A/N My sincerest apologies for how long it's been since we posted a chapter. However, the good news for you, dear reader, is that psychiatry drives me crazy which means less studying and more time de-stressing and thus writing.
Lady Beatrice
~~~~~~~~~~ Summer 1991 ~~~~~~~~~~
Quirinus stood in a forest about two days journey east of Tirana by broomstick. Of course, he could have apparated here once the Albanian wizarding border guards had cleared him for travel inside the country, but he was tracking something, and that made apparating difficult to do without losing the trail. Unless, of course, the being in question was apparating… but that wasn't the case.
All the theory he'd read about shades indicated that while the consciousness and magic of the original person remained intact, they were essentially an untethered ghost. They could no more perform magic than the Grey Lady could, which just happened to be how he convinced Dumbledore to let him have a sabbatical before becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He would track down whatever remained of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and destroy it for good, thus earning the right to teach Defense. And no one would laugh at his stutter anymore, that would be for certain!
~~~~~~~~~~ August 1991 ~~~~~~~~~~
"Let us toast to a plot well planned!"
"Cheers!"
Dumbledore laughed as he drank a celebratory drink with his good friend Nicholas Flamel in his office. Dumbledore hadn't seen the man in the flesh since they finished their work on the properties of dragon's blood many years ago. Nicholas was just too far away for Dumbledore to make the trip without abandoning his many responsibilities, and Nicholas almost never left his homeland due to all of the unwanted attention he always seemed to attract.
Today, however, was a special occasion. As they had agreed in their letters to each other, Nicholas would leave the Philosopher's Stone with him for the year under the guise of allowing him to study it. In reality, it was all part of a trap that Albus was setting for Voldemort. Even after all the years since little Harry had vanquished him, Albus remained skeptical that Voldemort was well and truly gone, and so he had developed a plan to draw him out. That was where Nicolas came in.
Albus knew that if Voldemort was still wandering the Earth, this would likely be the year he would return. As the only other person besides him and Bathilda who knew that Harry Potter had survived that night, Voldemort would expect Harry to attend Hogwarts this year. Of course, with Harry safely squirreled away in Australia, Albus had no worries about the boy's health; but as far as Voldemort knew, Harry was still in Britain, and so Albus fully expected the dark wizard to attempt to infiltrate Hogwarts for that reason alone.
To make sure that Voldemort didn't leave once he discovered that Harry wouldn't be attending, he needed something else. Something that Voldemort wouldn't be able to resist. He needed the Philosopher's Stone. He contacted his old friend, who agreed with his thinking but had suggested a few alterations. The most important was the use of a very convincing fake stone that Nicolas had developed to help deal with the constant attempts to steal the original. When used to make gold, the fake stone would instead give out exceptionally convincing leprechaun gold, and when used to make the elixir of life, it would instead create a potion that would drain a person's magic, leaving them in a magical coma for a couple years.
It was decided to use the fake stone as bait and guard it with easily solvable but terribly time-consuming puzzles and tests. That would give Albus time to catch up with Voldemort in his weakened form and deal with him before he ever got to the stone. Dumbledore was particularly excited about using the Mirror of Erised. Since he had found it in the Room of Hidden Things several years ago and was captivated by it for longer than he cared to admit, he had long awaited a chance to let it ensnare someone like Voldemort. With any luck, the dark wizard would be so distracted he wouldn't notice Albus until it was too late. And, if he managed to steal the stone anyway, it wouldn't be a big loss. It was a rather good plan if he did say so himself.
"I do appreciate your assistance with this matter, Nick." Albus smiled and sipped his firewhiskey.
"Of course, old friend. After all, I can't let you do it alone. You're a particularly talented schemer, but everyone needs a second pair of eyes. And I've been at it a lot longer than you have." Nick chuckled while drinking his vodka.
"So, how is Perenelle doing these days? Still working on her crazy experiments?"
"I'm not sure she's ever going to stop." Nick shuddered, and Albus chuckled. "Her last experiment with fire-suppression magic had several of my best employees encased in ice for a week. Fortunately, she got them out without harm, but they are still a bit twitchy when she's around." Albus laughed out loud in a way he so rarely did these days. He had many followers but so few remaining friends that he often missed his younger days before he defeated Gellert on the battlefield of Nurmengard.
"Well, I'm sure they would get along marvelously with my new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He's as twitchy as they come! I'm still waiting for him to try and curse his own shadow for sneaking up on him!"
Several hours later, Dumbledore walked Nick off the castle grounds. He would have a long trip back. Britain didn't have any direct portkeys to his home, so poor old Nick would have to stop over in another country on the way there.
As he passed through the gates and outside the wards, Nicholas turned back, "Good luck with your work, my friend. Let me know what comes of it. And don't forget that my wife and I are here to help if you need us."
"I might take you up on that again, my friend. I've got a lot of trouble ahead, I suspect."
~~~~~~~~~~ October 31st, 1991 ~~~~~~~~~~
"Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know!" *thump*
Ron felt like fainting himself at the news. A troll! His parents had told him bedtime stories about them, and they were always the bad guys. Trolls in the closet that eat you. Trolls under bridges that smash you. Trolls in the water that drag you under. Trolls doing every horrible thing you could imagine to poor little boys and girls. Of course, as he had grown, he had learned that trolls were beasts, not bogeymen. His parents had been frightening him to get him to behave, but the fear had stayed even after knowing the facts. When Fred and George told him about wrestling a troll for the sorting, he had almost fainted! He hadn't forgiven his brothers for weeks.
But now, there was a real troll in the castle, and even Professor Quirrell, who often bragged about his first-place finish in the Great Troll-Wrangling competition of 1977, was scared of it. With a blast from his wand, Dumbledore stood up and called for order, "Prefects! Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!" All the professors then rushed out of the Great Hall, hopefully going to find and stop the troll.
Ron, though, had another thought. Neville Longbottom, one of the boys in his year, had not made it to dinner. Ron had been laughing with Seamus and Dean earlier about how the forgetful boy had probably gotten lost again, but no one deserved to get smushed by a troll! Not even Loser Longbottom! He definitely wasn't going out there after him, though. He'd just have to tell Percy about it. Standing on a bench, he spotted his brother's red hair at the other end of the hall, yelling orders at the older students and being mostly ignored. Running in that direction, Ron yelled at his brother, trying to get his attention.
"Percy! Percy!"
"What is it now, Ron?" Percy looked down at his younger brother in irritation.
"The troll, Percy. It's going to get-"
Percy cut him off with a scowl, "I'm a prefect now. I don't have time to deal with you and your irrational fear of trolls right now! I have to make sure everyone gets to Gryffindor tower safely. Now, go get in line. You'll be fine. The troll isn't going to get you."
"But Longbo-"
"Enough! Get in line, Ron. I don't have time to deal with your childish phobias." Percy stalked off, leaving Ron alone, more frustrated at his brother than ever. He wasn't trying to talk about his fear of trolls! He just wanted someone to help Longbottom! Stupid Percy! Ron kicked the bench he was next to in anger but just managed to stub his toe.
"What's the matter, Ron?" Dean and Seamus had seen him run off and had followed after him, seeing only the end of the scene between the brothers.
"It's Neville, guys. He never made it to dinner, and now he's out there with the troll! I was trying to tell Percy, but he's being a right berk and won't hear a word I say." Ron was very upset with his brother. When he told Mum, Percy was really gonna get it this time. Stupid Perfect Prefect Percy the Prat.
The boys drifted away from the noisy group so they could talk without yelling. "What do you want to do? Do you want to go find him ourselves?" Seamus offered the first suggestion. "I think it would be super cool if we could fight the troll." Seamus' eyes got a far-off look, and Ron could practically see the epic party he was imagining. "We'd be heroes!"
Ron went white at that suggestion. Seamus may see a party, but Ron thought it was much more likely they would end up as three piles of wizard bits in the hallways. "No way! It's a troll! It would squash us!"
"Don't worry, Ron. I've got a new potion that I've been working on. Remember how I made that boil-curing potion explode in Snape's class last month? I think I've figured out how to make that happen on purpose! We just need to toss one of these," Seamus lifted the vials out of his pocket, "At it, and then BAM! One less troll and three new heroes."
As much as Ron wanted to be a hero, he wanted to live more, and Seamus' plan sounded more likely to get them all killed.
Dean then offered a more sensible thought, "Well… Why don't we just talk to another prefect? Surely one of the other Gryffindor prefects will listen to us."
After Seamus' plan, Ron was willing to try anything else. "I guess that's a better idea. The prefects can't all be as much of a prat as Percy, right?"
"No, we most certainly aren't as much of a prat as Pompous Percy." Ron and the rest of them whirled around and came face to face with a sneering, tall, older boy none of them recognized.
Ron glanced at the older boy's robes and was excited to see a prefect's badge. He was also quite gratified that the mystery prefect agreed with his assessment of Percy. Ron was preparing to ask him for help when he noticed the green and silver tie. A Slytherin! We're doomed! He'll probably tie us up and leave us for the troll! "Go away, you slimy snake! Shouldn't you and the rest of your house be slithering off to the dungeons?" The three Gryffindors backed away.
The boy was completely unbothered by Ron's insults, probably having heard much worse in his years at Hogwarts. Sneering again at the firsties, he answered Ron, "Well, we Slytherins decided that we'd rather not head to our dormitory in the dungeons where the troll is. We're going to fortify ourselves here and wait for the all clear." Looking around, the prefect smirked, "You three seem to have been left behind, though."
Ron turned to look behind him and found that all the other houses had finished evacuating while they had been discussing their options. Now, it was just them and all the Slytherins!
"I noticed the three of you huddled over here, and a gaggle of Gryffindors is never a good thing. I wouldn't be surprised if the three of you were planning on taking on the troll yourself, just for the glory!" The prefect laughed to himself, probably imagining them getting smashed to bits.
Seamus blushed but didn't deny the statement while Ron continued. "What do you care what we were talking about? Anyway, for your information, we were trying to figure out what to do about Longbottom. He's missing."
Immediately, all the humor left the prefect's face. "What did you say? There's a student out there?"
"What do you care, huh? You probably are hoping that the troll will find him. As a matter of fact, I bet you'd lead the troll right to him -"
The prefect silently shot Ron with a stinging hex, shutting him up quite effectively. "Now, will one of you two tell me where you last saw Longbottom?"
Dean answered, "We left him when he went to the boy's toilets on the second floor an hour ago. He probably got lost looking for the Great Hall."
"Stay here and out of trouble." The prefect sneered at the trio of Gryffindors. Ron squirmed under his stern gaze and hoped he was wrong about at least this one Slytherin. Then Neville might have a chance.
~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~
Terence Higgs ran out of the Great Hall, heading towards the second-floor bathrooms. Why hadn't the stupid Gryffindor prefects taken a head count before returning to their tower, like Ravenclaw? Even the ever loyal, but generally incompetent, 'Puffs had a buddy system in place for emergencies, but the house of the annoyingly brave was just brainless. No wonder three of their first years were still in the Great Hall while a fourth was missing entirely. Dunderheads.
Of course, all the Slytherin prefects realized something was wrong when the Gryffindors left, unaware of their three first years animately talking in the corner. As the least well-connected of the prefects, he'd been selected to figure out what was wrong before a Gryffindor disaster occurred, and Slytherin got blamed for it. As unpleasant as it was to assume care of such unruly charges, there had been no doubt that Dumbledore would indeed blame them if anything happened to a Gryffindor while a prefect was around, no matter what house the prefect was supposed to be watching out for.
Then, as Farley had pointed out, there was also the added benefit of making the Gryffindor prefects look terribly irresponsible since Slytherins would be solving what was obviously their problem. Nevertheless, there was a risk of something going horribly wrong, which is why Terence had been tasked with dealing with the Gryffindor first years. That way, the other prefects could claim they had acted properly all while shielding themselves from any unpleasant surprises that unerringly arose from meddling with the Gryffindors. Not that any of them had said that.
Once he had found out that Longbottom was missing, he first sent off a message to the teachers, letting them know a student was on the loose. After which, he debated what else he should do. He could do nothing. Monitoring the Gryffindor students and informing the teachers fulfilled his duties as a prefect. However, he knew about the Longbottom boy from his father, who worked in the Janus Thickey ward. His parents were little more than empty shells, and Terence found himself pitying the boy. Being raised by the formidable Augusta Longbottom could not have been easy. Terence felt that even though he wasn't obligated to, he should head out and search for the boy just to alleviate his conscience. And, if he rescued the boy and earned some renown with the aforementioned Lady Longbottom, then all the better for him.
As he ran, he went over everything he knew about trolls. He knew the basics from his first year: twelve feet tall, weighed a ton, had muscles as big as he was, magically resistant skin, and a smell worse than Aunt Mildred's Emporium of Dead and Decaying Fauna. That wasn't the half of it, though. His further research for an essay in forth year Defense had informed him what made trolls a true threat to even adult wizards: they regenerated at a terrifying rate. A healthy, fully-grown mountain troll could heal the damage from a blasting curse in seconds. Excessive, blunt force trauma to the skull could sometimes knock them out for a few moments, or rapid, pinpoint damage to the same location sometimes broke through the magic-resistant skin to cause fatal damage before the troll could recover. Only a fool would try and engage in a long, drawn-out fight with one. Trolls were quick, and no matter how good your reflexes were, you would eventually tire, slow down, and be smashed into tasty bits of troll food. If your first attack was unsuccessful, you died.
Of course, only an idiot would fight a troll if there was any other option, and he would be running the moment he saw it unless it had Longbottom cornered, and no matter how dim the boy was, surely he wouldn't be outwitted and cornered by a troll. But a Slytherin was always prepared and had a plan for every eventuality. Terence had been working on a spell chain recently as an OWL project and was sure it could deal the damage needed to break through the troll's thick skin. Transfiguring a few barriers between him and the troll would give him the time he needed, but that would take precious seconds, and he wasn't sure how many he would have.
As he was passing an intersection, still thinking about trolls, he heard a scream. Turning towards the scream and breaking into a sprint, he started to smell the characteristic stench of a mountain troll. Sliding around a corner, he saw Longbottom trapped at the end of a blind hallway with the troll swinging at him. It was impressive that he hadn't been hit yet, but there wasn't time to admire his reflexes as the younger boy slipped and fell, leaving himself defenseless as the troll raised its club again.
Terence knew he had to act. He would prefer to be a bit farther away and have time to transfigure some fortifications to slow the beast down, but there wasn't much choice now. He raised his wand and cast the simple but effective silent spell chain he had perfected: Reducto. Bombarda. The wand movements of the two spells flowed into each other, and they both worked exceptionally well against magically resistant creatures. After all, each spell created a small explosion at the point of contact instead of causing damage directly, and trolls, while extremely robust, were not completely explosion resistant. The two spells hit the troll in the back, burning off quite a bit of skin and causing the troll to stumble and miss Longbottom's head by an inch, instead smashing into the boy's arm.
Longbottom screamed in pain as the troll roared its own displeasure. When it turned around to deal with the new threat, Terence hit it with another set of spells. "Reducto. Bombarda!" Now that the troll was aware of him, he dispensed with silent casting, instead using incantations for the small but indispensable power boost they provided. Concentrating on getting the movements and incantations just right to maximize the power behind each spell, he continued firing at the troll that was now charging at him. "Reducto! Bombarda!" Breathe. "Reducto! Bombarda!" Breathe. The troll was roaring as it neared him, and he continued with his curse mantra, now aiming for a single spot on the troll's forehead. Hopefully the troll would succumb soon; if it reached him, he would die. Trolls were too large and powerful to manage at close range.
As the troll approached and raised its club, he continued his chant, wishing he'd had an extra couple of meters. He had fried all the skin off the troll's forehead and could see the bone underneath. If he could just break through the bone and mush the tiny brain inside, even a troll wouldn't be able to continue. If his next set didn't do it, though, that would be it. He would not survive a hit from that club and wouldn't have enough time for another pair of curses. "Reducto! Bombarda!" The troll's forehead cracked but held against the assault. Roaring with pain, the troll swung his arm down, and the prefect knew that he was dead. Another meter, perhaps, and he would have managed it. Still, all he could do now was prepare to cast again, even though he knew he would be a fraction of a second too slow. At least he'd be able to face death with dignity, knowing that he didn't leave a first year to die horribly, nor did he give up and die without a fight.
"Reducto! Bombarda!" When the first spell made contact, the troll's forehead finally shattered, and shards of bone punctured the brain underneath. Then, hitting the now vulnerable brain, the bombarda caused a fine mist of what was once troll brain to fly from the beast's head. As the body collapsed, Terence could barely contain his shock. What had happened? Why did he connect first? Looking around, he saw the troll's club floating as Longbottom held his wand, shakily pointing in his direction.
Terence collapsed to the ground, exhausted and in shock as the club fell to the floor. The kid's spell wasn't powerful enough to stop the troll from swinging the club, but he slowed it down just enough for his last chain to connect. He'd have to remember to thank Longbottom when he felt like moving again and when his life stopped flashing before his eyes. For now, he would sleep. Hearing footsteps coming in their direction, he felt it was just like the Hogwarts teachers to be a few minutes too late as blackness overtook him.
~~~~~~~~~~ Y ~~~~~~~~~~
"QUIRRELL! OBEY ME! WE NEED TO LEAVE!" Voldemort shouted as loud as he could, considering there was a sodding purple turban covering his mouth.
"The stone is right here, master. Just another few moments, and I'm sure I'll have it! Then you'll rise again and rule with me at your right hand!" Quirrell shouted with a crazed edge to his voice.
Voldemort couldn't see much of anything from underneath his host's turban, but he knew something was wrong. Quirrell was being unusually disobedient, and the strange tone that he was speaking with was truly worrisome. When Quirrell had finally passed the last trial, he had found a mirror and had begun investigating it. Initially, nothing seemed amiss, but the longer Quirrell searched, the more strangely he acted, until finally, he had sat down and started yammering on about how close he was to the stone and how glorious it would be when he found it, but as far as Voldemort could tell, the idiot wasn't actually doing anything anymore. He wasn't sure how long they had been down here, but he was starting to become seriously worried that Dumbledore would be along shortly.
"Hello, Professor Quirrell! Thank you for watching over the stone while I was gone." Speak of the devil… Voldemort's mind ran at a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out what he could possibly do to get out of this mess without a responsive host.
"Yes, Dumbledore. I'll keep it very safe as soon as I get it out of the mirror." Quirrell droned on, unperturbed that Dumbledore had apparently found him out.
"You might have more success if you removed your turban, my friend. I hear that such heavily enchanted objects can cause the Philosopher's Stone to become invisible." Voldemort gritted his teeth at the obvious lie, hoping his host wasn't so entranced that he would actually remove the turban. His hopes were quickly dashed as Quirrell shifted, and then light began to peek through the enchanted wrappings that had hidden his presence so well for the past year.
"Very good, Quirrell. I'm sure you'll have it soon, now that the turban isn't interfering." As the last of the wrappings fell away, he glimpsed Albus Dumbledore's wrinkled face and twinkling eyes. "Hello, Tom. It's been a while since I saw you last. You look dreadful."
Voldemort gritted his teeth, "Don't call me that foolish name, Dumbledore. I have not been Tom Riddle since I left school and became the great Lord Voldemort!'
Dumbledore, the smug bastard, just smiled and waved his wand to conjure one of his insufferably plush chairs. "You don't seem very fearsome to me at the moment, Tom. Quite the opposite, actually. Can you only possess a man who has been completely enraptured by a powerful magical artifact? I'm surprised you held on to him for this long, really. You must be quite desperate to have a body of your own again." The old goat sat in his chair as though he were preparing for tea time, not facing a powerful dark wizard. The disrespect was infuriating!
"I will return to power, Dumbledore, and then you and all the British Isles shall suffer for your insolence!"
Dumbledore examined his fingernails disinterestedly, "Not if you continue to fall for such traps as this one. Did you really think such simple tricks were the best I could do? I bet a troup of talented first-years could make it past those traps. Don't seem so surprised at the thought. I fully intended you to make it past all of them, eventually. They were really just meant to waste time so that I could come and handle you myself at my convenience once you were trapped here."
"You can't stop me, Dumbledore. Even as a shade, I have great power. No barrier of yours can contain me!" Voldemort could only hope that Dumbledore hadn't discovered some new magic that could imprison him.
"Alas, Tom, you're right. I can, however, tune the wards to your presence now that you have revealed yourself, and you'll never be able to enter here again. Now, fly away like a good little dispossessed soul so I can return to work. As nice as it is to catch up, I'm a very busy man, especially now that I know there's a dark wizard on the loose."
Dumbledore was infuriating but also right. Voldemort couldn't stay here forever, and Quirrell showed no signs of breaking his trance. It would set him back a couple of years, but he would have to abandon this useless wizard and build his strength again. He had all the time in the world, after all, so a minor setback such as this one was little more than a momentary inconvenience in the longer scheme of things.
Still, he couldn't leave Quirrell with all his memories and knowledge. He hadn't told the fool anything truly important, but Dumbledore was nothing if not observant, making the risk too great. Gathering his strength, he reached into Quirrell's mind and shattered his memories directly. Much more thorough and efficient than an obliviate. Much less precise as well, but the fool was of no use to him anymore, so eradicating almost everything he knew was not a loss.
As Quirrell slumped over in shock, Voldemort abandoned his body and sped away, silently etching the night into his memory and promising himself that it would all be repaid in full. Passing through the walls and out of the castle, he considered trying to find any of his loyal followers who might still be wandering free. Perhaps one of them would be more suitable than Quirrell had been.
~~~~~~~~~~ Y ~~~~~~~~~~
The plump armchairs in Albus's private chambers at Hogwarts were once again being used by an unexpected guest. Little did the man know about the last surprise visitors who had used the very same chair nearly a decade earlier. Bob Ogden had come to visit shortly after Albus had quietly informed the Order of the Phoenix about Voldemort's continued existence, if only in a wraith-like form.
"Dumbledore, you know I was glad to join the Order during the last war with You-Know-Who. As an auror, I had seen so many innocent dead that I was willing to work with anyone willing to take a stand. But that was then, and this is now. Thanks to your magical prowess, headmaster, you may have aged quite gracefully, but my age wears on me more than ever. I can't go to war against You-Know-Who again. I'll be more of a liability than anything now." The retired auror hung his head, mildly ashamed to admit it.
Albus reached out and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Bob. You were a great wizard in your time and invaluable to the Order. We will do our best to move on without you, but you will be missed."
Bob's head swung back up, "Don't misunderstand me! I still want to be useful, but I can't be on the front lines fighting like before. I don't even want to be in England, really. If Voldemort returns, nowhere in England will be safe for someone like me. I'll be one of the first to go."
Albus leaned back and studied one of the first people who had volunteered when he was building the Order of the Phoenix. Bog Ogden was a sharp, unconventional auror who had trained many promising young wizards and witches during one of the worst wars in British wizarding history. What's more, he was impeccably trustworthy and decisively against the forces of Voldemort. With a twinkle in his eyes and a smile curling his lips, he said, "I think I might have an idea, Mr. Ogden. I hear Australia is a wonderful place to retire…"
A/N I hope you had as much fun reading as Mr. Darcy and I did writing. :) Please review!