Chapter 10 Rhythm
Harry and his Circle strode towards the third-floor corridor.
He could feel the nervousness in their souls through the emerald chains, even if they did an excellent job of hiding it.
"Quirrell has slipped past McGonagall and the dog. Good luck, my Lord."
"Thank you, Severus."
Harry cut the connection to his pet.
Once they turned the next corner, they would be in sight of the door.
"You're up, Hermione."
…
She could do this. Even against a teacher. Even if it was McGonagall.
She may not like some of the things that her Lord did. He may be horrible to others, but he valued her. He trusted her. He treated her kindly, even as he killed and tortured. He saved her and gave her a place to belong when she had none.
She would not fail him.
They stepped around the corner, and she opened her eyes.
Professor McGonagall saw them even as Hermione threaded her Lord's power through her mind. McGonagall's Occlumency was well organized and robust, but Hermione's eyes contained both her and her Lord's insight and she slipped beneath the shields like a shadow through the crack under a barricaded door.
The hallway is empty. It has always been empty. There are no eyes.
The Circle continued their walk unbroken while they passed the deputy headmistress. Her eyes saw nothing out of place as they passed.
Harry raised his hand and the door at the end of the hallway was blown off its hinges.
"Daphne, if you would, please."
She grinned ferally. "My pleasure."
…
The massive three-headed dog growled menacingly as she strode ahead of the others.
She was her Lord's Blade. He had shown confidence in her, when she herself had faltered. He had heard her plea and found her worthy. He had broken her father's hold over her and had given her the strength to cut the bastard down, to take control for herself.
She loved him, like a moth drawn to a brilliant Light, and she did not expect or even want the flame to love her in return.
She would not care when she got burned.
She opened her eyes and threw out one hand, the emerald chains that set her free flying forth easily as she anchored her shackles above and behind the beast. She threw herself upwards with a surge of her Lord's power, drawing on the unbreakable chain to pull her up and over the thrashing jaws below.
As she passed behind the dog's heads, she spun and threw her enchanted daggers with unerring precision. She had her Lord's eyes to guide her hand.
Two blades that she bought for herself, before Christmas. One that she had given her Lord, that he had returned to her when she needed it most.
All three struck in unison, each blade buried deep in the back of a respective head.
The Cerberus collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut as she used her chains to rip the knives free and land smoothly behind the corpse in a fountain of delicious red rain.
She would never fail her Lord. She would die first.
She reveled in his proud smile as he wrenched the trap door open with a wave of his hand, throwing the massive body aside.
"Your turn, my Dragon."
…
Draco leapt into the dark without hesitation.
His Lord had promised him the return of blood and eldritch power to the world of Magic, and he had delivered. Draco would not be left behind as his Lord strode ahead into the dark. He would step beside him, his Lord's first and most trusted follower.
He would earn his place in the Circle, on his own merits.
He drew a small silver ritual knife and his eyes opened in the dark.
The vines and tendrils of the Devil's Snare grasped at him.
He slashed his own wrist open and flung his arms wide, the crimson ichor splashing over the carpet of deadly greenery.
There was no incantation for this type of magic. It was Blood magic, sacrifice of his body and pain in return for power. It was magic most pure, powered only by his will and his dedication to his Lord.
He was his Lord's Dragon.
With a twist of his power, the Sanguine Flame ignited. His own melody, incandescent and blinding, the murderous plant screaming as his cursed fire blazed and consumed it with ease.
Draco healed his wrist with a quick spell as the others descended.
"Well done, my Circle. Let us continue. I do suppose it's only fair that I join in the fun…"
They walked through the door into a room with hundreds of flying keys.
Harry's power warped and twisted the air around them as he called forth his potential. He waved his hand and blew a massive hole in the far wall.
They strode forth unimpeded.
A massive chessboard stood in front of them.
The Circle stumbled slightly at the gaping maw of endless dark that opened between them as their Lord inflicted his will unto the world. Harry once again raised his hands and the giant chess pieces shattered like glass with a terrible scream.
They continued on.
The troll was already dead. A pity.
They entered the room with a litany of different potions. Cursed fires appeared to block the doors.
"Hermione. Which one should I drink?"
She looked appreciative at his trust in her abilities.
She held up the smallest bottle.
"I will handle Quirrell. If Dumbledore arrives, tug on your chains and tell him that we are here to prevent Quirrell from stealing the stone. We aren't even lying, not really."
They nodded, trying not to let their apprehension show.
They trusted their Lord, even if they worried about him.
Harry drained the potion and walked through the fire.
…
Quirrell stood before an ornate mirror.
The professor felt both less and more than he ever had before.
Why why why did he want the stone?
"Harry Potter."
Harry hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this.
Red eyes opened in Quirrell's soul.
"Tom! What the hell are you doing here? Also, what are you?"
The presence visibly faltered. It was kind of funny.
"You dare?"
Hmmmm Tom was angry. Wonder wonder why.
"Why do I have your eyes, Tom?"
The soul possessing the defense professor screamed in rage and frustration.
"I am Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter. I will SHRED your INSOLENT SOUL!"
Tom was Voldemort.
Voldemort was Tom.
The fragments were shards of Voldemort.
The red eyes… were Voldemort.
Was Harry… part of Voldemort?
Was He… Tom?
But… Harry was Harry. He was the eyes,and they were Him.
Empty empty empty.
Voldemort took control of his puppet and threw out his hand, dark power roaring towards Harry.
It was… kind of pathetic, actually. Harry expected more.
More more more, from Tom. From Voldemort. The supposed Dark Lord.
He didn't have enough eyes.
Harry's own power surged forth, an endless flood of Tom's own eyes and teeth and dark.
He swallowed the pathetic, sputtering candle of Voldemort's magic within his infinite inferno.
Tom's power shattered like his broken broken soul.
Harry's teeth ripped the squirrel man's arms off in a geyser of beautiful gore, the joints popping and the flesh tearing.
Voldemort and his host screamed in a lovely harmony.
Harry's power rose from the dark, the ocean of eyes bearing down on the Dark Lord, and sheared through his waist like tissue paper.
Wonderful percussion and more melody, to add to the composition.
Tom squirmed squirmed helplessly on the blood-soaked floor, a limbless blob of meat just waiting for Harry to finish butchering.
The pathetic sack of flesh let out a gasp and a whisper.
"What are you?"
What are you?
What are you?
Harry couldn't help himself. His blood burned burned burned!
"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, TOM! WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME?"
He raised his hand, and the remains of the Dark Lord's puppet were lifted up to face him, the teeth of his dark power hooked under the cracked and broken ribs of the husk as their stark white points strained against the squirrel's skin.
"WHAT DID YOU DO, TOM? WHY DO I HAVE YOUR EYES?"
Harry closed the unstoppable jaws and Quirrell's body was reduced to a crimson pulp.
Whoops.
Maybe he should have actually waited for answers.
He felt the dark shade of Voldemort slip away, not into Death but out of the room, into the night beyond.
Harry sighed, his chest still heaving from all the screaming. He really should think more, but thinking was boring.
Instead, he looked into the mirror.
He saw himself. Unsurprising.
Himself moved, when he did not. More surprising.
Himself held the stone and put it in his pocket. He could feel the weight of it.
Very surprising.
Harry pulled the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket and looked into its ruby depths.
Life, and Gold.
Boring, but also fun. So very very fun.
He felt a tug on his chain.
Dumbledore was here. The Bumbleman was coming.
He wouldn't let Harry keep the stone.
Harry knew that he should give it back. It would curry favor with the old old man, and further cement his position as a good good boy.
He didn't even want the stone.
But he wanted Albus to suffer.
And he wanted entertainment.
Playing a role got so… boring, after a year.
Just this once, he wanted to cause some chaos.
He giggled.
And swallowed the Philosopher's Stone.
…