Harry watched Draco's blonde hair disappear into the flames behind him without any problems. It felt strange to be suddenly alone, but maybe that was how it was always meant to be, just him against Voldemort, just the two of them, face to face, like two sides of the same coin.
He took a breath and stepped through the dark fire without a shred of doubt, confident that he had taken the right potion. He walked over to the wooden door, grabbed the metal ring that served as a handle, and pulled it. Potter had expected to find a dark room lit only by candles, had expected to see Voldemort in the center of it, staring at him and smiling, challenging him. So when he found himself in a well-lit room with several torches, full of columns and arches, with Professor Quirrell of Defense Against the Dark Arts—and not Snape—in the center of it, looking at himself in the mirror that Dumbledore insisted he not look at anymore, he simply couldn't help but frown.
Maybe if he thought about it a little, things were more logical than they seemed. Who would suspect that loser and stuttering professor compared to Snape, who at first glance was not only intelligent, but also somewhat dark? Nobody, not even him, and he felt extremely stupid for not having foreseen it. It had been intelligent, very intelligent, to act like the lamb so that everyone would assume that someone else was the wolf. Cunning, there was no other word to describe it and Harry knew that he still had many, many things to learn. He couldn't allow himself to make mistakes like those, not if he wanted to win, not if he wanted to become an exemplary Slytherin, not if he didn't want to end up dead at the hands of his enemies, powerful and intelligent enemies like Quirrell or rather Voldemort had turned out to be.
At first glance there was no trace of the Dark Lord anywhere, but Harry could feel him, on his skin, with his magic, with his scar, he was there, probably inside the professor's body, although at first glance he did not seem to be possessed. And it was overwhelming, because Voldemort's magical energy, although weak, penetrated to his bones, making him shudder, raising the hairs on his neck. He knew that that was not all his power, because there was no way that someone with that level of magic so inferior was the most powerful dark wizard of all time, the murderer of his parents, but even so he could feel how that magical power equaled his own and surpassed it by very little, if they were going to face each other he would have to be smarter, he had to be more skillful, the miracle that had kept him alive the first time would not be repeated, he could not depend on chance, he had to be a Slytherin.
He gripped his wand tightly, Quirrell hadn't noticed him, too engrossed in the reflection the mirror showed him; the most desperate desire of his heart. He looked around, there didn't seem to be any way out other than the one behind him so he cast a charm on the door to keep it open in case he needed to return to the previous room and protect himself. But that small charm made his adversary notice him, his magic had flowed through the room and he cursed himself internally for not being able to make it go unnoticed. The professor turned around and raised his wand at him, casting a charm that must have tied him up with some magic ropes and that Harry managed to block with a magic shield. They both looked at each other, defiant until Quirrell said:
"Welcome, Potter," he stopped stuttering, it had all been an act. "You don't seem very surprised to find me here." He cast another spell to immobilize him, a spell that the boy dodged.
"I'm a Slytherin," he said, pretending that it hadn't surprised him. One of Draco's first lessons had been to pretend to know everything in order to get real information, and he'd learned to value that lesson; people spilled the beans when they thought there was no need to keep anything from you, because you already knew.
The dark-haired man cast a Fire Charm against the professor who quickly covered himself with a shield that shone prismatic, it was powerful, but not unbreakable, so Harry tried a couple more curses. Fire and lightning crashed against the protection and the brunette felt it falter just a second before his enemy countered the attack. He took cover behind a stone pillar and then another, one by one they fell to pieces from the hexes that crashed against them, at least until the boy reinforced the fifth pillar with a charm. He felt the magic crash against the object, again and again, but he didn't want to face Quirrell, he wanted to face Voldemort, they had unfinished business.
He stepped out from behind his pillar, circled the circular room and landed just behind the mirror, let the next hex crash into him, then stepped out from behind it and cast a disarming charm. But it didn't hit the man's wand, but his turban, sending it flying through the air and revealing something that horrified and amazed him in equal parts; Voldemort was there, behind the man's head, who had turned slightly from the impact, leaving him face to face with the murderer of Lily and James Potter, smiling, macabre and powerful. Harry stepped back a little, unable to think of anything, it was disgusting, like a parasite, a parasite on the back of the man's neck who proudly displayed it.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said in his barely human guise, and Harry shuddered, but tried to compose himself quickly. "My old enemy, the cause of my downfall." He smiled weakly. "You don't seem as brave as you did a few minutes ago. A great battle, I must say. Not just any boy could have faced an adult, even that useless Quirrell. Tell me, Potter, do you know how the mirror works? I know the stone is inside, and I would like to have it."
"I know how it works," he admitted, knowing it would keep him alive, "but tell me, what do I get out of helping you?" Voldemort let out a hoarse laugh.
"The hat has done well in placing you in Slytherin," he replied, looking at his uniform. "Power, Potter, a power so great that you could not even begin to fully understand it. Unless, of course, you are strong enough to seek it out."
He looked at him for a moment, thinking. He didn't need power, he needed revenge and that was what motivated him at that moment. Join the man who had taken his family from him? Never in his life. But he needed to stay in a neutral state while something else occurred to him, he had to plan and the most logical thing at that moment seemed to be to make time and pretend that yes, he was an ambitious young boy, eager to obtain power as soon as possible. Well, that wasn't entirely a lie, Harry wanted recognition, but he wanted it by his own hand, not by being one of that guy's slaves. He only needed to look at Quirrell to realize how stupid one had to be to give in to serve him; you didn't get anything from the Lord, he took everything from you and made it his, he used you and Harry didn't judge him, because that was the best way to get to the top, climbing the bodies of those who were willing to give you their lives to see you at the top, defending their common ideals. Promising and never giving.
The black-haired man walked cautiously in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the entire room in search of something that would help him win this battle. The door was still open behind him, although he couldn't see it, as the professor's body had stopped right behind him, blocking his view. He looked at the mirror and saw himself, completely alone, and wondered if his desires had changed in the last few months. He thought that he needed the stone, not to become filthy rich or immortal, but to secure his life. He knew that by now Hermione had already located Dumbledore and that Draco would surely seek Snape's help, so he just had to wait.
"What do you see?" Voldemort asked, but Harry no longer saw him behind him in the reflection, instead Draco was walking elegantly closer.
—Just the living room —he lied.
Draco looked at him, a bit dirty and disheveled from the many tests he had had to face and laughed at him lightly. Then he put his hand in his pants pocket and pulled something out. Between his thin, pale hands he held the Philosopher's Stone and Harry had to fight very hard not to exclaim anything. Suddenly Quirrell appeared in the reflection, lying on the ground, and his mirror self began to torture him with a myriad of curses that Harry didn't even know. The blond whispered something in his ear that Harry couldn't hear but that seemed to encourage his other self to continue with the torture, the greatest desire of his heart. At some point Quirrell seemed to have lost the battle and had fallen dead at Potter's feet and with him Voldemort, Draco smiled widely and as if it were a trophy he simply placed the stone in his pants pocket. Harry felt the weight of the real stone and knew that he had obtained it.
"I can see the stone," he announced. Quirrell, eager to be the one to fulfil his master's wish, pushed him away abruptly.
"Step aside," he said, and Harry stood behind him with a serious expression.
"Right at your feet," he lied masterfully again, and Voldemort smiled with pleasure, "on the loose brick beneath them, it shines."
"I can't..." Harry thought she would say "see anything" but he didn't have time to finish the sentence.
The Lord's smile faded as soon as the raven-haired man raised his wand against him and muttered"fire." The professor's body caught fire, but the screams that tore the room apart were those of Voldemort, whose face was beginning to turn to ash. The man threw himself to the ground, unable to stand because of the burns, and Harry knew he shouldn't, but he felt satisfaction at seeing that monster pay for the death of his parents. He saw him slowly consume himself, his fire was not a normal fire, it was fueled by his inner torment; the nights under the cupboard, Duddley's humiliations, the times his uncle left him without dinner, the times his aunt insulted his father, the blows from his cousin's friends, all the times he felt invisible, insignificant, a phenomenon. The times they told him he was good for nothing, the times they made him feel inferior, the times he dreamed of his parents screaming, about to be killed.
The last thing he saw of Voldemort was his red eyes boring into his soul and a smile he didn't expect to see when he was about to die.
"We're not so different after all," he said in a whisper that carried away by the wind.
—No, I'm better —he replied.
And so, both Quirrell and Voldemort were reduced to ashes, to nothing, and Harry felt freed from a weight he didn't know he carried until that night. He had won and had only received a couple of blows. He looked at himself in the mirror again, it was so dirty, but Draco didn't seem to care too much, he approached him and placed the stone crown back on his head, the one that had fallen during the fight and that must be somewhere in the room. He was the king, he had been crowned and Voldemort was no longer a problem for him. He knew he would return, his smile had told him so, but by the time that happened he would be ready and he would win again, again and again and again. The reflection showed him his parents, gratefully they kissed his forehead and cheeks and for the first time that night he wanted to cry.
"You have done well, Harry," said Dumbledore behind him.
"Thank you, sir," he replied, taking the stone out of his pocket and handing it over with his best smile. No one should know what his true intentions had been. He had learned something from Voldemort and pretending to be the lamb might work for him.
—You don't look hurt but...
"I'd like to go to the hospital wing," he interrupted, looking at his reflection in the mirror again, letting a small tear slide down his cheek. Dumbledore looked at him with distress and he took a breath.
"Okay," the old professor replied and took him by the shoulder. Harry, weak as he was, lost consciousness.
He dreamed that he was in an old house that he didn't know, he could only see his hands so his appearance was unfamiliar to him. He was sitting on a kind of black metal throne, with shining stones embedded in its ornamentation. He felt terribly alone and empty, the room, dark as it was, reminded him of the cupboard where he used to sleep.
He looked to his side, Draco was there, standing, firm as a soldier, looking forward, always alert, but he didn't look like him, he looked much older, he was really handsome but the shadows in his eyes indicated that he wasn't getting enough rest. The blond noticed his gaze and looked at him, giving him a sly smile, one that Harry had seen many times, full of complicity. He then stood in front of him and caressed his face, Harry closed his eyes and then opened them again, Draco was crying but smiling just the same, he stretched his pale hands over his head and removed something from his head, a crown of black gold and emeralds.
When Harry opened his eyes he didn't remember what he had dreamed but he had a rather strange feeling in his stomach, not unpleasant, rather bittersweet. That feeling was forgotten when his eyes met Draco's who was looking at him very attentively, with a smile on his lips and a potions book on his lap. The blond then stood up and hugged him tightly. Harry returned the act and smiled widely. Draco smelled of soap and his hair was slightly damp.
"Finally," she said, pulling away from him. "Three days, Potter, we've been waiting three days for you to wake up."
"Three?" he asked in surprise as he took his glasses from the table beside him. When he could focus better, he found that in front of him, an entire table was covered with presents. "And this?"
—Presents from your fans and friends of course, —he smiled— The biggest one is mine, obviously. You are the talk of the whole school, they can't stop talking about how heroic and powerful you are, everyone is extremely impressed, of course I've made sure to tell everyone that they shouldn't be so amazed, after all you are Harry Potter. Isn't that great? Even the boys in our house who were still reluctant to treat you as part of our group have had to bite their tongues, you are the pride of Slytherin, Potter and also the most respected student in the entire school.
—But how...? —he stopped mid-question and smiled. —You, little snake.
—Last lesson of the year, positive publicity is always important and I'm pretty good at getting rumours out there. Granger isn't too happy and Weasley is pretty angry but only because I haven't mentioned him —he laughed.
—And what about you? Enjoying the attention?
"They don't know I was there," he said, taking a chocolate frog from Harry and unwrapping it. "I think I'd rather remain anonymous."
-But...
—I'm not interested in hanging on to your glory Harry, I crave different things —he smiled at him once more, but when the dark-haired boy was about to ask what that was, the blond stood up, Dumbledore had entered the room.— I think I'll leave you two alone —and stealing a small box of sweets he left the infirmary.
Dumbledore took the seat the other Slytherin had vacated and smiled fatherly at him.
—Harry, how are you?
"Pretty good," he replied, returning the smile out of politeness.
—I think you'll be pleased to know that Slytherin has taken the House Cup —the dark-haired boy's smile widened— and that the stone has been destroyed.
—I think it was for the best, Voldemort will return sooner or later and the less weapons he has, the better —the director nodded and smiled satisfied with his answer. After a short silence he said.
—I'd like to talk to you —he looked at him and Harry became serious, attentive—, it's about... your magical power, I couldn't help but notice that after your encounter with Voldemort it has grown quite a bit, I notice it, just as you notice mine, have you noticed it? —Harry shook his head.— Listen carefully, Harry, you are a special boy, not only because of the scar on your forehead and it seems like everyone has noticed it... I would like to ask you to study, a lot, a power as great as yours out of control could cause havoc and neither of us wants that.
—Do you feel my power?
—Since day one, boy, but I'm afraid it's as if the lock that kept him on the sidelines has been removed now, he's getting out of hand —he looked genuinely worried.
"I'll do what I can to learn to control it," he said.
"I'll send you a couple of books before you leave, I'm sure they'll be helpful." He then dropped his worried expression and smiled at her. "Now I'm sure Madame Pumfrey will want to check on you. If everything is in order you can return to your common room, after all it's the last days of school and after that, summer." Harry pursed his mouth remembering that he had to return to the hole he was supplying from.
Dumbledore left, but not before Harry offered him a box of jelly beans of all flavours. Potter didn't know what to think about the man; it was obvious to him that Dumbledore had known all along that things would end this way and feeling used didn't please him in the least. He even suspected that the old man had been the one who had sent him the cloak and that he had left the mirror in that unused room so that Potter could find it and learn how it worked.
He didn't like mysterious people, he felt they were beyond his plans, beyond his reach, and that was uncomfortable. However, he had kept his doubts to himself so as not to get into trouble, he couldn't afford to lose the director's favor, Voldemort would return at any moment and the more allies he had the better, especially if they were as powerful as Albus.
The issue of his power also had him uneasy, but in a positive way, it was good news that his magic had grown, that increased the chances of, in the future, facing Voldemort again and coming out victorious. He felt confident, that year he had not only made good alliances, as he had planned, but he had also acquired a lot of knowledge that he would take advantage of now that he knew he was more powerful. He had to be careful, he knew it, he had to take advantage of every opportunity that came his way to always be one step ahead. He knew he had a lot to learn, but he was not going to give up, not now that he had shown what he was capable of, not now that he had proven his worth.
That same afternoon he returned to Slytherin where he was received with handshakes and verbally expressed respect. He spent his last days with Draco and his fellow snakes serving him as if he were the new prince of Slytherin. He spent some afternoons with Hermione and Ron and others on the Quidditch field. When it was time to return he already had two invitations, one from Ron to spend the summer at the Burrow and another from Draco to spend it at Malfoy Manor. He accepted both without problems and returned to number four Privet Drive feeling like a new person. Maybe he couldn't hex his cousin, but he had learned different methods that he wouldn't hesitate to use, after all, he was a Slytherin, the Dursleys wouldn't have it easy to screw him over, not anymore.