Chapter ten - The Man Who with Two Faces
Quirrell hadn't seemed to have noticed Harry at all, but was staring, rather intently, at the mirror.
"Master," Quirrell muttered, not turning around. "I see the stone, how do I get to it?"
Harry frowned for a moment. Obviously he had caught too many glances of horror movies that Dudley used to watch when he was younger, or maybe he had read far too much about serial killers, whatever the reason, as his mind instantly associated someone calling someone else 'master' with large amounts of death and pain.
"Ah, of course Master," Quirrell muttered, and turned around, a sneer on his face, as if he was expecting to find Harry there all of a sudden, then said calmly, "Harry Potter. I wondered whether I'd be meting you here. You always did seem the interfering type."
Harry almost scowled at that. He was not interfering! He was just curious!
"Of course, I don't suppose it matters if you try to interfere or not, I'm going to kill you tonight, regardless."
"Why?" Harry asked, having no clue as to why Quirrell would kill him.
"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."
"Is that the only reason you want to kill me? Because you think I'm nosy?" He was unable to contain it any longer: he burst into laughter. Quirrell 's nostrils flared and he glared at Harry. He snapped his fingers and ropes sprang up, binding Harry in place.
"Not just that Potter," Quirrell sneered in a very Snape -like manner. "Now wait quietly Potter while I examine this interesting mirror."
Harry was silent, mind racing. Who was Quirrell 's master? It was likely that only powerful dark wizards insisted on being called master, and the most powerful dark wizard Harry could think of was...
"Voldemort?"
"I see you've figured out who my master is, now shut up," Quirrell said, idly walking around to look at the back of the mirror.
Quirrell came out from behind the Mirror and stared hungrily into it.
"I see the stone... I'm presenting it to my Master... But where is it? What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me Master!"
To Harry's shock, a high pitched and terrifying voice, answered, a voice that seemed to come from Quirrell himself.
"Use the boy... Use the boy..."
Quirrell rounded on Harry.
"Yes - Potter - Come here."
He clapped once and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.
"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look into the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry walked towards him. Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror and opened them again.
He saw his reflection, as pale as always staring back at him at first. But a moment later the reflection smirked at him. It put it's hand in its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - his reflection had given him the Stone!
"Well?" said Quirrell said impatiently. "What do you see?"
"My reflection holding the Philosophers' Stone," replied Harry, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Quirrell's eyes widened, as if he had been expecting a lie.
"You have the Stone? Give it too me!"
Quirrell dived at Harry, but Harry dodge a lot faster than Quirrell could move.
"Why should I? What's in it for me?" Harry asked, wanting to know. No way was he going to do something for nothing.
Quirrell made to dive towards Harry again, but this time the same high-pitched, disembodied voice ordered him otherwise.
"Stop!" the voice commanded, and Quirrell obeyed in an instant. "Let me speak with him... face to face..."
"Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have strength enough... for this..."
Had Harry been a Gryffindor he probably would have attempted to run, fearing Voldemort completely, possibly not even saying the Dark Lord's name. But Harry was not a Gryffindor, but a Slytherin, so why shouldn't he face the person who had killed off hundreds of muggles? Sure, Voldemort had killed Harry's parents in the process, but they had been muggle-lovers, trying to protect people like the Dursleys.
Interested, Harry watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What exactly was going on, anyway? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he slowly began to turn on the spot.
Harry probably would have screamed if he hadn't suddenly lost the use of his voice. Where should have been the back of Quirrell's head, there was a face, the ugliest face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
"Harry Potter..." Voldemort whispered. Well, Harry assumed it was Voldemort. He had no proof that it was. "Do you see what I have become, thanks to you? Mere shadow and vapour... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their heart's and minds... Unicorn Blood has strengthened me these past few weeks... Once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me the Stone in your pocket?"
"Because you still haven't explain what's in it for me."
Voldemort chuckled at what Harry said, obviously finding it humorous in some way.
"A Slytherin at heart I see? Perhaps the Sorting Hat didn't make such a mistake as I thought it did what it placed you there... Very well, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "You have my word as a wizard that should you give me the Stone I will not force you to join me, nor will I kill you, providing you don't fight against me."
Harry thought about it for a moment for two. Should he give up the Stone then he would not be forced to join Voldemort, nor would he be killed by Voldemort. On the other hand, there were worse things than death... Oh, whatever.
"Fine," Harry shrugged, reaching into his pocket, and passing the Stone to Quirrell's, who had now turned around so as he could take the Stone, waiting hand.
"Oh, and Potter?" Harry turned, having been slowly walking away. "Stupefy."
Harry cursed as the beam of light sped towards him, recognising it as a stunning spell that was learnt in forth year. It hit him and he fell unconscious.
Something gold was glinting just above him, and he had no idea what it could be. He blinked. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.
He blinked again. The sorrowful face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.
Harry stared at him, then he remembered what had happened. No wondered it was now afternoon when it had been evening what seemed to him to be only a few minutes ago.
"Sir?" Harry said, trying to sit up but failing miserably. His body just seemed too heavy. So he gave up and looked around him. Harry realised with a silent groan that he was in the Hospital Wing yet again. He was lying in a bed with linen white sheets and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half a sweet shop.
"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore said, sudden beaming, an odd contrast to the sorrowful look from before. "What happened down in the dungeons is a complete secret between yourself and Voldemort, so naturally the whole school knows."
"Wh-what did happen?" Harry asked, unable to keep a slight stutter out of his voice. Then at the Headmaster's sharp look added, "I can't remember it too well."
"Ah, that is simple enough," Dumbledore seemed placated. "I had left for the Ministry earlier on the day that you went to face Voldemort - you have been unconscious for three days now - but no sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived in time to see Voldemort reborn, you yourself unconscious on the floor and Professor Quirrell lying, alas, dead a few feet away from you. Unfortunately I could not stop Voldemort from leaving the school."
Harry pretended to look shocked at the news. Who could blame him for looking shocked anyway? He had just heard that his parents murderer was now back in power pretty much. But inside Harry was silently cheering. Soon Voldemort's campaign to rid the world of muggles and mudbloods would start again, and he didn't have to fight on either side! Things couldn't get better!
The next day, having been released from the Hospital Wing with a full bill of health, Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone. All his friends had gone on ahead, having visited him not long after Dumbledore and said they would meet him there, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.
When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush and then everybody started talking at once. He slipped into his seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.
Fortunately Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said, looking around them all. "There is much I would like to say tonight, but first there is the most pressing issue I must address. As you will all have noticed, Professor Quirrell is no longer with us. There have been many stories of how his death came about, but I feel that telling people how things actually are is always the best course of action.
"Professor Quirrell was killed in a successful attempt to bring Lord Voldemort back to Power."
A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall, none of them having heard the part of the tale of what happened in the dungeon about Voldemort returning to power. People in the Great Hall at other tables were looking at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.
"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish for me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth in generally preferable to lies, and any attempt to pretend that Professor Quirrell died do to some accident will only result in more casualties than the truth ever would."
The feast carried on from there, Dumbledore announcing what he believed to have happened down in the dungeons, the House Cup being awarded, and finally the food arriving. Harry was faced with a lot of questions from his fellow Slytherins during the meal about what had happened, all of which were answered, rarely with the truth.
The following day the exam results came in, all of the Slytherin first years, even including Crabbe and Goyle, passed every subject. Harry was amongst those who had hoped that Weasley in Gryffindor would have failed and would be thrown out, but he had passed, too. it was a shame, but as Draco said, you couldn't have everything in life, no matter how hard you tried.
And suddenly wardrobes were empty and their trunks packed, Bernie placed in a bat carrying case; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic during the holidays. Hagrid the school game keeper was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating sweets as they sped past muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.
It took quite a while for all of them to get off of the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so that they didn't attract too much attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the muggles.
Harry went through with Draco, and spotted Uncle Vernon waiting impatiently, still as purple-faced, still as moustached as ever and looking as furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying a bat in a carrying case in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.
"Are they your relatives?" asked Draco, not looking at all impressed at the sight. At Harry's nod he spoke again. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with me for the holidays?"
"Wish I could," Harry said grimly, then a tiny smile came to his face and said in a joking voice, "but they'd probably kill me."
Draco grinned, and walked off towards his own father. As soon as he was out of earshot the smile and the joking voice dropped.
"Literally."
Well, there you have it. The very first year in Harry Potter's magical education, and not too many know the truth about what happened at the end of the year with the Dark Lord. Young Harry certainly did not share it with many people over later years, and it is a miracle that it can be told to anyone.
However, this was just the start of what happened to young Harry at Hogwarts. Things certainly went to hell for a lot of people after that. None of them seemed to know what had caused such bad luck. Some had their suspicions that it might be Harry Potter being in Slytherin, but no one could answer that. Who knows? Had Harry Potter been a Gryffindor things may have been better for the world in general, but that is not how it turned out, and it is you read on, read on to find out about Harry's second year, when the chamber of secrets was opened and Harry was blamed for it all.
A/N: Well, second year should start next chapter. But I doubt I'll have that out for a while. You see, it's suddenly struck me how huge a task this is, rewriting all seven years of Harry's time at Hogwarts, so I really think I'll need to plan out up until Harry's second Christmas at Hogwarts, minimum. Well, parts of it at least, which could take a while.
Lap: I'm glad you liked that line. It just seemed like the thing a slightly frustrated and SlytherinHarry would say. There are two possible ways to answer why Harry simply wanted tosee the stone. The first you mentioned, being Harry's Slytherin side not being big enough. The other is that in the Slytherin way of thinking, 'see' means 'look at, then steal if it's worthy of your attention and can be stolen'. Like what I got Harry to do with the stone? Giving it to Voldemort seemed like the perfect thing to do. Yay for obsessions! I think they're a perfectly healthy thing to have, especially if they concern a dark, evil and/or slytherin Harry.