Sorry about the hiatus in posting. I've had some serious health issues. The story is not abandoned, and will be completed. My thanks to all my reviewers.
The Best Revenge
Chapter 44
Their footsteps roused the echoes as the four students ran to the stairs that would take them to the third floor corridor. Hermione clutched at her side, and gasped out, "Harry! We've got to tell someone!"
"There's no time!" he shouted.
"Yes, there is!" she shouted back. She made a grab at the back of his robes, and the two of them stumbled together. "Harry! We can't go after him alone. Let's stop and tell Professor Burbage!"
Draco and Neville looked at each other a little helplessly, trying to think what was best to be done.
"She's right, Harry," Draco finally said. "It's mad to go haring after Quirrell by ourselves. We need Professor Snape, though. I don't think Professor Burbage is going to understand."
He was right. She didn't.
Charity was startled enough when the children burst in on her as she was sipping her mid-morning tea. As the story poured out, she looked at them in bewilderment.
"Please! One at a time! What is it that Professor Quirrell has done?"
"He's going upstairs to steal the Philosopher's Stone!" Harry yelped. "We've got to stop him. Call Professor Snape!"
She turned to Hermione. "Is this some sort of prank you're playing on me?" She smiled uncertainly. "The Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts! That would be exciting!" Trying to act the part, she clutched her heart and cried, "Oh, mercy! The Philosopher's Stone!" She smiled, thinking it all very funny. "Is this some sort of scavenger hunt? Maybe I have something about that will do for a Philosopher's Stone..."
Exasperated, Harry yelled, "It's real! We're not playing! Professor Snape knows all about it! It's been here since the first of the year. Call him, and he'll tell you!"
Looking at their anxious faces, Charity relented, "All right then." She went to her fire and called out, "Professor Snape! Harry needs to speak to you?"
No reply. Snape had stepped into his supply closet, and did not hear her call.
"Severus?" She looked back the children, and shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be back in a minute. Why don't you have some of my biscuits? I've got some extra-nice ones—"
Her calm was making Harry even more frantic. As she proffered the treats, he jumped up and said, "I can't stay. When he gets back, tell him we've gone upstairs to stop Quirrell. He'll understand!" He shouted at the others, "Come on, you lot!"
Hermione stood up, looking back and forth, and then rushed after Harry, followed by Neville. Draco reached out and palmed a biscuit, with a "Thanks, professor! Just tell him we've gone up to the third-floor corridor. He'll knows all about it!"
Then he was gone too, running up the stairs, shouting, "Wait a bit! What's the plan?"
Charity, still stunned and mystified, set the plate down, and began to believe that this could be serious.
"Severus! I need to talk to you right now!"
The stairs had never seemed so steep. Up and up they ran, their legs starting to feel heavy as lead. A few seconds later, they were in the third-floor corridor—and the door was already ajar.
"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly. "Quirrell's already got past Fluffy." He turned to the others, "This could be bad. If you want to go back, I won't blame you."
"Don't be an idiot," Draco growled.
"We're coming," Hermione insisted.
"Of course we're coming," Neville agreed stoutly. "And if you try to stop us, I'll—I'll fight you!"
Harry grinned. "Save it for Quirrell. Come on!" He pushed the door farther open.
The hinges complained, and from within rose low rumbling growls. All three of the dog's noses sniffed in their direction.
"What's that in there?" Neville wondered.
Hermione peered through the crack between the hinges and the wall. "It looks like a harp. Quirrell must have left it there."
"I don't hear anything," Draco complained, trying to see inside the room. "It looks like this is where you get to play your flute, Harry!"
"Well," Harry gulped. "Here goes…"
He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. The first phrase of The Three Brothers came out, and then his mind completely froze up. Hermione poked him, and he played the phrase again. Slowly the growls quieted. As Harry crept into the room, playing the same phrase over and over, the dog fell to its knees, and then slumped to the ground, fast asleep.
"Keep playing," Draco warned. They walked noiselessly to the trapdoor, feeling the dog's breath hot on their hands and faces as they approached the giant heads.
Neville reached for the ring of the trapdoor and hauled.
"What can you see?' whispered Hermione.
"Nothing!" Neville almost wailed. One of the dog's heads snorted in its sleep.
Draco peered down. "It's pitch dark. There's no way of climbing down. We'll just have to drop."
Harry was still puffing at his flute, and jerked his head at Draco.
"What?"
Harry stopped playing for a split-second, and whispered, "Me first!"
"Are you sure? Then give the flute to Hermione!"
"I don't know how to play it!" Hermione protested, and then grabbed at it and blew an aimless series of whistles as the dog stirred.
Harry let himself down into the darkness. Hanging by his fingertips, his feet felt nothing beneath them but air. "Draco! If anything happens to me, don't follow! Wait here for Professor Snape!"
"Yes-right-I'm staying in here with the three-headed dog..."
"See you in a minute, I hope…"
Harry let go, falling down and down until he landed with a thump on something soft.
"It's okay!" he called up. "It's a soft landing, on some sort of plant. You can jump!"
Draco, then Neville followed. The awful noise of Hermione's flute-playing stopped, followed by a mighty bark, and then Hermione landed beside them
"We must be under the school." Neville said.
"Not at all," Hermione corrected primly. "We're no farther down than the second floor. Still we're lucky we landed on this-plant thing."
Neville felt about him, trying to see in the dark. Something smooth and cool slithered around his arm. He groped at it, and recognised the shape of the leaves.
"Wait! I know what this is! Stop moving! It's Devil's Snare!"
Draco shuddered, and made an attempt at bravado. "How nice. I can see it now. 'Four students found strangled at Hogwarts-Local Vegetation Suspected.' We will definitely make the front page of the Prophet."
"It's okay! It's okay!" Neville babbled. "You can drive it away with fire!"
"Right then," Harry choked out, as a branch poked questingly at his mouth. "Incendio!"
Flame blasted from his wand. The plant shrank away from the heat and light. Hermione shrieked, beating at her at her sleeves.
"I'm on fire!"
"Bloody Merlin, Harry!" Draco bellowed, his clothes singed. "Just drive the sodding plant away. No need to cook it and us, too!"
"Sorry-sorry!" Harry muttered, wincing at the soot on Neville's shocked face. The dead twigs and leaves from the Devil's Snare were alight, and the tiny flames cast weird shadows. "Errr-this way. I think."
He pointed down a stone passage, and after taking care to stamp out anything burning, they were on their way into a labyrinth of stone.
Snape was his private workroom brewing when Charity burst in.
"Severus! I thought I'd never find you! I think the children are having that emergency you told them not to have."
They were through the fire and back to Charity's rooms in the space of seconds. Snape's ears were ringing with her questions.
"What is this about the Philosopher's Stone? Is this true? Why wasn't anyone told? What is going on with Quirrell? Why are those children chasing him? Do we need to call their parents?"
Snape shuddered. He caught Charity by the shoulders, and spoke slowly and clearly, cutting off her cataract of words.
"Yes, the Philosopher's Stone was hidden at Hogwarts. Yes, I believe Quirrell is after it. The children have somehow found out and have taken it upon themselves to prevent him. Rather than calling their parents, I think you should track down Minerva as quickly as possible. Tell her what is going on. I am going after the children immediately. There are dangers facing them that they do not know about."
She stared at him, mouth open. He raised his brows meaningly, and then she shut her mouth with a snap. She took a breath and gave him a quick nod. He squeezed her shoulders and was out of the room in an instant, following four young hellions who were going to rue the day they put themselves in danger.
He tried using the shortcut that he and Minerva had found in the past, and to his exasperation, found it blocked. He would have to get past Fluffy, which was something of an annoyance.
The creature was stirring as he slipped through the half-opened door. Beyond, the trapdoor was open, and thankfully there were no small shattered bodies lying about. The Cerberus snorted, six eyes following his movements, narrowing slightly, the legs growing taut, gathering to spring...
Without thinking, he half-spoke, half-sang a song that popped into his head—a relic of his own youth, of another time and place. It suited this edgy, precarious moment, and he had never forgotten a word of it. The eyes drooped shut, and the Cerberus subsided into sleep, as Snape moved warily to the trap door.
"We don't need no education—"
Another step, as the creature snored in triplicate.
'We don't need no thought control.
No dark sarcasm in the classroom..."
He was almost there.
"Teacher, leave the kids alone.
Hey Teacher- Leave us kids alone!
All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all, you're just another brick in the-"
He dropped into darkness, and landed without much dignity. There was a faint smell of charred leaves.
"—wall."
The four friends were through the room of flying keys rather quickly. Perhaps having two skilled fliers made all the difference, but Neville and Hermione had helped considerably by looking for variations in the keys, and the proper one was seized on and used. It had actually been quite a bit of fun, and there were giggles as they ran through the next door.
"Chessmen!" Draco shouted, running amongst them. "This is amazing!"
Neville touched one of the pawns, and jumped back with a cry as the stone sprang to life.
"Are we supposed to join you to get across?"
The pawn nodded. Draco surveyed the board with the grimace. "We don't have time for this, Harry," he whispered. Aloud he said, "I'd better get a good look at this before we get started. Come on."
The three others straggled behind him, following as he made a show of inspecting the board and its pieces. Very low he murmured, "We'll make a run for it. I'll say, 'Let's get started,' and we'll all make for that door opposite as fast as we can. Run between the bishops and the knights. If the pieces try to stop us, we'll blast them."
"Draco!" Hermione giggled. "That's so blood-thirsty. But it is very much thinking outside the box. It's very creative of you."
Draco scowled, trying to unravel the meaning of "thinking outside the box." They all moved as far away as possible from the black pieces, staring at them thoughtfully.
"Well," Draco drawled. "Let's get started."
They all yelled wildly, and turned and ran pell-mell through the white ranks towards the door. The pieces tried to attack at once, but were hobbled by their own limitations. The bishops could not attack directly to the side, and the children were past the pawns before the chessmen knew they had been tricked. A wild and gleeful shrieking signaled the victory. It was answered by a stony, sullen silence. Triumphantly, the door was flung open, and Hermione screamed.
"Harry! Look out!"
Flat on the stone floor in front of them was a troll even larger than the one that had attacked them at Halloween. A disgusting smell filled the room, making them hold their noses or muffle their faces with their robes. The troll was unconscious, with a bloody lump on its head.
"Well, we don't have to fight that one," Harry said with the shrug. "Come on."
They peered more cautiously into the next room, but there was nothing particularly frightening there: merely a table with seven differently shaped bottles lined up on its top.
"Potions, do you reckon?" wondered Neville.
Harry nodded sagely. "I'll bet these different tests were made up by different teachers. I'll bet the Devil's Snare was Professor Sprout's, and this must be Professor Snape's. They each did something to protect the Stone."
They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a flickering purple fire sprang up behind them. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.
"We're trapped," Draco growled. "I don't fancy running through any of that."
"Look!" Hermione ran to the table and snatched up a piece of parchment by the bottles. She read the poem on it, which made the three boys stare at each other, completely baffled.
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind…
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find."
"Didn't seem very safe to me," Neville muttered.
"Nice rhyming," Draco said dryly, looking through the rest of clue. "But none of it makes any sense to me. 'Second on the right, second left…it's just a jumble!"
Neville looked rather sick. Harry was heartened to see that Hermione was smiling.
"No!" she said, beaming. "It's just a logic puzzle! I love doing them. A lot of the greatest wizards don't understand logic at all, and they'd be stuck here forever."
"Er—Hermione?" Harry commented. "That doesn't make me feel very encouraged…"
"Oh, Harry!" She waved at him dismissively, reading over the puzzle once more. "This isn't so bad! Everything we need is here on this paper."
She read through the paper several times, and then walked up and down the lines of bottles, muttering to herself. At last she clapped her hands.
"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire—toward the Stone."
Draco studied it and said, "There hardly a single swallow here. That's only enough for one of us."
Harry asked, "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"
Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.
"Well—you drink that," Harry said. "Go back and find Professor Snape. He might already be on the way. Tell him what happened. I'm going to go on and see if I can hold off Quirrell."
Hermione's lip trembled. "But Harry—" She threw her arms around him, to the great embarrassment of the three boys. "Harry—you're a great wizard, you know."
"Not as good as you," he said shaking his head, as she let go of him.
"Me?" said Hermione. "Books and cleverness! Books can only get you so far, and I wouldn't dare face Quirrell myself! Oh Harry—be careful!"
"Enough of that," said Draco, pulling Hermione away. "Drink the potion and get going. No need to maul him."
She took a long drink and shuddered.
"It's not poison, is it?" Neville asked fearfully.
"No—but it's like ice."
"Quick!" Draco said, giving her a push. "Go, before it wears off!"
Hermione turned and walked through the purple fire.
"All right," Harry said to Draco and Neville. "I've got to leave you here, but you know what to do if Quirrell comes back through here."
Neville swallowed hard. Draco nodded grimly, "He won't be expecting us. We'll stop him, Harry. I swear it." He put out his hand. "Good luck, then."
They shook hands. Next, Harry slapped Neville's shoulder and then took his hand. "Take care of yourself."
Neville sniffed. "You too, Harry."
"Here I go," Harry said, downing the little bottle in one gulp.
He shivered as the cold seemed to fill him up. He put the bottle down and braced himself. He walked through the black flames, and saw them lick at his body, but he felt nothing. And then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.
"Hello, Professor Quirrell."
The turbaned professor turned quickly toward him, eyes wide.
"Potter!" he burst out, beaming crazily. "This is splendid! He's been wondering if you'd be meeting us. He thinks you're too nosy to live." Quirrell snorted. "Well, he would say that, wouldn't he? I don't know about you, but I was definitely too nosy to live! Hence the turban."
Harry stared. Was he-drunk?
Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.
Angry and defiant, Harry wrestled against them, and snarked, "Did you notice you're not stuttering, Professor? You never stutter when you're doing something evil."
Quirrell eyed him owlishly. A knife-like pain bloomed in Harry's scar, making him hiss. "That wasn't me, Potter, That was him. He's always doing that sort of thing. Sorry."
"Who?"
Quirrell looked briefly miserable.
"My master," he grimaced. "I met him on my travels, and I was careless. 'If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'" He flung his arms out theatrically. "And he got me. Potter. He's in my head, and I cannot get him out!"
His face changed suddenly, hardening into smugness. Quirrell spoke again, but in a completely different voice, a voice Harry remembered from that terrible Defense lesson that had nearly killed him. Quirrell's mouth moved, but the person speaking was clearly not Quirrell.
"No, he cannot get me out until I am done with him, but that will be sooner rather than later, I think. Such an absurd scene. I shall have to deal with you first, of course. Wait for death, Harry, while I examine this interesting mirror."
It was only then that Harry realised that behind Quirrell stood the Mirror of Erised. He glanced at it with distaste. At least when Quirrell looked at the mirror, the pain in Harry's scar receded.
Not-Quirrell murmured, "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone. Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he's in London…and I'll be gone before he gets back." He cocked his head. "I see the Stone…it is nearly in my hand…but where is it?"
"You're Quirrell's master?" Harry gaped. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"He is a means to an end," Not-Quirrell answered quietly. "We met when he was traveling abroad, and a foolish young man he was: full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. I showed him how wrong he was…"
"I wasn't wrong!"
The voice changed back into Quirrell, and Harry saw the real man's face: terrified, defiant, anguished.
"And I'm not wrong now!" He flapped his hands at Harry. "It's a nightmare, Potter! He's foul and vile and evil and STUPID!" he shouted. "His thoughts are petty and cruel and boring, and I'm sick of them! It's You-Know-Who, Potter!"
"Who?" Harry asked, feeling stupid.
Quirrell clutched at his head in frustration. "He-Who-Must-He-Who-He-Who-" He screamed out, "It's Voldemort, Potter! It's Voldemort! If I had a knife I'd cut him out of my brain!" He moaned and doubled over, whimpering.
"Voldemort!" shouted Harry. "He's back?"
Quirrell shuddered, and then stood straight again, his face empty. He spoke, and voice was Not-Quirrell's.
"Yes, I am here," it declared coldly. The professor turned from Harry, gazing dreaming into the Mirror. "I attempted to teach the fool that there is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Since then, he has served me, though not always with success." A smirk twisted the thin lips. "I do not forgive mistakes easily. When he failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, I was most displeased. I punished him…"
Harry twisted his hands against the ropes, trying to find some slack. Quirrell was distracted. If he could free his hands, he could hit him- knock him down-do something. Quirrell was a grown up, but not a very big or strong one. Not like Uncle Vernon…Quirrell could be fought…
Quirrell shook his head.
"I don't understand. Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
Harry's eyes narrowed.
The Mirror shows you what you want the most. What I want it to find the Stone and keep it away from Quirrell-or Voldemort-or Quirrellmort-or whoever! If I look in the Mirror, I'll see where it is!
He tried to edge to the left and get in front of the glass without attracting Quirrell's attention. The ropes around his ankles were too tight, and he tripped and fell.
"Perhaps...if I use the boy..."
Quirrell clapped his hands once, and the ropes fell from Harry.
"Come here," commanded the voice of Voldemort. "and tell me what you see."
Very cautiously, Harry moved forward, fearing that the madman would make a grab at him. He stepped in front of the mirror and saw his reflection: pale and scared-looking. In a moment, however, Professor Snape appeared, coming up stealthily behind Quirrell, and had him stunned and bound in a moment. Mirror-Snape and Mirror-Harry smiled with satisfaction. Harry glanced behind him, and was disappointed to see that he and Quirrell were still alone in the room.
Does that mean that Professor Snape is coming? Harry thought wildly. Maybe so, but will he be in time to save the Stone? Or maybe I just really want him to come?
"Well," the voice of Voldemort demanded harshly. "What do you see?"
Harry groped about for a good story.
"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he lied. "I won the house cup for Hufflepuff!"
"Good on you, Potter!" Quirrell declared brightly. "Well, it would seem that didn't work, master!" He pushed Harry away from the mirror, and Harry stumbled, nearly falling. His scar throbbed with every hearbeat.
"Idiot boy!" Voldemort's voice snarled. "I'm surrounded by incompetents! I must have the Elixir of Life! I can be free of you, you simpering weakling, and have body of my own-a strong, powerful, beautiful body that will be worthy of Lord Voldemort!"
"-which is a ridiculous name, by the way," added Quirrell himself. "I should have told you before. I've wanted to, though I didn't dare, but today I feel strangely light of heart. How did you come up with something so ludicrous? If I were a Dark Lord I'd have called myself Lord Blackdoom the Fourth, or Lord Killmuggle, or Gaxxkkangg the Unbound, or God, or something. Voldemort sounds-sort of French, actually. Affected. Dreadful. And all that talk about a beautiful body is pretty dodgy. Are you French? In fact..."
The voice stopped, as if cut off by a knife in the throat. Quirrell's eyes bugged as he stared into the Mirror unblinkingly.
Finally, Voldemort's voice grated out, "It's there! I see it! I can reach it, if I just-"
Harry backed away, his boots scraping on stone. Quirrell whirled on him.
"You! Don't think you're getting away, just because you're useless! Avada-"
A flash and a bang, and Harry was knocked down. Quirrell slumped in front of the mirror, limbs jerking. Grey fog issued from his gaping mouth and built into a raging storm. Wisps of it lashed out, like pale fingers reaching for Harry.
But impotently. As they snaked out, a glowing circle brightened at the foot of the mirror, blazing white and coppery-orange and verdigris. The fog could not pass the circle, and licked at the edges of it, baffled. Flashes of red light dazzled within it, and a disembodied voice shrilled in anger.
"It's there! It's there! This was the answer! Fools! You will learn to fear me-"
The brilliant glow from the circle brightened painfully. and a crackling in the air set Harry's teeth on edge. The fog rushed against the mirror, and was swallowed within it.
Quirrell was huddled on the stone floor within the circle, vomiting blood. Harry tried to sit up, and failed, his head spinning. The pain in his scar was fading, but he felt weak and sick all the same.
"Help.." Harry croaked. His eyes rolled back, and he realized that someone completely unknown to him was looking down at him with an air of mild curiosity.
"That went well, yes?" asked the man with crystal-white hair. "A triumph for all concerned, but now I must see to the unfortunate young man. And here is your guardian. You should not alarm him so, mon enfant. You make him old before his time."
And then there were quick footsteps—another presence in the room—and Professor Snape's voice crying, "Harry! Harry!"