Chapter 7: That Two Faced Snake

Thanks to my beta, darrelldeam, for all his help in making this easier to read for you, my readers. All mistakes are still my own.

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It was the last week of school and the final test had just been taken. Harry and Hermione were talking about said test, when all of a sudden Harry was seized under the arms, lifted up and held flush against a male chest with one arm. His arms beat against the arm holding him and his feet kicked at the legs, but he was only a small boy and it had little effect. He couldn't see who was behind him, but from the look on Hermione's face it was probably either Quirrell or Snape. Next thing he knew, he was being carried down the corridor and up the stairs to the third floor.

"Find Millie or get help!" he yelled to his friend, who seemed frozen with fright. He was struggling against the person holding him. That seemed to snap her out of it, and she ran down the hall yelling at the top of her lungs. The other students in the hall started screaming and some of Harry's friends tried to follow only to be stunned or having to duck spell fire coming their way.

Once his kidnapper got to the top of the stairs, he shoved Harry under one arm and used his wand to create a dark blue barrier on the entrance of the third-floor passageway on the right-hand side. It would take a professor or a really good seventh year to get passed it. The students that had followed could only look on in horror as Harry and his kidnapper disappeared into the room most of them knew contained a three-headed dog. They were kids after all and most of them had taken peeks in the room. That and the rumors about that room had been floating around since the first week.

"You are going to get me that stone for my Master," the kidnapper said, Harry was now sure it was Quirrell, as the voice was not silky like Snape's.

"I won't do anything for your Master," Harry spat back with bravery that he really didn't feel at the moment.

"You will do as you are told, or you will die," the voice said and with that Harry's world when black.

When he woke again it was to Quirrell standing over him with a menacing look upon his face his wand pointed at Harry's chest. "You have been a great disappointment to my Master. He was expecting someone strong to fight, but you are nothing but a pathetic little boy, who keeps out of trouble. If it hadn't been for your mudblood friend, we would have met much sooner. But no, you had to tell her. She and her mates have been hounding my steps since that first quidditch game. I could do nothing, until now." The demented man said, disgust prominent in his voice.

Done with his tirade for the moment, he grabbed Harry's robes and lifted him up and dragged him to a mirror that sat in the middle of the otherwise empty round room. Harry had never seen such an elaborate mirror. It was free standing with gold leaves all around it. There were markings at the top of the mirror that Harry couldn't quite make out. They looked like gibberish.

"Look in the mirror, boy. And tell me what you see," Quirrell demanded, shoving Harry close to the glass.

Harry looked and the first thing he saw was a red-headed woman and a dark-haired man that looked just like him, standing at his shoulders. Behind them were all his friends and people he had never met before. They were all looking at him with proud smiles, then as one they looked behind him, as if they were sentient, and concern showed on their faces. Then with winks and nods of encouragement they disappeared and only Harry was left in the mirror. The mirror Harry winked and put his hand in the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out a ruby red stone. He put the stone back in the pocket and the real Harry felt its weight.

Harry knew that whatever that stone was couldn't be given to Quirrell, so he wished it back into the mirror. The mirror Harry nodded in understanding and pulled the stone back out of his pocket and felt the weight disappear. 'Thank, Merlin, that worked,' he thought with relief and continued to look in the mirror as if, what he figured was his family was still there smiling at him.

"Well, what do you see?" the turban wearing man asked impatiently, shaking Harry out of his trance.

"My family and friends," was the short reply, lying through his teeth. There was no way he was going to tell the truth.

"Useless," Quirrell said, shoving the boy aside. "How does this blasted mirror work?" he mumbled, wringing his hands uselessly.

"Idiot," came a slithering voice said, "the boy lied. He had the stone but put it back. Let me speak to him." the voice seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere.

"Master, are you strong enough. I haven't fed on a unicorn in weeks. Thanks to the centaurs and that blasted giant," Quirrell said nervously, his hands squeezing in fear. His master's displeasure was fierce, and he felt it often.

"Do as I say fool, and don't question me," the voice said, with a great deal of angry authority.

"Yes, Master," he replied and started to unwind his turban. As what seemed like miles of cloth unwound from the head of the DADA professor, a stench filled the air. It smelled like an airtight container that held garbage had just been opened.

Harry gagged at the taste such a rancid smell created. He moved as far away as he could get, edging towards the door.

"Harry Potter, Quirrell was correct in stating that you are a grave disappointment. How could such a pathetic wizard have vanquished me as a mere babe? Do you know who I am, Potter?" the voice said as Quirrell slowly turned. On the back of his head was another face, it was flat and serpent like, with red eyes and slits for a nose.

"Voldemort," the boy said, squinting his eyes at the face. Harry stood to face the man who killed his parents.

"Yessss," the face hissed. "See what I have become? But don't you worry I will rise again, and I will come after you. Nothing can stop me. Now get me that stone from the mirror," Voldemort demanded, not bothering to offer any deals with such a weak wizard.

"I would rather die, thanks," Harry said, bravely holding his ground. He knew he was out matched. Plus, he was wandless, however he would die standing, thanks. He had no idea where his wand was, but it wasn't on his body when he awoke.

"So be it," a vindictive look crossed that horrible face. "Kill him," he ordered Quirrell, making the man turn and start towards the boy.

Harry knew he had to stall for time. He knew Hermione and all the students would have gotten a teacher by now. "Wait!" he cried holding his hands in front of him, as if to ward off a blow, "I'll try and get the stone for you, if you tell me why you killed my parents," he lied, hoping to it worked.

"I don't make deals with children. Seize him and take him to the mirror," Voldemort ordered the ever-confused man.

Quirrell grabbed Harry's hand and immediately dropped it as his own hand burned. "What magic is this?" the man cried out in pain, and he turned his back to the confounded boy.

Harry looked at his red hands and suddenly realized that was the first time the professor had touched his skin. A look of understanding dawned on him, and he didn't even think, he just jumped on the man's back and placed his hands directly on Voldemort's ugly face.

"Burn, arsehole!" he screamed, pressing as hard as he could.

The possessed man screamed out of two mouths. Harry's hands were burning; smoke was coming off the face he held. It started to crumble and fall apart. Soon it was just a body on the floor with the back of it head gone.

A plume of black mist rose from the dead man and Voldemort's face formed out of it and the mist screamed denial and pushed itself directly through the young wizard. And the second time that hour Harry's world went black.

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While Harry was fighting for his life, it seemed the whole school was trying to get past the barrier. Finally, Snape showed and with a few flicks of his wand the barrier was gone. The professors surged forward, only Sprout and Sinistra were left behind to keep the student body from following.

They got to the room with the cerberus and found a charmed harp keeping it asleep. They went down the trap door and easily went through the rest of the trap. Though it was easy for them it still took time, and they were hoping it wasn't too late. When they got to the fire trap, they heard the dual screams and hurried to take the correct potion. When they got to the room all they found was dead body of who they suspected was Quirrell and the unconscious Harry.

Millie and Hermione were at the front of the crowd being held back. They saw Snape emerge from the room carrying Harry and noticed the boy wasn't moving. The potions master was walking as fast as he could.

"Please, Professor, please, tell me he is alive," begged the tearful Hermione as she held tightly to Millie's arm. She had felt so useless, not knowing how to get to her friend. And vowed that she was going to make sure she and Harry would never feel that way again if they could help it.

The dark oily man looked down his long-hooked nose at the scared girl as he stalked past and nodded his head once indicating that the boy was alive at the very least. But he didn't break his stride and was gone in a minute. The two girls followed, and the professors herded the other children into the Great Hall. The two friends sat on the benches outside the hospital wing and waited. They clutched to each other crying and fretting.

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It was several hours later that Harry woke. He was sore and very tired. He grabbed his glasses from the table next to his bed and looked around. He must be in the infirmary, judging from the hospital like set up of the beds around him. The voices he had heard whispering stopped and footsteps were coming his way. He looked up to see Madam Pomfrey and the headmaster coming from the office at the end of the room.

"Ah, Harry, my boy, you are a wake I see," the old man said redundantly.

"Yes, sir," Harry said shyly. Then an overwhelming guilty feeling stole over him. He had killed a man. He was only eleven years old, and a man was dead by his hands. Tears fell down his face and great sobs started.

Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side and held the distraught boy to her chest and comforted him the best she could. She summoned a calming draught and made the child drink. She knew what he was thinking, and she felt bad for the boy. She understood that this was traumatic for him and that he'd need to talk to someone.

Meanwhile, the Headmaster conjured a chair and sat at the boy's side holding the tiny hand in his withered one. Offering what little comfort, he could. Soon enough the sobs stopped and only hiccups were left.

"Oh, child, I am so very sorry that one so young had to experience what you did. The school will be more than happy to pay for any treatment you require to help you through this painful ordeal," Dumbledore offered, knowing that it was within the budget to do so. After all, the child was hurt by a member of his staff.

While he had wanted to test this particular child, he never meant for him to be hurt. His plan was to monitor him and his friends to see if he would fight for them. When nothing happened during the year, he had been disappointed, yet amazed at the goodness the young man showed to all the people he came across. If only he had not listened to the owl stating that he was desperately needed at the Ministry, he would have been here to prevent all of this.

"Why? Why does Voldemort want me dead? Wasn't it enough that he killed my parents? I don't understand, why," Harry asked as the tears dried on his face as the calming draught took effect.

"It is quite a complicated tale, and I will tell you when you are older. Until then, I can only hope you will take the comfort of your friends," Dumbledore said, patting Harry's hand in a consolatory way.

"But, sir, I need to know. He told me I was a disappointment and that I was his enemy. Why? What could I have possibly done to him when this is the second time we have met and the first was when I was just a baby? If you know, please tell me," the poor young man begged, trying to understand.

"I am sorry, child, I promise in a few years I will tell you everything you need to know. For now, put it out of your mind and enjoy your youth. Take it from a man who is quite old, childhood passes before you even know it is gone," the gentle man said, still patting that tiny hand in his. He gave it one more pat and then sat back in his chair.

Sighing in frustration Harry gave up that line of questioning. "Fine, can you tell me what the stone I almost lost my life protecting was?" he asked, wondering if the old man would tell him.

"Ah, that I can answer. That was the Sorcerer's Stone, created by my good friend Nicholas Flamel. It is what had kept him and his wife alive for over 600 years," Dumbledore beamed proudly.

"Oh, are they going to get it back now?" Harry asked, amazed that anyone could live that long.

"Alas, they, and I, have decided that it is time for them to go to their next great adventure. Soon the stone will be destroyed so that no evil will ever try and use it again. The Flamels feel it is time. For them it is as if they were taking a nap after a very long day," the headmaster said softly, hoping to lessen some of the worry Harry seemed to be carrying for people he had never even met.

"Oh," was all that Harry could think to say. It had been quite a stressful day after all.

"I must take my leave now. I understand that besides a little magical exhaustion you are completely healthy. Your wand was retrieved and sits in the drawer next to you. If you need anything else then don't hesitate to ask," Dumbledore said as he got up and vanished the chair and with a wink and a twinkle he left.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, they were thrown open and two very worried girls ran through. A bullet of bushy hair flew to Harry, and he was soon within the grips of a tight hug. Hermione was crying in his shoulder. Millie was sitting on this bed and grabbed his hand in a tight grip, like she was never going to let go. In her other arm she held a leather-bound book.

It took several minutes for the girls to stop crying. Harry wasn't much better, but he had a calming draught in him, so that helped.

"Oh, Harry, we were so worried. When Professor Snape carried you out of that room, I thought you were dead. I felt so useless against Quirrell. We, you and I, are going to study our arses off," Hermione said uncharacteristically cussing. "We are going to make sure we can learn every little bit of magic that can be learned in school and then we are going to get more books and learn more on our free time. Do you hear me? Never, ever again." The poor girl was desperate to make him understand.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'll study right with you. Haven't I done everything you told me this year?" Harry asked, patting her shoulder.

"Well, yes, but we're going to be pushing harder next year. And we're going to make our study group study just as hard," she said firmly.

Millie, who had been quiet up until now, said, "I am only sorry I won't be here to see that, yeah." She finally released Harry's hand and handed him the book. "Hagrid came by and wanted me to give you this. I haven't looked at it," she explained, looking almost lost as to what to say.

Harry opened the book and inside were wizarding photos of a couple. The couple he had seen in the mirror. "Mum, Dad," he said in awe, looking at his parents for the second time. There was a note on the cover that said:

'I wrote ter all yer parents' friends and they sent these ter ya. I had hoped to get it ter ya for Christmas, but it weren't finished. I am happy ter give it ter ye now. Hagrid.'

"That was very sweet of him," Millie said, with a small smile. She was still trying to make her mind understand what had happened to her favorite firstie.

"Yeah, it was," Harry said distractedly, still looking at his parents.

The three settled down for hours just looking at the photos, making up stories about what could be happening in each. Soon giggles filled the air, and it was just the release they needed. It was around dinner time that Madam Pomfrey shooed the girls away, keeping Harry overnight.

When the lights went out and Harry had lain awake for twenty minutes. He looked out the window and said, "Mum, Dad, I know what you look like now. It was too bad it took killing a man and almost dying to find out. But at least I feel that I can relate to you better now. I hope you understand what I had to do today. I know I don't, but Madam Pomfrey said someone will come by the Dursleys' to make sure I have someone to talk to. When I am better and I don't think that you would be disappointed with me, we'll talk more." And with that he turned on his side and soon slipped off to sleep.