Those- Who- Lived

Chapter Five

Quirrel was looking at the mirror once more, seeming to ignore Harry. This would have been wonderful, if Harry hadn't been more correct than he ever wanted to be that a first year's education is no good against a full grown wizard. Harry could hardly think of a single spell that would be useful against Quirrel, not even if he delved into the spells his parents had taught him before they should have. The only consolation was that Quirrel was still circling the mirror and muttering to himself, pondering just how he might be able to get the stone. Clearly, it wasn't in plain sight in the room, but how was in stuck inside the mirror? Knowing he needed to keep Quirrel from finding it when he didn't seem to be figuring it out on his own anyways made Harry once more feel useless and stupid in choosing this course of action. But how was he supposed to know that the last clue appeared for all intents and purposes to be completely impossible to accomplish?

Finally getting tired of watching Quirrel, Harry began to back up towards the black fire, hoping that out of sight would become out of mind and that maybe, just maybe he'd be able to get back through. He was almost there when another voice joined Quirrel's mutterings, a high, thin voice coming from apparently nowhere and spoke in such a way Harry couldn't understand the words.

Harry knew he heard a hiss this time, coming from Prince beyond the fire. He didn't think on it long though, as Quirrel suddenly thrust his arm out and yelled, "Come here, boy!"

Harry was caught in the spell and dragged unceremoniously across the room, coming to a standstill in what he could only name the worst place possible: right between Quirrel and Prince in the other room. He could, however, now see awkwardly into the mirror before Quirrel and it was rather surprising to see within it an image of himself: he'd expected it to be enchanted or something. Quirrel stepped out of the way, and Harry found his eyes drawn to the markings above even as he thought of what Hermione had said about the failings of many wizards, in ignoring logic.

'Erised stra ehru oyt …' the first three words seemed stuck in his mind and suddenly the split into their components and made sense. 'Erised straeh ruoy … your hearts desire … I show not your face but your hearts desire'

Harry glanced back into the mirror and watched as his expression looked back at him with an expression of amusement he knew he wasn't presently wearing. Patiently, the image held out its hand, holding a red stone that it then dropped into its pocket. Harry felt the stone drag on his trousers and felt a thrill of panic he really wished would go away. He didn't want the stone! He just wanted to know where it was. Apparently, however, it was now within his pocket and within the reach of Quirrel. Cursing his decision to come here once more Harry looked up at Quirrel's impatient face and smiled weakly.

"Well boy?" Quirrel queried, his face curious. "What do you see?"

"I … uh," Harry stuttered and swallowed. "I see …" You heart's desire … but what if I can't think of anything I want? "I don't see anything, sir. Just my … my reflection." I feel really smart right now …' Harry cursed himself.

"He lies." The high thin voice spoke once more and Harry heard him this time and nearly swore. Quirrel struck him across the face and Harry fell to the floor, gasping and feeling fear grip him where he lay.

"Tell me the truth!" Quirrel roared.

Harry froze and said the first thing he could think of. "I saw myself a decorated auror standing before my father. Happy yet?" He snapped. Harry didn't let his face show his surprise. He hadn't thought of that before, but it had just come to him. Quirrel paused then and sneered at him.

"So, ashamed then." Quirrel spat. "Useless. I don't need you hanging around then, so … goodbye."

Harry felt his stomach plummet as light gathered in the tip of Quirrel's wand, glowing brilliant green that strangely reminded him of his mother's eyes. Watching with a horrified fascination, he started as badly as Quirrel did when a shot rang through the room and the spell shot off into the roof, shattering the ceiling above. Something heated against his chest, Quirrel swore, and Harry blacked out.

IIII

Alan could think of several things he'd much rather be doing at the moment than trying to save some uppity Gryffindor with too much courage for his own good, but he supposed the fact that it was Voldemort trying to kill said Gryffindor made everything better. Alan told his sarcasm to stuff itself and dodged just out of the range of the door as a spell shot through the fire once more, and considered that having something a little more deadly than a BB gun would probably come in handy.

"Accio child." Quirrel screamed. Alan's head smacked painfully into the wall behind him as the spell pulled him against it, and he cursed as he tried to think of how to counter the spell. However, Quirrel wasn't completely stupid and he twitched the spell over and pulled Alan through the doorway. The fire burned against his skin, but he was through the path soon enough and was tossed onto the floor just inside the door as Quirrel stalked up to him. Alan scrambled to his feet and looked worriedly around the room, searching for an exit, but, as expected, he found none. Harry was unconscious on the floor just across the room, pieces of stone scattered about him. Alan couldn't help but feel grateful both for his presence and his lack of consciousness. He may have been Slytherin, but being famous was not on Alan's list of desirable situations.

However, considering his present situation, he couldn't stop the reaction Quirrel had, as the man inhaled painfully, and the high thin voice from before returned.

"I know you … Alan Prince, they say." The voice laughed, but Alan didn't feel like talking, and his gun discharged once more, aimed at Quirrel's head. The round was dodged, but Quirrel had walked right into the second and he yelped as the round imbedded itself into his turban.

"Talk off the hairball, Quirrel. You look stupid." Alan yelled. Reinforcements were coming, he was sure of it. He just had to buy time … Alan dodged the spell that came his way after that, and rolled closer to Harry, feeling slightly panicky. He had pocketed the potion to go back, but the black fire was different from the purple fire and he knew those potion-spell combinations didn't like it if you mixed the wrong. In fact, he knew they tended to simply make the reactions worse if you combined them wrong. Thinking that, however, made for a promising possibility …

"You can't hide forever, Prince." Quirrel shouted. "You can't even run in here. What is the point anyways, no one knows you're here, do they? I'll have the stone by the time anyone realizes you two brats are gone, and I'll be out of here myself."

Alan growled and then frowned when he found the fire had gone out once he left the room. There went the idea of trying to burn Quirrel to ash. But what about when Dumbledore came down … Alan ran over and went straight to Harry, wondering if he should wake him or just wait over here. Alan looked up to try and find Quirrel and instead found his eyes locked on the mirror before him. He didn't even notice Quirrel coming closer as he stared at what he saw in the mirror.

His reflection looked almost exactly like himself, but he wasn't alone. Beside him in the mirror was another person, someone he couldn't see quite clearly, but that strongly reminded him of Potter. He was just standing there, with his hand on Alan's shoulder, completely relaxed and confident. He had his wand in hand, and, as Alan watched, his own reflection stood beside the other and pulled his own wand, standing completely comfortably next to the other. He didn't know why, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt what the mirror meant. And, as he thought about a moment longer, he knew what the mirror showed.

"Got you." Quirrel growled. Alan screamed as Quirrel's hand descended onto his neck, holding him painfully tight and jerking him to his feet. His gun fell from his hand, and Alan looked back at Quirrel with a fierce glare moments before Quirrel dropped him with a strangled yelp. Alan landed on his feet, snatching up his gun and scurrying farther away, running his hand over his neck and feeling the strange heat lingering there. Once more the high-pitched voice screamed,

"Get him, he has what we need! He cannot remain alive!"

Alan paled as Quirrel lifted his wand, and, in return, Alan's gun came level with Quirrel's face and his mind simply shut down. He pulled the trigger even as Quirrel spoke, and Alan dropped after the round left. Quirrel had time to finish his spell, and then collapsed as blood ran down his face from a ruined eye, even as footsteps came closer once more. Alan swallowed and tracked Dumbledore's entrance with a closed expression, swallowing lightly as his hands fell to his sides. The only expression he wore was blank until he finally let himself fall to his knees.

This was just not his day.

IIII

Alan woke up in the hospital wing. Staring at the ceiling, he worried his lip for several long moments before he glanced to the side of his bed and then back at the ceiling.

Yep.

The headmaster was still sitting calmly next to his bed, waiting for him to acknowledge him. He didn't really want to talk, though, so he was gladly remaining silent and letting it continue. Finally, however, Dumbledore spoke.

"Good evening, Alan. It's good to see you awake. You've been asleep two days."

Alan merely nodded, not asking any questions and continuing his staring at the ceiling.

"I must wonder what you were doing in the forbidden corridor last night. Harry woke yesterday and answered that you had your own suspicions about Quirrel, similar to those of him and his friends. I would like to hear where you came up with them. You appeared confident that Quirrel was a threat."

Alan ran through his mind his uncle's family tree as he tried to ignore the Headmaster. He half-wished he was back with his uncle, as he presently didn't want to have to answer the questions directed at him. Those would put him in a position he did not want to be in.

"Alan, please answer."

'No, thank you,' Alan thought at him, 'I have no desire at all to be tied up with you or anyone.'

"Alan, this isn't good behaviour. You killed someone, Alan, and that is something very serious. I need to know why."

Alan still didn't answer, and finally, Alan felt a tendril of magic push at his mind. Alan threw up the strongest barrier he could and solidified it against intrusion, hoping against hope that someone would show up and stop this mess. Dumbledore was apparently wary of a student who could block him out as Alan had, and was merely ghosting along the edge of Alan's shields at the moment, testing for any weakness. He continued to speak.

"Alan, this worries me. You are reticent and silent, withdrawn and honestly, you are the perfect Slytherin."

'No duh, sir, considering my heritage I would be,' Alan once again drawled mentally. He really did have a sarcastic inner voice.

"In this day and age, with our present climate, such an attitude will be dangerous for you. Having a weapon at school is even more cause for concern, and to have killed one of your teachers, no matter the circumstances, is disturbing even to me. I am concerned about you, and will be speaking to your guardians over the summer, but I would like to talk to you first if you will allow me."

Alan smiled at the thought of his uncle and Dumbledore going up against each other, and then winced as Dumbledore dived at his shields to attempt to make them shatter. They buckled, but held, and Alan began to sweat slightly with the effort of maintaining them. Suddenly, and unbidden, the image of Dumbledore seeing his godfather nearly stole all his control and he gasped and sat up. Dumbledore's attempt skittered away at Alan's sudden movement and Alan glared at the headmaster, avoiding his eyes, and snarling wordlessly. Dumbledore was about to speak once more when the door to the infirmary was slammed open. Dumbledore looked out curiously as the powerful stride came over to the curtain surrounding Alan's bed and the cloth was thrown back as Professor Snape stepped in, fixing the Headmaster with a fierce glare.

"Dumbledore, I disapprove of you interrogating one of my students without me here." Snape glanced Alan's way and then continued. "Using Legilimency against a student is despicable as well, and I am tired of you manipulating him. Just because he is Slytherin does not give you a right to whatever methods you desire, and honestly, I would likely be more skilled than you in getting the answers you desire, partially because Alan trusts me. Something I don't believe you have."

Alan fought down a small smile as Snape cut down the Headmaster, and subtly glanced at the Headmaster. He was surprised to see a small, thoughtful frown on the Headmaster's face as he glanced at Alan and then back to Snape without any change in expression. Finally the Headmaster stood and took Snape out of the curtains, raising a basic Silencing barrier. Alan frowned again, and picked his wand up off the bedside table, and, using a small charm, opened a hole in the silencing ward in order to hear the conversation as it continued.

"- The use of a deadly weapon in the school." Dumbledore finished.

"I have questioned the boy about his pellet gun. It was given to him for self-defence, and he was advised in how to use it properly. In case you hadn't thought to check, which I did, the Killing curse was used in that room twice, Albus. Alan only ever aimed at his head twice that we can prove, once when the round was stuck in Quirrel's turban and once when he did shoot him. There were several other shots that only caused harm, and from what I have received from the boy's guardians, they have good reason to give the boy something for his own defence. Both times he has used his gun has been in defence of his life, against an older, more experienced wizard, when his own knowledge of magic hindered him. And let me remind you, both times this happened, you should've been able to prevent the danger. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to manipulate the Potter boy for you own use and you're simply upset that it backfired upon an 'outsider'."

Alan raised his eyebrow and then smacked his own forehead. That was foolish of him; he remembered what he'd been told of his origins and now that he remembered them, it did make sense that it was Potter who was getting caught up as well. After all, from what he knew, it very well could have been Potter or even Longbottom that was in his position. A position he'd rather gladly have handed over to them if he'd had the choice.

"It doesn't change the fact that Alan's shot killed Professor Quirrel. What child should be able to kill so callously?"

"Stop lying, Headmaster. Alan's shot never killed Quirrel and you know it. It weakened him, and when the Dark Lord fled his body, the combined shock killed him. It's the Dark Lord's fault he's dead, not Alan's, so stop trying to pin this on the boy."

Dumbledore was silent for several long moments, and Alan frowned before he spoke again.

"You're not defending him as his Head of House, are you Severus?"

"Pardon?" Snape's tone was deathly cold, and Alan frowned. The Headmaster was really butting in on something that wasn't his business …

"You've been very different since Alan arrived, Severus, more pleasant and distracted. Several of your older students have observed so, and I must wonder … the boy has some distinguished looks."

Distinguished. Alan snorted and frowned. His looks were distinguished like Albus' beard.

"A passing resemblance, Albus, but I won't deny a fondness for an intelligent student. He's the greatest prodigy I've had in Potions for a long time, and he's respectful and perceptive."

"Severus, your mother's maiden name was Prince. There was a woman in your life, I know, so please … tell me the truth."

Severus was silent for several long moments, and Alan was trying to remember some of the choice words he remembered hearing his Uncle use when Severus finally answered.

"Yes, Albus." He grated out. "Alan Prince is my son. His mother … apparently, his mother had taken pains to ensure he was cared for in the event of her death, and his godfather – who I do not know the identity of, so don't ask – took him to her sister, who married an American. They took care of him till now, and sent him here as per her wishes."

Alan frowned and began to fiddle with his sheet. He didn't like that the Headmaster was manipulating his father, and he couldn't imagine why he was pressing so hard. Did he really know about that prophecy? Perhaps he knew more than his uncle did, but what did that matter? Why was Albus being so controlling?

"Severus, what type of woman was Amber again?"

"Albus," Alan heard the constrained fury in his father's voice and gave the curtain a look of awe. The Headmaster really was stupid if he was pushing that hard. "What does this have to do with my son and why should I even answer? I believe the present issue is what occurred when your careful preparations failed to protect the stone, and not the history of my child and other relationships. I thought it was you who said the past is the past."

"Very well Severus, then I leave asking him to you. I would like to know what he was doing there and –"

"I think I can figure out the important information for myself, thank you. If you find something lacking please feel free to point it out."

The Headmaster left after Severus' acerbic dismissal, and although his steps were hesitant, he did leave. Once he was gone, Severus dispelled the silencing barrier and brushed past the curtain. Finding Alan sitting there with a slightly sour expression, he sighed and took the seat next to the bed.

"You heard." He observed. Alan nodded shortly. "I apologize. I do not believe he will share the information, and I'm sorry he had to find out that way."

"It's okay, dad." Alan returned. Severus looked at him curiously and Alan just smiled. "He was pushing a lot, wasn't he? Were his questions about the Dark Lord?"

Severus nodded shortly, and Alan turned to fiddle with his bedspread.

"Why were you at the corridor, Alan?" Severus asked.

Alan rubbed his hair back and frowned. "Potter and the others were concerned. Potter had observed that Quirrel was complaining of a stomachache, and he made the same connection I did with my pellet gun and the creature in the forest. He apparently came to the conclusion Quirrel had something to do with the Dark Lord himself from another source, but I … I felt him, then. Out in the forest." Alan's hand hovered near his face once more and Severus placed a firming hand on his shoulder. Alan smiled faintly at him and continued. "The only place that might have something hidden was the third floor corridor. I waited it out, then, and when the three of them went in, I tailed them. I followed them down, and we made it to the end, and I let Potter go first." Alan shrugged. "He distracted Quirrel, nearly got killed, I interfered and got dragged in. I'd known it was him from when I'd first seen him through there anyways." Again, his hand touched his face and Severus frowned. Alan didn't notice, caught up in remembering. "He couldn't touch me; it burned him for some reason, and then …" Alan shrugged. "I needed him off me. I needed him stopped."

Severus nodded faintly, and kept his hand affectionately on Alan's shoulder, even as Alan leaned into the touch. "I'm proud of you, Alan." He managed. Alan smiled faintly and shrugged, remaining silent for several more minutes before he spoke again.

"What was that mirror down there? The one Quirrel couldn't figure out."

"Albus told me it was the Mirror of Erised."

"What's it do?"

Severus was silent for several moments. "I've heard it reflects the deepest desire of a person's heart. He'd manipulated the enchantment to protect the stone in some way at the time, but … did you see it at some point?"

Alan nodded. "After Harry had gotten the stone out of it. My reflection … there was someone beside me, someone my age. I think …" Alan faltered, not sure he wanted to keep speaking.

"You don't have to tell me. I don't think I'd ever tell anyone what I might see in that mirror." Severus intoned.

Alan laughed faintly. "You'd see yourself with you bare left arm, mother on one hand and me on the other, wouldn't you? Or something like that."

"Something like that, I'm sure." Severus smiled.

Alan leaned up against him and sighed happily. He didn't think he'd tell Severus what he'd seen in that mirror quite yet. He wasn't sure he liked the thought himself. The one thing he wanted, his desire for an equal, someone who could match him in every way … the thing was, only one person could ever meet him, and he hadn't needed the mirror for that. The only student in the school who had raw power like his, something he hadn't needed the Sorting Hat to know or even the likeness in the mirror, was one Harry Potter, the son of James Potter, his father's rival. The boy who should have been a Slytherin, who he had known didn't like him from the beginning of school, and someone he doubted he'd ever become friend's with, recent actions aside.

To quote his godfather and shock his aunt: "Life's a sick and twisted bitch."

"Prince?"

The voice broke the two of them apart, and Severus was sitting an appropriate distance away for a concerned head of house when McGonagall came in to stand awkwardly near Alan's bed. She looked uncomfortable, and tight-lipped, but she firmly stood her ground and finally she managed to speak.

"I heard about what happened from Potter." She acknowledged. "And I will say, I am impressed and awed by your actions. Twenty-five points to Slytherin," She admitted. Alan felt his jaw drop, and his father looked in no better condition, "For displaying uncharacteristic nerve in the face of danger."

She abruptly left with that gift, and Alan watched her go wide-eyed. "Has she ever given that many points to another house?" He asked, dazed.

Severus shook himself loose from his contemplation and then swallowed. "No, never. I suppose, I can now say, twenty-five points for accomplishing the impossible. Making McGonagall put Slytherin above her own house by positive points."

IIII

Harry sat with Neville, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table for the end of the year. They were all disappointed with the outcome they'd had – Ravenclaw has scraped by a win even with Harry making it to the game. He'd still been mildly disoriented, and had caught the snitch too early, when the game was still young. The points he'd acquired hadn't been enough to make up for Snape's vindictiveness and Harry and Neville's blunder of being out far too late. Ravenclaw had managed to maintain their lead, and thus the Great Hall was decked out in the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw. The high point was that Slytherin had finally been defeated, but it would have been nice to win.

Dumbledore finally entered the room, making his way to the dais and smiling genially at the children gathered around. Once he was in the place of honour he looked out over them all and gave a warm welcome.

"Another year gone! Allow me to trouble you with an old man's words before we settle down to the feast before us. It has been a wonderful year and I hope you have all packed your heads full this year … you have all summer to empty them once more … Now, it is time for the house cup to be awarded. As things stand, in fourth place is Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points. Third place is Gryffindor, with four hundred and two points, Slytherin with four hundred and twenty-seven points and Ravenclaw boasts four hundred and thirty points."

The Ravenclaw table exploded with cheers, and Harry grinned as he saw, through the standing, milling party at Ravenclaw, several glares sent up the Slytherin table to Prince and Malfoy. Malfoy was sitting with his head ducked between his twin bodyguards of Crabbe and Goyle, while Prince was acting as though he was sitting alone save for his few comments to Zabini seated beside him.

"Yes, I am glad to see you all glowing in your achievement." Dumbledore continued, "However, there are recent events to consider that deserve proper recognition, and thus I have several points to award."

"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley."

Harry laughed at the caught expression that crossed Ron's face.

"For the best played game of chess seen by Hogwarts in many years, I award Gryffindor house twenty points."

The whole house cheered happily for the motion. Harry saw Dumbledore send an apologetic glance to Ravenclaw house, who were all fussing at the loss of their points, however since the rumour mill had been running in the few days since Harry and his had gone into the bowels of the school, the points were considered well-earned and they certainly weren't excessive.

"Second," Dumbledore continued, "To Miss Hermione Granger. For the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house twenty points."

Hermione looked ready to faint, but Harry was laughing wildly at the acknowledgement, and the movement into the winning place. Neville was snickering, until Dumbledore said his name next.

"Third to Mr. Neville Longbottom, for diligence in protecting one's friends, I award fifteen points."

It was Ron and Hermione's turns to laugh at Neville's pink face, and Harry once more slapped him on the back, to which Neville elbowed him in turn.

"Next, to Mr. Alan Prince," The hall fell silent at the sudden change in pace. Most of them were unaware of Prince's involvement that night, and were wondering where his name had come from. "For silent determination accomplish a goal, I award Slytherin thirty points."

Both Gryffindor and Slytherin exploded, angry students everywhere. They were now at a tie for the house cup, something neither house could stand for. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were angry, as neither could see why Prince had gotten points. Harry was wondering what the Headmaster was doing, even as Ron and Hermione added their own indignation, with Neville remaining confused and silent. Finally, Dumbledore managed to calm the Great Hall, and all of them sat down to the words, "The points are unfinished."

"Finally, to Mr. Harry Potter," Harry squirmed as he felt more than the weight of Dumbledore's gaze fall on him, almost an unprecedented expectation that he only wished would go away. "For outstanding courage, and pure nerve, I award Gryffindor house twenty-five points."

The Hall exploded in cheers from the House of the Lion.

Harry, exuberant at the unexpected win, still felt a dark weight in the corner of his mind that something just wasn't right. However, with Dean Thomas pounding him on the back, and his friends smiling fit to burst around him, Harry was willing to put off his wondering for some other day.

Okay. Be happy. The end of first year. Now, second year is also complete and so will be posted under this same story as chapter six after another two week interval, with the same patterns. Reviews are appreciated and may be the difference in acquired a fourth year or not. raised eyebrow So please,

Read and Review. offers cookie

Fire and Napalm