Chapter 13: Down the rabbit hole
Tonight's invisible castle tour is due to the uneasy feeling that has settled into the castle, it feels wrong tonight. I'd thrown on my cloak and set off to investigate, not that I'm expecting to find anything, but it's not like I'm looking for an excuse to sneak around the castle.
After I'd gotten in after my morning run, I'd received the 5th letter inviting me to receive an award for helping Scrimgeour – Which translates to 'Come and be harassed by politicians and cameras. If it had been a polite invitation from Scrimgeor to grab a coffee sometime, I'd say yes. The last thing Albus had told me me that Jacob Nott had gotten wind that he was a suspect and started to throw significant amounts of money to appear clean. My word isn't enough to condemn a man to Azkaban, and Scrimgeor himself only saw the mask, not his face. Obviously Jacob denies any involvement at all, nobody would own up to a crime like that, not willingly or sanely anyway.
A very recent echo of Quirrell dashes right through me, I spin around to look at him. This wand is drawn and he looks agitated. A drawn wand? I look up and down the corridor; Nobody is here, so he's not assisting anyone with his wand. I shrug and follow, Might be chasing Peeves.
It doesn't take long to get to the third floor, maybe Hagrid's pet Cerberus will eat Quirrell. Albus, Snape, Sprout, McGonagall and Flitwick have recently been here with – The mirror. The stone in the mirror. Very interesting. I push the door open, the harp is slowly playing, The huge dog peacefully slumbers. I watch Quirrell's echo sink through the closed hatch beneath the large paw. I slide the tip of my wand from beneath the cloak and levitate the paw off of the hatch, gently settling it down again. The heavy door lifts easier than I'd expected and the harp stop playing just as I jump through. The door slams shut above me as I cast a charm to slow my descent. It wouldn't do much good if I broke my legs or ankles now. The chute deposits me on a floor of scorched plants. The first thing that hits me is the smell; Similar to how I imagine boiled vomit would smell if you left it in a cupboard for a month. Quirrell had been coming through here in a rush and set alight to the Devil's Snare. Professor Sprout had spent weeks moving it all down here. I quickly go through the door, eager to get away from the stench. If this didn't look sinister before, it does now. The faint chattering sound grows louder as I walk through the doorway. A hundred or so key-birds fly around aimlessly in the tall room, Flitwick's room. These are the security measure for the mirror. I cross the room and fire an unlocking charm at the door, but it doesn't budge. Removing the locking ward would cause thick metal bars to slide across the door, making it impossible to pass. I turn back to the keys. A single broom sits against the wall beside me. A diversion.
"Accio ke- Old key!" I call out, changing my words part way through so to avoid every single key flying at me at once. The battered old key tries it's best attempt to resist, but gives up as it's frail wings can't do it; It falls into my hand. I turn back to the door and watch as the locking ward pulls away from the keyhole as I twist the key.
The next room, McGonagall's room, is a giant chess set; I hate chess. I'd tried to play Wizard chess with Albus, which meant I couldn't touch the pieces, I'd given up before the third game had been won by throwing my Queen out of Albus' window. Fawkes dutifully returned it. I hate chess. There is a magical tripwire that begins the game which I've yet to trip. I lean against the door and weigh my options. Quirrell had played, but each game is different, McGonagall made sure of it. I can't simply play Quirrell's game again and win. Could I blast them apart? Probably too touch to make it worth the effort and they might attack me. My cloak. I slap my hand to my face. "Idiot." I mutter, readjusting my cloak and crossing the tripwire. It hides from everything if the wearer needs it to, I'm still not sure how it knows what I want, some sort of mental link I'd guess. I slink across the chessboard and pull open the door. It is still unlocked from Quirrell's game. McGonagall is going to be so bad when she finds out she missed something, it looks like the tripwire also locks the door for the next game.
The next room greets me with the familiar smell of mountain troll. I cover my nose and dash across the putrid smelling room, not sparing the unconscious troll a second look as Echo-Quirrell hits it with a very dark red spell.
I breath heavily once I get free of the room. I've almost caught up to Quirrell thanks to the saved time from the chess game. This room houses a small table and a wall of fire. Snape boasted this logic puzzle would stop any intruder, one vial lets me pass through the fire unharmed, the others are … less useful. Luckily for me, Quirrell has already solved the puzzle not 5 minutes ago. I pick up the smallest vial, the same one Quirrell had. A flame freezing potion brewed by Snape, the vial is linked to a cauldron full of it so it can refill after the single dose is consumed. The taste isn't too bad, but it feels like ice running down my throat. I screw my eyes shut and run through the fire, I open them and release my breath – I didn't get burnt. I remove my cloak and stow it in my pocket. As I walk into the final room, I clap slowly.
"Potter." Quirrell says coolly, his arms behind his back.
"Good evening, Professor." I walk down the steps. "Odd." I say, looking around the chamber. "I was looking for the toilet and stumbled across this room, I thought I'd found it when I met the troll." I sigh dramatically.
"Cease this nonsense at once." He spits, ropes coil tightly around my body and ankles, He hadn't even used his wand. "Now be quiet, I must inspect this mirror." He turns his back to me, my scar starts to prickle, not the first time it's happened, but I can't scratch it due to my tied hands. I shimmy my feet sideways so that I just peek into the edge of the mirror. Quirrell starts to mutter whilst my reflection casually tosses a large red stone up and down, he winks at he puts it in his pocket with a mischievous grin.
"I don't understand. Is the stone inside the mirror? Must I smash it?" Quirrell shifts his weight uneasily. "I see my self … Giving the stone to my master."
"Use … the boy." A quiet voice hisses. My headache develops into a dull throb.
"Potter!" Quirrell whirls round. "Come here." I don't budge. "Potter!"
"Sir?" I ask dumbly, as if I'd been called upon in class.
"Come. Here." He says through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated.
"I'm tied up you moron." He flicks his wand angrily, levitating me in front of the mirror. "Thank you, Professor." I turn my head back to the looking glass.
"What do you see, boy?" He growls. "Tell me." He looks into the mirror too. Where is Albus tonight? Down in London if memory serves.
"I think that's Professor Sinistra, sir." I squint, trying not to smile as my reflection starts to silently howl with laughter, seeming to know what the next line is. "I think she's taking her robe off..."
"YOU DARE?!" Quirrell raises his wand.
"Let me speak to him … face to face." The other voice hisses.
"M-master." Quirrell cowls, suddenly nervous. "Y-you are not strong enoug-"
"I have strength enough …. for this..." It says. Quirrell turns his back to me and reaches, slowly unravelling his turban, only a few steps in front of me. One final twist and a grotesque face is revealed. Pale skin, red eyes and no nose, instead replaced by snake like slits in the centre of his face. My eyes water from the pain my scar is causing me. "Harry … Potter." It hisses. "Do you see what I have become? … Mere shadow and vapour, forced to … share a body with another willing to give … The unicorn blood has strengthened me, you saw Quirrell in the forest …" Ah, so it was him in the forest. "Once I have the stone … I will be whole …. I can return your parents to you..." He leans closer.
"Voldemort." I say. "You … Fucking … YAH!" I head butt the stupid snake face, my forehead feels as if it's about to explode as I fall backwards onto the ground, the ropes disappear as Quirrell-Mort falls forward. I clap my left hand over my head. Quirrell begins to scream in pain, cursing angrily. The snake face is all burnt up, except for a lightning bolt shape over one eye, it remains untouched. "Nobody can come back from the dead." I say, hissing painfully as I climb to my feet, blinking heavily from my scar's pulsing. "Not the damned brothers, Not Flamel or Morgana Le Fay, but most certainly not you." I stand next to the writhing body and push my bare foot on to Voldemort's face. Screaming fills the room, A little of mine, some of Quirrell's and lots of Voldemort's. The head caves in and the body bursts into ashes and smoke. Some of the smoke swirls back down and the dust coalesces in a ball – A face – it coils around the room, screaming all the way, before shooting towards the roofs, vanishing through the stone ceiling. I slump down onto the steps, blood trickles down from my scar. I didn't think I'd head butted him that hard. I pull the Philosophers Stone from my pocket.
Hundreds of years of Alchemy. So many experiments and transmutations, which is turning a metal into another. Ritual circles for any number of things using the stone, great displays of fireworks and amazing feats of healing. Water to wine. This is Nicolas Flamel's battery. A huge, almost endless magical battery. A miniature fusion reactor of magic in a stone. It's like Flamel's wand, but specifically used for alchemy. Everything he's ever done or attempted to do with the stone, Often using the stone to power transfigurations for something like building an entire house with a casual flick of his wand, or even a whole village after a natural disaster. No wonder my reflection was grinning; This stone is absolutely amazing. Centuries of wisdom and power, The Elixir of Life being made for Nicolas and Perenelle. The elixir is just blood that's been treated by the stone with a very simple ritual. I don't think that my potions exam tomorrow will be a problem, It's like the baby brother of Alchemy.
"What do I do with you?" I ask the stone. A world of possibilities. Immortality would take repeated use, and I don't really feel like stealing a philosophers stone, especially from somebody what has 600 years of experience to take it back with. "What indeed?"
A/N: A bit on the shorter side. A flash of the violent side of Harry once faced with the root of most of the troubles in his life and his parents killer.
Could he just fix his wounds? Perhaps transform himself into who he sees in the mirror. A simple transfiguration with enough power behind it becomes permanent. Or a very cliché 'magical binding' breaker to unlock something else.
If you wish to become more acquainted with my own form of alchemy, you might want to read my 'Nobody told me the rules' story. It's big and not great, but I will be explaining things in details as Harry discovers them here.
As ever, feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!