~An Emerald Amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter Fourteen
With a yawn, Harry slipped through the gates of the Great Hall.
The past few weeks had been exhausting. With exams, club meetings and meditation taking up the majority of his time, some things had gotten less attention lately. Most notably his duelling lessons with Fawley.
Since the formation of their agreement, they had usually met at least two times a week. But with her having OWLs to attend to and him being forced to metaphorically walk Tracey through some of the exam material, they had decided to put the project on hold for the moment - until today at least.
Because, this morning, when he had routinely checked the enchanted notebook, he'd been surprised to find a small message suggesting a session in the afternoon.
Something about Fawley not caring enough for the astronomy OWL.
And as such, Harry now found himself striding through the halls of the castle, on course to the abandoned office they'd been using to meet up these past few months.
It was located on the sixth floor of the East Wing and only one of the many secret places he'd found using the map he had stolen from Filch's office.
Not only was the artefact just another tool in his arsenal to get around the castle undetected, it also included the locations of hundreds of hidden passages and rooms, and even provided instructions on how to use them.
Overall, it wasn't all that erroneous to say that the map alone saved him at least thirty minutes of walktime a day.
Time which he could then allocate for occlumency practice, research, essays, and - yes - sometimes even a moment of peace and quiet.
Ironically, he spent a majority of these moments in the girl's bathroom, either chatting to Myrtle or repairing some of the damages the lavatory had suffered over the centuries.
But for now, that was rather irrelevant.
Instead, Harry's thoughts lingered on the upcoming duelling, and not because he wasn't used to getting battered by the older girl. No.
More so, it was because – today – they would finally move beyond skirmishes and try their hand at the competitive duelling format.
And while he was excited to finally move beyond what was considered the bread and butter of duelling, saying that the idea of trying his hand at competition didn't make him even a little apprehensive would have been a lie.
Among the six major formats, only three allowed for magic capable of serious harm – one of which had fallen out of practice years ago, and another that was usually lost by surrender.
So in conclusion, competitive duelling was pretty much as dangerous as the sport got.
Even though the mode didn't allow for any spells explicitly banned by the ICW, that still left plenty of stuff on the table which could render you incapacitated for an extended period of time.
Fawley and him had agreed to refrain from using some of the more nefarious spells they knew - like Lacero example - but the point stood nontheless.
It's dangerous.
A bludgeoning hex or Reductor curse to the head and he would be out for weeks.
But since Fawley still planned to compete in the junior championships this year, he didn't have all that much of a choice but to go along with her suggestion. And that aside, skirmishing had admittedly become rather boring.
I'll just wing it.
"Lapis Lazuli."
With a groan of ancient stone, an entirely too small door materialised in the wall in front of him. Glancing down at the map one last time, it vanished inside his pocket as he stepped inside
Even after spending so much time here, the office was nothing particularly special. Just a deserted, musty old room filled with stuff which had once apparently belonged to a Professor of Magical Theory. More than one time he had wondered why that subject wasn't taught anymore…
He spied around the room. Looks like she's not here yet…
His lip curled upward ever so slightly. He'd seen Fawley leave the Great Hall before him and - once again - he'd managed it to their meeting spot before her.
The map really is worth its weight in gold…
He heard the door behind him open with a creak and turned around.
"Stop smirking," Fawley drawled with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I won't bother asking how you made it here before me again."
She plopped down on a dusty chair to his right. "Exams went well?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose."
He hadn't gotten the results yet, but he was certain enough he was included among the Top Eight which would receive an invitation to attend the exchange next year.
An invitation I'll probably be forced to decline…
He grimaced. Just thinking about asking Frank Longbottom to get a signature for something made his blood run colder than ice. And not out of fear.
Perhaps it's best I just talk to Flitwick… lest I risk murdering the man where he stands.
"Yourself?" Harry asked.
She glanced towards the ceiling for a moment. "Good," she answered. "But anything else would've been an insult with how much I've been studying."
Harry nodded. "Understandable."
He couldn't claim the same, but he was still glad his nightly study sessions with Tracey and the others had found an end.
That girl sometimes has a skull as thick as a log…
Fawley hummed. "So. You still up for some competitive?" she asked. "I managed to organise a few bruise balms and potions just in case," she added, glancing towards her bag.
He frowned. "You didn't steal them from Pomfrey, did you?
She snorted. "No. Not that I wouldn't have dared though. I just thought it easier to ask my grandfather."
Makes sense.
"By the way – Flitwick signed off my sponsorship to compete in the qualifiers this summer."
His brows rose. "Oh?" He didn't really know what to respond. "Congrats then, I suppose."
An awkward silence settled over the office, as she held off her reply. Eventually, she opened her mouth again.
"I want you to come with me."
Harry blinked. "Come again?"
"You're the main reason I got this opportunity. You deserve to be a part of it."
He frowned. "But aren't the finals in–"
"Copenhagen? Yes. If I make it through the qualifier, which I will, we'll be staying with the Moritzen family for the duration of the playoffs."
"And me?"
She sat up. "You as well, of course." Before he could open his mouth, she continued. "Trust me, it's not a problem. Grandfather already cleared it."
Harry's frown deepened. "I haven't even agreed to go yet."
She raised an eyebrow. "What reason could you possibly have to decline my offer – seriously?"
He gave her a blank look. He tried to come up with something – but nothing sprung to mind.
"Perhaps I just don't wanna go."
She snorted at the attempt. "Please, as if you could ever get enough of duelling, Potter. Maybe you won't admit it, but everyone knows you're obsessed."
She has me there…
Yet something about the girl's pushiness rubbed him the wrong way – even though her words rang true.
"And it's really not a bother?"
She tilted her head. "Would I have invited you if it was?"
Silence. Harry realised when he was beaten.
Fawley clapped her hands together, rising from her chair.
"Perfect. It's settled then." She looked towards him. "Ready for some warm-up?"
He sighed. "Sure."
A few days later, Harry was sitting on one of the countless desks littering the castle's library, scribbling away on a dreadfully boring astronomy essay Professor Sinistra had assigned them last night.
He groaned. Who invented star charts and where do I find them?
Was the fact that he had passed both the written and practical exam with a straight O not enough? He eyed the parchment to his left with unrestrained resentment.
Fuck this. I'm done for tonight.
He buried the half-finished essay inside his bag and stretched his limbs. With a lazy wave of his wand, sparkling, golden digits materialised in front of him, telling the time.
Harry yawned. Even though he'd barely been here an hour, his body ached like someone had tied him to this chair for days. Personally, he blamed Fawley's bludgeoning curse from a few nights back. The bruises had almost faded, but he could definitely still feel where she'd hit him with the spell.
His lip curled. Worth it though.
"Suppose I'll just–" He paused.
From just around the corner, a trio of urgent whispers caught his ear. Harry remained seated for a moment longer.
"But I'm telling you! Snape's going to steal the stone tonight!" Neville Longbottom's frustrated voice hissed.
"But if McGonagall thinks it's safe..." That was Bones.
"But it's not!" Longbottom shot back. "You both know Hagrid leaked how to get around Fluffy! And he'll definitely do it tonight when Dumbledore's gone from the castle! I'm sure of it! Maybe he's already on the third floor getting to work on the first protections!"
For a moment, silence reigned.
"I mean… We believe you, mate – we really do – but what is there we can do? Despite how much I hate him, Snape's probably a better wizard than any of us," he said.
"But–"
"It's true, Neville," Bones agreed softly.
"That doesn't mean we can just let him get away with it! If you don't want to you don't have to, but I – for one – certainly won't allow him to get the stone! There's no way I'm having him deliver it to Voldemort!"
A frown settled deeply into Harry's forehead at the mention of the Dark Lord – especially because Longbottom had spoken of him in the present tense.
They think Snape's trying to steal something that's hidden on the third floor and that he wants to deliver it to his long dead master?
It sounded ridiculous. And almost, Harry would've dismissed their ramblings and gotten up from the chair. But for some reason, he decided not to.
"I wonder why Flamel even thought it smart to hide the stone in the castle…" Weaseley muttered darkly. "Couldn't he have just placed it under a Fidelius or something?"
Flamel… Harry rubbed his temple. Where had he heard that name before? Right… The uses of dragon's blood. He's probably an alchemist of some kind.
Bones took a deep breath.
"Neville… If you really decide to go through with this, please don't go alone. There's no knowing what he'll do to you if he find sout you#re trying to stop him," she said worriedly.
"But…" Longbottom's voice faltered. "Fine. I'll be in front of your common room once lessons end for the night. I know from Percy that Snape still has potions with the fifth years after dinner, so we probably still have some time."
Harry got up from his chair. Yet instead of vanishing out the library like he'd planned, he instead headed straight towards the unpleasant librarian who watched over her turf like a hawk.
"Excuse me, Madam Pince. I was wondering where I might find a few books on alchemy," he said politely, one of his insincerely sincere cheers plastered all over his face.
The middle-aged woman eyed him critically.
"And for what reason, Mr. Potter, do you seek knowledge about alchemy?" she asked sharply.
"I found out about the different uses of dragon's blood from a chocolate frog card, so I wanted to read up on the matter a little.'
A half-truth.
Dumbledore's chocolate frog card. That's where he'd heard the name Flamel before.
I'll have to thank Tracey for her Christmas gift a second time, it seems…
Pince pinned him with a suspicious stare for a moment longer, before eventually conceding.
"Eleventh row from the back. They're scattered between some of the advanced potion books."
Harry smiled. "Thanks, Ma'am."
It didn't take him long to find the designated section. True to the librarian's word, wherever he looked, potion books found his eye. At a closer look, however, he could make out a few irregular titles among the many others.
'Important alchemic advancements of the twentieth century.'
He nodded. That'll do.
Snagging the book from its shelf, Harry crashed at a nearby desk. Almost immediately, he started devouring the table of contents.
His eyes darted across the page, inhaling the words. Quickly, what he was looking for caught his eye.
No. 17 – The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood
He skipped ahead.
'...were published by, alongside venerated war veteran and Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore, none other than Nicolas Flamel himself, the most accomplished alchemist ever.
Flamel, born in 1326, achieved eternal fame not only for his work with dragon's blood but for his creation of the Philosopher's Stone; a legendary artefact which, through its elixir of life, grants immortality and possesses the ability to transmute any metal into pure gold – an achievement yet to be replicated.
Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, have lived for over six centuries and…'
Even though Harry's eyes widened at first, rather quickly, a frown nestled itself on his forehead.
If the stone was really as powerful as the book claimed, then why would Flamel even place it at Hogwarts and not just keep it in his possession? Weasley had a point.
Perhaps someone tried to steal it once already and he entrusted it to Dumbledore…?
He kept reading.
'Many critics have long called for Flamel to make his elixir available to the public, it being rumoured to be the very first panacea in existence, but as of now, he has remained firm in his decision not to share his advancements.'
For a moment, Harry's mind went blank. Almost dumbfounded, he stared at the letters on the page, a multitude of thoughts, one weirder than the next, swirling around his head.
A panacea…
There were few reasons for him to even believe the author's words. It was supposedly just a rumour. Yet still, Harry felt a thick and gooey sensation, heavy like lead, settle deep inside his chest at the thought.
What if it's true?
The stone was in the castle. It was the perfect opportunity. The chance at a cure.
He pursed his lips. It would be anything but easy. Unlike with the restricted section, he wouldn't know what protections expected him at the end of the forbidden corridor.
Yet if, according to Longbottom, someone would be attempting to steal the stone tonight…
This is my only chance.
He had to make a decision. Either he risked losing everything by being patient…
Or I rush into the thick of it unprepared.
It didn't take him long to make a choice.
A few hours later, Harry stood waiting in the third floor corridor, concealed by his invisibility cloak with the Map in hand.
He'd been waiting for just short of an hour now, using the time under the cloak to ponder what he'd do once someone showed up.
Longbottom seemed to have been convinced it was Snape who'd steal the stone, but from what Harry knew of the man, he held it for rather unlikely.
He wouldn't slip up…
He sighed inaudibly. If only he had learned of the stone's existence earlier, he might have been able to devise a plan. Alas, regret wouldn't do anything to help him now.
I'll just have to make up my mind on the fly.
So he just continued to stand there, waiting for someone to show up, another few minutes passing as he observed the brightly burning azure torches which lined the walls.
Eventually, the sudden sound of someone speaking reached his ears.
"Yes, Master."
Harry frowned. Lilac cloak trailing behind, Professor Quirrell appeared from behind the corner. He was walking hurriedly, murmuring to himself.
The teen frowned. Him?
Like an owl, Harry watched as the man hushed through the hallway, heading right towards the large black door at its end.
With careful movements, he fell into step behind him.
"Alohomora," Quirrell incanted quickly.
The door opened…
…and Harry was greeted by the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.
A large, black muscular, veiny three-headed dog bared its teeth at them, the only thing keeping it from tearing Quirrell to shreds being the chain around its neck.
"Luderum Musica"
A slow-paced, shrill melody began, emanating right from Quirrell's wand.
Harry didn't know the spell, but obviously the Professor hadn't practised it very much.
So it was to his surprise that the intimidating Cerberus slowly started swerving from left to right until, eventually, its eyelids closed and it fell to the ground, fast asleep.
Weirdly enough, the snores sounded not much unlike a normal dog's.
Quirrell muttered something again. "I- Yes, Master. I know."
With a levitation charm, the Professor moved the slumbering Cerberus aside, revealing a large trap door in the floor. Only now did Harry notice that the man wasn't carrying the same wand he usually did.
Instead of the unillustrious brown stick he used in class, Quirrell was now holding a crooked, bone-white one.
Harry wondered to whom it belonged. After all, it was common knowledge that a wizard could only bond with one wand at a time.
"I… Are you sure, Master?! I– Yes. Forgive me."
After more strange murmurs, the man finally opened the trapdoor and jumped down into the shaft below. Tentatively, Harry glanced after him. At first, there was nothing. Then, suddenly, bright amber flames bathed his vision orange.
He frowned, waiting for the fire to vanish before taking a deep breath and taking the leap. The sensation of falling was almost as uncomfortable as having to cast the ascension charm a foot before he hit the ground.
Shaking off the strange sensation in his limbs, he strode through the tight tunnel which awaited him ahead. In the distance, he could still make out Quirrell's confused mutters.
For once, Harry could see why.
Inside the room which opened before him, thousands of levitating silver keys zoomed through the air. On the opposite end of the cave laid a large, weathered gate, its prominent keyhole clearly a hint at the task.
You need to find the right one…
Which it seemed, Quirrell already had. His gaze was transfixed on the ceiling of the cavern, a displeasured sneer marring his features. It was a somewhat strange look on the usually stuttering Professor.
The man tried a summoning charm, but, unsurprisingly, it didn't work.
Then, all of a sudden, he started levitating, ascending towards the ceiling and snatching a large, rusty skeleton key from the air. A graceful descent followed.
Harry wished he knew the incantation for the spell.
Seems dead useful. I can hardly ask him though…
Quirrell unlocked the gate and before it could shut completely again, Harry slipped through alongside him.
The room they were now in could only be described as grotesque. A chess board's pattern marked the ground to their feet. On its squares stood life-size versions of the game's pieces. White against black.
You against the enchanter.
Harry felt a bit like he was looking at a work of art. Sometimes, he couldn't comprehend why people preferred fooling around over actually studying magic. What better was there than to create things like these yourself?
He banished the thought as Quirrell made his first move.
"Pawn E4."
Harry watched the ensuing game with a frown. He usually only ever played when Nott was too bored to continue studying. As a result he wasn't particularly good at it. Quirrell, on the other hand, gave the impression of being a true master.
Effortlessly, he defeated the enemy pieces, only losing two bishops, a pawn, and a knight in the process.
Looks like whoever enchanted this failed to calculate the fact that they were bad at chess.
The black king crumbling to dust, Quirrell stepped through the door which had previously been blocked by a slab of stone. Harry followed him without making a sound.
What next unfolded before the teen made his heart skip a beat.
"Avada Kedavra."
With a sickly green flash, a troll which had been chained to the other end of the tunnel collapsed – clearly lifeless. A shiver ran down Harry's spine at the scene.
"Killing Curse…" he breathed to himself.
Without a hint of remorse, Quirrell disposed of the creature's remnants, clearing the way towards another door which looked just like the last.
On its other side awaited them another cavern, itemised with only a handful of desks, each presenting unique flasks filled with different potions.
Opposite them, burned a tall wall of cursed, crimson fire.
A piece of parchment rested on the desk in the middle. Roughly, Quirrell snatched it from the rustic piece of furniture.
"Master?" A pause. "Are you- Yes, of course."
He headed for the flask on the far left before downing it in one go. Fearlessly, the man stepped through the flames.
Harry bit his cheek. Let's hope the cloak survives this…
He went over towards the same flask and took a swig of the potion himself. A freezing tingle ran down his limbs – whether because of the concotion's effects, or its uniquely unpleasant taste, Harry knew not.
Either way, he followed Quirrell's example and stepped through the wall of blood-red fire. To his relief, neither himself nor his clothing seemed to receive any damage.
As the flames vanished from his vision, he was treated to the view of a large, dome-shaped chamber. The rough, chopped walls were made of ocher sandstone and in the middle, on a small plateau, stood a large, body-size mirror.
Its design was noble; a frame crafted of gold and silver, adorned by hundreds of turquoise-glistening sapphires and a surface as flawless as polished glass.
It radiated an almost ethereal light, each gemstone sparkling like it was a small piece of the sky. It was so out of place in the cave, Harry couldn't find any words for it.
As he took a step closer, he felt the air around him thicken and swirl with the magic of the mirror. A strange yet faintly sweet taste settled onto the tip of his tongue.
"I see it, but how do I get it?"
He was startled. Quirrell had reappeared from behind the mirror's silhouette, circling the plateau. For a moment, Harry had forgotten the man was still there. He cursed himself.
I need to stay focussed.
Tentatively, he descended the steps onto the plateau, not daring to take another glance at the mirror before his plan was executed.
He waited for Quirrell to walk another circle around the mirror, before falling into step right behind him. He took a deep breath.
This time I'm not making the same mistake. You can't apparate inside of Hogwarts's wards.
Harry ripped the cloak off his body, brandishing his wand.
"Incarcerous"
"Expelliarmus."
In quick succession, the baby-blue and maroon spells managed to hit the Professor. He collapsed, bound by iron chains, the crooked, bony wand arcing into Harry's outstretched palm.
Quirrell screamed. "Who-!?"
He rolled around, his fury-distorted face a Vernon shade of purple.
"Potter!" he spat.
Harry inclined his head. "Professor."
"Release me this instant or-"
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Or what, sir?"
"You'll feel my Master's wrath," Quirrell hissed.
The teen felt ever so slightly amused. "The Master you keep talking to inside your head, you mean? Ever thought of visiting a mind healer, Professor?"
The man's face contorted into an ugly smile.
"Oh you have no idea what you have done, Potter. My Master… He is with me wherever I go. Him and I… we have become one."
He's crazy.
Harry ignored the man's rambling, choosing to face the supernatural mirror once more.
So… How do you work?
He eyed the lettering engraved into the intricate frame.
«Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi»
He looked up. His eyes met their brilliantly green counterpart – one he saw every morning when he glanced into the mirror.
At a second glance, however, these eyes looked… different.
They were… warmer, more vibrant. Like all the hatred, pain, and loathing he carried within him had just magically disappeared.
A woman stepped into the picture.
Long auburn hair, with familiarly emerald eyes, and a small but radiant smile. She hugged his reflection from behind.
Harry felt like touching the mirror in hopes of becoming the version of him inside.
Mom?
The moment shattered as Quirrell's amused laugh echoed through the chamber, high and cold. Harry felt the blood in his veins freeze.
"Curious, isn't it, Harry?"
He snapped around. The Professor's eyes were burning a bright crimson. The same shade he had seen in the forest five months ago. Something was different about the man. The craziness was gone, replaced by something more… sinister.
"What is?" he asked.
"The mirror, of course," the voice answered, not sounding at all like Quirrell's. It was colder. "I see Quirinus handing me the stone. Yet…"
"It's enchanted."
Not-Quirrell laughed. "Naturally, Harry. If you would remove these chains of mine, I might be able to assist you."
Yeah, right.
Red eyes glimmered promisingly. "We both want the same thing, right? Why stand in each other's way? You know you won't be able to do it on your own. I can see it in your eyes."
Harry felt a faint tingle at the back of his head. His stomach dropped.
That's legilimency, isn't it? He turned away.
"Just… What are you?"
The entity's head tilted. "You really haven't figured it out yet, Harry? Come on, think a little. I heard you were rather good at that sort of thing."
He did. And slowly but surely, things started to fall into place.
'My Master… With me wherever I go… Him and I… Become one…'
'No way… Stone… Voldemort…'
Harry's eyes widened. He shook his head. "You're supposed to be dead."
Red eyes felt like they were swallowing him whole.
"Yet I live.'
Voldemort paused.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
The teen stiffened. How did he–
The Dark Lord sighed, interrupting his thought.
"While I won't be able to reveal the specifics, I can tell you that I am far from the man I used to be. It is… tedious to lack a body of your own. And while Quirinus has been a good host, I still find myself… unsatisfied."
"You're possessing him."
"I have been for the past year, yes. I fear his time is coming though. Even the unicorn blood won't sustain his body indefinitely."
That's what he wants the stone for. A new body.
Harry turned away for a moment, trying to ignore the barrage of feelings and emotions which bubbled up his throat.
He took a calm breath. "I should kill you."
For some reason, the threat felt weak. It almost seemed like the Dark Lord wanted to see him try.
"Whatever for?" Voldemort inquired curiously.
Harry pressed his lips into a line. "You're the reason my father died. You're the reason my mother…" he trailed off.
Voldemort pursed Quirrell's lips. "Oh, yes. I heard what happened. A terrible fate." His eyes trailed towards the mirror. "It's her you see, I assume."
Harry whirled around, hatred sickering into his facade. "You–" He took another breath, turning back towards the artefact. "You know what? Just shut up. I have better things to do than talk to a dead person."
The Dark Lord raised an amused eyebrow. "Do you truly think–"
"Silencio!"
I need to focus.
His heartbeat slowed and he turned around, facing his reflection once more. It only took seconds for her to appear again.
This time, Harry didn't let it consume him though.
He exhaled. I need the stone.
A frown appeared on Lily Potter's forehead. She reached into her pocket, the smooth skin of her hand vanishing for a moment. When it reemerged, pinched between her fingers, was a blood-red gem.
She eyed it questioningly.
Harry nodded. Yeah, that one.
His mother's reflection shot him an offended look, clutching the stone close to her chest and shaking her head.
Please.
She crossed her arms.
I need it. To heal you.
She pointed towards herself, tilting her head at him.
Yes.
Lily bit her lip, shooting him a tentative look. It was almost enough for his resolve to shatter.
I promise.
She took a deep breath, before eventually nodding. Hesitantly, she placed the stone in reflection Harry's pocket. Not a second later, he felt a weight settle into his robe.
I have it.
"Expelliarmus."
His wand slipping from his fingers, he was blasted across the chamber, his bones screaming in agony as he crashed against the stonern floor.
Through the pain, he could taste a warm, salty liquid running down the inside of his cheek. Groaning, he rose from the ground, only to find a wand pointed at him from afar.
"Don't move, Potter!"
Fury lit Harry's veins ablaze, only tempered by the weight of the stone in his pocket.
Longbottom.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.
Longbottom sneered, his beady eyes shrinking to the size of marbles.
"Stopping you from stealing the stone."
Harry tilted his head. "Stopping me?" He looked at Quirrell's silenced body. Red eyes were sparkling with concealed amusement. "Are you impaired?"
Longbottom scoffed. "Oh, please, Potter! I know everything. Snape sent you to do his bidding because he's too much of a coward to do it himself and Professor Quirrell tried to stop you." He wiped his brow, smirking. "Good thing I arrived when I did."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.
What kind of ludicrous story did this idiot make up in his mind?
"You can't be serious…"
The boy's eyes hardened. "I'm going to free the Professor now. Move and I'll blast you off your feet again." He started walking.
Harry suddenly drained of all anger. The moment Longbottom freed the Dark Lord, he was fucked. The problem was: neither did he have enough time or leverage to explain why to the fool.
"Don't," he threatened. "If you do, we'll both die."
Longbottom stopped. And for just a moment, it seemed like the boy had decided to listen him out.
Until the frown on his forehead vanished, replaced by just another sneer.
"Yeah, sure." The Gryffindor brandished his wand. "Finite."
The chains binding Quirrell's body unwinded and the man's voice returned. Momentarily, red eyes blurred into milky-blue ones.
Harry could only watch as the Dark Lord wrapped Longbottom around his finger. The stone in his pocket felt heavier than lead.
I need to get out of here.
"Th- Thank you…" Voldemort stuttered with Quirrell's voice.
Longbottom shook his head. "No problem, Professor. He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asked.
"N- No. Nothing grievous."
"And the stone?" Neville pressed.
The Dark Lord faked a look of anxiety, his eyes trailing over towards Harry's bloodied form. For just a fraction of a second, a smile appeared on Quirrell's stolen features, invisible to Longbottom. Harry stilled.
He knows.
His eyes zoned in on the wand in Longbottom's offhand. Twelve inches of ebony with the feather of an Occamy inside.
Voldemort shook his head, gesturing towards Harry.
"He has it."
Longbottom turned around. Harry saw his chance.
Accio.
The wand careened across the chamber, snapping into his hand.
"Expelliarmus."
"Protego."
Longbottom's maroon spell fizzled out against the brilliantly silver shield like it hadn't ever existed in the first place.
Harry could feel the adrenalin fill his veins. "You're helping the real thief, you moron!"
The Gryffindor scoffed angrily. "That's why you have the stone, yeah?"
Idiot. He blocked another incoming spell. Arguing with him is pointless.
"Depulso."
"Protego."
From the corner of his vision, the Dark Lord watched their exchange of spells with curiosity. It almost seemed like he wanted to see things play out.
He didn't have to wait long.
"Incarcerous."
Longbottom's shield came too late. Iron chains wrapped around the boy's ankles like ivy around ancient stonework. He shot a desperate look towards who he still believed to be Quirrell.
"Professor, please–"
From across the room, a bone-white wand snapped into Voldemort's palm. Crimson eyes returned.
The Dark Lord's voice sounded almost… disappointed. "Stupefy."
Longbottom crumpled beneath a jet of red light. Voldemort tutted.
"A rather lacking performance, wouldn't you agree, Harry?" he asked. "My supposed vanquisher, defeated by a mere first year."
Harry kept his wand pointed.
"You're not getting the stone."
Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry… It will be mine either way. The question is just whether you live to tell the tale or not."
"I'll destroy it."
The Dark Lord laughed, glancing towards the mirror. "Really, Harry? A bluff? You would give up the one hope for a cure you have just to stop me?" He paused. "Why?"
"I…"
"Isn't it Bella you hold a grudge against? You can have it all, Harry. Access to the panacea, a place by my side. You need only hand me that stone and it will all be yours. Isn't that generous?"
Harry couldn't lie. It sounded tempting. The little, rational voice in his head agreed with the Dark Lord. It was a generous deal. An unfairly good one, if anything.
Yet at the same time he couldn't shake the feeling that if he decided to accept the offer, things were never going to be like he'd wanted them to.
Longbottom's words from almost a year back hit his mind, stabbing his conscience like a twisted dagger.
…kissing arse with the same people who made you an orphan.
Harry grit his teeth.
"I'm not joining you."
Voldemort sighed. "How pitiful." The emotion seemed almost genuine. "You had so much potential."
He brandished his wand.
"Sectumsempra."
A vivid, white light missed Harry by a hair's breadth. It slammed into the sandstone behind him, leaving behind a gaping crack. Harry exhaled.
"Lacero."
Voldemort dodged. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who might've taught you that one?"
Harry grit his teeth. "Bombarda."
Useless.
With lazy elegance, the Dark Lord redirected the orange hex towards the ceiling, making it rain debris. Then, with a twirl of his wand, the scattered pieces of stone started flying at him. His eyes widened.
"Reducto!"
The curse managed to pulverise a majority of the rocks coming his way, but Harry still felt stray, sharp pieces slice open his arms and face as easily as a red-hot knife would through butter.
He heaved. "Osperedere."
Voldemort laughed, stepping aside. "A bonebreaker of all things. Really, Harry? There's so much better stuff. Let me show you."
"Adurendum."
Harry didn't have time to dodge. "Protego."
The lilac spell passed straight through his shield, hitting him in his left hand. A searing pain started to claw at his skin, his flesh physically boiling as angry red and black marks spread all over.
If not for the adrenalin in his bloodstream, Harry would have fainted right there. He barely managed to dodge another incoming curse, as he was forced onto the defensive.
"Protego."
His lungs were screaming for him to stop and his muscles brimmed with agony.
He took a shaky breath. This isn't a duel I can win.
"Stop!"
The spellfire ceased. Harry looked at the red-eyed nightmare opposite him. Voldemort was tilting his head in curiosity. For some reason, it seemed the Dark Lord had decided to humour him.
"Not much of a fighter, Harry?"
He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, carefully he reached into his pocket, the blackened skin of his off-hand rubbing against the cloth of his robe. He ignored the pain, producing the object of both their desires.
"You want the stone, right?" he asked. "Well, the moment you fire a spell at me, I'm gonna destroy it."
"You will die."
Harry laughed hysterically. "You say that like you wouldn't kill either way. You're Voldemort. All you do is make people die."
The Dark Lord pursed his lip. "You won't. Not when it's your only chance at a cure for your mother. You've studied the Cruciatus, haven't you? You know how it works."
"Yes."
"Then why do you believe I would fall for your bluff?"
Harry exhaled. "Because, this time, it's not a bluff."
He pointed his wand at the stone. Voldemort's expression changed from relaxed to deadly quiet.
"You wouldn't dare. Not when it's your sole option."
Is it?
He could feel the artefact between his fingers humming with power. Yes, the stone was by far his best chance at a cure. But it wasn't his only one. He couldn't let it be the only one.
"You wanna bet on that?"
A dangerous demeanour settled over the Dark Lord's voice. "The backlash from the explosion will kill you."
Maybe. But it's not like you won't.
For a moment, Harry wondered how things would've gone if Longbottom hadn't shown up tonight. If he would've just gotten away with the heist and immediately after visited St. Mungo's to heal his Mom. He crushed the thought.
Not like it matters now.
There were only two options that remained. Giving up his best chance at a cure, or taking his chances on beating the most infamous Dark Lord in recent history.
And after what he had endured already, he wasn't fancying the odds of the latter one bit.
His only bet of getting out alive was using the explosion's power to eviscerate Quirrell's body and praying that someone would come to check on him before he succumbed to his injuries.
A silent, humourless laugh wracked his body. He had made his choice. If there ever really was one.
"You know what?" Harry asked.
The Dark Lord stared at him.
"I think I'll take my chances."
He banished the stone at Voldemort. The crimson flash of a Reductor followed. Harry barely had enough time to see the Dark Lord's features distort into a vicious snarl before everything faded to a sea of white.
Author's Note:
Eh, hello? Anyone there?
Grand Finale completed! I hope it didn't disappoint. You waited long enough, after all.
Do let me know what you think about it in the reviews or on discord and if you expected things to turn out this way.
Since it's way too late and I should be sleeping, I'll cut the AN short here and just leave you to it. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask.
See you in the next one, whenever that'll be.
Cheers.