Bombarda

It was a particularly misty morning. The lake was silent and the grass was covered in a thin layer of slippery frost. Harry jogged on through the bite of the cold, stopping every now and again for his new partner to catch up.

"I can't Harry," Hermione panted as she approached behind him, clutching her side with a grimace. "How much further?"

"Not too far now," Harry said cheefully.

"You said that - half an hour ago." Hermione did her best to glare at Harry, but her constant wheezing just made her look quite desperate.

"Really? My bad," Harry intoned as he started running again, giving Hermione a wry look. There really wasn't too far this time.

Ten minutes later, they finally reached the familiar winding path leading back up to the castle, where Hermione collapsed onto the floor.

"- never again - never again -" she kept repeating between gulps of air.

"First thing tomorrow then?"

This time Hermione did manage a glare.

They walked through the castle, only seeing a handful of teachers and older students up and about.

Beemy awaited them as they arrived at Godric's quarters, a tray of refreshments by her side.

"Morning Beemy," said Harry and Hermione, reaching for a drink. Hermione had grown really fond of Beemy, constantly trying to help her out with her tasks, but the hard-working elf would always bat her away.

"The training room is ready for Harry and Miss Hermione," Beemy said, taking the empty cups the pair had just finished draining.

"Thank you Beemy," Harry said.

The Elf grabbed the tray and popped away, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the main room.

Hermione collapsed onto the nearest armchair. "Could we wait five minutes? I'm knackered."

"Actually, I was hoping for a visitor," Harry said. He walked over to a small portrait nearby, inside of which was an empty stable.

"Hello," he called. "Are you there?"

For a moment, he was greeted by nothing but the hissing of hay bales. Then, from behind the stable came a loud voice.

"Oh, what kind of time does he call this?" There was a neigh in response, and with the clacking of hooves appeared a man in metal armour on the back of an impressive stallion.

"Young lion, it is I – Deseric Gryffindor," the man said courteously. "How can I be of service?"

"I was hoping you could report back to me?"

"Oh yes, the odd wizard in the turban. I have examined his activities closely and it appears he has some unusual habits."

The horse neighed in agreement.

"Every evening, without fail, he has visited the Forbidden Forest, wearing a veil to mask his face. When he returns, he does not sleep. Well, not in a proper sense. He sits upright, with his eyes closed for the entire night. And he does not remove that turban, nor touch it at all. On top of that, he performs his duties as a professor inadequately, so I conclude that he is not fit to continue his services here at Hogwarts."

Deseric was now sitting upright, a proud expression upon his face. He looked very much like Godric.

"You have done well, Deseric. This information is very useful to me, so I thank you."

The wizard bowed his head. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, that will be all."

Deseric rode out of frame, muttering, "…that boy needs to learn to sleep…"

Harry sunk into an armchair beside Hermione, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked.

"What Mr Gyffindor told me to do. I'll tell Snape, and we'll find out the truth about Quirrell once and for all."

Hermione nodded her agreement.

Harry sprung back onto his feet. "But for now, how about a duel?"

Her face fell.

"Ron. Is it a swish and flick after the tap, or a swish and jab?" Neville asked, biting his fingernails in thought.

"Erm – I dunno – maybe a swish and jab. Yeah, that sounds about right," Ron replied, scribbling on his parchment.

"No, you've got it all wrong," Hermione said, looking over the book in her hands. "There's no swish at all in a Softening Charm – it's a flick and jab after the tap."

"Cheers Hermione," Neville said, though Ron looked a little rattled.

"I don't get why you can't just help us out? There's no way we're finishing all these essays for tomorrow; I mean McGonagall wants two rolls of parchment on the Avifors Spell, and that's nothing compared to all the rubbish Binns wants us writing!"

"Ronald, if I did all of the work for you, how would you ever learn?" Hermione told him exasperatedly.

"There's a difference between learning and suffering," he muttered darkly.

"Here, copy mine," Harry said, placing his completed essay on the desk as he walked past.

Ron gave Harry a large grin. "You're a lifesaver Harry. Look Neville, we got all of this wrong…"

Harry sat besides Hermione, who was looking less than impressed with him.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said.

"Maybe not," Harry shrugged.

They sat in silence for a moment, with most of the Common Room filled with students stressing over work.

"I think I'm going to go and speak to Snape," Harry said.

Hermione looked at him nervously. "I don't know Harry, what if I got it all wrong? What if it wasn't Quirrell at all?"

"Do you seriously believe that?"

She looked down awkwardly. "No."

Harry stood up.

"Good luck," Hermione said.

"Yeah."

The walk to the dungeons was not a pleasant one. The castle's magic reached out to him in comfort, as it so often liked to in his times of uncertainty. Harry trusted Snape, but would he believe him?

The dungeons weren't a comforting place to be during the evening, as it was colder and darker than most of the castle. The large cobwebs seemingly hung in anticipation and the shadows watched on menacingly.

He knocked on the door of Snape's office. "Come in."

Snape was busy scribbling on some parchment. He put his quil down as he looked up.

"Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry stepped forward. "Can I sit?"

"Of course."

"Sir, I need to talk to you about Professor Quirrell."

Snape leaned back in his chair, arching his eyebrow slightly. "And why would that be?"

Harry gave Snape a hard look. "Because I believe he could be a dark wizard."

Snape gave no reaction. "Why so?"

"I know he was the one causing my broom to act up during the match."

Snape looked Harry dead in the eye. Then, he stood.

"Follow me."

Snape strode out of the room, with Harry tailing behind. They left the dungeons into the main building, past the Great Hall and up the larger corridors of the castle.

They approached a gargoyle that stood diligently outside a door.

"Lemon drop," Snape said, to which the statue moved aside. They entered a tight, winding staircase and progressed upwards.

Snape knocked on the door.

"Enter."

The room was a large, circular space with a lot of colours and activity bouncing around. There were many portraits of what Harry thought were past headmasters and mistresses on the walls, their sleep apparently unbothered by the several objects and machinery whirring away. On one of the many shelves, Harry recognised Gentry, who gave him a sly nod in greeting. Behind a long, claw-shaped desk sat Headmaster Dumbledore, a twinkle upon his eyes at the sight of Harry and Snape.

"Please, sit," the wise wizard said welcomingly, to which the two complied.

"Harry has come to me with some information regarding Professor Quirrell. I thought it would be of interest to you."

"I am fond of information," Dumbledore said, switching his attention to Harry.

"Professor, I believe Quirrell is responsible for my broom acting up, last match," Harry said. "I also believe that he is hiding something underneath his turban – something possibly dangerous."

Dumbledore leaned back at this. "What has made you come to this conclusion?"

"The word of my friend Hermione Granger." Harry refused to break eye contact with the Headmaster.

Dumbledore, however, looked back at Snape, who he seemed to share a wordless conversation with.

"Miss Granger's word is good enough for me," Dumbledore finally said, standing up. "You will stay here whilst Professor Snape and I have a conversation with Professor Quirrell."

"I want to come," Harry said, also standing.

"You will not," Snape said. "If Professor Quirrell is indeed a dark wizard, it would be unsafe."

"I am sure there are enough distractions in my office to keep yourself entertained," Dumbledore said with a small smile. Swiftly, he walked out of the office, Snape tailing him closely.

Harry waited a bit for the two Professors to create a reasonable distance, then walked straight over to the exit.

"Fool," Gentry called out.

"Perhaps," Harry replied.

"Godric will not be happy."

"He never is."

Gentry gave a snort as Harry swung the door open and hopped out. "Bloody Gryffindors," the hat huffed.

As Harry walked down the DADA corridor, he could hear the voices of Dumbledore, Snape and Quirrell. Their tones became harsher, so Harry decided to pick up his speed. He reached the outside of Quirrell's office, where Snape was now speaking.

"Quirinus!" he barked. "There is no point resisting! Come quietly and we can avoid unnecessary violence!"

Harry expected Quirrell to give a frightened, stutter-filled response, but instead what came was rather surprising. The Defence teacher started to laugh – a manic laugh.

"But I believe violence is necessary, Severus – as you once believed too! If you think I will come quietly, then you are very much mistaken!"

"Quirinus, I do not want to fight you," Dumbledore said calmly. "You are intelligent enough to know that your charges will not be too severe at this moment. You would do best not to change that."

"You think you know so much, don't you? You know nothing!" Quirrell now had his wand in his palm; Dumbledore and Snape mirrored his action.

"I assessed your skills when I hired you, which you seem to forget. This is my fault, I should have recognised your seduction to the dark. I should have prevented it."

Quirrell chuckled at this. "My seduction… How blind you truly are."

"Tell me this," Snape said. "What is under that turban? Why do you never remove it?"

"We all have our secrets," Quirrell said. The Defence teacher raised his wand, a vicious look infecting his face. "And I don't plan on revealing them. No – I think I will just kill you instead! Bombarda Maxima!"

Harry was sent flying backwards as the wall he was leaning against shattered. He landed awkwardly against the opposite wall, slumped beneath some rubble with a sharp pain piercing his mid torso. He could not move a single limb, and he could feel the energy slowly slipping from him as he bled out.

"You will have to do better!" Snape snarled. Both he and Dumbledore had raised shield charms, and stood unharmed by the blast.

But Quirrell was unbothered by this, as he appeared to have lost his focus, angrily muttering to himself.

"….but I can win, my Lord. I know it … if that is what you desire …. then it will be done."

Snape cast a quick banishing charm at Quirrell, which Dumbledore followed with a stunner, but Quirrell blocked both spells easily.

"Avada Kedavra!" Quirrell cast at Snape, who summoned some rubble to block it. With another flick of his wand, Quirrell threw a slash of dark flames towards Dumbledore, who struggled to keep them at bay.

"Fiendfyre! Do you not care for the students in this castle at all, Quirinus? Are you simply so cowardly?" Dumbledore asked through gritted teeth as he cast his wand in a circular movement. The flames started to pull inwards, slowly focusing into a large ball under Dumbledore's control.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape barked, a look of triumph upon his face when Quirell's wand flew into his hands, and the turbaned wizard was sent flying into his desk.

"…it's time! Release me!" came a muffled voice.

"Yes, my Lord!" Quirrell wheezed, his hands reaching for his turban. He unwrapped the cloth, throwing it away to reveal the horror that was beneath.

There, crawling on the back of Quirrell's head, was another face. It stretched against the wizard's skin, with blood-red eyes and two slits for nostrils. Its smile was wide and sharp, lingering on the sunken face nefariously.

"Tom," Dumbledore uttered as he continued to battle with the ball of flame.

"Dumbledore," the face greeted in response.

"You will not harm any of my students," Dumbledore said.

"That was never my plan!" the face hissed back. "Your protection of the Philosopher's Stone was pitiful! A student could have bypassed those traps! You must have known this. It must have been part of your scheming, so let me ask – why?"

"If it was so simple to get through, why the delay?" Dumbledore replied, his skin blistering from the heat. 'Surely you're not still scared of me, Tom?"

The face growled in response, then its eyes seemed to flare and the face shifted from Quirrell's head, surging out as its own entity.

Dumbledore thrust the fireball at the face's direction, setting the classroom aflame. Quirrell was surely dead, the snake-like face along with it.

Harry rested, his eyes slowly coming to a close as the pain became too overwhelming to keep consciousness.

"Harry Potter," came a sinister hiss. It was the creature, its eyes thin with rage, a savage look upon its face.

It flew straight towards Harry, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest as it passed straight through. Harry managed one gasp of shock before his body gave in, his eyelids slamming shut.

Hungry. Harry was so very hungry. The warm smell of toast and ham forced him awake to appease his dissatisfied stomach. He sat up and immediately reached for the plate beside him, gulfing down the food. He grabbed at a goblet, draining down the contents. It was medicine-like. Not good. He grabbed another goblet, gulping it down once more. Pumpkin juice. Much better.

"He's eating like Ron," a high voice said. It was Neville, from the end of the bed.

"I do not eat like that," Ron grumbled, sitting beside Neville.

"Madame Pomfrey did say he would be hungry," Hermione said. She was closest to Harry, resting on the near edge of the bed. "And for the record, you do eat like that Ron."

Harry finished his meal, rubbing his now bloated stomach. He felt a bandage over where he had been pierced, but the pain was small. He was in the Hospital Wing, a place no one ever wanted to be.

Hermione was looking at him, concern etched on her face. "How are you feeling Harry?" she asked softly.

"Awful," he answered truthfully. Now that his hunger had subsided, his mind had returned focus to the incident before his loss of consciousness.

"You've been asleep for three days," Ron said. "An accident, apparently."

"But of course it wasn't an accident," Hermione added. "You went to see Quirrell with Professor Snape, right?"

"Yes, well not really. It was Dumbledore and Snape. I wasn't meant to be there, I just sort of followed them. What happened with Quirrell?"

Hermione gave him a scolding look, but answered his question anyway. "He was declared a dark wizard and, well… dead. The rumour is Quirrell attempted to use Fiendfyre and it backfired on him. Everyone thinks you were involved, but of course Dumbledore denied it."

"And there was no other news?" Harry asked.

"No, that was all."

"Was there more?" Neville asked, sounding almost frightened.

Harry gave a slow nod and was about to spill the beans, but then Madame Pomfrey waltzed in, gasping at the sight of Harry.

"Goodness!" she cried, her high pitch causing Hermione to practically spring off Harry's bed in shock. "Why did you not tell me he was awake?"

"We were just about to," Hermione said in a small voice.

"I must ask you to leave. He needs space," the Healer said, rushing around Harry's side as she started mixing potions.

"Of course," Hermione said, still timid after being told off. Harry's friends bid him goodbye, leaving him to the mercy of Madame Pomfrey.

"You'll be here for another night, I think," Pomfrey said absent-mindedly as she poured something down his mouth. It seared his throat. "That wound needs to heal completely before you can go."

Harry looked to his right. There were lots of cards and gifts sitting on a desk, all with his name written on them.

Pomfrey huffed. "They wouldn't stop coming," she said, shaking her head as she unwrapped the bandage on Harry's torso. "I have no doubt you'll be occupied, opening all of those."

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling. People really did care.

Pomfrey applied a thick, green paste on Harry's wound, which smoked a little upon contact. "The Headmaster will be down to see you soon, now you are awake. He's been a very busy man, sorting things at the Ministry. A death in these walls is never good news."

Madame Pomfrey finished up and left Harry to rest in bed. He reached over to his large pile of gifts and began to open them. Most of them were just chocolates from students Harry had never even spoken to, but a couple stood out. Hermione had left a series of muggle books; Neville had given a small, pink flower that would sing a short melody every ten minutes; and Hagrid had cooked a selection of rock cakes.

Whilst Harry was massaging his jaw after having taken a sizable bite out of one of the cakes, Dumbledore walked into the Wing. He transfigured a chair beside Harry's bed and sat down. As usual, he wore a comforting smile on his face, although his eyes were lacking their trademark sparkle.

"Harry, my dear boy," Dumdledore began. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive."

"That's astute of you," Dumbledore said. "Though I must apologise for my weariness. I have been battling the Minister over the return of Lord Voldemort. I believe it would be best to implement a strategy concerning his survival, but Cornelius would prefer to disregard the matter entirely."

"So the Minister doesn't believe you?" Harry asked, appalled.

"He does not," Dumbledore said with a small sigh.

"But I can vouch for you. And so can Professor Snape. Surely the Minister can't refuse that?"

"He can, and he will. Of course, we will prepare for the return of Lord Voldemort, but it will have to be without the assistance of the Ministry."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Sir, you don't have to see me now. I will be happy to visit you later once you get some rest."

"That is a very kind offer, Harry," Dumbledore said. "But I'm afraid I must refuse. There is a rather important matter I must discuss with you."

"There is? About what?"

"After you had lost consciousness that night, something extraordinary occured."

"Extraordinary?"

"A House Elf called Beemy, to be exact." Dumbledore paused, allowing the information to sink in.

"Oh." Harry was doing his best to stay calm.

"She tended to your wounds, and was about to apparate you away until I intervened. She got quite vexed at me, but what intrigued me most was the crest on her dress. It was the crest of Gryffindor."

Harry did his best to feign shock. "Gryffindor?"

"Yes. Eventually, Beemy saw reason and left you in the care of Madame Pomfrey. Harry, I must ask that you reveal anything that you have kept hidden from me. I need you to trust me."

Harry sat back. He had been busted. It wasn't like he hadn't been prepared for something like this. He and Godric had talked it over; if Dumbledore was to ever get suspicious, Harry would reveal the truth. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

"Yes, there is something, and now I see that I can no longer keep it hidden. Beemy is a House Elf sworn to serve the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor. From that, I think you can infer the rest."

Dumbledore stroked his lengthy beard thoughtfully. "Marvellous. How did this happen?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Harry lied. Dumdledore didn't need the full story. "I arrived at Hogwarts and Beemy presented herself to me."

Dumbledore smiled. "If you are ever in need of any assistance, Harry, I would be honoured to offer my services."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied.

Dumbledore stood. "I believe that's all I wanted to talk about, so-"

"-Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you something, Professor?"

"Ask away, my boy," Dumbledore said, peering over his spectacles.

"The Philosopher's Stone - why was it being kept at Hogwarts, and why were the protections so… subpar?"

"The stone was being kept here because, after we had heard whispers that it was being sought after, my friend Nicolas Flamel and I decided it would be safest kept under my nose. Though Harry, I must assure you that the protections were most remarkable. If that is all…"

"It is Professor. Thank you." Harry gave Dumbledore a smile, which was returned by the elderly wizard as he left the Wing.

Harry snuggled into his pillow, allowing himself to relax as he processed the conversation. Dumbledore meant well, but there was nothing 'remarkable' about a lock that could be undone by an Alohomora. Without doubt he was incredibly powerful, and rather clever as well, but one thing he was not was trustworthy. Also, if Dumbledore knew about Beemy, then Snape must know as well. In fact, he was probably being given the information of Harry's secret lordship right now.

Harry moved his hand to his bandages, poking through to feel his wound. He shook his head and grimaced. Months of training, all undone by one spell. Bombarda Maxima. It was awful.

He rolled over in an attempt to sleep, but it was futile. Bombarda Maxima. The scene had anchored itself, unwilling to float from the forefront of his thoughts. Voldemort's snake-like face, with the eyes of a devil... 'For Merlin's sake Harry, clear your mind!'

But how could he? And why should he? Voldemort was out there, possessing people, building his strength - and Harry couldn't even block a spell. The plan had been built around time - that Harry would have more of it.

"Beemy," Harry said.

The elf appeared, bowing low to her master. "How can I serve Harry?"

"Could you bring me my book?"

Beemy popped away, appearing again moments later with the book in her hands. "Will Harry be wanting anything else?"

"No thank you."

As Beemy once again bowed low and vanished, Harry opened the book, coming face to face with his mentor, who had an expression on his face he had never seen before: worry.

"It has been three days, Harold. What in Merlin's name happened?"

"Voldemort happened." Harry went on to explain the events of the other night, and by the end of it Godric was shaking his head with fury.

"Do you have a death wish? We have talked about this! Bravery without-"

"-the force to back it up is foolishness. I know, but that's beside the point."

"No, that is exactly the point! You have more important things to concern yourself with!"

"I don't think you understand!" Harry said, now raising his voice. "Voldemort nearly took over the country. He killed my parents. He tried to kill me. And now, he's back."

"What are you trying to say?" Godric growled.

"I'm saying that this is bigger than your legacy. I have to stop him."

Godric stood, his eyes piercing into Harry. The room around them was different now. It was large, with armoury and weaponry stacked upon the walls.

Godric tossed Harry a sword.

"Swing at me."

"What?"

"Swing. At. Me."

Harry, anger clouding his rational, sliced at the big man.

He stepped to the side. "Too slow."

Harry prodded the dagger at his target, once again hitting nothing.

"Too weak."

Harry clutched at his weapon, gritting his teeth. He pulled it back upright, only for it to fly out of his palm. Godric waved his finger and the sword flipped, pointing itself between Harry's eyes.

He stepped back, pulling his wand out, though he could not think of a spell to rescue him. The sword patiently followed as he retreated, and he soon ran out of room.

"Mr Gryffindor," Harry pleaded.

The ginger man was still looking at him intensely, but the sword vanished. They were in the marketplace, though it was now empty and dark.

Godric began walking down the path, beckoning at Harry to follow. As they walked, the large wizard looked deep in thought.

"Do you see now?" he finally spoke.

"I'm not strong enough. I already knew that."

"No. Do you see how far away you are?"

Harry nodded glumly.

"I never asked you to train for my sake. It takes decades to hone your magic. Dedication can speed up the process, but there are no shortcuts."

"Then I just die?" Harry asked.

"No," Godric said firmly. "There had to be a reason. Century after century passed before you were chosen. Rowena must have known…"

Godric stopped in his tracks. He faced Harry, a wild look upon him.

"It can't be."

Godric let out a howl of laughter. Harry looked at him confusedly.

"That woman! I love her!"

"What is it?" Harry asked as Godric jumped up and down in celebration.

"My Heir! An orphan, raised with muggles, scrawny and small, a Dark Lord out to kill him! All of it, it doesn't matter!"

"I don't know about that.'

"Really, it doesn't." Godric stepped closer and put his hand on Harry's chest. "Because of this. You are not just brave of heart. You are pure of heart."

Harry looked up at his mentor, who was radiating warmth from his eyes. "How does that help me?"

"It doesn't help you Harold. It saves you."

The next morning, Harry sat in the Great Hall, quietly eating his breakfast. The few people he had seen had given him long stares. It reminded him of his first week at Hogwarts.

Somewhat to his surprise, Hermione walked in. Her face was flushed and her hair was wilder than normal. When she spotted Harry, she rushed over with a large smile.

"Harry! You're out!"

"I am. And you look like you've been running," Harry said, grinning.

"Yes," Hermione said, taking a seat beside him. "I wasn't going to stop now that you weren't there to push me. If that were the case, I never should have started."

"Good, I'm proud of you," Harry said sincerely.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, her cheeks tingeing.

Letters and packages dropped from the sky as the owls flew overhead. Hedwig stopped to give Harry an affectionate peck. She then stole his bacon.

Hermione opened a letter from her parents, excitement rushing onto her face as she scanned it.

"You look happy."

Hermione beamed at him. "We're going to Paris for Christmas!"

"That's great," Harry said. He gave her a small smile before getting up for more bacon. When he returned, she was looking at him with concern.

"What did you get for Christmas Harry?"

"Huh?"

"Last Christmas. What presents did your family give you?"

'I got… Hermione, you don't have to worry about me."

"Answer the question, Harry.' She looked at him expectantly.

Harry sighed. "Fifty pence and a small torch."

Hermione's face fell. She pulled out a quill and ink and scribbled on the back of her letter furiously.

"You," she said to a nearby owl. It looked at her and she waved the parchment at it. The owl skipped over. "This letter, to this address," she said, pointing at the envelope.

The owl nodded, sticking out its leg for Hermione. As she tied the parchment, Harry read the scribble.

HARRY'S COMING WITH US.

The owl flew away and Hermione gave Harry a look of satisfaction. "That's sorted now.'

"Hermione-"

"-No Harry. You're coming with. End of."

Harry sat in disbelief, unable to take his eyes off Hermione. "You're amazing, you know."

She smiled at him. "It's only what you deserve."