Harriet Potter Year 1: Life, Death, and Rebirth
"Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are".
~Bertolt Brecht
Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Harriet was not quite sure how she had managed to survive the past few days. She had spend every waking second convinced that Voldemort himself was going to barge through the doors of her dorm-room. Her dreams were plagued with visions of her visit to the forest, always ending in the same way: with her shooting up in bed due to a scalding pain in her scar.
"Its hurt before," she complained to Ron and Hermione, her hand pressed hard to her head, as they walked through one of the courtyards after their exam. Both were looking at her with barely concealed concern.
"Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey," suggested Hermione sensibly. Harriet was shaking her head before Hermione had even finished. She knew it would do no good.
"I think its a warning," she murmured quietly so that nobody else would overhear. "It means danger is coming."
"Well of course danger is coming," Ron said, sounding highly exasperated. "You-Know-Who is living the in the Forbidden Forest, Snape is trying to steal the Stone-"
"-or Quirrell," Harriet interjected. Despite the fact that Snape wasn't even looking at her, it didn't mean that she thought him capable of stealing the Stone.
"Or Quirrell is trying to steal the Stone," Ron conceded. Hermione huffed.
"Yes, but you are both forgetting that Hagrid is the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy!" Ron nodded cheerfully in agreement, but something that had been bothering Harriet for a long time finally came to light.
"I am such an idiot!" she cried, before breaking into a run. Ron and Hermione, already well accustomed to Harriet's rather bizarre behavior and odd habit of running off without warning, followed quickly.
"Harriet," Hermione panted, "slow down! Whats the matter?"
"Don't you think its odd?" Harriet demanded, stopping so short that both Ron and Hermione almost tripped. Harriet reached a hand out to steady them. "The one thing Hagrid wants more than anything else in the world is a dragon, and suddenly he meets a man with a dragon egg? I mean, how many people do you know who walk around with illegal dragon eggs in their pockets?"
"We are idiots," Ron groaned. Hermione tutted and then smirked.
"I'm not arguing." The three then exchanged a look and, as if by a secret signal, took off, sprinting rapidly towards the forest grounds. When they got to Hagrid's hut, they found him humming to himself and knitting what looked to be a large, yellow tent.
"Hello," he greeted them cheerfully, putting down his knitting sticks. He rubbed his hands together to wipe the dirt off them and offered them some biscuits, which they denied. He set the tray back down and looked at them with a large smile shining through his tangle of hair. "You lot finished with your exams?"
"Yea," Harriet said curtly, feeling a pang of guilt when his smile lessened. She grimaced and sighed, then softening her voice. "Listen, Hagrid, the stranger you won Norbert from? The one down at the pub? Did you ever see his face?"
"No, can't say I did," Hagrid said, raising an eyebrow and scratching his chin. "He was wearin' a cloak an' he had a hood pulled up o'er is head."
"And you didn't think that was weird?" Ron gaped, incredulous. Hagrid drew himself up, slightly indignant, to defend himself.
"Well," he huffed, fixing Ron with an annoyed look, "yeh get all sorts down at that pub. Yeh ne'er know who yer go'n ter meet!"
"Did you talk to this stranger?" Hermione inquired, loosing her patience with the Grounds Keeper, despite her affection for him. "What did you talk about?"
"Er," Hagrid scratched his head, "I can't really remember. He kept buying me drinks an', well," Hagrid shrugged. "I remember, though, he was worried that I wouldn't be able ter take care of a dragon, but I told him that after Fluffy," Hagrid wagged his finger to make a point, "I says that a dragon ain't goin' ter be a problem."
"Did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harriet gasped. Hagrid snorted.
"Of course he was," Hagrid waved his hand dismissively. "How often do yeh come across a three-headed dog, even if yeh are in the trade? But," Hagrid mused, "I told 'im that the trick with any animal is knowing how ter calm him. Like with Fluffy, all yeh have ter do is play a bit o' music and he falls right ter sleep." Hagrid realized his great mistake.
"I should not have told yer that," he muttered. "I should not have-wait! Where are yeh going?" Harriet, Ron and Hermione had already taken off across the yard, making a mad dash for the entryway of the school.
They stopped in the middle of the hallway. Harriet's heart was hammering, but not because of the running. Both Hermione and Ron had stopped as well, them looking almost as panicked as she felt.
"We have to find Dumbledore," Hermione said immediately, her mind obviously racing at a million miles per hour. "We have to get to his office-
"But we don't know where it is," Ron pointed out, making Hermione groan in pure frustration and anxiety. "Fred and George haven been there enough times, though. I could ask them where it is-"
"I know where it is," Harriet said, "I went there the first day my parents come to get me. We don't know the password, though."
"Maybe we could just stand outside," Ron posed. "If we scream loud enough-"
"If you scream loud enough, then what, Mr. Weasley?" It was Professor McGonagall. The three of them all gasped since she had caught them by surprise. "Perhaps I can help you with whatever shenanigans you three are up to?"
"No shenanigans, Professor," Ron said quickly. "We need to see Professor Dumbledore." McGonagall looked highly skeptical.
"Professor Dumbledore is a very important wizard, Mr. Weasley. He has been summoned by the Ministry of Magic and is on his way to London-"
"Now?" Harriet cried. "But this is important!" Harriet had never seen McGonagall look more amused.
"More important," she chuckled, "then the Ministry of Magic?"
"Its about the Philosopher's Stone! Somebody is trying to steal it!" Harriet blurted out. Thankfully, nobody was in the hallway to hear her. That didn't stop McGonagall from dropping all of her books and going completely pale. She took a step closer to them and began to speak in a very feverish whisper.
"Now, listen here," she muttered, "I do not know how you three became privy to such information, but I can assure you that the Stone is perfectly safe!" The three friends made to protest, but McGonagall cut them off. "Enough," she hissed. "Now, I expect you three to join in with the other students in their festivities and never hear a word of this pass your lips again!"
Before either one of them could utter a word to change her mind, she had rushed away shaking her head in pure astonishment.
"What do we do now?" Harriet scowled, glaring at McGonagall's retreating back. Hermione pursed her lips.
"Let's follow Quirrell!" Hermione suggested. "He can't do anything if he has three nosy kids tagging along with him!" Ron frowned.
"If Quirrell really is working with You-Know-Who," he sighed, "do you actually think that he'd be afraid of three first-years?" Hermione blinked and then, realizing her foolishness, grinned sheepishly. Harriet could see a plan forming.
"Thats not a bad idea," she said. "But instead of following him, lets just keep him busy: distract him. Maybe we can hold him off taking the Stone until Dumbledore gets back!" Hermione made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat.
"Would he believe that?"
"Are you kidding?" scoffed Ron. He made his voice high-pitched and girly. "'Professor Quirrelll! Professor Quirrell! I'm not sure about my answer for question fifty-seven!"
Harriet snickered and then, seeing Hermione's look, quickly quieted. "That wasn't funny, Ron," she coughed. "Not at all realistic."
Harriet Potter, Near the Third Floor Corridor, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Hermione had not been amused. That was how Harriet had found herself with the least desired spot on their group: guarding the way to the third floor corridor. She bit her lip and shuffled her feet. Despite the fact that she was completely hidden beneath her cloak, she had never felt more exposed. She fingered the small mirror in her hand, waiting for Hermione or Ron to call her.
She heard the sound of footsteps and pressed herself against the wall. Just in time, too, since Quirrell rounded the corner a few moments later. He was walking quickly and mumbling to himself.
"Guys," she hissed into the mirror, speaking quietly and following Quirrell slowly. "I found Quirrell! He's heading towards the third floor corridor!"
"He is?" it was Hermione's voice, frantic and hushed. "Harriet, I'm sorry! I tried to distract him, but he brushed me off!"
"It's okay," she whispered distractedly, watching confused as Quirrell tentatively fingered his turban and rubbed his temples. They were too close to Fluffy's room. There was no time for her to create a diversion of her own. "I'm going to follow him."
"Hang on," it was Ron's voice now. "I thought we said we weren't going to do that!"
"I don't have choice! We can't let him get to the Stone! Maybe I can hold him off for a little bit. I'm no match for him really, though, so see if you can get a message to Dumbledore or McGonagall or Snape, even."
"Are you mental?" demanded Ron.
"You just figured that out?" was Harriet's retort. They were making their towards the staircase now. Harriet began to follow Quirrell as he climbed, careful not to bump into him.
"You're a great witch, Harriet," came Hermione's voice softly over the mirror. Harriet smiled and was about to answer, when she stumbled. A trick step, she realized, falling forward. She placed her hands out to steady her fall, but the cloak got tangled in her legs. She felt herself begin to fall backward and instinctively placed her hands to cover her head and neck, dropping the mirror on one of the steps and leaving her ribs open to take quite a beating as she fell downwards.
She groaned when she finally hit the bottom of the stairs. "That looked like it hurt."
Her eyes flew open at the sound of the voice. She blinked and began groping around the floor for her glasses. Somebody kicked them toward her and she put them on. They were cracked, but she could still easily identify Quirrell through them.
For once, he wasn't twitching.
She made to get up, but his wand held to her throat stopped her short. "Professor Quirrell," she gasped, "I was just-"
"Following me." It wasn't a question. She couldn't say anything to deny it. He smirked and took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on her. He reached down to pick up her cloak from where it had landed. Harriet resisted the urge to make him put it down.
"A rather nifty invention," he said, looking at her like the cat who had cornered the mouse, "but rather foolish of you to forget about the step. If you are so desperate to see where I am going, why don't you come with me?" The small smile he had worn on his face dropped when she made no move to get up. He gestured with his wand. "Now."
Harriet jumped up, ignoring the pain in her side with the ease that came after years at the Dursleys. She walked ahead of him and began to climb the stairs. She took a deep breath, remembering Hermione once mention to her that, when you were panicked, it was one of the best things you could do, because it would help bring oxygen to your brain. At least, it was something like that. Harriet was having a difficult time remembering.
As she walked, she noticed a bright glimmer on the ground. Her mirror had survived the fall! She could see the faces of both Ron and Hermione glimmering worriedly. She could still feel Quirrell's eyes on her back and quickened her step. Purposefully and deliberately she brought her foot down on the mirror as she climbed the stairs.
"What was that?" demanded Quirrell, pushing her out of the way. She took a step back and revealed the fragments of the broken mirror that belonged on the stairs. Had it been under any other circumstances, she would have cried to see her father's mirror like that, but now was not the time for tears. She looked up at him cautiously.
"It was just a mirror, sir." He mumbled something about vain and silly girls, then lead her further up the stairs.
Ron and Hermione, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
"Hermione!" Hermione let out a sigh of relief when she saw Ron, although the ball of fear in her stomach was as large as ever. "Harriet-"
"Is gone, I know," her voice came out shriller than normal, so she tried to calm herself down. "I was hoping it was just on my end," she trailed off and Ron's shake of his head confirmed what she had been afraid of.
"We need to find somebody to help us," Ron decided. Hermione nodded, then her eyes widened. Ron was confused as to why, until her turned around and saw Professor Snape looking at them, eyes narrowed.
"Help you with what?" He sneered. "I hope that this is not another one of your foolish pranks, Mr. Weasley." Ron took in a deep breath. "We all know how well that turned out last time."
"No, sir," Hermione said quickly. "We were just-"
"Just what, Ms. Granger?" Snape demanded. "Not up to no good, I hope. You can't blame me for being a bit suspicious. Two young Gryffindors inside on a day like today?" He looked at them cautiously. "Where is your fearless," he spat, "leader?"
Ron shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. Sure, Harriet seemed to trust Snape, but that didn't mean that he did. Hermione was the one who made up her mind first. She blurted out quickly, "I think Harriet is in trouble!"
Snape looked as though he was resisting the urge to snort. "Trouble? What has she done this time? Befriended a giant?"
Ron, taking a cue from Hermione, said, in one breath, "We think that Quirrell has her!"
Snape's expression didn't change, but both Ron and Hermione could sense a definite shift in his demeanor. He looked at them silently for a moment before spinning on his heel and proceeding briskly down the hallway. "Come with me," was his curt explanation.
Both Ron and Hermione exchanged glances before following him
Harriet Potter, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Ron would have loved that, Harriet found herself thinking after the most intense chess match she had ever played. She got off of her chess piece with wobbly legs, shaking off the stiffness in her arms, which were achey from having to hang on for so long. Quirrell seemed absolutely fine, albeit a bit pale. Then again, when wasn't he?
Harriet was having a difficult time imagining what other enchantments the Hogwarts professors had cooked up. The Devil's Snare was most likely Sprout, Harriet reasoned, the winged keys were Flitwick's, and the chess set had to have been McGonagall's. That left Snape's, Quirrell's, and Dumbledore's.
Harriet followed Quirrell through the next door and was met with the overpowering smell of rotten meat and dirty socks. She gulped at the sight of the troll in front of her. At least now she knew what Quirrell's protection was.
Ron and Hermione, Hogwarts-May 15,1992
Ron and Hermione sat guiltily in Snape's office. He had brought them here and forced them to explain everything they had figured out. They had expected him to yell at them or lecture them or something, but instead, he had left them sitting alone in their seats, making sure to lock the door behind him.
"Harriet must be in a lot of trouble," Hermione whimpered, "for Snape to leave in a real hurry, like that." Ron shook his head.
"I'm sure she is just fine," he assured her, sounding a lot more calm than he actually was. From what his brothers had told him, it was rare to see Snape lose his composure, so it must have been something pretty bad to make him run out of the room like that.
Harriet Potter, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Harriet stared with wide eyes at the troll on the floor. Quirrell let out a noise of satisfaction and placed his wand back in the folds of his robe. He no longer needed to worry about Harriet escaping because they were all ready deep within the underbelly of Hogwarts. They had survived dangerous plants, winged keys, and, just now, a very large troll. Quirrell turned to her.
"Impressive, hm?" He chuckled, making the hairs on the back of Harriet's neck stand up and prickling goose-flesh on her arms. "You can say that I have a gift with trolls."
Harriet just nodded weakly, not really sure what to tell him. The only thing she could focus on at the moment was staying alive. So far, she had yet to see a way out of her situation and she didn't think that she was going to see one for a while. Quirrell startled her by yanking her shoulder and pulling her forward through the next doorway.
Severus Snape, Hogwarts Owlery-May 15, 1992
Severus Snape was not a happy man. Granted, he was rarely in a cheerful mood, but at the moment he was even more sour than normal. Potter and her idiotic friends had not, as he had hoped, let the matter of the Stone go, despite Lily's assurances that Harriet was done with her amateur investigations.
To make matters worse, if what Weasley and Granger said was true, that meant the Dark Lord was out there somewhere attempting to regain life. He, like the Headmaster, had always assumed that the Dark Lord would return one day, but he had hoped that it would be sooner rather than later. He had also hoped that Albus would be there when the Dark Lord finally decided to make his return.
Not doing god-knows-what for the Minister in London!
He eyed the owls in the Owlery. He needed one that was both fast and intelligent, not to mention up to the long journey to London. A flash of white caught his eye: Hedwig, Potter's uncommonly smart owl. He made a move to place the note to her leg, only to have her snap at his fingers!
He fixed her with his trademark glare and went to try again, but the ball of feathers had the audacity to hop away and fix him with a reproachful stare.
"Do you want your mistress to die?" the man hissed, thankful that nobody was here to listen to him talk to a bird. The aforementioned bird gave him a look that clearly said, "Of course not, you idiot." Snape shook the note in his hand. "Then I suggest you let me attach this note to your leg!"
This time, amazingly, the bird held perfectly still, even having the kindness to stick her leg out for him. He worked quickly to fasten the note, knowing that if the Dark Lord really was working with Quirrell, Potter did not have much time to spare. "Get that note to Dumbledore," was his order to Hedwig. "Quickly!"
The owl gave a soft hoot, spread her wings, and soared through the window. Snape himself would have gone through the trap door to stop Quirrell, but with his old master in the picture, the equation changed. Hopefully, the Headmaster would return before things were too late.
Harriet Potter, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Harriet had to give credit to Professor Snape. Out of all the enchantments they had faced, his was, by far, the most simple, but, at the same time, the most difficult: A row of seven bottles lined up in a row on a table, along with a piece of paper that read:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Plenty of wizards, Harriet mused, as she watched Quirrell mutter to himself and pace back and forth, didn't have an ounce of logic. Harriet was hoping greatly that Quirrell was one of them. Her hopes were dashed when Quirrell confidently picked up the smallest bottle.
"This one," he announced, far too loudly, in Harriet's opinion, "will get us through the fire to the Stone. My master will be pleased."
Harriet shuddered. Since they had first begun to work their way through the enchantments, this was the first time Quirrell had mentioned his intentions and Voldemort. For some reason, it made everything all too real. Harriet felt her heart skip a beat when she realized something. "There isn't enough."
"Excuse me?"
"The potion," Harriet explained, hardly daring to hope, "there isn't enough to get us both across the fire." Quirrell frowned and looked at it, then looked back at her.
"There isn't," Quirrell muttered, "but I can't just leave you here." He scowled and picked up another bottle, shoving it at her. She took it, almost dropping it. She stared at it dumbly, not too sure what to do with it.
"Drink it," Quirrell ordered. Harriet's eyes widened. "Its poison." Harriet resisted the urge to ask him how that was supposed to make her want to drink it, instead looking back down at the flask. She bit her lip, knowing that if she didn't drink the potion, Quirrell would most likely use his wand to kill her, then took the cup to her mouth and took a large gulp.
The first thing Harriet realized was that Quirrell was an idiot. The taste of the wine was too strong to be ignored: Quirrell had chosen wrong. Thinking quickly, she let herself fall to the floor and breathed as lightly as she dared, trying not to move too much.
It worked. Quirrell, thinking her dead, took a gulp of his own potion. Sadly, he had not been wrong with this one, and was able to safely make it through the fire. She stayed on the ground as long as she dared, waiting to make sure Quirrell really was gone, before sitting up straight.
She got up off the floor and moved to the remaining potions. If she could figure out which potion would let her out of the fire, than she could get a message to somebody. She reached for the paper when she noticed something odd. The cup Quirrel had used was full again. She resisted the urge to hit herself upside the head.
Of course they refilled themselves once they were done. How else would Snape or Dumbledore or anybody else be able to follow somebody through in a situation like this? Thanking Snape's cautiousness, she picked up the potion to take her through the fire.
She stopped for a moment. She had already admitted to Ron and Hermione that she was no match for Quirrell, so what was she thinking, going after him? Nobody else is coming, she rationalized, better me than nobody at all. Harriet drank the potion, almost dropping the cup when she felt a strong chill run through her, and then placed the cup down on the table. Closing her eyes, she leapt through the flames.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the last chamber. Quirrell was standing there, looking very annoyed and just as surprised.
"I gave you the wrong cup, didn't eye?" he said, looking very fearful. Harriet felt her stomach do somersaults as she nodded. What was he so afraid of?
"I know what you are doing!" she told him bravely. She couldn't fight him, but she might be able to keep him talking long enough. Quirrell snorted and looked doubtful, so Harriet decided to prove it. "You're trying to get the Philosopher's Stone for Voldemort!"
Quirrell suddenly looked angry. "How dare you say his name! You are not worthy to use the Dark Lord's name!"
"He isn't a lord," Harriet said tartly, crossing her arms over her chest, "and he certainly isn't one of mine." Harriet suddenly asked, "Was it you who tried to kill me and jinx my broom?" Quirrell laughed.
"Of course it was! But your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."
"So Snape was trying to save me!" Harriet said triumphantly.
"He was," Quirrell affirmed. "Thats why he was so eager to referee your last Quidditch match. Not that your friends thought so," mused Quirrel. "They all thought he was trying to finish you off. Just as I had hoped. Then again, who would suspect P-p-oor s-s-stuttering P-professor Quirrell, when Snape was swooping all about the castle, like the large dungeon bat he is? It was a clever thought to set your snake after me-"
"Isaura!" Harriet exclaimed. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"
"I wouldn't be too worried about her, Potter," Quirrell tutted, "not when your own life is at stake. I am going to have to kill you tonight, you know."
Before she could come up with a retort, Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harriet.
"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."
"You let the troll in, too!"
"Certainly. Like I said, I have a special gift with trolls — you saw what I did to the one in the chamber back there. Of course, your precious little Potions master was not fooled. He headed straight to the third floor in hopes that he might head me off. He had been suspicious of me since the Quidditch match, you see. At least the dog gave his leg a good bite."
"Fluffy," Harriet didn't know what else to say. Quirrell looked at her as though she was insane. "The dog's name is Fluffy," Harriet elaborated. Quirrell scowled.
"Enough of this nonsense, Potter. I need to look at this interesting mirror."
It was only then that Harriet realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.
"Only that fool Dumbledore would come up with something like this to protect the Stone," Quirrell scowled. His face took on an awe-filled quality. "I see the Stone...I'm presenting it to my Master...but how do I get it? Should I break the mirror?"
Harriet's struggles to loosen the rope ceased as a rasping voice filled the room, seeming to come from everywhere. "Use the girl."
Harriet's breathing picked up as Quirrell turned his focus back to her. "Potter, come here!" He said, before loosening the ropes. Harriet shook them off and walked slowly towards Quirrell, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.
"I saw you and Snape in the Forest," Harriet said, trying to buy time. Quirrell let out an impatient sigh.
"Yes," he told her. "He was threatening me-as if I could be afraid of him with the Dark Lord on my side. He warned me not to try anything against you again."
"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much," Harriet said, referring to the careful guise she and the Professor had used. She hadn't seen the importance of it before (and she still didn't), but at the moment she was thankful for it, since Quirrell seemed to have forgotten about the stone for a moment. She had stopped walking at this point.
"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead." Suddenly, Quirrel let out a loud scream and Harriet jumped backwards as Quirrell clutched the edges of his turban. A few moments later, he stopped, gasping for breath.
"Of course," he muttered, "of course, Master. I apologize, my liege." Harriet's eyes widened. Was Voldemort here?
"Enough of this, girl," he snapped at her. "Come here."
Harriet began to walk forward once again, her mind racing. She didn't know what to do anymore. She knew that if she looked into the mirror, she would see how to get the Stone, since that was, at the moment, what she wanted most, but even if she did manage to figure out where to get it, how would she take it without Quirrell knowing? How would she escape.
Quirrell yanked her forward by her shoulder and held her still in front of the mirror. Although his grip was hard, she felt her eyes tear up not from the bruising hold, but from the sudden shooting pain in her scar.
"Tell me," he hissed, "what do you see?"
Harriet watched the mirror closely. She saw herself: pale and trembling. Then, suddenly, her reflection grinned. It placed its hand in its pocket and pulled out a small, red, stone. It held it for a moment, before winking and placing it back in her pocket. Harriet took in a small breath as she felt something very real fall into her own pocket. She had gotten the Stone. Now all she had to do was get out of here alive.
"I...I see me." She began. Quirrel didn't even bother to correct her poor grammar. "I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore. I've won the house cup for Gryffindor!"
"She lies..." hissed the same voice as before. Harriet frowned. It seemed to be coming from Quirrell's turban.
"Tell the truth!" Quirrel demanded, turning on her before she had another chance to figure out where Voldemort was. "What do you see?"
"Let me talk to her," the voice hissed. Quirrell began to twitch again.
"Master," he whimpered, "you are not strong enough-"
"I am strong enough," the voice said silkily, "for this."
Quirrell seemed to take this as an order. Much to Harriet's horror, he began to carefully unwind his turban. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it wasn't good. She was rooted to the spot, her breath coming in short gasps.
Finally, the turban fell away. Quirrell was facing her, but she could see the reflection of the back of his head in the mirror. Only...it wasn't the back of his head. There was a face. The most terrible face Harriet had ever seen. Even worse than Dudley's. It was as white as a ghost and its red eyes (just mere slits, like its nose) were glaring at her with a hatred that Harriet hadn't even realized was possible.
"Harriet Potter," the face said softly. Harriet heard every word loud and clear, though. "So we meet again."
"Voldemort," Harriet breathed. The face twisted itself into a very odd expression. It took Harriet a moment to realize that it was trying to smirk.
"So you remember me," Voldemort rasped. "Do you see, Harriet Potter? Do you see what I've become because of you? Forced to live off another-like a mere parasite! Unicorn blood sustains me, but it cannot give me my own body. For that, I need something else. Something that rests in your pocket."
Harriet snaked her hand down into her pocket and felt the Stone. It was cool around her fingers. She met Voldemort's eyes. He was waiting expectantly. Harriet shook her head and turned to run, but Quirrell was prepared. In less then a second, the room was suddenly surrounded in flame. Harriet turned around again, so that she might see Voldemort. He was smiling now.
"Don't be fool," he hissed, sounding highly amused for somebody living off the back of somebody else's head. "Why suffer a horrific death, when you can join me and live?"
Harriet felt a surge of disgust well up inside of her. This thing had murdered her grandparents, tried to murder her, and separated her from her parents for ten years. And yet, Voldemort had the audacity to ask her to join him? "Never!" She cried, turning around, looking for a way out.
There was none.
Voldemort laughed. "Bravery," he said, "yes, your grandparents had it to. But don't be a fool." He eyed her calculatingly. "Tell me, Harriet, would you like to see your grandmother and grandfather alive once more?" Harriet didn't say a word, giving Voldemort all the answer he needed. "Together," he said, "we can bring them back. All I ask is that you give me something in return."
Harriet pulled it out of her pocket and looked down at it. It wasn't that remarkable a Stone. Surely nobody would blame her if she gave it to him.
Voldemort nodded (as best he could) in encouragement. "Thats it, Harriet. There is no good and evil. There is simply power, and those too weak to seek it! Together, we can do extraordinary things. Just give me the Stone!"
Harriet could see them: her grandmother and grandfather. They were reflected in the mirror and they were looking at her so lovingly... It was her fault they were dead, really... If she could bring them back, they could be a real family again... her mother and father would be so grateful...
It was a thought of her mum and dad that brought Harriet back to reality. Biting down the bile that rose in her throat at the thought that she had almost willingly surrendered to Voldemort, Harriet cried, "You liar! My grandparents are dead!"
"KILL HER!" cried Voldemort, his face twisted into furious mask. In an instant, Quirrell had leapt across the room and his hand circled around her neck. They slammed into the wall and Harriet dropped the Stone.
Her throat was on fire, but even more surprising was that her head felt as thought it might split in to. Gasping, she tried to grab the Stone, in hopes that she might prevent Voldemort from reaching it, but Quirrell's hold was too strong and it lay just out of reach. Her need for oxygen to great to ignore, she reached for Quirrell's hand, hoping to pry it off of her neck. To her surprise, Quirrell let go of her instantly.
He backed away from her screaming and clutching at his hand. Sitting up, Harriet watched wide-eyed as his hand seemed to crumbled. "Gah! What is this magic!"
Harriet looked back and down at her own hands, then back to Quirrel. "FOOL!" yelled Voldemort. "Get the Stone!"
Quirrell reached out and made a grab for the Stone, but Harriet was there to meet him. Acting almost on instinct, she took her hand and reached for his face. Quirrel screamed loudly and Harriet's head pounded as he tried to claw her off of him, but she didn't let go until the pain finally became too much.
Backing away, she watched stunned as Quirrell's face seemed to turn to dust and, before her eyes, he fell, nothing more than a pile of ashes.
Harriet took another step backwards and, once it seemed as though Quirrell was actually dead, she turned around and picked up the Stone, just holding it in her hand. All this trouble for such a tiny rock, she mused. She was just about to try to figure out how to get out of the chamber, when a soft swishing sound alerted her.
She whipped around and gasped as a gray plume of smoke, with Voldemort's face seemingly in the middle, rushed at her. She screamed as it ran her through, the pain in her head unbearable. She could her somebody calling her name, but couldn't tell whether or not it was real.
She fell down...down...down...
The Marauders and Lily, Hogwarts-May 15, 1992
Remus had never heard Dumbledore sound more grave, save the for the night that Lily and James were attacked. Therefore, it was understandable that he, Sirius, Lily, and James rushed to Hogwarts as fast as they possibly could.
They weren't sure what to expect, but none of them had been expecting to hear Dumbledore's explanation of what had happened between her and Quirrell. As soon as the headmaster let slip where she was, the four made a mad dash for the Hospital Wing, not even waiting to here Dumbledore's explanation for Quirrel's death.
The sight of Harriet, lying on a hospital bed, almost motionless, greeted them. Madam Pomfrey had just finished wrapping some bandages around her badly burned hands. She gave them each a sympathetic smile as they sat down, then closed the curtains around them.
"Oh, Harriet," murmured Lily, beginning to softly run her her fingers over Harriet's bandaged hands. Harriet smiled softly in her sleep.
"What in the world was she thinking?" grimaced James, placing his hand over his wife's. Lily shrugged, honestly not knowing. Perhaps, if they had lived with their daughter longer, they would have some sense of the inner workings of her mind, but, for now, they were just as lost as any other stranger.
"Does Madam Pomfrey know when she is going to wake up?" asked Remus. Sirius shook his head and sighed, shifting his weight on the hard chair, trying to make himself comfortable. They were in for a long wait.
Harriet Potter, Hogwarts-May 18, 1992
When Harriet finally realized that she was waking up, she resisted the urge to groan. It had been such a deep sleep. The deepest she had had in a while, with no aching scars or late-night missions around the castle or dreams of Quirrell and his turban
Quirrell's turban! Voldemort had been hiding underneath! Had it been a dream? No, it wasn't. She needed to make sure that Quirrel had not gotten his hands on the Stone. Harriet struggled to open her eyes. She could see something gold and sparkling through her squinted lids, but she couldn't open her eyes further due to the bright light. The lights dimmed a moment later, allowing her to finally wake up fully.
She found Professor Dumbledore standing over her. She went to say something, but he held his finger to his lips and gestured to the other side of the bed. Harriet turned and saw both her parents asleep in the hospital wing chairs.
"Sirius is with Remus," the old man whispered, pointing to the bed next to them with the curtains drawn, "who is resting after the full moon." Harriet nodded. Her eyes widened when she saw the large stack of gifts on the bedside table.
"From your admirers," Dumbledore explained.
"Admirers?" Harrier asked softly.
"What happened down in the chamber between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret. So, naturally, the entire school knows." Dumbledore explained, as if it was obvious. "The Weasley twins sent you the toilet seat." Harriet giggled. "Madam Pomfrey tried to confiscate it, but they managed to get it past her." Dumbledore chuckled.
"How long have I been in here?" Harriet asked.
"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried. As Isaura has been." Dumbledore reached behind her and pulled something off the hospital cot headboard.
"Isaura!" Harriet exclaimed, delighted. For a moment, she worried that she had woken up her parents, but thankfully she hadn't. Harriet took her friend and stroked her head gently, making Isaura hiss with pleasure.
"I found her locked up in one of Professor Quirrell's desk drawers." Harriet nodded at her headmaster's explanation, then gasped, remembering something.
"What happened to the Stone?"
"Relax, my dear girl. The Stone has been destroyed."
"Destroyed?" said Harriet blankly. "But Nicolas Flamel —"
"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.
"He and Mrs. Flamel came over during Christmas break," Harriet said weakly, not quite sure what to make of her headmaster's delight.
"Ah yes," he chuckled. "Remus mentioned that to me. In all honesty, I'm surprised it took you longer. Especially with Ms. Granger giving you a hand. As for the matter, Nicolas and I have talked. We both agree that its for the best."
"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they? They were so nice..."
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."
Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harriet's face.
"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all — the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."
Harriet was quiet for a moment, not really sure what to say. Then, she took a deep breath.
"Sir?" said Harriet. "Even without the Stone, he'll try and come back, won't he?"
"You mean Voldemort, Harriet?" When she nodded, he sighed. "I am afraid he will, Harriet. I do not know how, or when, but Voldemort is indeed still out there, searching for a way back to life. There are ways..." Dumbledore trailed off for a moment, then looked at Harriet curiously.
"Harriet," he began, do you know why Professor Quirrell could not touch you in the dungeons that night?" Harriet shook her head. "It was because of your grandmother," Dumbledore said gently and Harriet frowned, confused. "She sacrificed herself for you and that love, so pure and strong, left a never fading mark on you."
Harriet reached up and fingered her scar, but Dumbledore shook his head. "No, not like your scar. This mark cannot be seen. It is found within your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."
Harriet nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…"
"There is something else," Harriet began. Dumbledore made no move to deny her, so she took it as a go ahead. "In the chamber, the topic of Snape came up-"
"Professor Snape, Harriet," Dumbledore said gently. Harriet nodded.
"Right, him. I know that he and I have to pretend to hate each other because of Professor Snape's job in the war," Harriet said carefully, not knowing the exact details of that job. Dumbledore nodded. "But Quirrell said that Snape hated me because of my dad. What did he mean? I mean, I noticed that Professor Snape and my father aren't exactly friends, but they don't hate each other, do they?"
"That," Dumbledore sighed, "is a question for your father. All I can tell you is that your father and Professor Snape went to school together. As a matter of fact, they shared a rivalry similar to that of yours and Mr. Malfoy."
"They did?" Harriet said, surprised. Dumbledore nodded.
"Then your father did something that Snape could never forgive." Harriet looked at Dumbledore curiously. "He saved his life."
"From what?" Harriet demanded. Dumbledore shook his head, so Harriet knew that it was something she would have to ask her father. She asked a different question. "But why would that mean that he is supposed to hate me?"
"Your father saved Professor Snape's life, so Snape found himself in your father's debt, which he couldn't bear… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. That way he could go back to hating your father in peace..."
"So he only tried to protect me because he owed my father?" Harriet felt as though she was going to be sick. Dumbledore shook his head.
"Professor Snape may not like your father, Harriet," Dumbledore said, "but he and your mother were good friends in school. Thus, his relationship with you is a bit more complicated than most."
"Professor Snape was really angry with me," Harriet whispered, "when Hermione and I snuck out of our dorm rooms a few days ago."
"I will not say that he wasn't angry with you, Harriet," he said softly, "but if you talk to him, you might be surprised as to why he was so disappointed with you."
"And sir, there's one more thing…"
"Just the one?" Dumbledore teased. Harriet blushed.
"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"
"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest that you wake up your parents. They were most worried about you. And your father and Sirius were very excited to help you get started on these delicious sweets."
Harriet reached over and carefully nudged her father, who was closest to her. He mumbled something incoherent, but didn't wake. She nudged him harder, shocking him out of his sleep. He sat up straight and looked around him, bewildered.
"Harriet," he said, sounding so relieved that Harriet wanted to cry. He spoke loud enough to wake up Harriet's mum, who looked just as relieved as he did. After a few minutes where she found herself being comforted by both her parents (during which Dumbledore graciously slid out the door), Harriet's father left and then returned with a Sirius and an exhausted, but happy, looking Remus.
As the hours past, they ate lunch and prodded Harriet, getting her to explain to them what had happened between her and Quirrell. She told them everything, leading up to the point where she had seen her grandparents in the mirror, when she stopped.
"Harriet?" asked her mum, gently. Harriet looked down and fingered the frayed edges of the blanket. "What is it?"
"I wanted-" Harriet tried. "I almost let him have- I thought he could bring them back!" Harriet gasped and she reached up and tried to wipe the tears from her cheek as best she could with her bandaged hand. Her father batted her hands away and did it for her.
"Oh, Harriet, love," said her mother gently. "Its alright. Its okay to miss them. I miss them, too!"
"But its my fault," Harriet denied, curling up into a ball, away from her mother's gentle caresses. "Voldemort said that grandmother gave her life for me. Its me he wanted. Its all my fault!"
"Harriet Potter," scolded her father, his tone somehow managing to be considerate and scolding at the same time. "We don't ever want to hear you say that again. It most certainly was not your fault. Your grandparents loved you very much and knew exactly what they were risking that night, but did it anyway. They gladly gave their lives for you, as would any of us in this room."
"But he was after me, wasn't he? Not after you two like Sirius said he was?" Her father and mother said nothing and Harriet recognized the look on their faces as the ones they got when they didn't want to lie to her, but they didn't want to tell her the truth either. Harriet prodded further, "Why was he after me?"
"Harriet," her mum sighed, "Your father and I promised never to lie to you, but we honestly can't answer this question. Not yet."
Harriet went to argue, but her father held up his hand. "When you're older." Harriet frowned, and then nodded.
"So what happened next, Prongslette?" Harriet jumped at the sound of Sirius's voice. He and Remus had been so quiet that she had almost forgotten they were there. Harriet went ahead and finished up the rest of her tale.
She was scolded, as she expected, but not too bad, as her parents were just very happy that she was alright. Her father and Sirius even assured her that they should be able to repair the damaged mirror.
Ron and Hermione also stopped by, letting Harriet introduce her friends to her parents officially. She had to explain the story to them as well, although there were all sorts of versions floating around the school. This happened to be one of the rare times where the truth was more shocking than the rumors.
Harriet managed to get a hold of Neville (well, Ron and Hermione dragged him to the hospital wing) and the three were able to explain the true nature of events several nights prior and, after he had been sworn to secrecy, he accepted their apologies and left smiling widely.
Madam Pomfrey eventually kicked them out, leaving Harriet and her family. They wanted to bring her home immediately, but she convinced them to let her stay until the end of term.
Professor Snape stopped by. He also gave her a long scolding, but by the end of it, she was smiling. He didn't need to say it, but whatever he was angry at her for, he had forgiven her. She might have brought it up under different circumstances, but she was just too happy to care.
Hogwarts Express-June 3, 1992
Harriet, Ron, and Hermione made themselves comfortable in their compartment. They didn't say anything as the train began to move, each lost in their own thoughts, watching Hogwarts grow smaller and smaller and smaller. Harriet frowned, knowing that, as happy as she was to be home, she was going to miss Hogwarts. Her thoughts were swimming.
After two weeks in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had said, rather reluctantly, that Harriet could go. Harriet was relieved. After fourteen days of doing nothing but homework and staring at white-washed walls, she was excited for the end-of-year feast. Slytherin had won the house cup, but, in a surprising twist, Dumbledore had awarded Gryffindor enough house points that they had actually won.
Then, right before they had boarded the train home, Hagrid had come up to the three and begun sobbing about how everything was his fault, since he had let slip about Fluffy. It took some time, but they managed to assure him that it wasn't his fault and that they did not blame him in the slightest. He rewarded them with a large, bone-crushing hug.
"This year was nuts," sighed Ron, breaking the silence. Harriet snorted at the understatement. "My brothers always used to tell me these insane stories about their years at Hogwarts-"
"Well, now you can one-up them," Hermione said simply, not bothering to look up from her paper.
"What are you reading?" asked Ron, slightly peeved that she wasn't paying too much attention to him. She huffed, annoyed, and showed them the front page article of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper.
"Fudge Denies You-Know-Who's Attempt To Return to Power." Hermione read, skimming the article. "Apparently, rumors haven't just been circulating in Hogwarts. Everybody else is talking about the Stone, too. In particular, the fact that Fudge knew nothing about it and that Mr. Flamel trusted Dumbledore over him. Fudge isn't happy... with Dumbledore or you, Harriet!"
"He can't do anything about it now, though," Harriet shrugged, unconcerned. "I'd like to see him try, anyways. I'm not going to let him ruin the first summer I have with my parents."
"You two will write, won't you?" Hermione asked anxiously, suddenly revealing how much she would miss her friends. Ron laughed.
"You know I won't," he told her. Hermione hit him with her rolled up newspaper.
"Harriet will," she announced, before turning to the aforementioned witch. "Won't you, Harriet?"
"Yea," Harriet said sarcastically, although she probably would end up writing them both very often, "every week." Hermione just shook her head and went back to her paper. Ron and Harriet exchanged grins. She went back to looking out the windows, watching the scenery roll by, then made a vow to herself.
I'm going to have a lot of fun this summer...
AN: Okay. Wow. I guess thats it. Harriet's first year. Thoughts? Comments? Anything you want to see in her second year? Let me know! I'm already working on the prologue for Harriet's second year, and it should be posted here in a few weeks (Maybe less. It depends on how long I make it. At the rate its going, its going to be a very short chapter, relatively speaking).
Who else is going to be on summer break soon? Hope you have a great break! Or maybe taking finals? Happy studying and good luck on those!
As always, thanks for all the interest you've shown this story (over 10,000 hits! You guys are amazing!)
Be on the look out for the first chapter of Harriet's second year: Harriet Potter Year 2: The Dreams of Yesterday.
See ya' on the flip-side! (I've always wanted to say that, for some reason.)
tinyrose65