Part Three: Futureless

Quirrell's Counsel

Harry awakened in the dim light of nighttime, lying facedown on top of his blankets. He could feel dried tears on his face.

He turned over, sat up. The lakewater moved slowly overhead, dimly lit by the silver and green globes that drifted near the ceiling.

He felt better now, if only a little bit, his tears expended and his despair quieted by distance and rest. Still, the spectral weight of Lord Voldemort and Harry's prophesied destiny pressed heavily against him.

Why me?

No, he told himself. It doesn't matter why. At this point, the only way forward is to accept and adapt. He didn't want to be weak, well, now he just had a higher bar to aim for. Top duelist by second year's end? Not good enough. He needed a new plan, so he'd be able to out-fight Lord Voldemort and his armies by the time he graduated.

Too much, too overwhelming. Break it down, make it manageable.

He was already learning magic itself as fast as he could. He studied, did his homework, practiced with Pansy and with Quirrell. Unless he completely abandoned any pretense of friendship with his housemates, that part he couldn't accelerate any more at present.

Mental preparation, though, that could be done at any time. In theory.

Harry stood, held his wand in front of himself. It pulsed warmly beneath his fingers, asking. Waiting.

"I will not sit by," Harry said quietly. "I will fight to protect myself, and I will not be weak."

The wand didn't change, and he sighed and put it away. He'd gotten sidetracked, hadn't ended up asking Dumbledore about wandlore again. Once the topic of his eventual showdown with Lord Voldemort had come up, any other thoughts had been lost. He'd hoped that perhaps the wand had only wanted his resolve, or to accept this destiny.

Apparently not.

Harry collected his pajamas with slow methodical steps. He had no energy left to make actual effort, didn't want to think, didn't want to move, but knew he had to follow his routine now if he wanted to get back to sleep properly.

He washed his face in cold water, the coolness refreshing but not enough to wake him from his daze. He finished in the bathroom and returned to his bed, crawled under the covers and lay there for a long time before finally slipping into sleep.

"Are you alright?" Pansy asked when Harry joined her in the common room the following morning. He was still tired, having slept little and poorly, but was too worried about sleeping through his meeting with Quirrell to try resting longer.

He realized in that moment that he had to decide whether to tell her the truth or keep this a secret from her. And as much as he wanted to pour his heart out and trust her to be able to help him through it, he had heard too many times that a secret once told could never be recalled. And he was a Slytherin, as was she.

"I didn't sleep well," Harry said. Truth. And deception. "I'm really tired, but I have a meeting."

Pansy's expression flattened, her quiet disapproval echoing clearly. She didn't say anything, having long since resigned to the fact that Harry would continue meeting 'that useless Ravenclaw professor' whatever she said, but despite everything he'd told her she maintained that he was just a useless suck-up and would be of no great help for anything.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you," she said cuttingly. "Perhaps you'll have time to talk to me afterward."

"I have time now," Harry snapped, his temper less well controlled than usual. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do I have to have something specific?" Pansy asked.

Harry shrugged. "You looked like you did. You jumped up when you saw me, and you don't often do that unless you have news. Something about Sadie, I suppose?"

Pansy waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. It's Reiko, I think she might be meeting someone in secret."

"Reiko?" Harry asked blankly.

"She's one of my roommates. But she wasn't in last night until way after curfew. I asked where she was and she wouldn't answer. And I thought I saw her creeping about with someone when we were in the forest, but I couldn't be sure it was her."

"The forest?" Harry asked, his curiosity finally becoming foremost.

"Yes, for my detention, remember? We were going to help reinforce the acromantula repelling charms farther out, and let me tell you whoever put those up was clearly a complete amateur. Even I know what a proper protection charm feels like. I wonder if they always have students do it." Pansy pursed her lips, then blinked and shrugged. "Anyway, I was telling you about Reiko. She's in our year, so a bit young to be sneaking out with a boy or something, but no one else came in that late. So it must have been someone from a different house. Can you imagine?"

Harry nodded, then shrugged. Pansy had a whole separate page devoted to relationships outside of Slytherin house, alliances and family members and all. Once he was stronger, once he knew enough about how the wizard world operated, once he would be a valuable ally instead of a weak one, he would learn all her charts and pay attention to all her news. But for the present, his attention was fully occupied with familiarizing himself with magic.

"She always seemed so closed and personal," Pansy continued. "I wonder if this is something I should look into more. She's in our year, too."

"You mentioned that," Harry said. He was feeling slightly more awake now, less fuzzy and unsure. Pansy's continuing ramble brought him into a more normal mindset, brought him away from the dark and confusion of the night before. It felt more distant, now, still a weight on the back of his mind but no longer a pressing immediate uncertainty.

Lord Voldemort was out there somewhere. He would deal with that one day. For now, though, he didn't need to think about it.

He sat in the deserted common room as morning began to show faintly in the lake overhead, listening to Pansy and occasionally interjecting his own thoughts when they seemed relevant. Then he checked his watch and found it was nearly time that he should be going to meet Quirrell. He waited until he could slip a word in, bade Pansy farewell, ignoring her affected pout, and set off toward the Defence professor's office.

Due to the rearranged layout of the castle, Quirrell's office had ended up two floors away from his classroom, but the two rooms still opened onto each other. This made for a convenient shortcut up, since the Defence classroom itself was now two floors nearer to the dungeons than the office.

Harry reached the Defence classroom without incident, knocked on the connecting door. The door opened, revealing Quirrell sitting at his desk as usual, his yew wand in hand.

"Is everything alright, Harry?" he asked, as Harry moved mechanically over to sit down.

"I don't know," Harry replied wearily, all the weight of the night before coming seeping back. "I was talking to Dumbledore last night."

Quirrell drew in a slow breath. "Dumbledore," he said quietly, "tends to consider things from a particularly unique perspective."

"You call him Watcher, adversary. You seem almost afraid of him. Why?"

Quirrell chuckled softly. "He is a terrifying man. You have heard of his duel with Grindelwald by now, of course? The man wielding the Wand of Destiny, the greatest duelist of his age, and Dumbledore fought him to a draw and then defeated him."

Harry nodded. "It said something like that on the chocolate frog card. He called Lord Voldemort his 'great enemy' though, I guess Grindelwald wasn't as terrible."

Quirrell seemed strangely pleased by this. "Oh, Grindelwald was terrible, but Lord Voldemort was a different sort altogether. He didn't have the same inhibitions as his predecessor, and he was a spellcrafter of unparalleled creativity. Half the spells he and his followers used were created by him alone, or in concert with his highest lieutenants."

"So no one could block them or undo what he did?" Harry asked.

Quirrell nodded. "Exactly correct. His Dark Mark, projections into the skies and the darkness burned into men's souls, brought terror unlike anything the wizarding world had faced before. His dire legions were not only formidable fighters, but also political leaders or wealthy and influential nobles. So many flocked to his call, it seemed a surety that the world would be his."

Quirrell had been staring into the distance, an odd unreadable expression on his face as he reminisced, but then his eyes flicked directly to Harry's. He gave the faintest shadow of a smile.

"Until, that is, his path crossed yours."

Harry nodded distractedly. He'd heard about Lord Voldemort's attempts to conquer the wizard world before, but now it felt so much more real and deep. Knowing that the Dark Lord remained alive and out there somewhere made the imagined horror of the past loom darker in Harry's mind.

Quirrell raised his eyebrows slightly. "You saved the world, you know. You can be proud of that, even if you don't remember doing it."

"I don't have any idea what I did," Harry said quietly. "Why should I be proud of that? It's an advantage I will use when the occasion calls for it, but I see no reason for pride in it as an accomplishment."

"That is not the answer you would have given a month ago," Quirrell said slowly. "What is different now, young Harry?"

Harry hesitated, but he really had no one else to trust. He was still unsure what to think about Dumbledore, and he felt oddly protective towards Pansy.

"Dumbledore told me that Lord Voldemort is still alive somewhere," Harry said quietly. "And that I'm the only one who has the chance at stopping him. There was a prophecy, I guess."

Quirrell's eyes narrowed in surprise. "You're sure he didn't mean stopping him in the past? Prophecies have a way of fulfilling themselves in ways no one expects."

"I don't know, professor. He said that I would have the power to subdue Lord Voldemort, that our destinies had been mixed up together by his failure to kill me. Something like that. It's funny, he seemed to be worried that I'd end up joining the Dark Lord or something, even knowing he killed my parents."

Quirrell chuckled at that. "I doubt Lord Voldemort would be such a fool as to attempt to recruit you openly. And I assure you, this castle is well protected against any who bear his mark or would seek to follow his will against you. The defences of Hogwarts are nigh impregnable. Even at the height of the last war, Lord Voldemort never assaulted the school, knowing it to be beyond even his considerable ability."

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said the same thing. That I shouldn't worry about my safety, until I come of age I'm not in danger."

"Yes, your relatives' house was warded against visitors as well, keeping any with magic away without specific permission from your Watcher." The professor's voice sounded bitter.

"It's alright, I understand," Harry said. "I'm sure he wasn't intending to prevent you visiting me, he didn't know."

Quirrell looked at him sharply. "You presume to comprehend the desires and goals of Albus Dumbledore, you who have spoken to him but once or twice?"

"Well, I mean, it just doesn't seem as though. . ." Harry said, fumbling over his words. "He doesn't seem the type, does he?"

Quirrell gave a single sharp laugh. "You would do well to discard any notions of Albus Dumbledore being at all like what he seems. This is the man who all but singlehanded fended off two very different Dark Lords, each the greatest of their time. Do you think it coincidence? Do you think it madness? No. Whatever they may say, whatever he may strive to appear as, Dumbledore is not mad and he is not a fool. It is best to consider everything he does as calculated precisely to cause the exact effects that it proves to do."

"Isn't that giving him a bit too much credit, though?" Harry asked. "He can't know everything, so he'll be wrong sometimes. Won't he?"

"It is generally safer to overestimate an opponent than to underestimate them," Quirrell replied.

"But, I don't see why you have to be opponents," Harry pressed. "He's a hero, isn't he? He resisted Dark Lords, what did he ever do to you?"

"Have you forgotten so quickly what he did to you?" Quirrell countered, his voice quiet but firm. "Have you forgotten that he sealed you at your vile muggle relatives' home, prevented you from the escape that could so easily be offered by any wizarding family? And why, to protect you from this alleged threat of Lord Voldemort's 'return'?"

"You don't believe in it?" Harry asked.

"Why should we? There have always been those who claimed Lord Voldemort hadn't truly died, most of them his devoted followers. But the years have passed without a sign of the Dark Lord, why should anyone expect him to have survived so long and never even tried to return? Lord Voldemort was never known for his patience. Were I in your place, I'd be asking myself what changed when Dumbledore shared this story and how those changes benefit him."

Harry glanced down at the ring Professor Quirrell wore on his left hand. It glinted in the candlelight, sparkling green facets set in heavy gold. He was again struck by the oddly strong desire to hold it himself, to turn it over and examine it from every angle.

"You know what he was trying to do to you, of course."

Harry shook his head.

"He wanted you to be his sacrifice. To give up your own life to save theirs, manipulate your entire growth to create this in you. Without so much as a choice. Do you want to die for them?"

Harry considered a long moment, shaking his head slowly while he thought. "I don't," he said at last, "but I think if I hadn't met you, I might have. What was my life before worth living for?"

Professor Quirrell sat very still, his serious expression frozen on his face.

"What?" Harry whispered.

"Nothing? Before I found you, you had nothing worth living for? No ambitions, no goals?"

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable. "I got by. I survived. But given the chance to die in a way that seemed noble and not just a more drastic method of running away and hiding from my problems? I'd have taken it."

"But no longer?" Professor Quirrell asked.

Harry shook his head. "Setting aside the last couple days, I've never been happier. I'm confused half the time and people still don't make any sense to me, but I know I can live and matter to someone and have them matter to me. You, Pansy, even Draco."

Professor Quirrell chuckled a little at that. "Yes, young Mr. Malfoy is something of a trial. He's far too aware of his own ability and status, and insufficiently subtle to exploit it correctly without alienating half the students. He wouldn't be my first choice."

"Nor mine, but he is tolerable."

"I'm glad you find it so. You are in the same year after all, it wouldn't do to have schisms forming so soon."

Harry wondered if he knew just how divided the house had been during their first months, before Draco had been able to confidently assert his dominance over all but Harry and Pansy, who sat out in a bubble of 'odd, but capable' much like Blaise Zabini.

But hadn't Professor Quirrell been a Ravenclaw? And Harry had never seen him in or near the Slytherin common room.

He probably didn't know.

"You still never said why you consider Dumbledore as an adversary," Harry said quietly.

"It is not safe to speak of such things openly," Professor Quirrell hissed.

It took Harry a moment to switch mentally to parseltongue, it didn't come quite as easily when he didn't have a snake in front of him to talk to. "Why?" Harry asked. "I don't understand."

"I do not believe he would consider me an enemy, not at all. But in his desire to work for the 'greater good' he does tend to make decisions which are unpleasant for those involved. I have never been particularly eager to be one of his tools, and I fear that in my current position the inclination will be stronger to, ah, 'use me up' as it were. After all, by accepting the Defence professorship I have declared that I forfeit any need or desire to remain longer than the rest of the school year."

"You're just afraid of him, then? Not actually enemies, just worried about what he might ask you to do?"

Professor Quirrell laughed, an oddly hissing sound in parseltongue which Harry was unused to hearing from another wizard. "You could say that. I would have said I'm concerned for my future given our respective positions on various matters. But I do fear that the tasks the headmaster has set to me this year may not end happily for any involved. Bringing in a dragon was particularly foolhardy, though I must admit my own assistance was instrumental to the effort." He gave a wry smile.

"I still don't really understand," Harry repeated.

"I strongly oppose his actions specifically regarding you, and I can think of no reason he could give which would satisfy my objections. But on the whole, if we disagree, if I choose to take offence at certain of the Headmaster's decisions and consider him in a less than friendly light, it need not be taken as more than that."

Harry couldn't honestly say he understood even now, but he had more important things to worry about. It wouldn't help to press the issue. It didn't really matter, after all, how Dumbledore and Professor Quirrell considered each other.

"Acting on the assumption that Lord Voldemort might someday return, can you help me learn magic that might take him off guard? Anything that could surprise him or give me an advantage? Or at least help me be strong enough to take on his followers when they come after me."

"Why would they seek to harm you, after so long?" Quirrell asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But if it's a threat, I should be ready for it. Right?"

Quirrell nodded. "I'm afraid there isn't much more I can teach you. The regimen I have you following is already fairly extreme for a first year student, your magic is not fully developed yet and you haven't obtained a solid grounding in the basics of spellcasting. Until your third or fourth year, I'd say, you'll be quite limited regardless of how much you study or practice."

"Oh," Harry said, disappointed. "What about spellcrafting? Is there a club or something I could join?"

"I know of no official spellcraft club. I would suggest you speak to the Potions master, your head of house was quite the duelist during the war and came up with a few spells of his own."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, professor. I'll talk to him."

"Now, again. Your incendio is coming along well, but your aguamenti is not keeping pace. It wouldn't do to set things alight without the ability to then extinguish them afterwards."

Harry knew his professor wanted to distract him from the thoughts about Headmaster Dumbledore's plans for him, and he was perfectly willing to be distracted. He cast aguamenti a dozen more times, with varying degrees of success, before Professor Quirrell regretfully dismissed Harry.

"Keep practicing," Professor Quirrell insisted, as he did every time. "And try not to get too distracted by Quidditch!"

He needn't have worried. After the tidal shift of recent days, quidditch was the last thing on Harry's mind.