AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.
Thank you for the comments and constructive criticism. I try to do my chapters within the lens of the character. It's why Pomona was critical for me as a viewpoint character for the reader. It was brought up that it seemed like an arbitrary golden trio, and that meant I didn't lay enough groundwork within the story. I do not come right out and say everything that is happening or will happen. I've left clues about future events, but again, it might not have been clear enough. You will not know everything going on until later. Even then, every student is having their own adventure through Hogwarts, and Harry's POV will never know the full story.
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor do not intermingle all that much in the story. The Houses are, more or less, separated by design unless it is for a group/community enrichment. That could be class, a club, eating together, or any number of other things. Your House being your home is an apt description of how I understood Hogwarts. There were friends made that cross those "family" bounds, and you'll see that in the coming chapters. Harry is very much an island when he reaches Hogwarts. Only those who have taken an active role in reaching him are even remarked upon.
The golden trio is not a trio. You heard from Hannah that Granger forced Longbottom into working with her. Harry disagreed and thought Neville looked interested and wanted to work with her. Then there is the Dragon issue. Might not be all that much of an issue. Frank and Alice Longbottom were in the Order, and so was Hagrid. Is it such a stretch that he would reach out to a young wizard who might want to know more about how great his parents were, not the shell he sees them as? A nudge to Hagrid isn't all that shocking. I didn't make it a secret for the reader who knows the story to figure out what was going on with the Invisibility Cloak. Will it have consequences? Absolutely. The artwork for the story isn't all that great, but it isn't for show, either. Too bad the site wouldn't let me do the higher-quality picture.
Ronald Billius Weasley. What an interesting character that gets shafted in the movies. He's actually your typical young male who, shockingly, is bright in his own way. Fun fact: most children are. The movies didn't do his character justice. It's hard to do with a limited time. Ask Amazon how that goes with the Wheel of Time or the Lord of the Rings Fanfiction. Would you go chasing after a three-headed dog three times your size? Not me. How about spiders? Absolutely effin not. The Forest would burn to ash first, then more fire... then maybe poke a toe toward a giant spider layer. Nope, not even then. Place any other character at the beginning of the series in the position of Harry Potter's friend.
Dean and Seamus become pretty close friends and don't interact with the golden trio all that much in the books and films. They do their own thing, at least until the DA. Weasley is an opinionated young boy. He doesn't understand a Muggle's point of view or their lives as seen in the books. He's a pure-blood, through and through. Although he doesn't see or understand why he is wrong sometimes. Ignorance is not stupidity. Ignorance can be taught. I think Ron turned out alright at the end of the canon books, all things considered. Ronald and Neville are in the same dormitory, and it is clear that my version of Hermione forces her presence on others from her interaction with Harry. Is it so odd that she "collects" Ron while doing assignments? He would want to fit in somewhere.
So, follow my logic here. Neville gets the Cloak by design. Neville is connected to Hagrid, who has the dragon. He's much more confident in this story. I could do a ten-inch essay on how and why that happened, but he gets his time and place to shine... I think in book 3 or 4. Ron sees Neville get the Cloak or is told about it, and because he was envious of the Cloak (even in the books) and wants to use it, Ron offers his brother's help to get Norbert out of Hogwarts. You actually see a part of the detention of that decision from Harry's POV and a glimpse of what happened. Again, the trio is not a trio, but Harry doesn't see it yet. The Stone? Snape dislikes Neville for being terrible in potions. They see it as him disliking Neville for his parents being Aurors. Augusta would know about Snape's trial. As to how they know about the Stone at all, Hagrid's pension of speaking without thinking.
I've already written a lot here, but I feel this is a critical point for the entire rest of my story. If I did a poor job of explaining why the three, actually four, are together, then that is my fault as an author. I really don't feel this is too much of a stretch, considering who is taking an active role in Neville's development.
Oh, and Quirrell really is a dick.
Again, thank you all for your comments, constructive criticism, and time spent reading The Duffer-Who-Lived. We're approaching the end of what could be considered book 1. I've got stuff to do this weekend, so this is being released early. The next chapter won't be until Monday, sorry for the unintentional cliffhanger. Editing is hell.
Chapter 18
Harry wasn't sure how he made it back to the Common Room. He tried to ignore the looks from the other first-year Hufflepuffs. For some reason, all of them were there.
"Mate, did he do anything?" Finch-Fletchley asked after a few minutes of everyone just staring at Harry.
How could Harry tell them all what he'd just heard? That his magic would doom him. He tried to think of a lie. Nothing came to mind. When he just shook his head, Bones snorted.
"You look as pale as the Fat Friar. What did the professor say?" she pressed.
"Is it about whatever they found under your chair?" another voice asked.
Harry had trouble concentrating as the image of the Hospital Wing kept distracting him. He opened his mouth to tell them and quickly shut it again.
"…do you know what the magical community does to Obscurials?… They murder them."
Harry felt his mouth go dry. He'd never be able to say what Quirrell told him. The others, and likely the entire staff, would never believe that the professor was faking his stutter the entire time. Harry certainly felt something was off the entire year, but was he the only one?
"I… I just got told bad news," he managed to get out and hoped they would leave him alone after that. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
"Some bad news then," one of the others snorted. "Potter, you look like you saw a Grim." It took him a moment to realize it was Green.
"Mate, I'm not sure what Professor Quirrell said, but whatever it was, don't believe him. He's been acting weird since Easter," Macmillan said softly. "Remember him suddenly leaving the Great Hall looking like he was going to get sick?" Harry hadn't remembered that at all.
"He's right. If you get past that stutter, he's been saying some bleak stuff about dark witches and wizards. Remember when he talked about the average witch not being able to do simple Protection Charms? It was like he was gloating," Abbott huffed.
"When did Professor Quirrell do that?" Lowe asked. "He talked about Protection Charms in our first Defense class."
"No, no, before the break. We were going over the Full Body-Bind Curse," Hannah said.
"Well, Potter looks a little less like he's going to faint. I'm going back to the Library. Who gives thirteen inches on the Hair-Raising Potion? It just… makes your hair stand on end. Absolute waste of ingredients," Cauldwell groused.
The others all grumbled in agreement. It hadn't just been the Hair-Raising Potion. Professor Snape also wanted at least ten inches on the uses of rat tails and porcupine quills in potions. All of it was to be due before Tuesday of the following week.
Harry felt more than saw the others move off. He became more aware that he sat near the back corner of the Common Room and that some of the older students were watching them. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed. Unfortunately, Bones, Abbott, Macmillan, Harper, and Lowe didn't seem to want to allow that.
"We really should get those assignments done," Bones sighed. "Harry… do you have your notes on any of those ingredients? I don't think we've done anything for porcupine quills, but I seem to remember having an essay on rat tails," she grimaced.
He started to shake his head but then stopped. "Maybe," he admitted. "Just some basic notes."
The rest of the day was a blur. He knew he participated in writing his essay and even wrote one of them, but he couldn't remember what he did as he lay in bed that night. Quirrell's words kept coming to him.
He would watch as Harry's magic destroyed him from the inside out. How could Harry even protect himself from his own magic? He now knew his magic was as much a part of him as breathing.
The next morning, Transfiguration was not enjoyable. Professor McGonagall took up their assignments from Easter. "We are in the last stretch before the end-of-term exams. I expect your very best, no matter what you've turned in so far," she said with a severe look around the room.
"Expect anything on your exams because we've reviewed all the concepts up to this point at least twice," she continued as she made her way down the middle of the classroom.
Harry heard Malfoy mutter something under his breath. Parkinson, sitting beside him, whispered something to Bulstrode. Davis and Greengrass whispered something a moment later.
Professor McGonagall either didn't hear them or decided it wasn't worth calling it out. "I will ensure that you understand every step of the Transfiguration Formula in each of your essays. Expect at least fourteen inches," she announced as most of the class groaned. "Yes! Fourteen inches. Your other professors will require the same lengths or more. This is not the time to slack off. Now, Malfoy, do you have something to share with the class, or will you stop your incessant whispering?" she asked as she rounded on the Slytherin boy.
Draco's face went a little red. His eyes flicked across the room but not toward Harry. "No, professor. I just… well, did anyone tell Cauldwell that he shouldn't try to ask out a Greengrass?" he smirked. A few of the Slytherins snickered while Greengrass stared at nothing, her face blank.
"That is quite enough, Malfoy. Who asks who out or even who someone wants to converse with is no concern of yours, especially in my classroom. Are you ready to continue, or should I take points?" the professor threatened.
Draco grimaced and held out his hands. It wasn't an answer, and Professor McGonagall docked five points. His face went red, and he gritted his teeth.
Harry went back to his open notebook. He had a feeling it would be a long day, and he wasn't feeling up to dealing with it all. Professor Quirrell's words haunted him all night, and he barely got any sleep.
Her threat about the Transfiguration Formula changed to thirteen inches on the Avifors Spell by the end of class. Professor McGonagall wanted to see all their work on the body weight of the birds, the wand power required, his level of concentration, the viciousness necessary, and finally, any unknown variables.
Bones bumped into him in the corridor as they made their way to Charms. "That will be an easy essay," she grinned. "We've got most of that written down already," she continued with a wink over Harry's shoulder.
"I didn't think those notes would ever do anything more than just make reviewing easier," Abbott admitted from his other side.
"What notes, and can I see them?" Lowe asked from behind them.
Harry tuned them out as they moved down the Transfiguration Corridor and back up into the Castle. He spotted Professor Quirrell overlooking the Grand Staircase, his back to them. Without warning, he felt something stab his scar. He somehow managed not to cry out, but he did stumble.
"You okay, Potter?"
"Yeah," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. It took him a moment to realize it was Macmillan who spoke. "Thanks."
"I think we'll go a different direction," his yearmate said to the others and pulled Harry away from the Grand Staircase. After they'd walked a few steps, he heard whispering behind him.
"Somethings going on," Bones said a little too loudly.
"Harry, how about going to the Hospital Wing? You haven't been right since whatever Professor Quirrell said or did," Abbott said softly.
He shook his head. "No. I'm fine," he lied. He didn't need to look at the others to know they didn't believe him.
Charms was both good and bad. Professor Flitwick welcomed the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs back from break with a brilliant smile. He collected their essays with a wave of his wand. "Now," he squeaked and took his place atop his pile of books. "We will begin to prepare for the end-of-term exams. Do not expect them to be easy," he warned, his smile never fading.
The Animation Charm was by far the most complex Charm they'd had all year. Professor Flitwick went over it again, this time in more detail now that they'd grasped the general idea of how the Charm worked.
"Concentration and intent are the most critical parts of this Charm that you might liven up your morning by making your fruit dance across a table to you," the Charms Professor laughed. He waved his wand. A vase on his desk grew legs and started to pace across the surface.
"The incantation we've covered, but it is Saliantur Motus," he pronounced carefully before moving his wand slowly in a clockwise spiral and finishing the wand movement with an upward flick. An empty desk near the door started to tap dance.
"You could use this with a mannequin to have more refined movements. However," the professor warned with a fierce look across the room, "the Charm does not work on any objects, people, or creatures with magical properties or enchanted to resist magic. Limited, simple movements are all this Charm can perform unless you understand the spell. Once you do, you can do things like this," he said, making the same wand movement again.
The desk at the room's far end did a cartwheel and hopped over another desk. It threw up two of the four enchanted metal legs in the air like a person's arms. The class clapped.
"You must remain focused on the task and your intention. The only way to get better is through practice. Let's begin," the professor said as he waved his wand. The vase and the desk returned to normal.
Charms with Professor Flitwick always made his day. He hoped to be able to have him every year… if he survived. Quirrell's mocking voice stayed with him. Even lunch couldn't entirely shake his unease.
In History of Magic, Professor Binns gave them a long essay on Elfric the Eager.
"Am I mad, or did we have this exact same assignment at the beginning of the year?" Finch-Fletchley asked.
"You aren't," Longworth laughed as she brushed through her silky brown hair. "I think I've got the notes I took for it somewhere."
Harry thought Justin might be correct, but he couldn't remember. It felt like a lifetime ago. Professor Binns was one of the few professors who didn't mark or otherwise give feedback on assignments he gave out. It wasn't a surprise, considering Harry didn't think the professor knew what year it was or who his students were.
"Well, done for the week," Macmillan grinned.
"I'm not starting on these stupid assignments until tomorrow," Lowe huffed as she looked at Green. The rail-thin boy nodded emphatically.
The Hufflepuffs started to split off for various parts of the Castle. Not everyone immediately went to the Common Room after class. "I would rather enjoy my weekend," Bones sighed. "Library?" she asked as she looked from Harry to Abbott.
He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to think about was more schoolwork, but if he didn't do it sooner rather than later, he might not feel like doing it at all.
Having Bones and Abbott pushing him to complete his essays was weird. They went to find books, talked to Madam Pince for recommendations, and started discussing strategies for how best to complete each task. Usually, he just did it. Susan kept giving him looks over her essay as if he were going to burst into flames at any moment.
"Well, we've done everything we can for today," Macmillan huffed as he closed the book. "I think I might go mad if I keep reading about porcupine quills and rat tails."
Harry privately agreed with him. "Dinner?" he asked quietly.
Bones and Abbott jumped at the chance to stop working too. He felt a little bad about that, but they were clearly trying to help.
Harry froze as he put his things away. They were trying to help him. It took a moment for his brain to register that fact. No one had wanted to help him since… no, that wasn't true. He thought back to when Professor Flitwick took him away from the Dursleys. Professor Sprout tried to help him too. Fiona Merriweather attempted to help him. He didn't know how to react to the realization, yet it should have been obvious.
"Thank you," he said after a moment. The others looked at him.
"That's what friends are for," Abbott said with a shrug. "Sometimes they just need… to study," she said with a grimace that wrinkled her nose. "Normally, I just want to sit and drink hot chocolate to feel better, but you're obviously a little weird."
Harry looked at her. Dudley liked hot chocolate but Harry was never allowed any. "Is it any good?"
Six eyes stared at him. "Sitting or hot chocolate?" Ernie smirked. Bones rolled her eyes, and Abbott snorted.
"Yes, to answer your question," Hannah said as she stuck out her tongue.
Harry nodded. He would ask the house-elves if they had hot chocolate. If it actually helped, it might be nice.
Abbott, Bones, and Macmillan went with him to the Kitchens after dinner. They all got hot chocolates. When Hannah asked for a bunch of stuff in hers, including a dash of honey, Harry realized that she knew what might be best. The cinnamon stick was a weird addition, but he asked for the same thing she did.
The cup was almost too hot to handle as they made their way to the Common Room. "Oh, this smells almost as good as Tesley makes hers," Abbott said in an odd tone as she sniffed the steaming cup.
Harry had to agree with Hannah when it was cool enough to drink. "This is really good," he grinned. A warm, pleasant feeling spread through his body that had nothing to do with the drink's heat.
"See, stick around with me, and I'll teach you all the good things in life," Abbott said haughtily as she took another sip from her mug.
Bones rolled her eyes. "Do not do half of what she does," she warned. Her friend shot her a hard look. "Oh, please. I'm shocked you haven't managed to somehow cripple yourself with some of your stunts."
"That isn't fair," Hannah argued, but Harry noticed that she didn't sound very convincing.
"You've never had hot chocolate?" Macmillan asked before taking a long drink of his.
Harry shook his head. "I've had chocolates before, but never like this. I know… my cousin did," he admitted after a moment.
Bones shifted on her chair and looked around the Common Room. It wasn't deserted, but it wasn't as busy as usual. There were many people at the Library, and the Great Hall would still serve dinner for a while. She looked at him and shifted on her seat again.
"Did Professor Quirrell say something bad?" Hannah asked suddenly. Bones and Macmillan sighed in unison. "What? We were all thinking it? I mean… Harry hasn't looked right since, and the way he was when we saw the professor after class," she argued.
"Sometimes, Hannah," Bones sighed. "I was going to ask a little gentler. Harry, we won't say anything, and we understand if you don't want to tell us. We're just worried. Macmillan said you had a nightmare."
"Don't bring me into this," Ernie complained. Harry looked at his dormmate. "Listen, you did. I… well… I haven't told anyone else, but mate, you sleep next to mine, and our beds are on the same wall." He paused and glanced at the girls. "I haven't told anyone anything else. Just that you needed rest because of a hard night… not… anything else," he emphasized.
Harry looked away. So Macmillan knew that he slept on the floor. He wondered when he figured it out. "Does…" he started to ask.
"No. No, they don't, and I'm not telling anyone."
Harry nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.
Macmillan's nod was firm, but Harry could tell he wanted to say more. He glanced at the girls. They were curious, like the look Petunia got when she thought a neighbor was doing something they shouldn't.
"Well?" Abbott asked after a moment.
Bones sighed and put her mug down on the table. "Hannah… please…"
"Whhaaaaaat?" her friend complained. "We can't help if we don't know what it is."
Abbott gave him an idea that might get them to back off. "It… wasn't good news," he admitted. He wouldn't talk about his magic or the Obscurial thing. Bones' aunt would know what that was and likely send Hit-Wizards to find him or something. "My… well… the… uh… artifact," he hedged. They were all staring at him. "My magic isn't what…" he tried again.
Macmillan grunted. "So, someone did go after The Boy-Who-Lived. Do they think it was Malfoy? He threatened you," he asked.
Harry had no words for how thankful he was that Macmillan finished his answer. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say and not entirely lie. "No. They don't think he could do it," he admitted.
"I can't say I would take the news well," Hannah said softly. "Sorry that I pressed you."
Harry shook his head. Bones didn't say anything. She continued looking at him, her mouth hidden by her mug. Something made him look away.
The next evening, somehow, half the school knew that Harry Potter might be a magical cripple. He glared at his Housemates, but they all shook their head. "We didn't say anything!" Bones promised.
"Harry, please, we've been with you all day," Abbott whispered.
"Mate, we don't even talk to Malfoy. Higgons said it was him at lunch who was saying all that stuff."
Harry wanted to believe them but only shared that with them. It wasn't the entire truth either.
"There were… other Hufflepuffs who might have heard, but Harry… I don't think they shared anything either," Bones said softly.
Before he could argue, Professor Sprout strode into the Common Room behind another student. She looked around and immediately spotted him. Harry knew she was there for him. The Head of House didn't seem to be angry, just… he didn't have a word for her expression. She waved him over and turned to leave. He understood that he should follow her.
Harry felt the weight of all the other students in his House staring at him as he left the Common Room. Professor Sprout waited by the Kitchens. She turned and smiled at him. "I apologize for asking you to walk out of the Common Room like that, but I didn't think you would want to talk with everyone watching," she said softly. "Do you mind coming with me? I just want to sit down and talk about… these strange rumors. I want you to know that whatever someone said, that simply isn't the truth."
Harry frowned. What did the professor know? He doubted Quirrell would have told her anything. It might be something else. He followed the professor up the stairs and into the Entrance Hall, but instead of heading toward the Greenhouses, she took him toward the Grand Staircase.
Harry felt something was off as he climbed the stairs. Professor Sprout walked stiffly and almost tripped on the stairs twice. Was she drunk like Vernon was sometimes? He had no idea what was going on, but she was his Head of House.
"Professor, what… where are we going?" he asked.
"A specialist is here to explain everything," she stated without turning around.
There was no warmth in her voice. That was the other thing that stood out. Professor Sprout always smiled. He associated her voice with that smile. Even when she acted weird around him at the start of term, she still had the same smiling voice. He couldn't express what made him worry. It might have been that his head started to hurt some, or that they were on the third floor and headed for the area the older students told them not to go to.
"I think," Harry said as he stopped and backed up.
"Damn, Potter," Professor Sprout spat and spun. She had a darkwood wand and not her brown one.
Before he could shout or move, a red jet of light hit him, and he knew nothing.
Harry felt like he was waking up twice. He barely had time to look around before he fell asleep again.
"Get up, Potter," a cruel voice said, cutting through the darkness.
Harry woke and tried to get up, but something held him in place. He realized it was ropes. Looking around the darkened chamber, Harry saw a dark shape near a massive mirror. He blinked, and the room came into focus. Professor Sprout at least left his glasses on. He supposed she'd taken him to be executed. A hollow anger rose in his chest.
"Good, you're up," the voice said again. Harry recognized it: Quirrell. The dark shape turned, and the chamber grew brighter as the lanterns on the wall lit up.
Harry stared at the professor. "You're… what?" he muttered. None of this made sense.
"Ah… yes. The good professor did not come to collect you, Mister Potter. I did," Quirrell grinned. "I suppose I should play on your instability, but after tonight. It won't matter. You'll be dead."
Harry shivered.
"Yes… The Boy-Who-Lived. Albus did such a wonderful job of abandoning you under the guise of your protection. It matters not. My master will have his body back, and you will be dead."
Harry's throat felt dry. "Master?" he asked.
The smile that appeared was one Harry knew well. Vernon smiled at him like that when he knew Harry did something he wasn't supposed to or when something strange or unusual happened. That smile promised pain.
"The Dark Lord is my Master," Quirrell crooned. "He and you have quite the history. Although, we can't understand why. You aren't even a strong wizard for your age."
The only Dark Lord Harry knew was the one that killed his parents. "You… you're one of Sirius Black's friends then? The one who kidnapped me? You-Know-Who is dead."
A laugh that did not come from Quirrell's mouth echoed around the chamber. Harry shivered, and his scar throbbed. "No… no, The Dark Lord isss not dead, Harry Potter," the professor laughed. This time, it wasn't the professor who laughed.
"Let me ssspeak with the boy," the strange, almost eerie voice ordered. Quirrell did not argue. He unwrapped the large purple turban. The smell of garlic and something rotting assaulted Harry's nose. Once the last of the wrap fell away, Quirrell turned around.
Harry recoiled from the sight of a face, distorted and discolored, that resided within Quirrell's bald skull. "Harry Potter…" the face said. Harry could see the skin move around where the mouth should be. It was grotesque.
"You find me revolting," the thing laughed. "You made me thisss way. That night in Godric'sss Hollow."
Harry felt a fresh spike of pain from his scar, and his head throbbed. He didn't speak.
"Why your mother decided to spare you… I don't know. Ssshe would have lived, but… a fool Mudblood she wasss."
They stared at each other. Harry wasn't sure if he was staring at the thing's eyes or just two rounded indentations in Quirrell's skull.
"Quirrell found me where rumorsss would point the right sort of wizard," the thing continued. "He hasss been… loyal if not quite capable."
"Master," the professor moaned. It sounded like he was in pain.
"No matter. You are here to sssee my faithful servant get the Stone so I may return to a body. You will not live to see it. I suspect that Dumbledore has enchantmentsss in place that you and only you can access the Ssstone. I know he tried several timesss to tempt you into searching for this Mirror. Yet, somehow… your magic wasss so weak it couldn't take."
Harry frowned. Had the Headmaster done something to him?
"Yes… Albusss was always for the greater good. You sssee, I wasn't lying in the classroom." Harry realized that Quirrell didn't speak to him the other day. It had to be this… thing. If he believed it… then the thing was You-Know-Who. "He's abandoned you asss the Boy-Who-Lived. I think we can agree that you sssurviving my curse… was an accident… that I intend to understand. We have all night and most of the day. You sssee… Draco Malfoy is a good listener; more importantly, his father is a wonderful tool."
Harry felt horrible. He'd blamed the three people who tried to help him.
"Albus is answering for his many crimes," the thing smiled. "I also didn't lie about Obscurialsss." The thing let the silence stretch on. "You are, however, ssso weak that I doubt your magic could cannibalize itssself and become dark. However… you've impressssed me with how… Hufflepuff you are." The dark thing laughed.
Quirrell muttered something.
"Yes… that isss true. Come, Harry Potter. It is time to sssee the last of your desiresss before you die," the parasite said as Quirrell turned and raised his wand. Harry struggled against his bonds as the chair was lifted off the ground. He hovered for a moment before slowly moving toward the mirror.
The Mirror was gold-framed and looked ancient. He saw flecks of what might have been rust on parts of the metal. Petunia would be horrified if she saw such wealth in disrepair. There was silver where the glass should be, and an inscription was carved into the frame. The claw feet that made up the mirror's base looked like tormented faces similar to the thing in Quirrell's skull.
Harry didn't have time to try to read the inscription. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Look into the Mirror, Potter," Quirrell demanded.
With no other choice, Harry did. At first, he didn't see anything different. His reflection showed a Harry with oval bent glasses, dark, messy hair, dull green eyes, and a frown. When he looked closer, he could see his scar.
"I don't see anything," he said, but as soon as his words came out, he realized what he didn't see. Quirrell wasn't in the mirror.
"Liesss," the parasite hissed.
"Tell the truth," Quirrell said as he roughly shook Harry.
The scene in the mirror changed. Harry sat in the same chair, except the ropes were gone. His school robes were different too. He didn't wear the crest of Hufflepuff but rather Ravenclaw. People stepped up behind him and slowly became clearer - his mother and father. More people who could only be his dead family appeared in the reflection that wasn't real.
"I… see my family… they are dead."
The thing laughed, high and cruel. "Desire, Harry Potter," it said before laughing again. "You sssee nothing more than what you desssire. Pathetic. Not power, not anything else. Just family. Albusss has done my job for me. You were never my equal."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. He saw his mother smile at him. She took out something large and red. It almost looked like a misshapen rock.
"Do you even know what isss hidden here, Harry Potter?" the parasite asked. Harry felt a dull stab from his scar. It wasn't as painful as it had been. More like something shoved a blunted spoon at his forehead.
"No."
"The Philosopher'sss Stone. The Elixir of Life itself. You will… unwittingly… bring me back to power. Lord Voldemort, the Greatest Dark Lord, will return with your help. It will ensure that I am stronger," the thing boasted.
Harry frowned. He didn't know a Lord Vol-de-mor. Professor Binns didn't talk about anything in recent history. Recent history being in the last two hundred years or more.
"I don't know that name," he admitted.
Quirrell laughed. "Not knowing your father and mother's killer? Really, Potter? How much of a duffer are you? Pathetic," he spat.
Harry finally understood. You-Know-Who was Lord Voldemort. His eyes went to his mother and father in the mirror. James Potter smiled at him and clapped him on the same shoulder that Quirrell held tightly. His mother reached down and put the red stone in his pocket. It must have been the Philosopher's Stone. He knew Nicholas Flamel made it.
"It matters not," the thing living in Quirrell said. Harry still couldn't wrap his head around what was going on. How was it not dead? Why did it come after him? Why did You-Know-Who think he was his equal?
"Get the Stone, Potter. Tell the Mirror to give it to you," it ordered. The ropes vanished from around him.
Harry felt another stab of pain in his scar. This time, it didn't feel like a blunt spoon. He groaned and slumped to the side.
"Get up," Quirrell demanded as he roughly pulled Harry back up to face the Mirror. "Give us the Stone, or I will start taking bits off you," he growled.
Harry realized a wand was at his throat. He gulped. "Uh… Mirror… give me the stone?" he asked of it.
They waited in silence for something to happen. Harry had no idea what he was supposed to do. "Nothing happened, Master," Quirrell reported.
"C-crucccccio," the voice hissed. The unnatural voice sounded almost loving.
"Crucio!" Quirrell said harshly.
Harry screamed not only in his head but from every pore in his body. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew who or what he was. Searing knives pierced every inch of his skin, and his head felt like it would explode from the pain. The pain went deeper than his skin. His bones must be on fire. He wanted it to all end.
As abruptly as the pain started, it stopped. Harry gasped and sobbed. Whatever it was hurt so much more than what Vernon could ever do to him. Darkness rose from the floor and caught him.