Authors note: I do not own Harry Potter
The party had lasted throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning, and it was Harry's first foray into the world of the Gryffindor party life. The older years were seen chugging back liquid that caused steam to blast out of their ears, and more that contained a strong smell that he was sure he had detected in Hagrid's hut before. Those of the younger years had been gifted with a sweet-smelling drink that Fred had labelled as 'butterbeer'; Harry discovered that he quite enjoyed the taste of it.
When the cup had been placed into the arms of an openly weeping Oliver Wood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, McGonagall not looking too far off if he was perfectly honest with himself, Harry had felt an immense pride well up within himself. The stream of red and gold smashed into the seven tired players like a tidal wave, and Harry yelped with shock when he, like the others, were raised into the air to the storm-call of the lion's roaring.
All their names had been chanted out, the pleasure immense amongst the students of the House of the brave. Harry was over the moon at what was occurring, as he had the knowledge that his work, his participation, had afforded victory and joy amongst his peers. For that, he was extremely thankful.
"I've never seen such reckless abandon on a broomstick before in my life," he was chastised by McGonagall. Glancing over to Neville and Fay, they looked more relieved that angry at his choice of action. "But well done Potter. I suppose there's more of your father in you than just your skill with transfiguring."
The hundred-watt smile could have lit up the whole castle. His pride only grew as the team huddled close up together, Cheshire grins wide as the camera bulb flashed, immortalising such a moment in history. Harry would remember fondly whenever he looked at the copy placed in his ever-growing photo album, placed next to the one of him, Neville and Fay relaxing out by the lake the hour after their last exam was undertaken.
The cheer of victory lasted for a week after the match had ended, but began to taper off slightly as the end of year feast resided just over the weekend. The time for Harry's first year to end was coming close, as was the growing pit of despair.
He tried to avoid situations where he was with his friends for too long, knowing as well as he did that his foul mood would only upset them, and that was something he refused to be the one to instigate. For when he stepped off that train and back into King's Cross Station, he would be going back to them.
Katie took his absences hard, as she was wont to, but she knew that something was wrong; truthfully they all did, and yet as try as they might to get the information out, he would just smile wanly and shake his head in silence.
The burden was getting to him too much as the days crept ever closer, so he would spend all free time he could, that cold feeling inside his stomach all the while, alone as he wandered the castle.
This was a grave error in his judgement when a petty and vindictive first-year Slytherin cornered him in an abandoned corridor on the third floor.
Draco Malfoy detested Harry Potter. He had (in his mind) rejected him, a pure-blooded scion of an old and noble house, for the dregs of society. Blood traitors and squibs, and cavorting with mudbloods and muggle-lovers... it was infuriating, and he was going to make the little coward pay for his transgressions.
His father had raised him to be the ultimate heir, one who would be the next Lord of the House Malfoy, and that came with certain stipulations, one of which being to further the interests of his House. His father had all but demanded that he befriend the young Potter, specifically so as to create an ally that would benefit greatly in the long run.
He did not say a word as he stalked slowly towards the shivering coward in front of him, wand raised along with those of his cohorts. A few well-placed Confundus Charms by some older students he now owed some debts to allow for a diversion of Potter's route towards the forbidden corridor on the third floor.
He seethed as his irrationality caused him to begin trembling in unwarranted frustration. Potter was raising his arm, wand in hand as if he thought he, a pathetic half-blood, was better than him.
"Really Potter?" he fumed, pale face reddening. "You think a coward like you could ever hope to best me? Pathetic."
Harry began backing up, knowing that he had no skill in fighting anyone, but that was not why he came to Hogwarts in the first place. There were the same five students creeping closer to him with every shuffle backwards he took. If he was in his right mind, he could have started shouting for help, his words would have reverberated throughout the castle, and surely someone would hear him. But the rationality had no place in his thoughts at that moment in time. There were only two things, and they were warring within him: fight or flight.
He chose flight, and he turned and sprinted away, footsteps beating on ratted carpets and grime-covered stone. He could hear the mocking laughter of his pursuers as he carried on, hoping against hope that he would make it away from them.
There was only a dead end, with a single door placed in front of him. He sprinted faster, crashing into the splintering wood, rattling the handle with all his might as it remained firmly shut.
He chanced a glance backwards – they had kept up easily. "Alohomora" he whispered, and the door opened. Yet he stopped, remembering that this corridor was forbidden for a reason, and that reason, according to their illustrious Headmaster, was potential death.
The five hunters came ever closer towards a frozen Harry. His mind was made up for him as an unseen force shoved him roughly into the door.
Harry's panic soared as he felt the oppressive atmosphere the moment a single part of him entered the room. He got up quickly from the cold floor and bolted for the slowly closing door, rough grins the last thing he could see from his attackers as the outside world was shut from him.
Harry let out an uncharacteristic scream and began sobbing wildly as the unfairness of it all.
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It took Harry several minutes to calm down. He didn't like being trapped in a cold, dark place. It reminded him too much of the cupboard under the stairs; being inside that room on the third floor felt like he was back at the prison of his childhood.
He suffered from nightmares regularly, an issue that he dealt with quietly, which had been beaten into him roughly when younger from all the times he had woken his family in the night with his cries.
He hiccoughed sombrely, knowing that he was thinking like a child, but wanted someone to rescue him. He desperately hoped that someone would come to him so he wouldn't be so alone in this place. He craved the touch of Katie, the presence of the twins, and the ease he felt at being around Fay and Neville.
As his mind became more gradually under his control, he realised that he could make out a soft, gentle trill of a sweet-sounding instrument over the top of what sounded like rumbling snores.
He turned away from his position kneeling before the door, jaw-dropping as he saw a massive three-headed dog slumbering in front of him.
Idly he realised that there was a harp playing a haunting melody in front of the beast, 'A Cerberus,' he mouthed, words unable to form in his shock and terror. He just had to see the sharp teeth and flying drool as each head would release snores in an asymmetrical sequence.
He had to think quickly. He attempted the unlocking charm upon the door but found it unable to work as intended, so he hastily searched across the room from his precarious position in an endeavour to locate some sort of exit. 'The door isn't big enough to fit the dog in, so it must have got in somewhere else,' he rationalised. He tried so hard to focus on this as a challenge to overcome, but the potential threat of being dismembered by a Cerberus, mixed with the rush of adrenaline made it difficult to fully maintain any form of concentration for too long. 'But what if magic shrunk it, or there is some other way it got in?'
There, by its left paw. It was faint, but he could just make out a handle next to a metal ridge. 'A trapdoor!'
The creature had taken most of the door with its body, but he had no other option. He gingerly made his way over to the paw, one eye holding the dog in his vision at all time. He had no idea when it would awaken, and he wanted to have enough warning to do... something if it attacked.
He tentatively nudged the paw, finding it flopping back and forth. The dog didn't make any different movements, so he cautiously began to slide it away from the trapdoor, pleading to anyone that would listen to him that it would stay asleep.
Somehow, it seemed as though his faith was rewarded well, as the Cerberus rescinded its paw underneath its body like any dog would when sleeping.
The handle held the portal down stiffly, but he tugged upwards; it caught on something, then flew open and landed on the floor with a large bang.
He winced as he twisted his head to view the beast in its entirety, praying that it would stay in its slumber. He would definitely have a story to tell the others when he was done here. As he looked down into the twisted shadows below him, he idly wondered if he went to Dumbledore or McGonagall with what the Slytherin's had done would they be in serious trouble this time.
It was an image for another time as he peered down, unable to spot a bottom to it. The music carried on playing beside him, its tune calming his thoughts slightly as he decided what to do. "House of the brave," he sighed to no one. "Nothing ventured," he spoke more confidently as he prepared to leap.
He stood before the gap and took a step forward, leading his other leg behind him as he dropped straight as an arrow for only a second, landing on soft material.
"That wasn't so bad," he tried to reassure himself, shaking from the cold that both coming from both the room and his body.
He lay there for a few minutes, unmoving as he lamented his recent experiences. It was all going so well. He closed his eyes slowly, keeping them like that as he pleaded that this was only a dream, and not some waking nightmare. It was only recently that the pride and positivity had flowed inside him as he experienced the Ravenclaw victory. Now, it was as if there was something actively attempting to create as much misery towards him as possible. He was already fidgety lately with the knowledge that soon he would have to leave all the good that was at Hogwarts, and return to the place that he dreaded above all other things.
Harry grasped his wand in a trembling hand; if he couldn't get out of the situation he was in at the moment, none of that would even matter, so he placed his empty hand on the smooth material and attempted to pick his body up.
The problems only quickened from there as he felt something wrap around his waist and drag him back down to the floor. He could hear a creaking sound mixed in with the noise of something sliding over another surface.
There was no light, so he couldn't see a single thing, not even his glasses resting in front of his face. That one word resonated in his head. Light. Light. Light.
"Lumos Maxima," he bellowed, a war cry that only he could perceive occur echo around him. He paused in fright, thinking that his spell hadn't worked, opening his closed eyes as he forgot one key thing about his wand.
His eyes reclosed sharply, the force of the light dragging his lids shut involuntarily as the brightness of the spell pushed what had him ensnared away from his body.
He did not hesitate. The muscles in his legs screamed as he forced them to move his whole body forward, running through the separating things that took up the room.
When he recognised that he was far enough away from the entity that had him trapped, he turned the light of his wand to bear on what exactly it was. He laughed almost uncontrollably as a memory swirled unbidden and fleetingly across his mind. Sometimes an event that has little to know meaning will remain wedged in memory with no real purpose. In this case, Harry was thankful that he remembered that Herbology lesson where Neville had dictated the weakness of Devil's Snare.
He was sure that he would have most likely dimmed the light if there was limited information on what it was that was opposing him, but that memory that came to the forefront made him stop, and increase the intensity of the light. He scanned behind him as he shuffled backwards, keeping the lit wand facing the bulk of the Devil's Snare, refusing to let it mass an attack when he was least expecting it.
Shortly, he reached a raised bit of wall that he assumed was the decorative arch surrounding either a window or a door. His free hand slid across to the right, shortly touching the expected feel of the wood he knew would be there. He edged closer to the where he assumed the handle to be, and uncomfortably held it with his hand behind him, twisting it open.
In one smooth motion, brought about by years of fleeing his cousin's gang, and the constant Seeker training, he twisted his body through the small gap. As he entered the next room, wand held up to see the contents, he moved his body in front of the door and used his body weight to slam it shut behind him.
Harry looked around him, noting a fluttering sound that was loud enough to drown out the sound of his haggard breathing. He held his wand high above his head, peering into what seemed like a mass of squeaking birds high above him. His steps took him to only other thing of note in the room: a large door directly opposite the one he had just come through.
When he stopped in front of the door, he noted something more clearly now that he had some light. Propped up in the corner of the doorway, there was a ratty old broom. He puzzled over what it could be there for, trying to focus on this new detail over the distress he was undergoing.
'What's a broom doing here?' He was missing something but he could not for the life of him understand what it was. It hit him with all the encroaching force of a freight train: keys. Above him were keys, maybe hundreds of them.
He looked back and forth between the large keyhole on a greenish rusted lock, and the floating keys, concluding that he would need to match the key to it in order to progress.
"What is going on?" he mumbled. Something was wrong here and he just wanted to be elsewhere. If Professor Dumbledore had said that this place was out of bounds, and he could totally see why now, then he had no right to be here. The faces of his close ones flickered in his mind's eye, wishing again that at least one of them was here with him. He didn't enjoy being alone now, and never at this point had he felt the feeling so.
Pushing the feeling of desolation away for what he knew now had to do, he grasped the broom to his side, turning it over so it was held to his right-hand side.
His leg swivelled over it in and in one flourish, he pushed off the ground and ascended carefully to the same level as the keys. His wand was still lit but had dimmed slightly so as to be able to differentiate between the keys. He remained in place, head flitting this way and that, vision narrowed in a Seeker's Sprint as he tried hard to centre on the elusive key.
He recognised it as soon as it entered clearly into his vision; it was the most rusted of them all, and he would bet his vault that it was the same colouring as the lock below him. He shot forward, it taking practically no time at all to capture the target.
He lowered himself to the floor, still holding the broom as he walked over to the locked door. He slid the key effortlessly into the lock and released a held breath as it turned easily to the right, the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking in response.
He pushed the door open a crack, hoping that there was no awaiting enemy just out of reach. He waited the adequate amount of time for the powerful beam of light following his shout of "Lumos Solem", opened the door further to be slightly baffled by what looked like large statues in front of him.
As the door closed behind him, he took note of the broomstick still held in his hand and decided that he would rather have it with him just in case the situation required it.
His attempt to discern the meaning behind what the statues were came to near nothing as he stared inquisitively at them, and so he decided to circle around to get a greater view. However, the ways round both sides were blocked off with what he assumed was some nasty magic and fallen rubble. So he made his way in between the lurking pale-white statues, and into a large empty space beyond them.
In front of him, there were more of the stone statues, only these were pitch black in shade. Turning on his heel, he noted the different forms that the statues were taking, mirrored by the ones opposite. "A chessboard?" he questioned to the emptiness. "What in the world is happening to me right now?"
His tone was almost incredulous. This was something out of a storybook, not real life. 'Although,' he thought miserably, 'When have things ever really been normal for me?'
What the tasks to complete were before, seemed to be able to be bested by more luck and general knowledge, but he had no idea how to even play chess. Yes, he had seen Ron more than anyone have great skill in the game, but he was completely hopeless. It seemed as though he was going to be going no further. But he realised he couldn't really go backwards; the Devil's Snare and the Cerberus, plus the locked door would stop that in its tracks.
The despair was crawling across his skin, false shadows wrapping silky fingers around his throat, cutting off his airwaves. He was forced to his knees, the oppressive nature of what was happening to him effecting every sense. He stumbled forwards, hand over knee as he crawled towards what he hoped was somewhere near an exit. He could see the pieces drawing arms in defence of his objective, and the feeling of complete hopelessness began to consume him.
The faces of his friends circled just out of view, and he felt so alone. His wand light died out as it and the broomstick clattered to the marble. Katie was there in front of his vision when everything became normal as quickly as it had gone awry. He picked up his wand, holding it as his lifeline, and once again mounted the broomstick.
He had noticed that there seemed to be a lack of common sense amongst the Wizards and Witches of the world. What should have been normalised was instead drawn out and convoluted as remnants of their desire to be the abnormal to the normal of the muggle world. He had mostly kept his mouth shut on the topic when around other people, deciding to enjoy the immersion in something that made him content. And now, he was thankful for all their oddities, because he simply rose above the pieces on the broomstick and floated on by.
He let out a breath he didn't know that was being held as he opened the door, expecting to be followed, but instead let out a short, single laugh in relief as he stepped through cautiously.
The first thing he realised, was the stench was unbearable. The ugly, green thing was laid out across the floor, and if he had to judge by the sight of pooling blood and wide, empty eyes, it was most definitely dead.
He had not been involved in the troll incident, and therefore was not aware of what a troll looked like in the flesh, but after asking the girls what exactly one was, he could match the description to reality.
He dropped the broomstick, holding his now free hand up to his face to try to block out the scene and smell, while his other arm cradled his stomach. It was for nought however as he vomited over the floor.
He kept retching as he staggered forward, blurred vision as he went towards where he hoped the door to the next room was. His luck ran true as he wrenched the door open with haste, not even caring about any potential threats lurking beyond, instead falling head over heel onto the floor.
However, his worry did not abate, as flames erupted in a horseshoe shape in front of him. The door lay beyond, and he groaned tiredly, despising his own weakness and the fact that he was in this position in the first place. 'I just wanted to learn magic. I just wanted to be away from the Dursley's... I just want my friends.'
He lay there for a long time, moping in his depression, a sliver of his slowly bringing him back to the real world. When he felt that he could cope, he raised himself up and over to a table in the centre of the room.
On it, there was a piece of paper written, and several containers full of different looking liquids. He peered at the writing and was able to read what seemed to be a riddle.
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 stay here for evermore,
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;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
'The professors made this,' came barrelling into his head. He had finally figured it out. 'The Cerberus was Hagrid, of course, he would have a creature like that somewhere. The plant... Sprout, obviously. The keys were animated so Professor Flitwick. I'm going to assume McGonagall for the chess pieces, while maybe Quirrell was the troll. This is from Snape. So it's a task? What does this all mean?!'
He needed to figure out this puzzle before anything else. He really hoped that Malfoy would be expelled for subjecting him to this. 'Although,' he thought glumly, 'I bet this will be all my fault somehow. It always is.'
He counted seven vials on the table and glared at the riddle as if hoping the answer would just announce itself. He couldn't return now anyway, the fire had spread behind him, encircling him in a shroud of burning wretchedness.
'The largest potion is safe then? That's one down, and if it is the identical one to the second on the left... then that should be okay.
'If that's the case then those on the left of them are bad and should be left alone.' He looked over the riddle once more. 'Neither on each end will help.' He looked at the third one in. Taking the potion in hand, he uncorked the vial and swigged it down in one gulp.
His eyes closed while he stepped through the flames, but feeling the icy chill within his veins, he knew he would be alright. His belief held out when the short steps propelled him out of the fire and into the open air. He did not hesitate. He wanted this to be over, and over right then; the door was open and he was through the portal before it had fully unsealed.
He was not expecting the man wearing a purple turban to be standing in front of the Mirror of Erised as his next challenge.
"Professor Quirrell?"
The man turned to see him. "I see you are here too, Potter."
Harry noticed two things. The first was that there was no stutter, nor any feeling of insecurity coming from the man before him. The second, and most aggravating, was the flaring of excruciating pain emanating from his scar.
"What... what's going on? What is this place?"
"You mean you came here without even knowing what you were getting in to?" The man was smirking at the thought. "You really are not what the Wizarding world was expecting Potter." He returned to his vigil in front of the mirror. "This mirror. It is the key. The key to getting the stone. I need it, but it only shows me handing it to my master."
Harry could only look on confused, tired, and wanting to be anywhere else other than here.
"Potter! Come here."
He shook his head. He knew that it would be bad if he went forward. There was a sensation of unnatural darkness coming from Quirrell, and his instincts were commanding him to run far, far away. Quirrell snarled and raised his wand, and Harry was dragged next to him and positioned in front of his reflection. Quirrell stepped back and stared.
"The Philosopher's Stone lays within the magic wrought in the mirror. Dumbledore's magic counteracts my own, and I cannot get beyond the seal." His eyes raked over his frozen form. "You though, you are something unexpected. Get me the Stone!"
Harry locked eyes with his mirror self. His desire shown to him, causing fresh salt to drip onto his lips. He was scared, and now the thing he wanted most in the world was taunting him. If he could swap places with that reflecting, right then and there, he would have taken that leap. He did not want a stone, he just wanted that. That nondescript form that stood next to him, whose face would change at a speed he could not keep track of. The way is held him... he could see the complete and total happiness on mirror-him. His desire was not this stone. It was simply... to be wanted.
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There was a heavy weight in his pocket. One that he only barely noticed as it was not there before.
He had practically ignored it for the sight of his parent's murderer fused to the back of Quirrell's head.
His mind had gone blank. Terror was not a word that could have described what he was feeling. Terror was something that he could interpret, could know the feeling of. This was something altogether different.
When he woke up that morning, the worst thing that he knew would happen to him, would be to let the thoughts of his impending departure to Privet Drive get him down. But now, the worst thing was something very different.
He took no notice of what the being was saying, so frozen in primal fear that no sense was functioning correctly. He had to run, he had to escape. This thing was Lord Voldemort, and he could see the evil. The eyes are called the windows to the soul for a reason, and it was when they locked on each other, Harry could just see the eldritch horrors lurking within.
Harry's face scrunched up, his eyes twitching wildly as the sweat pushed his glasses off his face, shattering on to the floor.
He ran.
He wasn't brave, nor was he noble. He wasn't a Gryffindor. He was Harry Potter, a boy who right then, had something to live for. The names of those who could help, Dumbledore primarily, rattled around his head, knowing that he needed to get to him. When the magic pulled him back, the Stone sliding out his pocket as he thrashed about, he screamed himself hoarse, refusing to fall in a place like this.
He grabbed at the stone, words muted on his lips as his wand was shot out of his hand, clattering to the floor.
"Seize him" a voice cried out, hatred spewing beyond cruel lips. "He has the Stone! Get me the Stone!"
He could feel a pressure consume him, white hot pain blinding him as he lashed out at the man who descended onto him. He could taste iron as it poured out his mouth. His ears began to block as a heavy liquid flowed out. He could feel it come out his nose as the pain grew in intensity from his scar.
The stone was held tightly in his right hand, a vice clamping it shut as he refused to let go. His eyes were red and black, his internal sight was the static of white as the agony encompassed him. His left arm arced out in an instinctual reflex. The pain shifted from predominantly in his lightning bolt scar to an equal one in the palm of his hand.
Then it vanished. A cold sweat covered him as he lay there on the cool stone, Philosopher's Stone still firmly wrapped in his fingers. The energy he had had had evaporated into nothingness. Only a dull ache remained as the blood pooled around him, staining his surroundings red.
As he embraced the nothingness, he heard nothing.
No one was coming for him.
Authors note
So I wanted this chapter to be a primarily Harry one, especially as we're now entering the crux of the first book. This was such a key event in book 1, that I felt it deserved a whole chapter to itself. You can also see that Harry had to do all these things himself, and how everything was actually done by him alone. I hope it came across well. I am also quite proud of my triple 'had' being grammatically correct.
Next chapter will be released at some point next week. By the time this is released, I should be (hopefully) well underway with writing up book 2. Because I'm going to be trying to write the chapters ahead of my scheduled releases, I won't be responding to any reviews I get. I'll still read them of course, always a pleasure to do so, but any direct questions will need to be PM'd.
The potion riddle is taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone.
As always, stay safe.
Next Chapter: None to Blame
KhaosOnion