Dora grinned at Harry's latest letter. Half of the letter was spent talking about how Hermione had gone mad and was determined to make them study to death and how the teachers seemed to be of the same opinion and were determined to work them to death.
She was going to enjoy saving this letter for four and then six years down the line when he was doing work for his OWLs and NEWTs to show him just how good he'd actually had it as a little firstie. Though, if Hermione was freaking out this much for her end of year exams as a first year, Dora could only imagine how much worse she would be for her OWLs and NEWTs. It almost made Dora shudder thinking of it. Even her most studious of friends had never been that bad. Then again, she didn't have to deal with it . . . Harry did, which made her laugh.
Her grin faded slightly seeing the predictable update on his worry about the Philosopher's Stone and whether Quirrell would hold out against Snape, though he had this time included how he'd somehow managed to figure out that each of the major Professors and Dumbledore himself had added protections for the Stone.
Her grin returned and widened, and she felt a little awe reading the rest of his letter. Harry really did make all her years at Hogwarts seem extremely tame in comparison. She certainly had never ran into a cerberus, attempted to investigate or prevent a theft, fought a troll, or now most recently, smuggled a bloody dragon egg away. The kid and his friends were really just breaking rules left and right, and this time they were even breaking the law. It was honestly quite impressive, especially since he hadn't even made it out of his first year yet.
It was certainly on par for Hagrid to try and get a dragon as a pet. That man really had no sense when it came to magical creatures, especially the dangerous ones. Still, it was part of his charm. She wanted to shake her head, reading about how they had spent a week worried and trying to help tend to the baby dragon, knowing that Malfoy of all people could report them.
She frowned sadly reading about how Harry's popularity had fallen greatly in his House since McGonagall had apparently been very harsh in her punishments to him and Hermione when they were caught out of their beds, though she had to thank Merlin that they hadn't actually been caught with a baby dragon. That might have actually gotten him expelled. Still, she knew he was in for a rough time especially since he couldn't explain why they had been out after curfew.
She had lost her fair share of points as a student, and she knew that Housemates sometimes took the loss of points quite personally. Eventually, they'd move on, but only if Harry kept his head down and found ways to earn some points back. A hundred and fifty points in a night from a few first years, which had cost Gryffindor the lead, was certainly going to make people angry. At least Malfoy had gotten detention with them and lost a ton of points for Slytherin. Still, she suspected the tone of his letters would feel rather dejected for the rest of the term.
She did sigh in relief seeing that his Quidditch team had been rather harsh with him too at first, before finally, it seemed the three chasers at least had cornered him and demanded a real answer for what happened, and poor guilt-ridden Harry had told them everything. To his shock, they forgave him for his transactions and agreed it was worth it, and were some of the only people in the House treating him nicely.
Maybe it would help him open up more? He was rather closed off with those outside of his little circle.
She sighed looking away from his letter and turning back to the books in front of her. It was time to get back to studying law. With it being halfway through May, she had only a month and a half more before she had to take her assessments in law, history, advanced defensive magic, occlumency, legilimency and dueling. She felt ready, but she knew the assessments were held to high standards. She wasn't likely to be removed from the program, but it looked really bad to fail any of the initial assessments. It was time for her to get back to the books.
**HP**
Harry crept through the forest with Malfoy, a bit nervous as they searched for a wounded unicorn or possibly even what had managed to injure the unicorn they were searching for or killed a few others previously.
He really disliked that he was with Malfoy for this, but Malfoy had already played a trick on Neville, which caused his fellow Gryffindor to panic and shoot off sparks, causing a ruckus, which they really were trying to avoid, so now Malfoy and Harry were paired together. He didn't trust Malfoy to have his back, and something in this forest was making him very nervous.
Granted, it was night, and thanks to Harry's studies, this was probably the best time for him to possibly run into a problem, since he had a distinct advantage in the dark, but he still felt nervous. Something evil was in this forest. He could feel it.
They'd been walking for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, when Harry noticed the blood splashes they were following seemed to be getting thicker. Harry looked ahead, seeing a clearing.
"Look -" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.
It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly white on the dark leaves.
Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered. . . . Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.
"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"
Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted—so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry—unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry—he couldn't move for fear.
Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure.
The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white blond hair and a palomino body.
Harry could only feel a bit ashamed at how fear had frozen, and feel a sense of worry and yet fierce determination as Firenze, the Centaur who'd saved him had informed him how he'd just had a run-in with Voldemort, who was killing unicorns to try and keep his strength until he was able to steal the Sorcerer's Stone.
Ron and Hermione had both seemed a bit panicked by Harry's rant about Voldemort (Ron more freaking out that Harry kept saying the name), and both had at least tried to reason with him that as long as Dumbledore was around, the stone was safe. Harry at least could agree with them there, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried. It was both comforting and worrying when he found his Invisibility Cloak waiting for him in his bed, with a note that said, 'Just in case.' It seemed to him a poor omen for what was to come.
**HP**
Dora had never truly thought that getting Harry back into her life would bring so much freaking worry, but right now she was extremely worried. While she really wanted to think that Harry was imagining things or over exaggerating, she really didn't think he was. He'd been sure someone was trying to steal the Stone, Moody thought Dumbledore was setting a trap, and now a Centaur was telling Harry that Voldemort was in the forest. Dora knew that Centaurs were the greatest at Divination and if they were telling him something definitive, it needed to be listened to.
"Mad-Eye," Dora said, walking into his office at the end of the day. "We need to talk."
"Now what has Potter gotten himself involved in?" Mad-Eye grumbled at her and she gaped at him in surprise. "What? He's the only one of you two that seems to be getting into any investigative trouble, and he's the only thing that puts you off balance. He's your blindspot."
Dora scowled. "Maybe he is, but I don't regret having my family again."
Moody grinned. "I'm not harping on you, lass, I'm just trying to make sure you're aware. He's your weakness. Now, what has Potter gotten himself into now?"
Dora sighed and handed her newest letter to him. Moody perused it, his scowl growing after each line.
"I told you that Dumbledore was looking to trap someone, though I didn't think he was going for Voldemort himself," Moody said, before he laughed darkly. "It's nice to know that piece of scum is so desperate that he needs unicorn blood to sustain him. That curse will only make things worse for him. As long as Dumbledore is at Hogwarts, Potter needs to stay out of the way. Tell him to watch his back. If there's anyone who wants to settle a score with Potter, it's Voldemort."
"Mad-Eye, that's great advice and all, but it's obvious Harry isn't backing down, and I was more hoping you'd tell me you were going to Robards or Bones or something to get the Aurors involved," Dora said. "Why are we letting Dumbledore set a trap for You-Know-Who of all people without Auror support?"
"Lass, set your emotions aside and think clearly," Moody scolded. "Most of our world either believes Voldemort is dead or they believe he's so weakened that he'll never be seen again. Nobody, and I mean nobody, in the Ministry wants to even entertain setting up a trap for Voldemort because it implies he's around and strong enough to catch."
"So, only Dumbledore is really looking for Vo-Voldemort?" Dora said, stumbling slightly over the name, but if Moody could say it, then so could she.
"Technically, we still have Aurors looking for him," Moody said with a shrug, "but everyone on the Force knows that they are to devote no time to actually looking for him and to only mention him if they can prove he is dead or captured, which is hard to do when you don't look for him."
"So there's nothing I can do?" Dora asked, disbelieving and rather disheartened.
"Realistically? No," Moody said flatly. "Tell Potter to watch his back and stay out of Dumbledore's schemes. Unless you want to tail Potter until the end of the school year and quit your job."
Dora contemplated it for a moment when she saw Moody scowl.
"Doing that won't achieve anything," Moody scolded again. "You don't even know if Voldemort will go for the Stone while Potter's still at the school. You won't be able to tail Potter without the teacher's knowing and they'll kick you out, and lastly, you're no match for Voldemort. Not yet. Tell Potter to watch his back and keep learning how to be the best auror you can. That is all you can do for Potter."
Dora sighed, unhappy with Moody's advice, and she hoped that Harry would be okay.
**HP**
Hermione handed him the bottle that would get him through the purple flames and into the last room.
The past week had been nerve racking as Harry took his final exams while worrying about the Stone and Voldemort. It didn't help that he felt his scar hurting all day which he took as a warning, but he didn't know what the warning was about and it annoyed him.
Dora's letter had just repeated about him avoiding the Stone and Voldemort and watching his back. He could tell Dora didn't like her advice anymore than he did, but he could sense her worry through her writing, and he did feel bad about that.
Regardless, things had come to a head after finals when Harry realized something that had been bothering him. He'd realized that Hagrid had been tricked into revealing how to get past Fluffy the night he got Norbert's egg. When he, Hermione, and Ron had gone looking for Dumbledore, they'd been intercepted by McGonagall who told them that Dumbledore was gone. McGonagall had then been shocked by their revealing of their knowledge of the Stone, but she had then shot down their theories and told them to ignore the Stone.
So, Harry had done the only thing he thought he could. He decided to go for it himself.
Naturally, he hadn't counted on Ron and Hermione deciding to come as well, but it had been good they did. After regrettably leaving Neville body-bound in Gryffindor Tower, they made their way to Fluffy's corridor and found the great beast already charmed to sleep with music. They'd used the flute Hagrid gave Harry for Christmas to keep the beast asleep while they went into the trapdoor.
Down the trapdoor, they'd found themselves on a plant that started trying to strangle them. Hermione had recognized it as Devil's Snare, which could be killed with light, so Harry had conjured blue-bell flames and killed it while Hermione moaned about not having any wood for a fire, which Ron mocked her for afterwards.
They then had to fly on brooms to catch an enchanted key, to unlock a door before finding themselves on a giant chess board. Thankfully, Ron was great at wizard's chess and led them, playing a brilliant game, but he'd had to sacrifice himself for them to win. They'd been forced to leave him unconscious on the board. The next room had held a knocked out mountain troll, so thankfully they were able to bypass that and found themselves where they were now, in a room surrounded with enchanted flames, and five bottles of potions
Hermione had brilliantly figured out Snape's riddle and now held the bottle that would allow her to move back while he held the bottle that would allow him to go forward.
"But Harry—what if You-Know-Who's with him?"
"Well—I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."
Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.
"Hermione!"
"Harry—you're a great wizard, you know."
"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.
"Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry—be careful!"
"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"
"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.
"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.
"No—but it's like ice."
"Quick, go, before it wears off."
"Good luck—take care."
"GO!"
Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire. Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.
"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.
It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them—for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire—then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.
There was already someone there—but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.
It was Quirrell.
"You!" gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.
"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."
"But I thought—Snape—"
"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't. Dora had been right. He had been too blind.
"But Snape tried to kill me!"
"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. 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."
"Snape was trying to save me?"
"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really . . . he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."
Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.
"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?"
"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off—and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.
"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."
It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.
"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "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. . . ."
All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.
"I saw you and Snape in the forest—" he blurted out.
"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side. . . ."
Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.
"I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my master . . . but where is it?"
Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He really wished he'd learned the cutting curse or even the shadow version of the cutting curse. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.
"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."
"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."
"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you. . . ."
For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.
"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions—he is a great wizard and I am weak—"
"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.
"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. . . ."
Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley. How could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron. Quirrell cursed under his breath.
"I don't understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
Harry's mind was racing.
What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it—which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?
He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.
"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"
And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.
"Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . ."
Quirrell rounded on Harry.
"Yes—Potter—come here."
He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.
"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry walked toward him.
I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.
Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.
He saw his reflection, pale and scared looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket—and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow—incredibly—he'd gotten the Stone.
"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"
Harry screwed up his courage.
"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I—I've won the house cup for Gryffindor."
Quirrell cursed again.
"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?
But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.
"He lies . . . He lies . . ."
"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"
The high voice spoke again.
"Let me speak to him . . . face-to-face . . ."
"Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have strength enough . . . for this. . . ."
Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.
Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
"Harry Potter . . ." it whispered.
Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.
"See what I have become?" the face said. "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 he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward.
"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 . . ."
"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.
Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.
"How touching . . ." it hissed. "I always value bravery . . . Yes, boy, your parents were brave. . . . I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight . . . but your mother needn't have died . . . she was trying to protect you. . . . Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."
"NEVER! PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
Quirrell spun out of the way of his first curse.
"Flipendo! Locomotor mortis! Flipendo!" Harry yelled, and Quirrell lazily shielded himself from Harry's spells, and he sneered.
"You'll have to do better than that, Potter," Quirrell said coldly and he fired an ominous dark purple curse that Harry dropped under.
"Auget tenebras!" Harry shouted, and the shadows that were dancing around the room grew, devouring the light in the room, and Harry was happy to see that Quirrell looked surprised by Harry's spell. Now time for part two. "Tene umbra!"
Two tendrils of shadow jutted out quickly and latched onto Quirrell's shadow and he froze just as Harry did. Harry smiled as Quirrell sneered, completely frozen by Harry's shadow pinning.
"Impressive, Potter, very impressive," Voldemort's voice whispered, "but surely you don't think this magic can hold Lord Voldemort!"
Quirrell's hand glowed with light, and Harry felt his two spells starting to tax his magical reserves as they attempted to battle and devour the growing light. The shadows in the room weren't enough, and he didn't have enough power to fuel it himself.
Quirrell broke free from Harry's spell and rushed forward at Harry. Harry fired off another knockback jinx, which Quirrell wandlessly deflected before he placed his hands on Harry's wrist. At once, a needle sharp pain seared across Harry's scar, and he felt as though his head would split in two, but to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him.
Quirrell's hands were blistering before his eyes.
"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck—Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.
"Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands!"
And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms—Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.
"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.
Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face—
"AAAARGH!"
Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain—his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.
Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off—the pain in Harry's head was building—he couldn't see—he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"
He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness.