Chapter 23

So Close, yet So Far

Albus Dumbledore was indisputably one of the greatest wizards of all time. He could perform incredible feats of magic with just a flick of his wrist. He could converse fluently in over thirty magical languages. He had contributed more to the field of magic than almost anyone in history. But he was not God. He had been defeated in duels before, he had been hoodwinked before – and right now, in this moment, he was terrified at what awaited him.

Dumbledore could not say for sure what he had expected to see when he entered the final chamber, but it was certainly not this – a horribly scarred and disfigured man was attempting to shrug off a small boy who was yanking down on the man's arm, holding on for dear life. The man had angry blisters on his hands and face, as if hot acid had been poured on the poor soul. The chamber reverberated with the boy's terrified wails, the man's dreadful shrieks…and another voice.

There was someone else in the chamber, along with the man and the boy, yelling in a deep raspy voice. The hidden man was issuing a terrible order, but Dumbledore could not sense where he was standing.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" the evil voice commanded, over and over again.

Paralyzing fear spiked through Dumbledore, but time waited for no man – he had to act…now. The Headmaster sprinted towards the odd looking couple – a frightened little boy and a disfigured man. He wrenched Quirrell's arm from Harry's grasp, spun Quirrell around and flung him away. Quirrell skidded along the ground, his blistering skin ripped asunder by the stone floor. He slammed into the Mirror of Erised, shattering the shiny glass into a million pieces. A line of blood now graced the floor, a red river formed among the stones tiles.

Dumbledore looked down at the unconscious boy – "Harry! Are you alright? Harry!"

He tried to shake the boy awake, but it was of no use. Whether from pain or shock – or a combination of both – the brave lad had passed out. Dumbledore scooped up the limp Harry and walked towards the chamber exit, but unnatural, animalistic laughing stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Leaving so soon?"

Dumbledore sensed the imminent threat and spun away – a curse flew right by him and slammed into the stone wall, scattering bits of rock. Dumbledore shielded the limp body of Harry from the ricocheting debris and then placed the boy gently down on the ground, waving his wand to create a shimmering magical barrier in front of Harry.

Quirrell slowly go to his feet, wand still pointed towards Dumbledore.

"Give me the stone Dumbledore…or the child will suffer."

Quirrell's lips didn't move, and yet the voice seemed to emanate from him, or rather, from within him. Dumbledore's eyes darted around the room. He could sense the dark magic floating in the air, had realized the true owner of the raspy voice, but could not understand where Riddle was hiding.

"Come now Tom, we both know I cannot do that. Why don't you show yourself and we can have a nice talk."

"But I'm not hiding Dumbledore…"

Dumbledore stared hard at the pathetic figure drunkenly swaying before him. What remained of Quirrell was now just a broken shell of the man who had joined the Hogwarts family so many years ago. His face was pockmarked with burns and raw blisters, his hands were red and black with charred skin. His robes were tattered and torn, blood and dirt streaked his body. Quirrell slowly turned around and Dumbledore sucked in a quick intake of breath. Dear God!

A face peered out from the back of Quirrell's head. It was a gleaming white face, seemingly made of translucent wax. Its pupils had a menacing air about them – no eyebrows, deep crimson red, full of hatred and malice. The face had slits for nostrils and a thin lipless mouth. It looked part serpent, part man and pure hate. Immortality had a price.

There was a sickening crunch and Quirrell's body began to transform. His shoulders popped out from their sockets and rotated around. His hips cracked and forced his legs to turn around. Quirrell's skeletal frame had become abhorrently distorted – now Riddle's face, arms and legs faced Dumbledore, with Quirrell's face and chest constituting the "back" of this body.

Riddle had gruesomely performed the transformation without any fore warning. The terrible screams of pain that shot forth from Quirrell moved Dumbledore to tears. The naïve and gullible professor had experienced a lifetime of pain in the last few minutes – death would be a welcome respite.

Dumbledore and Riddle stood silent for a moment, their wands hanging loosely by their sides, staring at each other. A composed wizard and a mutilated zombie – a twisted Mexican standoff.

"Does your depravity know no bounds Tom?"

"Do not…use that…name!"

Quirrell's body may have appeared perverse and destroyed, but Riddle remained a powerful dark wizard. He could perform remarkable feats of magic, no matter what vessel he was forced to use. Riddle swung his wand forward and out shot a silver blade, spinning perilously towards Dumbledore.

Dumbledore crouched low and easily knocked the blade aside with his wand and he watched it flutter harmlessly to the ground. When he stood back up, Riddle had vanished. Only the broken mirror, its glass shards littering the ground, remained in front of him. A shocked gasp caused Dumbledore to spin around, wand at the ready.

Snape had stumbled into the chamber, appearing as though he had just survived a fiery crucible.

"Are you okay sir? Is the stone safe?"

Dumbledore held a finger to his lips and tuned back towards the empty chamber, eyes darting around in worry. Where was he?

The Headmaster pointed behind him, towards the prone body of Harry, as he began to walk slowly towards the broken mirror. Snape limped over to Harry, waving his wand over the child to check him for injuries. Dumbledore stopped a few feet from the shattered mirror, quietly waiting – the only sound echoing within the chamber was Snape's labored breathing.

"Sir? The boy needs medical attention."

"Take him and leave. Now."

"Sir…what are you looking for? Do you need my –"

"Leave now Severus. You have already disobeyed me once today."

Snape struggled to pick up the small boy, the journey here had sapped him of his wiry strength. He finally bundled up Harry onto his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the exit.

Dumbledore continued to patiently stare at the shattered mirror – he had all the time in the world. He slowly closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. The air shifted ever so slightly around him, a cold shiver ran along his spine.

Suddenly, the Headmaster shot a hand straight out and grabbed at something invisible right in front of him. The air quivered and rippled – now at the end of Dumbledore's outstretched hand was a scalded throat. The rest of Riddle's battered body slowly appeared before Dumbledore – Riddle struggled to escape the vice like grip, his invisibility spell now melted away. Dumbledore began to raise Riddle up by his throat, his long white beard belying his hidden strength.

Riddle squirmed within the Headmaster's grasp, struggling to slip away. He reached up and stabbed his wand through Dumbledore's arm, causing the vice like grip on his throat to loosen. He twisted away, landing hard on his awkward, ungainly feet – his wand now covered with Dumbledore's blood. Riddle screamed "Stupefy!" and a red jet shot forth from this wand. Dumbledore deftly stepped aside, cradling his injured arm close to his chest.

The hair on Snape's neck stood up in shock at the angry curse…that voice…he had heard it before. Snape began to turn around, fearful yet curious. But when he looked towards the yell all he saw was a dizzying red. The stunning spell smashed into Snape's face, breaking his jaw and sending him flying backwards. His body gave a nauseating thud against the stone wall and he slumped to the floor. Harry fell from his arms and skidded across the floor, unmoving.

Riddle pointed his wand at the broken mirror shards lying on the floor and swung his arm towards the ceiling. The shards began swirling around and up, faster and faster, like a whirling glass dust devil. Pieces then shot out from the swirling mass, small deadly missiles looking to pierce. Dumbledore spun on the spot and, impossibly, the glass shards missed him, all slamming into the far stone wall. Snape and Harry prone bodies were showered with broken glass.

Dumbledore stopped spinning, with only a few telltale scrapes along his chin. Riddle let out a furious scream, frustration shaking him.

"Come on! Attack me you coward!"

Riddle's face was twisted in a dark rage; his blistering skin was weeping blood, giving him an even uglier veneer. He waved his hand back and forth and his wand turned into a one-handed flail – a wooden shaft with a chain on the end, and at the end of the chain lay a spiked metal ball. Riddle's frustration mounted – a seething rage enveloped him as his gaze flickered from Dumbledore to Harry's pocket.

"Enough of this! Give me the stone!" Voldemort screamed. He twisted the flail over his head, a psychotic gladiator advancing on his opponent.

Dumbledore put his wand to his left hip and then raised it, as if removing a sword from its sheath. And amazingly he was now holding a long broadsword. It was crafted from pure silver, shining rubies set along its hilt – a stunning achievement in goblin metallurgy, truly one of a kind.

Voldemort exerted all of the power remaining in Quirrell's maimed body as he violently swung the flail down onto his nemesis. Dumbledore raised Gryffindor's sword above his head and knocked away the spiked ball. Riddle stumbled backwards, his ungainly body looking like a grotesque puzzle. He whipped the flail around again and swung it once more at Dumbledore's head. Dumbledore again raised the sword to parry the blow, but this time he misjudged.

The spiked ball glanced off the sword and grazed Dumbledore's head, while the long metal chain wrapped around the sword. For a brief moment the two great wizards were locked in a bizarre tug of war, the flail tightly wrapped around the sword like an angry python.

"It's over Tom."

Godric Gryffindor's sword glowed bright red and burst into flames. The flail caught fire and burned brightly for a few seconds, and then exploded into ashes. All that remained in Voldemort's hand was Quirrell's splintered wand, a deep fracture now running down its middle. Voldemort's angry breathing become more and more labored, his life force slowly draining away.

Riddle's eyes shone with hate as his arm dropped to his side, the broken wand slipping from his grasp and onto the ground.

"Don't you understand? You old fool, you shall never kill me…"

A white mist began to rise from Quirrell's body, hot steam floating away on a cool day. Dumbledore watched the mist rise higher and higher, and drift away through crevasses in the stone ceiling. Any trace that Tom Riddle had come back had vanished away; the snake had once again shed its skin.

Dumbledore looked down with pity at Quirrell's burnt, splintered body – no one deserved such a cruel end. Tom Riddle had been feeding on the weak and naïve since his days in the orphanage. Quirrell was not the first victim to fall prey to Riddle's manipulations…and he would not be the last. Dumbledore reached down and turned the backwards body over on itself. Quirrell's blistered face stared back at him, etched in the agony of death. Dumbledore passed his hand over the ruined face, closing Quirrell's eyes for the last time.

"Yes Tom, you're right…"

Dumbledore turned to glance at Snape's limp body…and then shifted his gaze to the unconscious Harry. So different…yet so alike. These two would never know, never realize how closely their destinies were intertwined. I wonder what the three of us could accomplish together if…

Dumbledore shook the thought from his mind and walked over to Harry. He stared down at the young, innocent face. Unblemished, save for a curious looking lightening shaped scar on the forehead.

How could someone so young – who had been mistreated his entire life, had never known the warmth and comfort of a loving home – how was this little boy able to summon such ferocious courage and loyalty?

"…you will not fall by my hand."

The Great Hall shook with thunderous applause. Loud cheers were coming from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, but the fiercest shouts emanated from the rowdy Gryffindor table. The Slytherins was frozen in silence – some in shock, others with indignant anger. Above the hall swung emerald green banners with silver trim, a large serpent head adorning each one. With a loud clap from the Head Table the green hangings became scarlet and the silver trim transformed into gold, the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

Snape shook McGonagall's hand with a horrible, forced smile. Smug bitch – she ran off to the hospital wing while I got my teeth kicked in. No one would ever know my actions, yet the entire school was somehow fully aware of Harry and his friends' reckless behavior. Slytherin House had reigned supreme over Hogwarts seven years running, and now Potter's evil spawn had shattered the Slytherin streak in stunning fashion.

Snape knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous of the attention the three young students were receiving, but alas, he was. He shot a frustrated glance at Dumbledore. I suppose my actions didn't warrant additional points for Slytherin?! Forever banished, I will always languish in the background.

Snape quietly rose from his seat and snuck out of the Great Hall. He was setting a terrible example for his house, but he didn't care. I'll be damned if I have to sit through that farce of a ceremony, awarding the cup to those who did not rightly deserve it.

Snape slowly walked through the empty castle, alone with his thoughts; he eventually ended up at the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was always quiet up there and the view was truly stunning but, truth be told, Snape loved the spot because it had been one of Lily's favorite haunts. After their fight, he would always come up here, desperately hoping she would come one night…he still felt close to her when he was up there.

"Does it hurt?"

Snape jumped in shock at Dumbledore's voice. Could this bloody man now read minds? How could he know my heart was aching for Lily at this very moment? How can he know I'm stinging with loneliness, with deep regret?

"What?"

"Your face, is it feeling better? Your jaw seems to be mending well."

Snape rubbed his chin, he could still feel the spot where the stunning spell hit and broke his jaw apart. Dark magic always proved difficult to fully heal.

"Madam Pomfrey is adept at her job."

"And she told me about the potion you spent hours brewing for Harry and his classmates. I appreciate that Severus. Truly I do."

Snape turned back towards the open view, watched students milling about the front courtyard, carefree and happy.

"Do you really Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "Sore over the house cup? Come now Severus, they showed true courage for their age."

"And me?"

"You? I'm not surprised when a great wizard exhibits courage. I expect great things from you Severus. Living up to your potential should be reward enough."

"What happened down there?"

Dumbledore walked over to the open terrace, stood right next to Snape and peered over the railing, "I will never tire of this view. Tell me Severus, have you made any travel plans for the summer?"

"Quirrell was not alone. Who else was in that chamber? Who really stunned me?"

"Please tell me you're not planning to spend another summer break brooding in the Hogwarts' dungeons. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt."

"I heard a voice from long ago…" Snape turned his steely gaze to Dumbledore. "…but I must have misheard. It's impossible…"

"Because it's not healthy, Severus, being cooped up inside the castle all the time. I think it's high time you saw more of the world."

"Who was the real thief Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a small object. It sparkled brightly in the sunlight, an amethyst shining a deep purple-red.

"And while you're away this summer, please do me one favor." Dumbledore tossed the stone to Snape. "Destroy this for me."