After the Dawn: The Philosopher's Stone
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Man With Two Faces
Harry stared into the blackness, willing something to appear to him, but nothing did. When his companions nodded that they were ready, they stepped together into the next room. The moment they entered the room the door behind them closed, and there was a rather ominous click as the door locked. They were trapped here – there was nowhere left for them to go bar forward.
At the same time that the door closed and locked, fires spread around in a giant square, illuminating the room. Harry quickly realised that it was not an ordinary room – "It's a chess board!" he said, amazed. The chess pieces were huge, towering above him, making him feel very small in comparison.
"One of the few times Ron Weasley would be useful," Hermione remarked, "Idiot that he is, he's a great chess player, not even I can deny that."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Well, I'd rather be stuck here with you guys than with him," he said. "And even if none of us are all that fantastic at Chess, we can try and get through this thing! Do either of you know much about it?"
Hermione shook her head. "Pretty much all I know are the various pieces, which directions they move in, and the rules that apply to moves," she replied. "I've never played a game in my life – at home we play cards more often."
"Blaise?" Harry asked.
"I know a fair bit. I've played quite a lot, and while I'm not brilliant, I'm not horrible either."
"I only know a bit," Harry said, "I've played once or twice, and lost every time I did. So Blaise, I think it's your call."
Blaise nodded slowly. "Right," she murmured. "We obviously have to play the game ... but white moves first, and we're black, so why hasn't the other side done anything? Do we have to play that side as well? Because that seems really stupid."
Harry had been wondering the same thing himself, and now he had a look at the board again. "I think I know what we have to do," he said, "But I don't like it – not one bit."
"What?" Hermione asked.
"We have to take the place of the chess pieces," Harry replied, "And play our way across the board as part of the game."
"But we can't! What if we have to get taken?" Hermione yelled, a note of panic evident in her voice.
"I said you wouldn't like it," Harry pointed out. "But if we want to stop Voldemort, and Snape, then we have to get past this! There isn't any other way. I don't think that we'd get killed if we were taken, anyway, probably just knocked out for awhile."
"Oh, that's really comforting," Hermione muttered. "Besides, wasn't this place supposed to protect the Philosopher's Stone? If that was the case, shouldn't you be able to die in here?"
"No," Harry replied firmly, "We won't die. Someone is trying to steal the stone, I expect that Nicholas Flamel wants to know why they want it. And anyway, if we don't stop Snape taking the Stone, Voldemort will take over and kill everyone anyway."
Hermione shuddered and then nodded.
"OK, Nemo, you're the one that really need to have get through this, right?" Blaise said, and Harry nodded unwillingly. He certainly was the one who was most likely to be able to stop Snape – he had Wandless magic on his side, and with that, the element of surprise. "In that case, you're going to be our king," Blaise said decisively.
Harry sighed. Well, facing Voldemort meant not risking himself too much – then, to their surprise, the great black King shook it's head. "I thought think that's allowed," Harry remarked thoughtfully. "I guess you have to take risks in order to win."
Blaise sighed, "In that case, you take a Rook," she told him. "I'm going to be the Queen, Hermione, you take the Knight."
Everyone nodded, and the black King nodded his approval, while the three pieces named moved off the board.
Blaise insisted that Harry shouldn't move from where he was on the board, because they didn't want him in any danger, though the two girls walked around the giant board to attack the other side.
The only move that Harry was permitted to make was to Castle, and that was only to place him under better protection.
The game progressed agonisingly slowly as Blaise thought out every move she was about to make before doing anything – she didn't want to get anyone hurt by accident.
On several occasions, Hermione and Blaise were both in danger of attack, and Harry had to yell advice from his position behind three pawns which were almost twice his height.
Finally, Blaise sighed. "The only way to win this game," she said, "Is for either me or Hermione to get taken. We've lost too many pieces for me to guarantee winning if we didn't do this."
Hermione blanched, just as Blaise said, "I'm going to get taken."
"It should be me," Hermione disagreed. "You've done a great job of getting us through the game so far. I'll do it."
"No. If I'd been better at chess, I'm sure neither of us would have had to be taken," Blaise replied, and moved before Hermione could protest any further.
Hermione screamed when the white queen came and bashed Blaise over the head, and the Slytherin girl staggered lifelessly to the ground. "Hermione, you have to move!" Harry yelled from his place on the board. "You have to take the King!"
Sobbing quietly, Hermione did as Harry had told her. Either her or Blaise had been in a position to be taken, and whichever of them had been taken, the other could have check-mated the King.
The white king threw his grown on the ground as Hermione moved into the check-mate position, and the statues went still again. Harry raced from his place to go to Blaise, and Hermione joined him.
"She's alive," Harry said, checking the pulse. "But we have to go on – now."
Hermione nodded shakily, and together the two of them moved passed the ranks of white pieces and to the doorway which was situated behind the White king.
With a last look back at Blaise, Harry and Hermione pushed the door open and walked into the next room.
The moment they entered, they were nearly overwhelmed by a disgusting smell, and, looking around the room, it was difficult to miss the cause of it – a troll was lying on the floor, completely knocked out.
"At least we don't have to deal with it," Harry remarked, as he pulled Hermione around the trolls legs. She was staring at it in terrified fascination – she was obviously scared of them after what had happened earlier that year.
This troll, however, was a lot bigger than the troll that they'd faced earlier, and Harry wasn't sure how good their chances would have been at facing this one and coming out alive and well.
He and Hermione were both very glad to get through the next door, but Harry froze when flames raced up from the floor the moment that they passed the threshold, baring their way back. Ahead, on the other side of the chamber, the same thing happened to the door onward.
"Great," Harry muttered. "I'm guessing that this is Snape's test – he must have made it through here in seconds! Who knows if he hasn't already taken the Stone and gotten out of here?"
"We have to hope that he hasn't," Hermione replied. "And get past here as quickly as we can so that we can put a stop to his plan! You said it yourself, we can't let Voldemort return to power!"
Harry nodded. "So, what do we have to do?"
Between them and the door onward was a table with seven bottles on it, all of which were in varying sizes and shapes. In front of the bottles was a piece of paper, which Harry and Hermione hastened forward to read.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind.
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to remain here for ever more,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Forth, the second from the left and the second from the right
Are twins you taste them, though different at first site.
"Logic," Harry said quietly, meeting Hermione's eyes over the piece of paper. "Well, it's better than it might have been. We might have had to make some obscure potion or something ..."
Hermione nodded. "Well, let's see if we can work it out," she said calmly, and the two of them read over the paper and then paced up and down the lines of bottles, muttering to themselves.
Finally they came together at the centre of the line and nodded to one another. "The small one will take us forward," Harry remarked, and Hermione nodded.
"The round bottle will get us back to Blaise," she finished.
"There's only enough for one person to go on," Harry pointed out. "So I guess our ways part here."
Hermione hugged him tightly. "Nemo, be careful," she told him.
"Hermione, once you go back, revive Blaise, and go to the Owlery. Send an owl to Dumbledore so he knows what's happened, then go to McGonagall's office and tell her where I am. That way, if I fail, she can get the students out in time. Since the troll was knocked out, we can prove that there was someone down here before us, and their intentions can't have been good ... don't tell her it was Snape though, not just yet."
Hermione nodded, then hugged him again.
Harry gently untangled her arms. "I'll go first, shall I?" he said. There were tears in Hermione's eyes as she watched him, and Harry realised that she was wondering if she would ever see him again after this. It struck him then, that Voldemort might kill him – if he was with Snape to get the Stone.
Well, whatever the case, he had to go on anyway. Just because he might die was no reason to shy from his duty, which was to protect the Wizarding world from Voldemort.
He picked up the smallest bottle and downed it's contents in a single swallow. He shuddered as the liquid slid down his throat like a coat of iced-oil.
"It's not poison, is it?" Hermione asked, and Harry shook his head.
"It's just nasty," he replied. "We knew it wasn't poison, Hermione. We figured out what the riddle meant. I'll see you in a little while." I hope, he finished his sentence in his head, so as not to alarm Hermione any more than he obviously had already.
Before Hermione could hug him again, Harry turned and walked through the black fire that barred the entrance to the final challenge – the one that Dumbledore had created. He knew that he would find Snape here, and the final battle for the Philosopher's Stone would occur.
When he walked through the door, however, it was not Snape he saw, but someone else entirely, someone he'd never imagined to see here, but who now made a suspicious kind of sense.
"You," he hissed.
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I was going to leave it there – but since it's a cliffy in the original story, I thought it was unnecessary, and the chapter is short so far anyway, so I'm going to end it somewhere else instead :)
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Professor Quirrell spun around to face him, an expression of slight surprise on his face which might have been comical, if Harry had been thinking of such things. Right now, he was just too surprised.
"Protectium!" Hissed Quirrell, not seeming all that surprised to see someone here, but evidently not expecting Harry. Quirrell suddenly snapped his fingers and Harry felt ropes come from mid air and wind their way around him, binding him where he stood. "Well, at least you aren't Severus ..."
In that instant, Harry knew that he'd gotten it all wrong. Snape hadn't been trying to steal the Stone – he'd been trying to protect it from the real thief, Quirrell.
"But – why you?" Harry asked. He had realised quickly that Quirrell couldn't have the Stone yet, or he'd be long gone – the shock of finding Quirrell wore off very quickly. There would be time to be shocked later, when he and the Stone were safe. "I thought I was going to find Snape down here."
"Yes, Severus did make my job noticeably easier, swooping around the castle and poking his nose in everywhere," Quirrell murmured. "Next to an overgrown bat like him, who would have suspected me? P-poor st-stuttering P-professor Quirrell!"
Harry thought quickly, how could he get Quirrell's attention on him? "Didn't Snape try to kill me at the Quidditch match?"
"No, of course not," Quirrell replied. "He was protecting you. I was given orders to see you dead – orders that I will fulfil tonight, I assure you ... just as soon as find the blasted Stone!"
"Orders?" Harry was actually interested now. Someone wanted him dead. "Orders from whom?"
Suddenly a flaring pain shot across his scar. "Orders from my master," Quirrell told him.
"Voldemort," Harry said, easily putting two and two together.
"Do not say his name!" Quirrell spat, "You are not worthy of it!"
Harry sneered. "I'll say his name all I like. So, you are trying to get the Stone for him. I was right about that, at least."
Quirrell spun around to face him. "You knew my master was here?" he demanded.
"I saw him in the Forest," Harry replied coolly. "I knew him for who he was."
"It was me you saw," Quirrell told him. "Protecting my master, keeping him alive."
"How would you-"
"Enough!" Quirrell snapped. "Be silent while I work out this riddle ... the Mirror ... I look into it and I see myself with the Stone, presenting it to my master, but where is the Stone?"
Harry looked around Quirrell and realised with a jolt that the Mirror of Erised was behind him. He kept silent, if Quirrell didn't know what the mirror was, Harry was hardly about to tell him.
The mirror showed whatever your desire was, Harry remembered. If he looked into the mirror, perhaps he'd see where the Stone was. It was what he wanted the most at the moment, to find out where the Stone was, so that he could lead Quirrell away from it.
Using his Wandless magic, Harry loosened the ropes that bound him and edged sideways, trying to get a proper look in the mirror. He sighed – it was impossible. He would have to get to where Quirrell was standing at the moment if he wanted to see into the Mirror.
"Master," Quirrell muttered, "Help me to help you, please Master."
Harry wondered how Quirrell thought that Voldemort was going to help him here, in the bowels of Hogwarts. To his astonishment, however, a voice spoke. A voice that seemed to come from Quirrell himself.
"Use the boy."
Harry's eyes widened, and in a second he'd once more done some addition. Quirrell always wore the turban, Harry's scar had been hurting often of late ... Somehow, Voldemort was possessing Quirrel, and the turban had to be concealing something that would show that to the world.
"Yes, of course. Protectium, come here," Quirrell ordered, and suddenly the ropes went completely slack. Harry walked over to Quirrell without being told to – he was going to given the opportunity to look into the mirror. He would hopefully find out where the Stone was, and then he could lie to Quirrell to make sure that the man would never find it.
Standing in front of the mirror, Harry looked into it. For a moment, all he saw was his own reflection, then suddenly the mirror was filled with the faces of many people, and Dumbledore appeared beside Harry, holding a blood red stone in his hands.
Dumbledore handed the reflection-Harry the Stone, and reflection-Harry smiled at real-Harry, and put the Stone in his pocket. Harry felt a sudden weight against his leg, and his reflection winked at him, before the reflection went completely blank.
"What do you see, Protectium?" Quirrell demanded.
Harry kept looking at the mirror, as if he was still watching something in there. "I can see my family, walking proud in the centre of the Wizarding world, no longer needing to hide," he said softly, "and my friends with me, all of us are smiling."
Quirrell cursed and pushed Harry away from the mirror. Harry reached into his pocket, once he was sure that Quirrell wasn't paying attention to him any more, and touched his fingers to the Philosopher's Stone.
He placed all of his attention on the Stone, and called to his magic, feeling it rushing to answer his call, stronger than it had ever been before – good. He'd need all the extra power he could find if he was going to get the Stone away.
"He lies!" the voice – Voldemort's voice, Harry was sure – spoke again, and Quirrell spun back to face Harry, an angry gleam in his eyes.
Harry finished the silent, Wandless spell, and suddenly the Stone was gone from his pocket. Good. Without the Stone to worry about, Harry would be able to concentrate on getting out of here – or staying alive until help came.
"Protectium!" Quirrell spat, reaching for Harry again. "Stand in front of the mirror again, tell me what you see!"
Harry allowed himself to be pulled forwards and looked into the mirror, before repeating his story in a bored tone, as if he didn't understand why Quirrell was making him do this again.
"Master?" Quirrell asked.
"He lies still," the Dark Lord hissed.
"What should I do, Master?" Quirrell asked, softly.
"Let me speak to him, face to face," the Dark Lord hissed softly.
"But Master..."
"Do it! Fool!" Voldemort snarled.
Quirrell reached up and started unwinding his turban. Harry knew, then, that on the back of Quirrell's head must be the Dark Lord's face. Otherwise, why would Voldemort have claimed that he wished to speak to Harry face-to-face?
When the turban was gone, Quirrell turned around, so that his back was to Harry. Even though he had been expecting it, the reality of Voldemort's face made Harry nearly retch in disgust, and in a certain amount of fear.
Dead pale skin, lipless mouth, slitted, snake-like nostrils and horrible blood red eyes ... it was a face constructed of his worst nightmares.
"You have the stone, don't you, little Nemo?" the lipless mouth moved, forming words spoken in a cruel tone.
"No," Harry replied, truthfully.
The Dark Lord blinked, as if surprised. "Well, you have the sense to stop lying to me, at least," he hissed softly. "You know where the Stone is, don't you?"
"No," Harry replied again. Again, he wasn't lying, as such. He had sent the Stone back to it's owner, but he didn't know where Nicholas Flamel lived, therefore he didn't know where the stone was.
Again, the Dark Lord seemed a little taken aback. "You had the Stone, didn't you?" he demanded, as if trying to make sure of something he had thought that he was sure of.
"No," Harry repeated.
"Ah, you lie again," Voldemort murmured. "You had the Stone, but you don't have it now, and you do not know where it is ... very well. Kill him."
Quirrell turned suddenly to face Harry, who drew himself up proudly. He did not want to die, but if death was coming to him now, he would face it courageously.
Quirrell advanced toward him, raising a hand.
Harry watched Quirrell advance, his mind racing, searching for anything that would help him, but he found little. His wandless magic was almost gone, there was not nearly enough of it to defend himself against something that Quirrell threw at him. Harry didn't know what he could do – but he knew that he had to do something. The Stone was safe, now he had to get himself somewhere safe as well ... but that was, unfortunately, easier said than done.
He thought of all the spells he'd learnt at Hogwarts this year, but he didn't think that any of that stuff would help him here. Then he realised what he could do, and cursed himself for a fool.
Quirrell lowered his hand to point at Harry and began invoking some form of a spell. Knowing that he could not allow Quirrell to cast the spell, Harry threw himself forward, darting straight toward Quirrel, and lept lightly into the air and lashed out with a foot, catching Quirrell painfully in the stomach.
His opponent doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. The spell was stopped, but there was still a battle to be fought. Quirrell dragged himself to his feet and lunged at Harry. Harry dropped to the ground and caught one of Quirrell's wrists, helping his former teacher of his shoulder to land painfully face first on the ground behind him.
Quirrell gave a shriek of pain, even before he had landed, and Harry spun around, stepping back a few steps to watch as his enemy rose to his feet, holding the wrist that Harry had grabbed.
Harry stared in amazement, the place where his hand had closed around the flesh of Quirrell's wrist was raw red and burned, as if Quirrell had thrust his hand into a burning fire.
"What magic is this?" Quirrell moaned, clearly asking his master. Harry would have been interested to find out himself, because he knew that he had not done it ... at least, not intentionally. But it was where his skin had touched Quirrell's ...
To test his sudden theory, Harry danced forward on light feet again, and grabbed Quirrell's other wrist. Quirrell shrieked again, and Harry saw, with some amazement, that the burned skin was slowly creeping away from where his skin touched Quirrells.
Suddenly, in a burst of strength, Quirrell lashed out and threw Harry off him, ropes once more leapt out of mid air to bind Harry, and he immediately started trying to undo them, but every time he reached for his magic, his head ached.
Quirrell walked slowly over and stared into Harry's eyes, while a voice screamed, "Kill the boy!" Harry looked calmly back into Quirrell's face. Death was coming, but he would meet it face on and unflinching.
To his surprise, he suddenly felt as though he was accessing his Wandless magic – differently to how he had used it before, and he certainly wasn't doing it of his own choice ... but he was doing some sort of spell.
He saw Quirrell's face changing somehow, heard Voldemort's screams grow louder, more insistant, but his magic was drifting away from him, and with his magic leaving him, a dark void beckoned him.
Somehow no longer concerned, Harry let himself go and plunged into the blackness, letting it surround him, and somehow feeling safe.
Redone version of this chapter – added ending.
WolfMoon