It was one cold morning; Harry sat on the window of the Owlery, gazing over snow-covered ground and the sleeping castle. The place was unusually empty, as most owls were summoned to deliver gifts. A few were hooting softly near him, and everything looked peaceful in white.
It was only fitting that he should spend this Christmas alone. Harry stroke an owl absently as he recalled a terribly upset Sirius informing him that he and Remus had important business to do during the holidays and that it would be safest for Harry to stay in Hogwarts. He wasn't upset, not really, as he needed the time to be alone, to sort things out.
He still hadn't told anybody about Quirrell. And why hadn't he done so was beyond him. It seemed that after all he'd been through, he still couldn't bring himself to act against Voldie-Voldemort. Thus he had settled back to ignore the matter all together, although it was becoming increasingly difficult. A part of him was terribly curious as to what was being guarded and what Voldemort's plan could be. And the teachers weren't being very helpful either, dropping little information here and there. Sure, Harry perfected the arts of being "unnoticeable" (a good way to gain information, he was taught) when around people, but must they be so careless? It was a wonder whatever they were guarding was still there, or perhaps they just simply had full faith in the protections they had set up. This was not like Dumbledore at all; for all Harry knew, the Headmaster should have obliviated them all right after the protection was set up or at least placed some kind of binding spells on them so they couldn't talk about the matter. Some casual questioning with the students had led him to believe that it was in the corridor Dumbledore warned of earlier in the year. And if he was correct, they would be protecting the Philosopher's Stone (Thanks to Hagrid, the Gamekeeper's, great slip). That would explain a lot of things, such as why Voldemort even resorted in drinking unicorn blood (a half-cursed life wouldn't be that bad, if you had the Elixir of Life to restore your life force soon after). Harry wondered what that man had suffered to attempt such desperate measures, although he seemed to have a physical body, didn't he?
Turning, he headed back to his dormitory; he was sure a few people would have sent him gifts by then, and since he had no better thing to do, he might as well check those out.
A fire was burning rather too cheerfully in his opinion when Harry stepped inside. There were holiday decorations around the room, yet somehow it still managed to hollow; perhaps partly because of the fact that Harry was the only one in sight. The other two Ravenclaws must be still sleeping; not that it mattered to Harry, as they were both third years and rarely spoke to him anyway. He bent down near the tree in the middle of the room and sorted out his presents. There weren't many, but it was the most Harry had ever got for a single holiday: The Ultimate Pranker's Guide was from Sirius. Harry smiled, that man never gave up, did he? Sirius had been most appalled that a Marauder's son had turned out to be so studious and had been trying to "enlighten" Harry ever since. Potion Wonders from Remus. It was just like him to take note of Harry's favorite subject. The Magical Road to Top Marks was, unsurprisingly, from Hermione. Harry smiled wryly; it would seem that he had played his book-worm mask a tad too well; so far all he had gotten were books. The next present was from Ron, the red-haired boy had given Harry a snow-white quill. It wasn't much, but Harry was moved; he knew of the Weasley family's economic difficulties. Neville had given him a box of miscellaneous wizarding sweets; and Terry gave him yet another book.
Harry put down his presents and started writing thank-you notes. He was very thankful, yet he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, as if he had been expecting something else. Stupid, who else would send you a present? He shrugged as he wrote. In the back of his mind a small voice threatened to answer; Harry silenced it most vehemently.
When he went down to the Great Hall, the House tables had been moved against the wall, and a single round table stood in the middle of the room. All the professors were there, as well as the five remaining students, including Harry.
"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as all seated, "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables…Sit down, sit down!"
Most of the other students went red on being addressed on such familiar terms by Dumbledore and mumbled "thanks'". Harry followed suit, although in truth the other man's cheerful, grandfatherly tone sent shivers down his spine; it just sounded…too sincere and kind.
With a flicker of his hand, food appeared on the table, and Dumbledore indicated for everyone to help themselves. Reluctantly, Harry tucked sufficient food into his plate as to not to arouse suspicion, having no intention to let the Headmaster see his worries. But he could hardly swallow as he was overwhelmed by yet another touch in his scar; it had been the strongest one so far ever since the faint feelings returned. He looked around but saw no other person present except the students and the professors. Looking down at his plate, he helped himself with a bit of roast chicken.
To help divert himself from staring at his food stupidly, Harry started a conversation with the Hufflepuff boy, Cedric Diggory, who was seated at his left side, surprising Cedric to no end with his knowledge of the other. Loner Harry may be, but he was not oblivious to people around him. Knowing people was important, as it may come in handy when they turned out to be your foes or when you wanted to make friends with them; it's amazing how swelled-headed people got when they realized that others took notice of them. Harry was just celebrating inwardly for having finished his plate when Cedric spoke, "How interesting...I wonder what that is?"
Following the other's glance, Harry's mouth fell. It...It was impossible! He stared at the plate in disbelief; w-was it even school appropriate? For in the plate was unmistakably the Muggle sweet, Spanish Gold. He sat immobile, almost overwhelmed by his emotions. Then, with a slightly shaky hand, he helped himself with some, and let the sweet flavor melt in his mouth. For a moment, it was almost as if everything was like three years ago again.
"Harry?" Cedric was obviously surprised by Harry's reaction. Harry blinked and answered, "Oh, I was just surprised to see it here, it's Muggle, you see." Pausing for a moment, he added, "It used to be my favorite."
All thanks to Lord Voldemort. Yes, the Muggle-hating Dark Lord, most evil wizard alive, had a bizarre addiction to this Muggle sweet. Just trust Voldemort to take a liking in such a twisted candy; although Harry had suspected that it had something to do with his childhood. The man would literally gorge the sweet (in private, of course) like he'd never had enough of it all his life. Harry smiled faintly, recalling moments when the two of them would just talk and stuff their mouths with Spanish Gold. It had always been Harry's best black-mail material, although he himself had grown rather fond of it due to the Voldemort's influence.
Harry glanced at Dumbledore nervously and decided that it was impossible that the old wizard knew about that. The Headmaster's love for Muggle sweets was infamous, so it shouldn't be surprising that he decided to introduce some to Hogwarts. But really, must he choose something designed to resemble tobacco? The last time he checked, smoking wasn't something schools encouraged. But then…the outward appearance of Spanish Gold did look more like worms to Harry's opinion: no wonder Cedric was so intrigued.
Curious as to what others' receptions might be, Harry looked around the table. Everyone else seemed to shun away from the dish – except… Harry frowned as he realized that Quirrell was devouring the sweet, although seeing his facial expression, he didn't enjoy it as much as his action ought to indicate. How…Why… Quirrell didn't look like the type who would have much to do with Muggles, if his smelly turban was anything to come by…turban…
Harry Potter choked most royally as a suspicion came to his mind. No, no, no, no. This could not, must not be true!
::But the itch of your scar was the strongest when you were around him, :: a small voice pointed out.
But Voldemort would never share a body with anybody, he was too proud for that.
::If he had to drink unicorn blood, I don't think he had much choice.::
"No," Harry forcefully shut the voice up. He would not believe this, this –
::He does wear a turban, and remember the night…?::the voice added viciously before disappearing.
Turning, he saw half the table looking at him curiously, and realized that he had voiced the last word out loud. Cursing silently, Harry forced himself into a blush and mumbled, "Bit my tongue…"
"I'll see you, Harry," Neville said before they parted for their common rooms. School had resumed as if nothing had happened. Harry looked after his friend's back a little sadly; he knew they cared for him, yet he would never be able to be his real self and share everything with them. He couldn't drop his mask. Harry had gone on about life as well as he could, trying to put up an illusion that everything was okay. If anything, his friends actually thought he looked a little more cheerful after the holidays. Yet his life was anything but cheerful.
Harry had done some extensive researches on souls and body-sharing spells since then. The signs were very, very subtle, yet they were there. Harry must admit that knowing Voldemort personally helped him a great deal in coming to the conclusion. But he just didn't understand why Dumbledore hadn't figured that out yet. Maybe not the other teachers, but surely that Headmaster who knew more or less what was going on around here would have known? Unless…
Harry felt himself sweat as another dreadful realization dawned on him. It all made sense now…how he, a mere first year, was able to grasp information about the stone and Dumbledore's tolerance of Quirrell. It was a trap. Dumbledore knew of Voldemort's desperate attempt to regain a body and decided to use it against the Dark Lord, probably placing some soul-shattering spells on the stone. It was a trap.
Shivers ran down his spine as a fit of uncontrollable fear hit him. He must do something; he must warn Voldemort…Wait a minute, since when had Voldemort's welfare become his concern again? Harry tried to call forth the rage he commanded the night at the hospital wing and go back to avoiding Voldemort in peace, but his heart would not allow him to do so.
But Voldemort wanted me dead; how was I supposed to warn him if I couldn't go near him without risking my neck? And why would he believe me? He protested weakly.
::Would you then rather sit around and watch him fall?::
Not the blasted voice again! Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He heaved a sigh as his mind was made up. Maybe Snape was right; he should have been a rash Gryffindor. While Harry felt betrayed by Voldemort's treatment of him, he could not stand the thought of any harm coming upon the other man, either. He cringed inwardly as he thought of his suicidal plan to warn the Dark Lord; the irony of it not lost on him. Dark Lords weren't supposed to be vulnerable; they weren't supposed to be needing the help of little children they were trying to kill. Damn you, Voldemort, why couldn't I just go hating you or at least ignoring you after all that; what have you done to me? Harry screamed silently in confusion and despair. But he did not allow himself to dwell on the emotions; he would have time to sort things out later, for now, he had a plan to carry out – and quickly.
Harry sat near the fire in the common room, deep in thought. The plan had sounded simple, but it was in fact quite difficult. It was not like he could just go up to Quirrell and say "Hey I know your little secret about your master sharing your body. By the way, did I tell that the stone was a trap?" The DADA professor would probably try to kill Harry faster than anything. And that was actually the part Harry was least worried about. Harry had faith in himself to handle a Quirrell (especially since Voldemort would be there to hear reason), but how to approach Quirrell without being caught evaded him. Dumbledore probably kept a sharp eye on that professor-turned-traitor. And Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that he was somehow a piece in the grand play of Dumbledore's as well – which meant that he probably was being watched carefully, too. How much did that calculating old man really know unsettled him. Harry had strong reasons to believe that the Invisibility cloak was not going to bring him very far when it came to Dumbledore, and who knew how many spies the Headmaster had in this bloody castle? The teachers, the paintings, the ghosts, possibly the students, too; anybody could be watching. Harry, for a fact, knew that his friends would no doubt run straight to Dumbledore should something happen, thinking it was for the "best." Harry really, really wished that his connection with Voldemort could have been stronger; that way he could just mentally send the warning. Sadly, even before Voldemort's fall, they never got to the level of Telepathy; and now it was even more weakened. Harry had been trying to send messages, or just a feeling of forbidding – only resulting in annoying headaches and nothing more.
And then there was this little problem of what to do after he'd warned Quirrell. Harry had no idea of Voldemort's current condition…could he even live without someone to share his body? Quickly, Harry quelled his worries. Let Voldemort handle everything after that, he wasn't a Dark Lord for nothing. Harry would warn him of the dangers just to please his blasted conscious, and he would not aid the Dark Lord further – not that he actually needed to worry about that, as the other man seemed determined to end Harry's little life at any chance he got.
Harry massaged his temples as another thought-provoked headache threatened to rise. After failing to resume his train of thought, he decided a break would be welcoming. Sighing (yes, he does that a lot), he turned his gaze to his school books. It was such a fortunate thing that he was ahead in his year; otherwise he was sure to have failed miserably with the attention he was granting his school works. Now that he remembered it – "Hermione, when do the exams start again?"
"Harry! You are impossible! They start tomorrow; didn't you just get your schedule this morning? Honestly, how do you keep your grades is a wonder to me!"
Harry gave her a smile and slipped back into his thoughts just as she started another lecture about proper school attitudes. He smirked as Hermione went on; then it suddenly hit him that, in the past few weeks, he had been more like the Harry of Riddle Manor than anything, with his full Slytherin side employed in his grand scheme. He had been gathering information unnoticeably, focusing on his goal and neglecting useless obstacles, and, Merlin-forbid, even manipulating people. It was ironic how he could never escape from the side of himself that he so desperately wanted buried. He sighed and convinced himself that those were necessary measures at present and he would have to live with them.
Harry rubbed his eyes as he walked out of the Transfiguration classroom. The exams are finally over, and he had the whole afternoon for himself to plan on ways to communicate to Quirrell. As he walked into the Great Hall for lunch, he looked up at the High Table involuntarily and was surprised to see Dumbledore gone. Suspicious, he asked the Ravenclaw prefect about the Headmaster's whereabouts, and was confirmed that it was said that he left today for some Ministry business.
Harry felt hope shine on him for the first time; there came his chance to approach Quirrell! How convenient of Dumbledore to be out of the way! Convenient…
No! Dumbledore was deliberately leading people into thinking that he was away; the trap was set, the game had started. He looked up again, Quirrell was no where in sight, either – probably preparing for the big move. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, what to do? Perhaps he should warn a teacher of it and somehow alert Quirrell so that he would at least refrain from stealing the stone for now? Yes, it would be perfect, and it would not draw suspicion to Harry himself – especially if he had some brave Gryffindors to back him up.
It did not take long to convince Neville and Ron that the school, and the wizard community was in dire danger; Harry felt a little bad at playing his friends' trust and Gryffindor brashness, but it was not time for high morals. Thus, thirty minutes later, a very displease Professor Snape found himself cornered by three gasping boys.
"What is it? Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, that you deem so important as worthy of disrupting my peach with?"
"Sir…" Ron said breathlessly, "The Stone is in danger! Someone is trying to steal it!"
Whatever Snape had been expecting, it wasn't this. It was actually quite comical to see his jaw drop open if not for the serious circumstance. He shot Harry a sharp look, and said, "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but please be satisfied that it is perfectly safe in this school."
"But…" Ron was fuming now; he had never understood at the first place why Harry wanted to alert Snape out of all teachers, but the other boy had convinced him that the paranoid Potions Master was the most likely to take their story seriously. Oh how wrong they were! Snape was treating their warning as some childish dream-talk!
"However, I shall attempt to inform the Headmaster of this at once …For now, I must ask you to each take an oath that you would not whisper a word about the stone to anybody else."
Harry cursed himself with all the obscenities he knew. This was bad, very bad. Not only had he just wasted an hour, now he couldn't even warn Voldemort of his danger had he wanted to. He could careless if Snape informed Dumbledore or not, since that old man already knew. Yet the oath might proven fatal; as he knew there would be no way out of this. Snape was very clever, and refusing or attempting to fool the Potions Master would only result in larger disaster. Seeing no other choice, he took the oath grudgingly as the other two did and soon felt the magic bind him. Before leaving, though, he asked hopefully, "Sir, will you at least inform the staff of the possible danger?"
Snape looked at him, "Informing the staff will not do us any good at this point, and it would be Professor Dumbledore's decision anyhow."
Harry understood Snape's reasoning; if Voldemort was trying to steal the stone, it would be hopeless to try to stop him without Dumbledore. The protections were already set, so it was useless for the teachers to stay. And Snape might have his own suspicion about a certain staff member; Harry remember the looks he gave Quirrell.
Harry had never felt so helpless for a long time and would have loved to scream in frustration as he parted his worrying friends. Suddenly, he was attacked by a yet another strong wave of emotion rushing through his scar: anticipation…and delight… And at the same moment, heat surged through the ring on his finger.
Harry had, since that night of attack, suspected the ring to be a connection enhancer of some sort; probably would have worked had the Dark Lord not fall. For now though, Harry could only sense occasional mood change; it was just as useless as his scar. But this time it was enough; enough to indicate to Harry that Voldemort knew of Dumbledore's absence and that Voldemort was acting today – now.
Harry cursed under his breath and exited the Hall quickly; and here he thought he had all the time on earth for planning! He summoned his cloak and slipped it on; the cloak might be no good to Dumbledore, but it was enough to keep prying teachers/paintings at bay.
He practically ran to the third corridor that was warned of, and started searching for the right door by his sense. It was no difficult task, as he could almost feel magic packed behind the one on the end. He ran to the door, but stopped right before opening it. One never knew what could be behind, and it would be pointless to get himself killed before he could warn the Dark Lord.
Three roars greeted him as he pushed the door open; and Harry was ever so glad that he had his wand out as he quickly conjured a flute and started playing. The three-headed monster instantly fell into a deep sleep. Harry wiped the sweat away from his brows as he started looking for an entrance; reading does pay off sometimes – otherwise he was sure the dog would have caused him much more trouble. He soon found a trap door near the dog's right pawn. There was no way of climbing down, and only blackness greeted him. Harry ground his teeth; he would just have to jump down and see. Taking a deep breath, he jumped…
And fell. Cold air rushed past him, and finally he landed on something soft. Instantly his hand reached for his wand, ready for an attack. He could sense things moving in the dark, almost noiselessly. Looking down, he realized that something snake-like had been wrapping itself around his ankles. Rolling his eyes, he whispered a "Lumos." As the light shone, the plant instantly cringed away. Really, first a three-headed dog and then the Devil's Snare; it was a wonder that the teachers didn't realize that Dumbledore wasn't really serious about guarding the stone; any decent seventh-year student could have handled that, not to mention Death Eaters and Dark Lords.
After that little encounter, Harry rode a bloom with winged keys chasing behind him and hurried past a dead troll and a damaged chessboard, with his heart sinking all the while; it had to be a trap.
Still staying alert, he pushed open what he hoped to be the last door; only to find himself in a room with a long table. On the table, bottles with various shapes and colors stood in a line. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, though, a purple fire sprang up behind him in the doorway, even as a black one did the same in the front. Harry almost roared in exasperation as he skimmed through the note besides the bottle; really, who gave clues to people who were trying to steal whatever they were guarding? And he had no time for little riddle-solving games!
He pointed his wand at himself and said, "Corporalis Crystalllus." It was risky as such a charm would not prevail against the most powerful magic fire; but judging from the other obstacles, Harry doubted that he needed to worry about that. And he was right; he walked through the fire unscathed.
A long corridor was in front of him, all that was left between him and Voldemort. He broke into a run as yet another emotion waved through his scar. Closer, he was getting closer, but not close enough. Quirrell could be getting the stone any moment; he was going to be too late - Harry fastened his steps, slid down the corridor, and pushed open the door –
Standing in the middle of the room was Quirrell, contemplating the Mirror of Erised. Another familiar tingle washed over Harry; he opened his mouth to speak, but finding the emotions choking him. "Voldemort…" he finally managed, careful that his voice was void of emotions, "Stay away from the…it." If only you knew why I am doing this…
Quirrell seemed absolutely horrified that Harry knew of his little secret, this was when a deep, silky voice that was all too familiar spoke up, "Let me speak to him…face to face…"
Quirrell seemed even more horrified at the notion if possible, yet he obeyed the command and started unwrapping his turban and turning slowly on the spot.
Lord Voldemort opened his ruby red eyes as he turned to face the boy, his facial expression unreadable (not that it was easy to read emotions from a snake-like face, anyhow). He watched with interest as a thousand emotions flashed across Harry's face; so his little protégé was still unable to put on a mask in front of him. "Harry…" he hissed.
"Don't you dare to touch…" Harry shouted again, and was cut shut involuntarily. Damn the oath!
"You know very well that I must regain a body."
"I can't allow you to do that…so many more people will die… get hurt!"
"So you will attempt to stop me then, Harry?" Voldemort's tone was flat and emotionless; it was hard to tell whether he was angry, disappointed, or amused.
"Professor Dumbledore will not be gone for long!" This is the truth, damn you!
Voldemort seemed to contemplate that fact for a while, then his gaze fell back on Harry, "Well, then we really should hurry up. Harry, there's much I wish to discuss about, yet now is hardly the right time. Stun him."
As if on cure, Quirrell started moving towards Harry, holding out his wand.
Harry's breath came in ragged gags as he realized the coming of the inevitable. Should he try to out-curse the other man? He really didn't stand a very good chance of winning. Suddenly, an idea flashed across his mind; he bit his lips in determination. He would take the Stone and the curse with it if he must; this was the only way. Besides, his life was screwed as it was, so why didn't he just do a favor for the Dark Lord and save him the trouble of killing him later?
::Or maybe you are just running away from the choice you have to make by running away from life – you have to pick a side…He'll never forgive himself if you died for him:: another voice suggested. But it was a mere second before Harry shut it up, however rational it might have sounded – Voldemort cared nothing about him, and it was the only choice.
Harry threw himself at Quirrell and fought tooth and nail. His crude, Muggle method seemed to throw Quirrell off for a moment. And that was all Harry gambled on; he broke free and ran towards the Mirror. His plan was going to work; he was going to take the stone instead of Voldemort.
Harry took in a deep breath and looked into the Mirror. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment is to find the Stone before Voldie does. Please let me have it.
His reflection changed; it smiled sadly but determinedly at him. Solemnly, it put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. After giving Harry another little nod, it put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket.
Already Harry could feel the magic at work, heat thrashed through his body. Struggling to keep himself on his feet, he stumbled away from Quirrell as the other tried to capture him again and dodged a stunning curse.
Harry's eyes betrayed a glimpse of longing and sadness as he gave Voldemort – now facing him – one last look; their gaze held for a brief moment, and for a split second Harry thought he saw true fear flash through the ruby eyes of the other. Voldemort was barking orders to Quirrell, but Harry heard none of it. A strange ringing was in his ears, and his eyes were blinded by a white-hot pain. The full force of the curse finally hit, threatening to rip his soul apart from his body and grind it to pieces. And the pain was unimaginable. Harry felt himself open his mouth to scream in agony, and hot tears ran down his face. No, he wanted to fight the curse no more; let it all end…the pain…the suffering…
Before his soul was about to depart and that he was finally slipped into the bliss of darkness, Harry felt a cool presence wrap itself around him – the pain immediately lessened. Yes, Harry felt his lips part into a small smile, the welcoming gauze of death. But the pain was fighting back, and the presence around him was wavering. Harry frowned; and, unconsciously, his power reached for the presence, holding it in place… until all dissolved into darkness.
Only that, for him, there would be no afterworld.
Crissy Potter: I'm so sorry I missed your name last time! Somehow I did not receive a mail alert for your review (I swear!), so it was not until when I decided to give my already over-sized head a proper swell and went to look over my own story's review page did I discover your wonderful review.Thank you so much for reviewing!
Malile: Thanks!
Shadowface: Don't worry, Harry will never be the good boy of Dumbledore, even if he doesn't support Voldie - yet.
Sadisticfreak5290/ xxlostdreamerxz: Thank you! blushes I dunno…I think it will most likely be a LV/HP slash, mainly b/c I see no other way to place their relationship here. It is unlikely that Voldemort would tolerate someone to share his power if they were just friends. Also, I don't think Voldie is an heir-person, seeing how he always seeks immortality. (Not that Harry would be a suitable heir in this story anyway…and I don't think it's likely that Voldemort'd have some kind of parental instincts kicking in and just keep Harry as his little protégé forever) Then, I don't really want Harry to serve Voldie, either; I want them to be equal. So it really doesn't leave me much options. But…as I suck at writing anything graphical, it should be pretty mild. And it shouldn't take too much focus of the story, oh and right now he's only 11 and his feelings for Voldie are more like that of child to an understanding uncle or something like that. All in all, there is a long way to go before it becomes a slash.
Angel Lain: Heehee, thank you! I feel bad for Harry and Voldemort, too; I really do (esp. since I know what's in store for them)!
Cat: Thank you!
Evil Enchantress: Yes, Harry's meeting Voldemort in this chapter, but it was rather brief and er…unfortunate
DARKMARK33LV: Thank you! Yes, as you will see, the ring has something to do with Voldemort.
Darkdragonlover2000: heehee, we'll see…
Maryna: Thank you! I think this chapter explains the ring's use a little more; and it shall be further explained as the story goes on. And, yeah, Nagini is a little rash, but she is a good snake most of the time.
HoshiHikari4ever: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
Joanna : Thanks!