Harry Potter and the Arcana

by the Imaginizer

Harry Potter's life as we know it is entrenched with destiny, sewn together like a tightly plotted book. But what if his bond with destiny was far more imminent? What if whatever card said that Harry Potter is rubbish at divination was turned upside down? Discontinued, for all intents and purposes.

14. Of Rhabdomancy and Revelations

Disclaimer: This belongs to a woman I greatly admire – believe me, I wouldn't steal from her.

AN: Thanks, everyone for reading! It makes my days as an underappreciated university student just that much brighter :)

---

Chapter 14: Of Rhabdomancy and Revelations

Harry was frustrated. Very frustrated. At least twenty minutes had passed, and he had been going in circles, he was sure. He would wander through a promising looking passage for a while, and then the ground would shake, and the walls would shift – new passages would open up, dead ends would appear, and Harry would be even more lost than before.

Now, having veered through a promising looking turn, Harry was running through one of the passages as quickly as he could, but skidded to a halt when he heard rumbling below him. Right in front of him the passage morphed shut, and to his left another opened up. Harry took a deep breath – and an idea sprang to mind: what if it was all a trick? Like Platform 9 ¾? Pausing a moment, Harry darted forward, straight into where the wall had closed up before him – colliding with it rather fantastically, flying backwards and bashing his head on the ground violently.

"Ugh…that didn't work."

Stupid ground, stupid walls, stupid maze – the whole thing was a trick alright, one big cruel trick, an impossible one. However, just as he was about to give up on the prospect of clever ideas, one sprang to mind – one that made him feel incredibly stupid. He bashed his head on the ground again in self-reprimand.

"Oww…"

Blinking away the pain, he woozily reached to his side and opened his B3, drawing out his Rhabdomancy stick. Standing up shakily, he tossed it on the ground, watching it tumble in a pinwheel-like motion, waiting for it to stop spinning. He wasn't quite sure that the transfiguration magic wouldn't interfere with his divination; however, when the stick shivered on the ground, waiting for the wall on the left to rumble before coming to rest on the ground, Harry was hopeful.

Every few metres, he would let the stick fall to the ground, waiting for it to stop spinning; occasionally, it would just twist and point down a passage, but often, it would spin rapidly on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for the walls to shift and reveal a new way.

It was after a half hour of following his stick through the shifting passages of McGonagall's labyrinth that he managed to tumble out of the other side, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, breathing heavily.

"You alright there, Harry?"

Harry spun around, finding Terry leaning against the outer wall. He stuffed his stick back into his B3. "Yeah, I'm fine…just….I don't like small enclosed spaces like that – it gives me the creeps."

Terry quirked an eyebrow. "Right. Where's Neville?"

"Still inside, I guess." He frowned. "How did you get through so fast?"

Terry shrugged. "I told you, I like mazes. I'm good at them too – even the moving ones. I got through in only about ten minutes – it was quite a challenge though, with the moving walls. I eventually figured out the pattern, though."

"A pattern?" Harry asked faintly.

"Yeah, to how the walls moved. You didn't see it? How did you even get through?" Terry asked incredulously.

"A bit of hard-earned luck, I guess."

"Huh. Anyway, I think we have to go through that door next…" he gestured to the left.

"Oh?" Harry turned about and strode up to the door in the exit chamber.

"What about Neville?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "He'll follow – we haven't got time to wait though. He's not in any danger… unless he gets squished by the moving walls…nah. You coming?"

Terry nodded reluctantly, following behind Harry, who opened the door, and then drew back, covering his face.

"Ugh!"

A rancid, rotting smell filled the air, and both boys peered into the room with great trepidation. On the ground, they found a dead troll lying in a pool of its own blood, a gaping gash on the top of his head.

"Safe to say someone's already been here," Harry muttered, carefully stepping past the troll and glancing about the chamber. "The chamber's so small, and the troll's so big…you would have to know exactly what you're doing and how to kill it to get past, or you'd have no time to think up a plan, and it'd crush you. Good thing this one was already done for us..."

"Lovely," Terry coughed out, "Let's get out of here, quick!"

Harry nodded, pulling at the next door – but it was locked.

Terry took one look at the glowing metal contraption binding the door to the frame and blanched. "What the hell?"

Harry's eyes were wide. "It's a muggle lock!"

"Muggle! Muggles can create something like this?"

Harry nodded. "It's an electrical lock – opened by a code. People have them in their homes and businesses, to keep intruders out." He pointed to the keypad, which bore 10 digits, 0 to 9. "We've got 10 possible buttons for the code…"

"So we press the right set of numbers, and it opens?" Terry asked.

Harry nodded.

"But that's impossible! We don't know how long the code is, and there could be infinitely many combinations then…"

Harry nodded again. "And it probably shuts down indefinitely after a certain amount of mistakes – these sorts of things usually do." He shrugged and typed in 0-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 – and a loud, high, unpleasant shriek sounded, causing both boys to cover their ears and cry out in pain.

"Gah, that hurt! Don't do that again! Get the right one!"

"Umm…" He typed in 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-0, and the shriek sounded again, even louder and higher, causing both boys to fall to their knees.

"Damn, Harry! If it keeps getting louder, it'll knock us out!"

"If the smell doesn't…"

"Ugh…I'm trying to forget about that…Merlin, it stinks! Come on, we've got to figure something out..."

"I know! But they didn't leave us any clues, and it could be anything…but they wouldn't make it an impossible puzzle, would they? There must be a trick..."

"That's sort of the point of a combination lock, isn't it?"

"Wait, a combination…what if…ten buttons…could it be that simple?"

"What?"

"If there are ten buttons, and each button can only be picked once, there are a possible…uh…three million, six hundred and twenty eight thousand, eight hundred combinations."

"Wow! How do you know that?" Terry asked curiously.

"You can find out with any number, you just multiply it by all the numbers before it… it's a technique muggles use in a branch of mathematics called combinatorics - but wizards use it as well, in arithmancy, runeology, divination...but never mind, perhaps 3-6-2-8-8-0-0 is the combination – it's clever, but not impossible."

"But what if it doesn't work, and the noise gets louder…"

"You got a better idea?"

"No…" Terry groaned.

"Right then." Harry took a deep breath and punched in, 3-6-2-8-8-0-0.

Both boys cringed, waiting for the shriek – but it never came, and the door clicked open.

Harry grinned at Terry, who grinned weakly back, and together, they entered the next chamber.

Inside, they found a table, differently shaped bottles lined across it. Harry walked over, picking up one of the bottles curiously. Terry followed behind him, and suddenly, a purple fire sprang up in the doorway behind them, and black flames in the door in front, leaving them trapped.

"Potion bottles? I bet Professor Snape designed this one…wonder how much pain is involved."

Terry shivered. "Don't even talk about that." He frowned though, when he saw a piece of paper lying on the table. "Here, listen to this:

"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever 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."

"So," Harry mused, smirking, "One to move forward, which we need – one to get us back if we're scared. Two more useless bottles, and three bottles of poison. The wine's always on the right of the poison – so we've got an arrangement of five; two wines on the right and three poisons on the left, all in a neat row, with the one to go forward and the one to get back in between or on the edges somewhere….the one to go forward's not at either end, and then neither the largest nor smallest bottle will kill us, so they're not poison…and then the ones second to the left and second to the right are the same…." He grinned. "This small bottle, here." He picked up the smallest flask, and frowned.

"There's only enough for one of us," Terry remarked.

"But someone's already been here…they must refill themselves every so often," Harry mused, looking over to Terry. "I'll go first…you wait here for Neville before you come through, alright?"

"But how will he get through?"

"He doesn't have to, just make sure that's he's alright, and can go for help if necessary."

Terry frowned. "Harry, what's going on? Who's on the other side – you do know, don't you?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, can't really be sure. But no matter." He downed the contents of the bottle, shivering as an icy feeling washed over his skin. "See you in ten." He turned about, toward the black flames, and purposefully strode through, finding himself in a large, round chamber, a tall mirror in the centre, a figure standing before it that Harry wasn't all that surprised to see.

"Professor Quirrell."

The figure spun around, leering at Harry a moment, before smiling coyly, an air of confidence present on his face, not twitching or shaking at all. "Potter."

Harry stepped away from the door. "Fancy seeing you here."

Professor Quirrell quirked an eyebrow. "You don't seem all that surprised to see me here."

Harry shook his head. "I kept telling people…no one that lame couldn't be evil."

Professor Quirrell looked amused. "So you saw through my act."

Harry shrugged. "Not really…maybe…I dunno. I'm impressed though – it's not easy to fake fainting, especially that often. It's very hard to relax your entire body and fake unconsciousness when you fully intend to drop from full height on a hard stone floor…after all, fall at the wrong angle or in the wrong place, and you'd kill yourself. I wonder though, why someone who isn't in law enforcement and was too young to have fought in the war would have such impressive physical discipline. It seems…odd. Because you would have to be a very good actor, both consciously and subconsciously, to fool all the Hogwarts Professors, especially with such a ridiculous act. Either you were planning this for a very long time, or you work for someone who's very demanding."

"You're really far too clever for your own good, Potter."

"People have been telling me that my whole life – not that I care. And I'm obviously not going to care if you say it, seeing as you're evil and everything. Why is that, by the way? Why do you need the Philosopher's Stone?"

"So you know about that too?" Quirrell said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yup – wasn't even hard to find out…you'd think more security measures would be taken…." He looked over Quirrell's shoulder, at the mirror. "What's that though?"

Quirrell scowled. "The last safeguard for the Stone…"

Intrigued, Harry stepped forward, reading off the top of the mirror, on the golden frame: "'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'." He frowned, glancing at Quirrell. "I wonder what language that is?" His eyes widened when he saw Quirrell smirk. "It's backwards! 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'. Brilliant!"

"Indeed," Quirrell drawled, "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone…trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he's in London… I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

Harry took a step forward, listening intently with his head leaned sideways in curiosity.

"I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… but where is it?"

"Wait, your master?" Harry asked, slightly alarmed.

"Of course, my master, it is he who the stone is for," Quirrell said idly, examining the mirror.

"To infiltrate Hogwarts for your master, to go to such lengths for him, he must be powerful…and he must be close by, ready to aide your escape with the Stone…" Harry prodded curiously.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Harry frowned thoughtfully – Lord Voldemort was his master? But wasn't he dead? How could he be with him wherever he went? Was he just schizophrenic? Quirrell was the one who broke into Gringotts in August? His mind was buzzing so loudly that he barely registered Quirrell's musing,

"I don't understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

And he replied on reflex, "That's stupid – don't do that, you'll never get the stone then…"

He certainly didn't notice Quirrell glaring at him as he tried to figure out a way to get the Stone for himself. The mirror showed what someone desired by default – but it didn't give it to you. But there must have been a way to get the Stone out…Quirrell couldn't get to the Stone, even though he desired it more than anything else; there must have been another condition. Perhaps the mirror wouldn't give the Stone to you if you actually wanted it? But anyone who needed to retrieve it would want it. It must have had something to do with desire though, because the mirror interpreted desire. Harry gasped quietly: it was the reason for the desire – the seeker couldn't desire anything to do with using the Stone for their own purposes…

Harry was suddenly startled out of his reflections when he heard Quirrell speak in a distressed voice,

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Harry frowned. Where was his master?

"Use the boy… Use the boy…" The voice came from behind him, cold, deep, and frail – and yet it chilled Harry to the bone.

Quirrell suddenly turned about, leering at Harry. "Yes — Potter — come here."

Harry panicked, freezing. Damn it. Whoever 'Master' was – it surely couldn't be Voldemort, could it? – he must have figured out the mirror's secret.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry stepped forward slowly, reluctantly, wincing as Quirrell grabbed his arm and shoved him in front of the mirror. Harry closed his eyes a moment, but when Quirrell's grip on him tightened, his eyes snapped open, and he looked in the mirror. He was quite disappointed when he only saw himself – a short, skinny boy with eerily bright green eyes and uncontrollably messy hair that fell almost down to his shoulders. I really need to get it cut…

Suddenly, though, his reflection smiled at him – which was actually very creepy, especially considering that he was still on bad terms with mirrors in general. The reflection put its hand into its pocket at pulled out a blood-red stone – the same stone that Death had crushed in his hand. It winked at Harry and put the stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. So he had been correct, and he had gotten the stone – but now he needed to keep it away from Quirrell.

"Well?" exclaimed Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry did his best to relax, steadying his heartbeat and his voice. "I see myself in a lab, holding the Stone," he lied easily, "Making piles and piles of shiny gold."

Quirrell cursed under his breath, letting go of Harry and pushing him aside. "Get out of the way."

Harry's mind was working furiously as he crept away from Quirrell. What should he do? Should he continue to bluff, or just drop all pretences and destroy the damn thing? Could he even destroy the Stone before Quirrell had a chance to stop him?

Suddenly, the cold voice spoke again, "He lies… He lies…"

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted, eyes wide. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

Harry cursed. "Pumpkin pasties, treacle tarts, and marmalade sausages," he sneered, backing away.

"Let me speak to him… face-to-face…" It was that awful, high, wheezing voice again.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

Harry wanted to use Quirrell slowly unwrapping his turban as a distraction, so he could run off and destroy the Stone, he truly did – but the curiosity was too great, and he could not help but watch with intent fascination as the turban fluttered to the ground and Quirrell turned about. And what was revealed was another face; a horrible chalk-white face with piercing red eyes and snake-like slits for nostrils.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered.

And Harry knew – without a doubt, what the face truly was…"Lord Voldemort," he breathed – even in such a sorry state, the being demanded some sort of awe, whether that was horror or amazement, Harry didn't know. But the feeling seized him tightly, as he finally came face to face with the man who had murdered his mother and father, taking away the only people who ever loved him, the man who attempted to murder him - the man he had apparently killed instead...back from the dead. Or did he ever truly die? The feeling was chilling, disorientating, and heavy, sinking deep into his chest. He bit his lip hard, attempting to get a hold of himself. "You don't have a nose," he remarked blankly.

"You see what I have become?" Lord Voldemort said with thinned lips and narrowed eyes. "A mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another's body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

"So you know then?" Harry asked weakly, trying to buy time to think.

"Of course…you cannot hide from me, boy."

Harry took a deep breath and slowly moved his hand toward his pocket and stepped back. "Maybe not…"

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me… or you'll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…"

Perfect. "Join you?" he asked, ignoring the derogatory barb about his parents. "You expect me to just up and join you? No prelude?"

The face of Voldemort narrowed its eyes.

"Not going to pitch your position to me? Because you know, joining your little band of merry murdering Death Munchers isn't all that appealing…"

"Oh really? I have watched you, Harry Potter, and I believe you would fit in quite well – your skill with curses and combative magics is…impressive. You have an intrinsic desire for chaos, and it follows you wherever you go – you revel in it, you thrive on it, and you perpetuate it. And you always manage not to get caught…"

"Aww, really? You're impressed? About what exactly? Why exactly would I make such a splendid villain? I'm really not seeing it...because, you know, I may be a piece of work, but I'm not a psychopath, and I'd say I'm a general, all-around decent person. A bit rough around the edges, perhaps, but what sort of neglected orphan boy wouldn't be? I mean, really, what do people expect –"

"Enough! I know what you're trying to do!" Voldemort interrupted. "Stop stalling and give me the stone! I'll give you anything you ask for, just hand it over."

Harry scoffed - the idea was preposterous, and for some reason, ghastly and infuriating. "Anything? Anything? Are you going to bring the dead back to life, restore the lives you've already taken? Give me a family? Erase the years I spent alone? Bring my cousin back to life? Can you tell me everything I want to know? Take away the things I wish I didn't know? Your power's really gone to your head, hasn't it? Are you really that proud…no, that stupid, to think that you could give me anything, anything at all? Or do you just think me to be an idiot?" His voice had grown louder through his rant, and he finished with a shout, ripping the stone out of his pocket. "You want it? Take it!" He threw the stone across the room, and as Quirrell turned about at darted after it, he drew his wand, aiming carefully, declaring, "Reducto!"

Just as Quirrell came within reaching distance of the stone, the curse hit it, and it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, disintegrating into dust and scattering.

Harry was somewhere between celebration and horror, when Quirrell rose up, Voldemort's voice sounding up behind him, "Potter…how dare you…"

"What?" Harry snapped, "Take away your chances at coming back, at gaining eternal life? I was looking forward to meeting you, you know, to learning your name – but I'm just disappointed now! Voldemort! Is it that simple? Flight of Death – you're fleeing the inevitable, some great lord you are! I thought Lord Voldemort would be the most fascinating wizard of them all, but it turns out –"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dodged the curse and continued to rant furiously, "It turns out you're just a crackpot, has-been wizard who lost his mind a long time ago! Bombarda! Reducto!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry narrowly dodged the green light and dove behind one of the pillars in the chamber, reaching into his B3 as he leaned against the stone support, drawing out the charmed knife he had gotten from the house elves – he had altered the vegetable cutting charm so that the knife connected with the closest living thing it was thrown at.

"Potter...Harry..." wheezed Voldemort's high, cold voice, "Come out...now."

Harry barked out a laugh. "Why? So you can kill me easier?"

"Kneel before me and I shall forgive your...impertinence...I will let you live..."

Harry gritted his teeth. "You really think too much of yourself..." Taking a deep breath, he spun around, throwing the knife and darting toward the doorway on the other side of Quirrell.

A steady protego diverted the knife and suddenly, Quirrell's arm snaked out and grabbed Harry's – and as it did, the strangest thing happened; the man's skin began to sizzle and burn, and a sharp pain shot up Harry's hands and into his scar. Quirrell drew back instantly.

"Master, I cannot touch him — my hands — my hands!"

"Get away then, and kill him!" the voice on the back of his head exclaimed.

Memories of the night in the forest sprang into Harry's mind, and he mustered up all the feelings boiling in his chest – anxiety, the fear, the desperation, the hope, the disgust, the thrill of his own magic, his own ability to get out of this – and he lunged forward, latching onto Quirrell's neck, and they both fell to the floor crying out. As Quirrell's face began to burn and shrivel – his eyes growing wide with pain as the skin pealed and the blood instantly dried and hardened, burning up with the quickly blackening and disintegrating skin – the pain in Harry's scar began to pulse violently, and he began to grow dizzy and faint; and the last thing he heard before all went dark were the desperate shrieks of "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" going silent.

---

There we go! Stone's destroyed, Voldemort's gone (for now), and I can stop imposing my own irrational fear of mirrors on poor Harry. All in a day's work (literally).

And now, to finish: if you're happy and you know it and you really want to show it, if you're happy and you know it, click review!