. Not outright, you see, but rather subtly.
Sharp and short answers, making excuses or just brushing me off: everyone has done it to me at least once after they've heard about me! In all the time that I've been alive, nobody has ever once stopped and asked me 'Hey Harry, what are you good at?'. Instead, all they've ever said is 'Oh, well if you try hard you may become like your brother / sisters.'
And I'm sick of it.
I want people to recognize my skills for what they are, and I want them to stop trying to compare me to my siblings when we are obviously so different from one another. I mean, we don't even share eye colours for fuck's sake! Ever since I was seven, I've known that I'll always live in the shadow of my siblings, no matter how hard I try: as long as I try to be better than them at what they do.
So I decided to stop competing with them, and become my own person instead. Instead of being the star-struck sibling they seem happy for me to be, I'm going to forge my own path in this world and carve my name into the annuls of history. For I shall either become the strongest mage to have ever lived, or I shall die trying.
And I will crush anyone who stands in my way."
Harry's words had carried a certain mixture of emotions that Draco wasn't sure that he could describe properly even now. It seemed like every single emotion was fighting to make an appearance at the same time: from anger to love, hate to respect and envy to awe. It was as if he didn't truly know how he felt about the whole matter, save for the fact that he wanted to accomplish his dream. It was a weird thought, but the more Draco considered Harry's personality and his position within his family, he realised that the two of them shared more in common than he first thought.
Whilst Harry sought to break away from his sibling's shadow so that he could be recognized as his own person and not their failure of a little brother, Draco sought to become his own man and not follow his father's legacy as an 'unwilling' Death – Eater. Their end goals may have been different, as well as their reasons: but the basic principle was exactly the same, something which Draco was very grateful for.
It allowed him and Harry to understand each-other with a greater degree of ease, and thus ensured that their fledgling friendship had solid foundations. Now whilst Draco wouldn't go so far as to say that they were true 'friends', they were most certainly well on their way to being as such.
'Honestly, I sometimes wonder what I'd be like if I hadn't met him on that train.' Draco thought to himself, with his mind conjuring up images of himself preying on other students with increasing levels of cruelty in order to maintain the mask that he needed to protect him from his father's wrath. It made the young Malfoy sick to the bottom of his stomach as he imagined the lie that he would have been forced to live had it not been for Harry's arrival. He may still act in a less than polite manner towards most people, but he did make sure to show his more sociable side every once in a while with his new group, whilst Harry himself proved to be an excellent person to speak to about his frustrations, as he lived a similar life until recently.
'I just wish I could be as free as him when it comes to breaking the mould.' The Slytherin first year grumbled mentally, trying to picture a reality in which his father would be kind and loving, and support his son in his choices like the Potters inevitably would do with Harry.
….
….
'Okay, I'm not sure what's scarier. The idea of father being nice for no apparent reason, or him being angry like he can be. On second thoughts, I don't even what to think about any of this.
But then again, it is an interesting debate.' Draco was just about to close his book and allow himself to be consumed by the somewhat uncomfortable (and yet somehow interesting) debate that was taking place within his mind. However, before he could delve into the finer points of the discussion, his focus was broken and his attention forced onto the door to his dorm as his roommate finally came stumbling in.
"It's fifteen minutes past curfew." Draco commented off-handedly, earning a small mock-glare from Harry as he made his way over to his bed.
"I didn't realize that you were my mother, Draco." He shot back as he dumped his robes on his bed, leaving him in a white shirt and a black pair of trousers. Draco chuckled lightly at his roommate's response, who was now striding away from his bed, the young Potter opened one of his draws and immediately began rummaging around, clearly searching for a towel. After several seconds of unsuccessful searching, the youngest of the male Potters let out a growl of frustration before finally speaking to his roommate again.
"I saw Shirley this evening." He commented off-handedly, causing Draco's eyes to widen in slight surprise and then mortification as memories of his train journey came flooding back to him.
"Crap. I'm not gonna lie, I almost completely forgot about her." Draco admitted whilst hanging his head. He'd enjoyed the young Muggle-born mage's company on the train, and as such he felt slightly guilty about almost forgetting that she even existed. But before he could begin to beat himself up over the whole affair, Harry's voice broke through the silence that had begun to fill the room.
"She doesn't mind, you know. In fact, she understands completely and wants to see not only you, but Tracey and Daphne as well." Harry stated calmly, drawing a slightly surprised look from Draco. He'd expected the girl to be at least a little bit angry with the two of them for not having spoken to her in such a long period of time, so to hear that she was keen to see not only Harry but ALSO himself, Daphne and Tracey shocked him slightly. That girl must not have had a single mean bone in her body for her not to be even slightly angry with them. And as a consequence, his response to Harry's statement conveyed his surprise.
"Woah, that's um~ ….." Draco trailed off, struggling to find a way of phrasing his shock in a polite way. Fortunately, Harry was on hand to offer help.
"Surprising?" The second youngest Potter supplied earning a small nod from Draco, who couldn't help but mutter out a sarcastic response.
"That's putting it mildly."
"I know right, when she first realized who I was, I thought she was going to throttle me. So I'm sure you can imagine that I was surprised when she tried to crush my ribs with a hug." He commented with a small smile. The moment Draco managed to process what had been said, he burst out laughing at Harry's dry commentary. Initially, the young Potter seemed just as amused by the incident as Draco: but when the laughter failed to die down after half a minute, he began to grow somewhat ….. agitated by his friends seemingly unstoppable bout of laughter.
"I hate you."
"Oh I'm sorry Harry. Really I am, it just the idea of you hugging someone…. PHWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Draco managed to force out before he broke down into another fit of laughter. And to be fair to the young Malfoy, his amusement was understandable. After all, it wasn't often that you got to imagine your best friend, who was notorious for being a stoic arsehole: getting the life hugged out of him by a diminutive girl who he expected to hold a grudge against Harry. And considering that he rarely was given a reason to laugh these days, he was more than willing to take what opportunities came his way.
"I DIDN'T HUG HER! SHE HUGGED ME!"
"Whatever you say, mate." Draco responded with a cheeky grin, causing Harry to snarl in anger as he turned on his heel and headed to the bathroom after finally managing to find his towel for the evening. In fact the young Potter only stopped to turn and glare at his fellow first year: although his parting words felt hollow to Draco when he caught sight of the amusement dancing in his violet orbs.
"All of my hate Malfoy."
"Love you too, Potty-wotty Potter!"
….
…
…
"I'm going to kill Peeves."
"He's a Poltergeist!"
"Then I'll Kill him till he's dead for good!"
…..
….
"*Sigh* I'm going to have my shower now."
"I think that's for the best."
(Time skip : May 22nd – A week and a half until School ends)
Harry groaned as he rolled his shoulders slightly as he made his way back from the Room of Requirement after just finishing off a private solo training session. This was a result of Quirrel being unable to make it to the session for whatever reason he had, and thus Harry was forced to take charge of his own situation: a common occurrence over his first year at Hogwarts.
The past seven months had been hectic to say the least for the youngest male Potter, as had life for everyone within the walls of the madhouse called Hogwarts. Not long after he had (quite literally) bumped into Shirley on Halloween, Harry and his friends had hooked up with the group that Shirley had managed to get herself involved with. They had looked an odd sight: Four Slytherin's, three Hufflepuffs, two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor. But in all honesty, Harry had to admit that he enjoyed everyone's company, and it helped that mixing with them ensured that his friendship group was not limited to his own house. He wouldn't go so far as to call any of them 'real' friends, but rather close acquaintances.
Draco and Shirley on the other hand were another matter entirely.
Draco had slowly become Harry's first real friend at Hogwarts. They had yet to experience any 'setbacks', and were quickly becoming best friends, despite the pressure that Harry was being subjected to by his family. Shirley on the other hand was also his only other true friend at Hogwarts thus far. But unlike with Draco, the time he spent with Shirley was less focussed on venting his frustrations about his family, and more about simply enjoying the chance to act like a normal eleven year old for a while. The time they spent together alone was mostly used up either visiting the library or one of the many hang-outs that they'd found during their wanderings. It was time that Harry treasured greatly, and as a result it allowed him to develop a more natural friendship with the young Fenette.
Unlike with Draco, whom Harry had 'befriended' at first out of a sense of necessity, Harry's relationship with Shirley was free of any necessity; they were friends because they wanted to be friends. Now, that wasn't to say that Harry valued Draco's friendship any less – rather that he treated each one differently. Draco was the confidant that Harry could tell anything, whilst Shirley was the person he could simply cut loose around and not have to worry about ever being judged. It made for a nice change of pace as his master continued to push him past what Harry thought were the normal limitations of the human body.
'Ahhh yes, my most benevolent and kind-hearted master.' Harry thought to himself with a small mental chuckle. Quirinus Quirrel was many things: but benevolent and kind-hearted were certainly not amongst them. Evil, driven and a cold-hearted bastard – most certainly.
But not kind-hearted.
Especially if his training methods were anything to go bye.
For the past two to three months, Quirrel had been forcing Harry to expend huge amounts of magical power during their training sessions in order to make his reserves grow. The process was extremely similar to going to the gym and lifting weights: your wore down and tore the original muscle and then let it heal naturally so that it came back bigger and stronger than before. Only in this situation, the constant expenditure of magic forced the body to either generate more magic or draw in ambient magic so that it could try and top up the persons reserves and let them keep casting. This naturally strained the persons reserves to include this additional magic, so that when they finally settled back down and were allowed to fill naturally, there would be more 'space' for the magic to fill – thus increasing the persons reserves. As such, the process was best done in a place with an incredibly high concentration of magic, such as Hogwarts.
If he was perfectly honest, Harry was almost certain that his reserves would not have grown as quickly as they had done these past few months had it not been for the fact that Hogwarts was so magic-rich. This wasn't to say that they were gargantuan by a grown wizards standards, but the young Potter was certainly getting there – already his master estimated that he may have the reserves of a fully developed third year or a starting fourth year. And whilst this may not have sounded like much, when you compared an average first year to a second year in terms of magical reserves, the difference was quite profound. As such, it made Harry's feat that much more impressive.
When he had asked why they were already focusing on growing his magical reserves, Quirrel had been rather ambiguous with his answer, saying that it was merely to ensure that he would be able to run an important test at the end of the year. When Harry tried to press further, he revealed that the end result of the test would either be a dream-come-true for the young Potter, or a bust and nothing to worry about. Further probing had resulted in being forced to run multiple laps around an enlarged room of requirement that had adapted itself into a full-sized running track.
A fact that Harry was still only too happy to grumble about, even four weeks after it had happened.
"Stupid bloody Quirrel, punishing me for being inquisitive. He told me that I should ask more question! And what does he do when I finally ask more questions? He flipping punishes me for it." Harry grumbled to himself as he waited for the stairs between the fourth and third floor landings to finally stop moving so that he could continue his journey back to the Slytherin common room. This was the only issue that Harry had with staying out past curfew at Hogwarts: the stairs left you vulnerable for extended period of time, thus giving prefects and teachers the opportunity to visit each landing and catch any waiting students. On more than one occasion, Harry had been forced to either use illusion magic on himself or the passing patrol to ensure that he wasn't caught.
'Finally!' Harry thought to himself as the grand old stone stair-case finally slotted itself back into position. The youngest male Potter quickly made his way down the stairs, but before he could reach the bottom, he heard several angry muffled voices making their way towards him. Casting his eyes to the door that was only two to three meters to the right of the stairway, he realised that he wouldn't have time to make a break for the next set of stairs, and not expect to be hounded by the people who came through the door.
So quickly flaring his magical power, Harry quickly set about casting one of his more recently perfected spells. A dark red magical seal formed underneath Harry, who muttered the spells name under his breath in an effort to mute it as best as he could.
"Illusion Magic: Huntsman's cloak."
The moment his finished the last syllable, his entire body vanished from sight, replacing his body with little more than what appeared to be air. The 'Huntsman's cloak' was a spell that had been created by vampire hunters long ago in an effort to help even the playing field somewhat. The spell itself combined not only the effects of a disillusionment spell, but also a sound-supressing spell and a noise-cancelling spell. The idea was that by removing the three main ways in which Vampire's detected humans, hunts could be conducted in a much safer manner, so long as the users were skilled enough to get close to their target without being detected. Unfortunately, this didn't stop the creatures from sensing the Hunter's aura or watching for any potential distortions in the air – but it was better than nothing. And right now, Harry was silently praising his master for teaching him this spell as the door had finally opened…..
And what came out of it was somewhat surprising to Harry.
Professor McGonagall strode through the door with an air that clearly indicated that she was just about ready to explode at whoever was arguing with her. Harry had only seen the normally stoic and unflappable Professor like this at the sorting ceremony when the Hat disrespected her: the rest of the time she had proven to be someone with immense emotional control. So for her to get so angry, it meant that she really was frustrated by whoever it was that she was walking with….
"But professor, you have to listen to us!"
And unfortunately, they were all people Harry knew fairly well.
Iris Potter came storming through the doorway with her normally pretty face twisted into a rather angry snarl that did not suit her at all. Following her through the doorway promptly was none other than Rose and Alex, who both looked equally as angry as their eldest sibling. They all went to continue their protest, but before they could, McGonagall finally snapped at the three of them.
"Enough, Miss Potter! The stone is perfectly safe where it is, and nobody is trying to steal it. So please return to your dormitories immediately." The woman snapped angrily in a tone of voice that clearly stated that she expected her order to be obeyed immediately. However, it seemed that Harry's sister had decided that suicidal bravery was the order of the day as she met McGonagall's furious glare head-on and refused to waver from whatever her argument was.
"We're not going anywhere until you've made sure that the Stone is safe! Someone is trying to steal it tonight, we're sure of it." Iris responded hotly, eliciting cries of agreement from both Rose and Alex. McGonagall attempted to glare her into submission, but it was clear that the eldest Potter child was not going to back down any time soon. So it was with a resigned sigh that McGonagall rubbed her eyes before answering the stubborn students.
"Very well. Although I can assure you that Professor Dumbledore and Mister Flamel have made the stone perfectly secure, I will personally go and make sure that it is still safe." She responded tiredly, eliciting cheers of joy from Rose and Alex and a relieved sigh from Iris. However, their relief and joy was short lived when McGonagall next spoke.
"But first I shall escort the three of you back to your dormitories."
The three made to protest, but when McGonagall pointed out that she had listened to their demands, so it was only right that they let her walk them back to their rooms – if only so they didn't get in trouble with any Prefects or Teachers they might encounter. Eventually, the three admitted defeat and slowly followed the professor back through the door they had come through, but not before exclaiming their rage on final time by slamming the door behind them.
Harry stood there for what seemed like hours, straining his hearing to make sure that nobody would be coming through the area any time soon. When his ears failed to pick up on anything, the youngest male Potter let out a small sigh of relief as he dropped his spell and began to mull over the conversation that he had just (accidentally) eavesdropped on.
'What the hell were they talking about? What stone? Is that what the Cerberus on the third floor is all about? Of course! It must be acting as some sort of guard for whatever it is that the headmaster has stored here at the school in the corridor. But what sort of bloody stone could be valuable enough for the headmaster to think having a category three monster in the school is a good i….dea….
Wait.
Did Iris say Flamel?'
It was at that point that realization struck Harry like lightning. He hoped that what he was thinking was wrong, and that the Headmaster would not be crazy enough to store such a valuable artefact in a school full of children. If it was the stone Harry was thinking of, then the man truly was a first rate lunatic that should not have been left as Headmaster of a school.
"Please let me be wrong."
Normally, Harry would have merely thought that his sister was being melodramatic and that there was nothing to worry about. However, the manner in which McGonagall responded to the girls questions made the young Slytherin realize that there was a very real possibility that one of the most legendary Wizarding artefacts in existence was in the school. And that was reason enough for Harry to investigate his sister's claims about the third floor.
However, it was not only a sense of curiosity and a need for personal security that drove Harry towards the right hand corridor of the third floor. Something in the back of his mind was whispering to him, calling to him, pulling him like some sort of ethereal string that he could not cut or ignore.
'Just imagine the power you could wield with the Stone. You could become immortal and have an eternity to become the strongest being in existence. You could become wealthy beyond your wildest dreams and have your family begging to know more about you.' The same dark voice from the bridge nine months earlier hissed, deep within the darkest recesses of Harry's mind. He wanted to refute what the voice was saying to him ….. that he did not want any of those things and that he just wanted to know whether or not the masterpiece of Nicholas Flamel was within the confines of Hogwarts.
And yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so. The promises of power and the chance to surpass his siblings were simply too great to ignore: in fact, he would be a fool to do so.
'Even if I can't take it, what's the harm in one single look?' He thought to himself logically. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity: after all, who could say that they had managed to see the Philosopher's stone in person, and not some crappy illustration in a book that was several centuries old. As such, it was with these thoughts spurring him on that Harry continued his journey towards the forbidden corridor and the potential prize that lay within.
After five or so minutes of walking, Harry finally reached the heavy oak door that lead to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. Tentatively stretching his hand forward, Harry was about to open the door when he finally realized something that had been bugging him for quite some time.
'Those weren't my thoughts!'
He didn't know what it was that caused this sudden epiphany, but what Harry did know was that if he were to enter this corridor now and reach the stone, his fate would forever be changed. It wasn't something that he could truly explain, but somewhere deep in his soul, Harry knew that should he pass through this door, nothing would ever be the same. And that frightened him more than he would ever care to admit. And yet at the same time, it excited him more than anything else in the entire world.
'Am I really going to let this opportunity slip past me?'
With a thrum of approval from within his very soul, Harry took a deep breath before he finally resolved to push open the door. And it was with the fear of the unknown sharpening his senses and the thrill of a gambler with nothing to lose on a hand that Harry grabbed the door-handle firmly…..
And began the walk that would change his future forever.
(With Harry, Ten minutes later)
Harry felt a chill creep down his spine as he passed through the black flames that stood between him and the antechamber were the Philosopher's stone was being kept. The majority of the traps that had been put in place had already been completely destroyed by someone else, leaving Harry an easy journey to the final challenge: a riddle involving drinking the correct potion in order to traverse the fire he had just sprinted through. They all seemed like they would give any good Hogwarts student a run for their money, but luckily Harry was not a good Hogwarts student, and as such the challenge had only stalled him for a minute or so. He knew that following this path of devastation was going to be dangerous: but the end prize was something that he couldn't just ignore.
So it was with shaky breathing and a tense aura that Harry slowly followed the snaking passage he now found himself in towards its final destination. The passage was poorly lit, and as a consequence, Harry was forced to keep one hand on the passage walls at all times in order to follow the path. The task would not have been too bad, had it not been for the build-up of water and slime on the wall, which easily transferred onto Harry's hand. However, the youngest male Potter merely block out the disgusting feeling and focused on reaching the end of the tunnel, which he eventually managed to do after several minutes. Had there not been the possibility of a threat at the end of the passage, Harry would have used a Lumos to illuminate the path. But seeing as there was a very real possibility that there was a hostile person or creature at the end of the pathway, he refrained from using the spell – lest he alter a potential enemy of his presence.
The exit to the tunnel was dimly lit, and given that there was a (more than likely) hostile presence in the room, Harry quickly re-cast his 'Huntsman's cloak' spell in order to ensure that he maintained the element of surprise over his foe.
Creeping into the room, Harry idly noted that there were a row of slowly crumbling Greek-style columns that held the ceiling up. Just beyond them lay a set of stairs that lead down several feet before levelling out into a small space – in the middle of which stood a mirror…..
And a cloaked figure.
The figure was easily six foot in height, and probably well over. It was difficult to tell the figures gender due to the billowing and unflattering black and grey robes that they wore, but their (seemingly) bulkier frame would indicate that it was a man (or at least what Harry hoped was a man). Their arms were currently out-stretched and they were muttering in a language Harry couldn't understand. He didn't know what they were doing, but judging by the way that the figure had decimated the mirror's defences, then Harry assumed that they were here to steal the stone. He didn't know what a mirror had to do with all of this exactly, but right in that moment, Harry wasn't too fussed in dealing with it.
So creeping out from behind his cover, Harry began to carefully close the distance between himself and his target, all whilst carefully and gently building up his magic, readying for an attack. Within seconds he found himself within four meters of the figure, and he knew that they would have no chance at stopping any sort of attack that Harry launched at them. But before the youngest male Potter could even contemplate launching an attack, Harry found himself screaming out in pure agony as a compressed 'Wind Bullet' slammed into his ribs and broke several of them before sending him flying back several meters. The moment he hit the ground, Harry tried to instinctively roll off to the side, but before he could move so much as a meter, he found his body bound by ropes made out of pure magical energy.
Gritting his teeth due to the pain from his ribs, Harry managed to maneuverer his body so that he was able to sit up and face the figure that had managed to subdue him so easily. Glaring hatefully at the figure, Harry could do nothing more than intensify his stare when the figure let loose a deep chuckle that was clearly distorted by some sort of charm they had either cast of themselves or had woven into the fabric of their cloak.
"Well, well well. If it isn't the youngest Potter at Hogwarts. How lovely to see you again, Harry Potter." The voice said mockingly, causing Harry to let loose a snarl of anger at the person's obvious glee at his current situation, before he managed to reign in his emotions enough to talk to the person whilst trying to figure a way out of is current predicament.
"I wish I could say the same to you, coward. But if you want me to give you a proper greeting then you'll have to stop hiding within that hood of yours and show me your face!" He snapped back in an angry tone, all whilst trying to scheme his way out of his situation. The figure let out another distorted and grating chuckle that Harry forced himself to ignore in favour of planning and maintaining a long conversation with his captor.
"Do you honestly not recognise me?" The voice asked in a faux hurt tone.
"Sorry: it's just that I forgot to bring my X-ray vision glasses so that I could see through you bloody ridiculous hood." Harry responded sarcastically, causing the figure to shake their head in what he assumed was thinly concealed amusement.
"And here I was thinking that you would never forget the events of that rainy Halloween night, all those years ago. After all, it's what made your sister so famous, with that little scar on her head."
The moment he heard those words, Harry felt his entire mind freeze: his barely functioning brain repeating them over and over within his mind. His blood slowly turned to ice and his entire form began to quake in fear as he realised just who he was talking to.
'No… it….. it… it can't be. There's no way he's alive, god damn it! They said he was dead: blown to Kingdom come by my little sister; so there's no way it can be him. No way!
But the way he spoke about it… dear god. Nobody save my family and their closest friends knew I was there that night: the only person who could therefore know is…..
Is…..'
"Voldemort?"
The name came out as little more than a frightened croak, barely above a whisper. Harry's throat had long since gone dry and his eyes had widened to their fullest extent, emphasising just how truly terrified he was. The cloaked figure let out a dark chuckle that caused Harry to try and back away from him, but the ropes prevented him from making any form of significant progress. Taking his time, the figure began to stroll towards Harry whilst raising his arms to the brim of his hood, before pulling it back slightly so that the brim sat half-way on his head.
"Not exactly, Harry." Responded the cruelly smiling face of one Quirinus Quirrel.
The moment he saw the face of his teacher, Harry's mind went completely blank as he tried to process what he was seeing, before finally rebooting and then immediately attempting to process the information that it was being given.
'There's no way that he could be Voldemort! The man was killed six years ago in that blast god damn it, so why is mas…. Quirrel here posing as him…..' Harry thought to himself at a million miles an hour, desperate to try and find a logical explanation as to what the hell was going on. Eventually, when he could not provide himself with a satisfactory answer, Quirrel decided to put his now former protégé out of his misery.
"I am not his dark Lordship Harry… merely his….."
"Vessel."
The moment the hissing voice reached Harry's ears, the former mercenary turned teacher threw his hood all the way back, revealing a revolting sight that made Harry feel queasy within two seconds of seeing its reflection in the mirror behind him. For instead of revealing the back of his shaven head, Quirrel's actions revealed that his body was no longer entirely his own. A cold and disgusting face now rested where the mercenary's crown would have been, with no nose, crimson eyes that struck the fear of god into Harry's heart and thin lips that were quirked upwards in a sadistic smile – each a feature that dragged up long and forgotten memories of one fateful Halloween.
An elder woman with greying black hair stood in front of a quivering Harry, with both of her arms outstretched as she once again refused to move aside and allow the man she stood opposite to murder her grand-children. Her breathing was haggard and her body littered with cuts and bruises from where she had been slowly but surely beaten by the wizard opposite her.
"Move aside, you old Hag." Voldemort hissed in a voice that was as cold as the embrace of death itself.
"Never, you deluded freak." Elizabeth Potter snarled back in a defiant tone, clearly determined to defy the monster opposite her until the very end. It was clear that she knew her actions were foolish, but that she also would never give her killer the satisfaction of seeing her co-operate with him in any way.
"Then die."
A single moment later, and Harry was forced to quickly blink as his entire face was splattered with something warm and wet. Furiously rubbing at his face with his hand, Harry eventually pulled it away and was greeted with the sight of a bloodied palm. Casting his gaze upwards, Harry watched as his grandmother's body crashed to the floor, her entire chest cavity and stomach blown away by a ferocious Wind magic spell that had all but eviscerated most of her body. The youngest male Potter was unable to do anything but stare at his beloved grandmothers corpse, unable to comprehend what had happened. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry was dragged from his thoughts by the sound of a hideous laugh that compelled him to look at its owner. Voldemort stood there laughing maniacally, a completely demented look plastered onto his face as he slowly stalked towards a now petrified Harry.
"Time to say goodbye, little Lucy….. and Harry."
Shaking his head, Harry gasped in pain as his head exploded into agony. It felt as if someone was drilling into his head with a muggle power-tool without administering any form of medication: it was absolutely agonizing. After a while, the pain dulled to a consistent yet powerful throbbing sensation that caused Harry to finally lose control of his stomach and empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor next to him. Once he had finally emptied his stomach, the leech on the back of Quirrel's head spoke up once more.
"It seems that you remember more of that night than you think, Harry. The night that turned me into this pitiful thing – a shadow of my true form. I am truly sorry about your grandmother, but she stood in my way: and I do not let any obstacle get in way." Voldemort said, electing a look of pure hatred from the young Slytherin first year.
"Go to hell you fucking freak! Your just a murderous physco-" Harry tried to show some form of defiance by insulting the thing latched on to the back of Quirrel's head, but that died the moment that Voldemort spoke.
"SILENCE!"
The instant that the word left his mouth, Harry felt his entire body creak and groan as a gargantuan pressure bore down on his body. It was like the weight of the entire sea had been dumped onto his body and was doing its level best to crush him into a bloodied pulp. It wasn't the fact that this magical signature was strong: he'd felt even stronger when Quirrel had used it to intimidate him during their training lessons. No, what was terrifying was that this power, which had coated Quirrel in a thick miasma of black magical power, was coming from the leech on the back of his head.
'How…. How can this much power come from him! He's can't possibly be this strong when he's little more than some face on the back of mas- Quirrel's head. But if he really is this strong ….. just what kind of monster was he when he was alive?'
By this point, Harry had virtually become catatonic as his mind tried to fathom just how strong the Dark lord must have been during the height of his power. Eventually, the young Potter was dragged from his shell-shocked state by the cold laughter of both Quirrel and Voldemort.
"I see that you understand just how powerful my master is, Harry." Quirrel said with a dark smile. Harry went to refute the statement, but his repost to the statement died at the tip of his tongue, leaving him to hang his head in defeat and acceptance of the statement. And whilst Voldemort and Quirrel seemed to enjoy the boys defeated look, said Potter was currently racking his brain for any way out of this situation.
'Shit. Okay, there's no way that I can win this in a straight up fight – hell, I don't think that even escape is really an option for me now. The only thing I can do is find a way for him to remove these bindings and then try and launch one surprise attack – otherwise I'm dead.' The young Slytherin was about to continue his thoughts on his plan of action, but he found himself interrupted by the ice-cold voice of Quirrel.
"I also know that you wish to be this powerful – and so we would like to offer you a deal." He said. Harry let out a small mental sigh of relief at the man's words – at least he would have a couple more moments to plan out some sort of plan to try and survive this mess. He knew that it was more than likely a fool's errand, but Harry James Potter would be damned before he would simply roll over and die for anyone, no matter how badly outclassed he was. So, gesturing with his head, he indicated for the Dark Lord and his servant to continue. Smirking victoriously, Quirrel began to outline their offer to the young Potter.
"We wish for you to join us. We know that you want to step out from the shadow of your family, and eclipse them and everything they do.
The power to do so can be yours, and all you have to do is help us free the Philosopher's stone from the mirror of Erised. Do so, and we shall train you until you become one of the most powerful Wizards in the world. And all you would have to do is swear loyalty to my Lord."
The entire offer was delivered without so much as a grain of emotion, as if it were some small-scale business deal and not a life-altering decision. Harry sat there, pretending to mull their offer over in his mind for thirty or so seconds before responding.
"Why don't you go take your offer and shove it up your fucking arse!" Harry shouted, mentally making a note to thank his godfather Sirius for teaching him that particular insult, along with several others. However, it seemed that the creativity of the insult was lost on the two dark wizards. Quirrel's eyes narrowed and his entire body tensed in anger – but otherwise his rage at Harry's answer was well hidden.
Voldemort on the other hand…
"QUIRREL, GET THE BOY ON HIS FEET! HE SHALL HELP US BEFORE WE BUTCHER HIM!"
He was very vocal in his anger.
Obeying the commands of his master, Quirrel marched towards Harry before grabbing hold of him and hauling the youngest male Potter to his feet and releasing the binding spell that he had placed on the first-year Slytherin, before proceeding to drag him along by the scruff of his neck. When they were within several meters of the mirror, Quirrel roughly shoved Harry forward, who stumbled to a halt only several meters from the mirror.
"Tell me Harry Potter, what do you see in that mirror?" Voldemort asked. Harry went to offer a snappy and sarcastic retort, but it died in his throat when he actually saw what was in the mirror.
It was a picture of an older wizard, maybe seventeen or eighteen: with captivating violet eyes and messy black hair. He stood at a respectable six foot in height and had a lean yet powerful looking body that, like his aura, indicated he was a fighter through and through. And although he couldn't explain it, Harry knew that he was looking at himself – a future version of himself.
Surrounding this older Harry were his family, all aged appropriately, and each of them smiling as they looked at him with pride, respect and love… whilst several indecipherable individuals were mixed in with other faces that he recognised – such as Remus Lupin and Sirius and his wife. He didn't know who the blacked out figures were, but he got the general gist as to what this image was showing him.
His deepest and most passionate desire.
To be loved and respected by his family and friends, but as his own man, free of their shadows. The image caused Harry's heart to ache as he looked at the image, desperately hoping that this was not just a reflection of his heart's desires, but rather the future. Every fibre of his being was screaming for the image to be the here and now – not just some distant hope or dream. If he were honest with himself, Harry would admit that he could have just sat there in-front of that mirror for hours, happily basking in the warmth of his dream. However, not only was Harry not the most expressive of people, but his present company had little patience, it seemed, for whimsical dreams and desires.
"What do you see, boy?" Quirrel asked angrily, snapping Harry out of his daze. Realizing that they expected some sort of answer, Harry decided to lie and try and buy himself more time.
"I see Dumbledore handing me the house cup in my seventh year, as head boy of the school." Harry replied neutrally, eliciting a snarl of anger from both Quirrel and Voldemort as the former used his shared body to grab hold of Harry's clothes and whisper menacingly in his ear.
"Do not lie to me boy, or I shall make your death more painful than you can possibly imagine."
Taking a deep and shaky breath, Harry was about to answer his captor but before he could, he noticed a change in the image opposite him.
The Sirius in the mirror pulled out a red stone from his pocket before handing it to Harry, who smiled at his real-world self before placing it into his pocket. Said real-world boy was about to question what the image was about, but before he could he felt something heavy in his front right trouser pocket. Eyes widening, Harry felt his breath hitch as he realised that somehow, the Stone was now in his pocket. He didn't know how it had happened or why, but all he did know now was that he had to get out of this situation: or he'd be responsible for the return of the single most powerful Dark Lord of recent times.
So taking another calming breath, Harry responded to Quirrel.
"Alright, I see myself surrounded by my family, all of them in awe of my power and skill." He answered somewhat truthfully, hoping that his fusion of lie and truth would be enough to throw the man off. Unfortunately, it seemed like Voldamort was able to find the truth in his lies, and then some.
"He lies! The damned stone is in his pocket. KILL HIM AND TAKE IT!" The leech that was Voldemort screamed in anger. Quirrel responded immediately by using his leverage on the back of Harry's jacket to throw him towards the mirror.
"SHIT!"
Throwing his arms up, Harry used them to shield his face and throat from the shards of glass that would have buried into them when he slammed into the fragile mirror. Gritting his teeth as he felt his arms being torn to shreds by countless pieces of glass, Harry soon found his determination to not scream crushed as several of his bruised ribs were added to the 'cracked' count when he smashed into the floor. Rolling onto his side so that his back was facing Quirrel, Harry let out several pained moans, whilst also casting his eyes out onto the floor near him: his eyes desperately scanning for a piece of glass. When no useful shards could be found, the young Potter looked to his own arms in desperation, and found what he was looking for.
Buried two or three inches into his arm was a large jagged piece of glass that would suit Harry's needs. So, clearing his mind of any pain and gritting his teeth for what felt like the millionth time that day, he grabbed hold of the jagged glass tightly and pulled. At first, no progress was made, save for cutting into Harry's left hand as he attempted to pull the glass out. But after several seconds, the glass released itself from its sheath in a spurt of crimson and a spike of pain in the local area. Pulling his arm close against his chest, Harry tightened his grip on the glass and let out a faux groan, in the hope of disguising his actions as him bemoaning his sorry state.
Straining his slowly fading hearing, Harry listened as Quirrel's heavy footsteps came closer and closer to Harry before finally stopping barely a half foot away. A faint rustling alerted Harry to the man crouching down, whilst a rough jerk backwards indicated that Quirrel was attempting to roll him over. The moment he touched Harry, the young man used every single last piece of information he could remember about Quirrel to calculate his strike. The moment he was satisfied with his estimation…
He struck.
An instant later and Harry let out a pained scream as his wrist was crushed in a vice-like grip. Forcing his tear-blurred eyes to his trapped wrist, Harry followed his gaze along until he was greeted by the surprised look in Quirrel's eyes, which was understandable, given how there was roughly three or so inches of glass buried in his neck.
The former mercenary and current vessel for the Dark lord let out sound that was a cross between a choke and a gurgle. Moments later, blood began to pour like a river from not only where he had been stabbed in the neck, but also from his mouth as it overflowed with the crimson liquid that was quickly filling his airways.
"No you fool!" Voldemort screamed, and tried to urge Quirrel on in his attempt to kill Harry. However, before the man could so much as make a move, Harry forced his weapon-wielding arm forward, driving the glass shard further into Quirrel's neck, causing even more blood to spurt from his wound and mouth. Letting out a strangled gargle, the man tried to move closer to Harry, but his strength soon seemed to fade as he began to cease his struggles, and instead seemed to settle for staring at Harry with his cold eyes.
The moment his gaze met Harry's the young man couldn't help but let out a startled gasp as a magical circle appeared between the two of them. Quirrel grinned savagely at him, the blood pouring from his mouth making him look like some sort of cannibal. Harry drove the glass further and further into the man's neck, but before he could rip his throat open, the golden magical circle flared to life.
And all that Harry Potter knew after that was darkness, whilst a certain ex mercenary couldn't help but smile to himself as he finally felt the life leave his slowly falling body….
'There's not much else I can do directly now Harry. I would wish you the best of luck…..' He thought to himself sadly, all whilst ignoring the agonised and angry screams of a certain dark lord. He knew that his sacrifice wouldn't stop him, but it would be the first of many stepping stones on the path to finally riding the world of the bastard once and for all.
'But I know you won't need it. After all…..
I've made the right choice with you.'
A/N:
Okay and that's a wrap ladies and gentlemen!
Now I know a lot of you will probably take issue with two things: 1) this chapter's pacing, and 2) Quirrel's rather sudden exit. To your second complaint, all I shall say is that whilst Quirrel may no longer walk in the land of the living, his role in this story is far~ from over. As to your first complaint, I have to say that I also feel that this chapter does seem a little off in terms of pacing, but like I said earlier, this year is supposed to be short and snappy so that we can get onto Harry's second year which will be EXPLOSIVE to say the least. I may end up re-working it into two chapters, but for the moment I'm fairly happy to leave it as it is.
Now, like I said during my initial A/N, I have something to say about the next chapter. That is to say that it shall be out on Tuesday the 4th of August. The reason for this is that it is my 18th Birthday, and I wish to get something out before then : because god knows that between the hangover on the fifth and playing my new PS4 over this time, I won't be getting any work done on the 5th and 6th I'd imagine!
Also, I will be adding omakes to the end of the chapter: as my way of apologising for my inevitable absence, and as a thank you for sticking with me thus far!
Any ways, I don't think I actually have much else to say, so I'm gonna wrap this up by asking that you all drop a review telling me what you thought about the chapter: from what was good and bad, to what can be changed and what can stay the same. Also, make sure that you don't miss a single step of this journey if your joining us for the first time by dropping the story a fave or a follow (or maybe even both)!
Alright, that's it!
Peace,
MetalGearMantis