Chapter 7 – The Monster Behind the Turban
Harry Potter sat at his desk, glaring at an innocuous scrap of parchment. He didn't dare touch it again for the echoes of the stabbing pain in his scar were still fresh. 'Quirinus Quirrell,' the note read. It was only a signature, but Harry was certain that the magical residue he'd sensed matched the trace he'd found on his broom. He'd also seen the same magic on the cloaked figure killing the unicorns. The figure that he and Firenze thought was Voldemort.
Quirrell might be working for Voldemort.
Harry couldn't sleep that night. Perhaps he was mistaken? No, the magic he'd felt was identical, down to the way the silver tendrils tried to reach out to him. When he touched the broom in Professor Flitwick's office, he felt fear like no other. The black smoke was the only magical residue he'd felt that grasped at him and tried to suck him in.
Harry sat up in bed and pushed the curtains away. He glanced at his desk. The note was still where he'd left it, wrapped in scrap parchment. He checked Neville's alarm. It was four in the morning, so he'd need to wait till five for curfew to lift so he could find Flitwick. If he couldn't find the Professor in the morning, he'd have to wait till classes were done for the day. Hermione would finish the job for Quirrell if Harry missed exam review, even if it were a matter of life and death. Mealtimes were also off the table since Quirrell would also be present.
Last night, he considered sneaking out and finding Professor Flitwick but ultimately decided against it. He didn't want to jeopardise what tentative friendship he'd managed to salvage with Katie.
No, if Harry couldn't find Flitwick before breakfast, he would have to wait till after classes. He stole another look at the seemingly innocent note and dropped it into his bag with a sigh. He couldn't afford to leave it lying around.
He was showered and dressed by four-thirty and killed time trying futilely to outline a potions essay till five. He walked down to the common room with his fingers clenched around his rucksack.
"Harry? Where are you headed this early?" Harry turned around and saw Oliver come down the stairs dressed in sportswear.
"Uh –" Harry didn't want to tell anyone about Quirrell, because he knew they would dismiss his claims. Unless he told them about his mage sight, and that wasn't something Harry was ready to do just yet. "I was going to grab an early breakfast. Was hungry." He finished lamely.
"Great Hall doesn't serve breakfast till six," Oliver pointed out, and Harry cursed internally. "Come with me, I'll take you down to the kitchens. We can get you something there."
"I wouldn't want to be a bother," Harry tried. "You seemed like you were on the way to something."
"Oh, I was just going to take my morning jog, but I'll do that another time," Oliver waved off his protests and walked to the portrait hole. "Come on then, you'll love the kitchens."
Harry couldn't find an excuse, so he followed Oliver down the moving staircases to the ground floor. The older boy brought him to a portrait of a bowl of fruit.
"Try tickling the pear," Oliver nodded, and Harry looked at him bewildered. "Trust me, Harry; you'll see what I mean."
Harry reached out and rubbed his finger against the canvas where the pear was. The fruit twitched and let out a giggle before turning into a doorknob. He tentatively twisted and the portrait swung open.
Beyond the portrait was a cavernous room. Four long tables spanned its length. Along the walls were kitchen appliances of varying degrees of antiquity. Tiny creatures – house elves – ran around from appliance to appliance, presumably preparing breakfast for the castle's occupants. One such creature approached Oliver and Harry.
"You're Floppy, right?" Harry asked the creature, that looked at him with amazement. "You were the house elf Professor Flitwick asked to retrieve my broom."
"Mr. Harry Potter sir remembers Floppy? Harry Potter must be even greater than the stories say if he remembers a lowly house elf." The elf looked at him reverently. The other elves turned around at the commotion and looked at Harry curiously, and he squirmed under their gaze.
"Uh, thanks?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Oliver laughed.
"We were wondering if we could get some early breakfast," Oliver asked the elf politely, and the creature nodded enthusiastically. Its large, bat-like ears flopped so hard Harry thought he felt a breeze form. "How do you feel about pancakes, Harry?"
Harry nodded, still looking at the elves. He'd never had pancakes before, though he knew Dudley loved them. He was curious what they tasted like.
Oliver asked the elves for two plates of pancakes. "Nice and fluffy, the way the Yanks do it," he specified.
Harry and Oliver sat at one of the tables and talked as the elves worked. He asked Oliver about his OWL prep and got a response in the form of a grimace and a headshake. Oliver asked about his classes, and he told the older boy about his improving skills with Transfiguration.
Two heaping plates of pancakes appeared in front of them with a dish of syrup between them. Harry stared in awe at the golden-brown cakes, unsure how to eat them (he didn't think Dudley was a good template for table manners) and watched Oliver tear into his food.
Mimicking his captain, Harry poured the syrup over the pancakes, before cutting off a small slab of butter and dropping it on top. He cut off a small piece and took a tentative bite, and his eyes widened as his mouth flooded with the sticky sweet taste of the syrup and the fluffiness of the hotcakes.
"Is this your first time trying pancakes?" Oliver asked with surprise marring his features.
"Yeah, Aunt Petunia never let me have any before," Harry said, still focused on the food. He didn't see Oliver's surprised look.
The two boys silently cleared their plates and thanked the elves before returning to the tower. Oliver excused himself to change into his uniform, leaving Harry alone in the common room.
Harry's good mood left with Oliver. The older boy had distracted him from his original task, but now that he was gone the fluffy hotcakes felt like cockroach clusters in his stomach.
Harry leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes, opting for some occlumency practice before classes. He concentrated on the feeling of flight, letting the imaginary wind overwhelm his senses and drown out his thoughts.
Like flipping a switch, Harry found himself in the Nothing. Except it wasn't quite as empty anymore. Floating within were balls of light that contained his memories. Now that he'd grasped clearing his mind, Flitwick was teaching him to organise it. The memories floated haphazardly, but Harry grasped each one, watching the colours change as he relived the moment they contained. He connected the memories to each other, and spiderwebs of multi-coloured light formed within his mind. It was a complex arrangement, and sometimes, even Harry was confused. But he knew that when he completely sorted through all his memories, he'd be able to access them with ease, and it would be worth it.
A memory floated in front of him, and he grasped at it. The Nothing was replaced by the library. It was from February, before the business with the Astronomy Tower. He watched himself laugh as Katie and Alicia argued over what breed of cat Professor McGonagall was.
The memory assigned itself under 'carefree', 'friends', 'Katie', 'Alicia', 'library', and as an afterthought, 'studying'. The process of assigning the memory was entirely subconscious. Each memory was assigned the most essential descriptors that Harry subconsciously associated with it.
The ball of light changed colour from white to a light shade of purple. It floated into place in the complex arrangement, and strands of light from memories all over the constellation connected to it.
Harry grabbed another ball, and he was transported to the locker room at the Quidditch pitch.
"Harry, can I speak with you?" Katie asked in the memory. Harry nodded meekly and followed her outside the locker room. She stood outside with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.
"Hi," Harry mumbled.
"Hello," Katie said. Hesitation seeped into her voice.
The two Gryffindors stood in awkward silence.
"How have you been," Harry tried. Katie scowled.
"How do you think?" She snapped. Harry flinched and her gaze softened. She suddenly looked guilty. "I'm sorry. Alicia – she told me you offered to quit the Quidditch team."
Harry nodded. "If you want me to, I'll resign. I just don't want you two to fight because of me."
He rambled until Katie held up a hand, and his jaw shut with a snap.
"Why would I want you to resign, Harry? Do you really think I'd stoop so low?" Katie looked hurt.
"No, I just thought you hated me, and leaving would make you happier," Harry looked down at his feet.
"I don't hate you, and leaving wouldn't make me happy. Why would you even think that?" Katie sounded hurt.
"Because you refused to talk to me. Hell, you wouldn't even look at me," Harry's confusion was turning to frustration now. Katie flinched and Harry's ire evaporated, replaced by guilt.
"I'm sorry," he said. She looked at him, confused. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I shouldn't have lost those points. It's just –"
Harry stopped himself, and it was Katie's turn to look frustrated.
"It's just what, Harry?" Katie asked angrily. "You keep dancing around it. Why'd you sneak out? Everyone keeps saying terrible things and that I should avoid you, but I don't know what to think."
"So, that's why you avoided me for a week?" Harry glared. "Because 'everyone else did'?"
Katie flinched, and Harry knew he'd struck home. It hurt that she was willing to believe relative strangers instead of sticking with him like Alicia, Oliver, and the rest of the team. It felt like he was back in Little Whinging, watching the kids who'd been friendly with him ignore him because of Dudley.
Then again, maybe it was his fault for thinking things would be different at Hogwarts. People always left him, and as always, he had no one to blame but himself.
His expression deflated and he retreated into himself.
"Only because you won't tell me what really happened!" Katie balled up her fists and he took a step back. As quickly as her anger rose, it deflated. "I want to believe you, Harry. I really do. But you're not giving me anything to believe in."
"Certainly helped that you wouldn't even look at me," Harry said bitterly, and Katie winced. "I can't say, Katie. I just don't want to get Hagrid in trouble."
"I won't tell anyone. I just want you to help me understand. No more secrets, Harry, please," she begged, and Harry couldn't resist the pleading look in her eye.
"Fine, no more secrets," Harry swallowed the acerbic remarks. He had to come clean – for the team if nothing else. He didn't want to see Alicia and Katie fight anymore.
He told her all about Norbert. About how they'd found Hagrid in the library, and how they'd caught Malfoy watching them. He told her about Ron's bite and the letter Malfoy nicked. Then he told her about the journey to the astronomy tower and how they'd gotten caught on the way back down.
To her credit, Katie was a good listener. She ooh-ed and aah-ed at the right times even though she'd looked at him dubiously when he first mentioned the dragon. At the end of the story, she just stared at him, halfway between awe and exasperation.
"So, you did have a good reason," Katie deadpanned. "Why didn't you just say this to begin with?"
"Ron said Hagrid would get sacked if the teachers found out," Harry shrugged. "I didn't want anything to happen to him."
"Harry, none of us would've told a teacher," she said.
"I didn't want to take the chance."
"So, you just let us be mad at you. You just let me ignore you for an entire week on the off chance someone found out about Hagrid," Katie rubbed her temples. "I shouldn't be surprised. You're the noble prat who ran off after a troll to save a girl you'd just met."
Harry shrugged dully. Katie frowned at his reaction, or lack thereof.
"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for an entire week," Katie smiled awkwardly.
"It's alright," Harry said neutrally. "I'm glad you don't want me off the team."
"I never wanted you off the team, you overdramatic prat," Katie said with forced cheer. Harry saw the contrived attempt at normalcy. He tried to laugh, but it came out forced, empty.
The pair re-entered the locker room, and Harry watched Katie go to her locker. Harry felt a burst of relief as she slipped the goggles around her neck. Maybe the team would be fine after all.
The memory was assigned to 'relief', 'Katie', 'secret', and 'regret'.
The next ball of light that passed through him was the memory of the previous night. He watched Quirrell stutter through his explanation. Harry assigned the memory to the labels for 'fear', 'evil', 'confusion', and 'studying'.
He was parsing through a memory of the most recent Quidditch practice when the memory-Alicia spoke to him. Except she sounded like Hermione.
"Harry?" she asked, her broom slung over her shoulder. "Harry, we're going to be late for class. Harry, wake up!"
Harry was confused. That was not how he remembered the memory going. The confusion ripped Harry out of the Nothing.
He felt overstimulated, as was usual after an extended foray into the Nothing. The loud chatter of students in the common room rang through his ears, giving him a headache. Thankfully, a bushy brown mane curtained him off from the assault of the blinding lights.
"I'm awake! I'm awake!" Harry yelled and Hermione stopped shaking him. She stood back and gave him a look of disapproval. "Sorry, I dozed off."
Harry stood up and stretched. The advantage of retreating into his mind was that his body was technically sleeping. It allowed his body to rest while his mind worked. Though Flitwick warned that it wasn't a substitute for real sleep – the mind needed rest too.
Harry and Hermione went down to the Great Hall to find Ron, before heading to the first class of the day, Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall spent the class explaining the topics for their final exam in two weeks. She then gave them two practice sheets and an essay due on exam day. Harry was quite happy for more practice in what McGonagall once told him was his father's best subject. He wanted to do well in Transfiguration and Charms, hoping to live up to his parents' legacy.
The next class that Harry attended was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Just like McGonagall, Quirrell also lectured the class on what to expect for the exam and gave them more review work. Harry didn't really pay attention. He spent the entire time studying Quirrell's behaviour, trying to find some kind of cue that would give him away as the broom-jinxer. Quirrell noticed Harry glaring and gave him an odd look before turning away.
At the bell, the class shuffled to the exit. Harry made to join them when Quirrell called to him from his desk.
"Mr. Potter, please stay behind for a moment."
Harry's heart stopped.
He turned around and walked mechanically to the front of the class. "Yes, professor?"
His voice was weaker than he'd hoped. His heart thudded erratically in his chest.
"Is everything…" Quirrell paused, giving him that odd look. Like Harry was a puzzle he was one step away from solving. "Alright?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry stammered. He felt a little lightheaded as a dull pressure mounted against his forehead. "W-Why wouldn't it be?"
"Oh, no reason," Quirrell spoke casually. "You were acting rather peculiar today, so I thought I should ask."
"Oh, thanks for your concern, Professor."
"If there is nothing, then off you go."
Harry inclined his head before hurrying out of the classroom. He was already in the Great Hall for lunch when he realised Quirrell hadn't stuttered once.
Harry passed through the rest of the day in a daze. His thoughts kept returning to Quirrell. He lost fifteen points for Gryffindor in potions, when Snape stopped him from adding an extra pinch of powdered unicorn horn into his Strengthening Solution.
Thankfully, his last class of the day was charms. After class, he shooed off Ron and Hermione while waiting for the room to empty.
"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" Flitwick asked as Harry approached his desk. "You look rather pale. No further incidents with your broom, I hope?"
"No, sir. Nothing with my broom," Harry fished in his bag and pulled out the ball of scrap parchment. He gingerly placed it on the professor's desk, and Flitwick looked bemused. "I found him, Professor. The person who jinxed my broom."
Flitwick looked interested and leaned forward. He looked at the ball of parchment and used a quill to unfurl it, revealing the note inside. "This is a note from Professor Quirrell," he looked alarmed. "Surely you don't believe a professor tried to harm you?"
Harry could only shrug. He explained last night's events, and how he'd felt Quirrell's magic on the signature. Flitwick waved his wand over the note, and nothing happened.
"There are no charms on the parchment, Mr. Potter," Flitwick looked at Harry sceptically. "Are you certain you felt Professor Quirrell's magic from this note?"
"I'm certain, Professor," Harry nodded stubbornly. "Percy Weasley told me on Christmas that signatures have traces of the signer's magic, and that's how Gringotts verifies cheques. That wouldn't show up as a charm, would it? But I can sense the magic on the note because I've got mage sight."
Flitwick nodded and mumbled to himself. "You are correct, Mr. Potter, a signature wouldn't trigger the detection spell. You may be right."
"What do we do now, Professor?"
"I do not believe my colleague would harm you, Mr. Potter. I'm certain this is all a misunderstanding," Flitwick said, and Harry felt outrage swell within him. He opened his mouth to argue, but the professor raised a hand and Harry fell silent. "Regardless, I will speak to Professor Quirrell immediately," the tiny professor stood up and walked next to Harry. "I recommend you go back to your common room. Let me handle this, Harry."
Harry nodded reluctantly. He left the Charms corridor and was halfway up the stairs when he realised he never told Flitwick about Quirrell's involvement with Voldemort. Harry swore and turned back in the direction of the Charms corridor. Not seeing Flitwick anywhere, Harry ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, to the Defence corridor.
"May I come in, Quirinus?" Harry recognised Flitwick's voice outside Quirrell's office. In a moment of inspiration, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of his rucksack and threw it on. He slipped between Professors Quirrell and Flitwick and entered the office as the two men spoke at the door.
"O-of course, Filius," Harry noticed with narrowed eyes that Quirrell was stuttering again. "W-what can I h-help you with?"
"A student told me a concerning story, and I wanted to get your opinion on it," Flitwick smiled genially at the younger professor, who looked even more nervous than usual.
"Ah, w-was it the Potter boy?" Quirrell raised an eyebrow and wrung his hands together. "H-he was acting rather odd in my class t-today. Quite the t-troublemaker, that one. Sought out that t-t-troll on Halloween."
"Mr. Potter thinks you jinxed his broom during his first match," Flitwick laughed. Harry felt his throat dry up. Flitwick hadn't believed him. He'd come to share a laugh with the man who'd tried to knock Harry off his broom.
"P-preposterous!" Quirrell cried, looking outraged. Flitwick looked at him quizzically. "I would never!"
"Of course, I told him that was outlandish. A Hogwarts professor, attack a student?" Flitwick laughed again. "Especially in the middle of a Quidditch match with multiple teachers present. Surely no professor would be stupid enough to think of such an ineffective plot."
"Yes, yes," Quirrell bristled. Flitwick's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I told him I'd speak to you. Clear up any misunderstandings," Flitwick said casually. "As if someone would try to knock a first year off their broom. Probably lost control, he did."
Flitwick nodded at Quirrell conspiratorially, and the younger professor laughed nervously.
"Yes, who would bother tampering with anti-collision charms to unseat a mere first year?" Quirrell laughed awkwardly.
Flitwick's eyes narrowed. "I never mentioned anti-collision charms."
Quirrell's wand was in his hand in a blink. He pointed it at Flitwick, only to see the Charms professor's wand pointing back. At the same time, a loud whine erupted from Harry's bag, turning both professors in his direction.
Quirrell sliced his wand through the air. "Diffindo!"
Harry ducked under the red arc but tripped on his cloak. It fell off him as he tumbled to the ground. The spell hit the back of his bag, spilling its contents across the floor. His sneakoscope whirred and rattled, emitting a high-pitched whine.
"Potter!" Quirrell snarled. His attention turned back to Flitwick when the older man swore, and he snapped off a sickly yellow spell at the smaller professor.
Flitwick sidestepped and looked at Quirrell with narrowed eyes. Flitwick responded by sending the desk right into Quirrell, who turned his wand on it and flicked downward, causing the desk to explode. Quirrell then flicked his wand at Flitwick, sending the debris at him.
Harry watched the duel in amazement. Quirrell was not very fast on his feet, but he made up for it by conjuring objects to take the brunt of his spells. His offensive spells were brutally strong but slowly cast.
Flitwick was the opposite. The tiny professor used his small stature to his advantage, dodging and weaving between spells, returning fire by rapidly casting weaker hexes and jinxes.
Quirrell tried to overpower and crush his opponent, while Flitwick tried to batter him down.
Flitwick darted away, snapping off two bright blue bolts of electricity, that fizzled as they hit Quirrell's transparent shield. The shield collapsed as Quirrell fired a dark red curse at Flitwick, who ducked under it, casting a red arc at Quirrell's knees.
The two professors were caught in a deadlock. Neither gained an advantage, though both combatants had taken a couple of scrapes.
Suddenly, Quirrell turned to Harry and growled, "Avada Kedavra!"
At the same time, Flitwick yelled, "Avis!"
There was a bright green flash as a spell of the same colour careened toward Harry, and his only thought was that it looked strangely familiar. The spell never connected as a flock of birds swarmed before him. They took the brunt of the curse and Harry watched with morbid fascination as they exploded and showered him with feathers and bird guts.
Quirrell turned back to Flitwick as soon as his curse was cast. The tiny professor was momentarily distracted as he conjured the birds to save Harry. The moment was enough for Quirrell to send Flitwick flying into a cabinet with the flick of a wand.
"Stupefy," Quirrell muttered, and Harry watched in horror as his charms professor slumped over with closed eyes. "What to do with you?" Quirrell mused, kicking Flitwick in the ribs with a look of cruel joy on his face.
"Leave him alone, you monster!" Harry yelled, shakily holding his wand in front of him.
"Ah, how rude of me to forget our uninvited guest, the Boy-Who-Lived," Quirrell sneered. "This complicates things. No matter, I will simply accelerate the plans."
"What plans?" Harry asked, sounding braver than he felt. Quirrell only glared at him.
"Plans far beyond anything your feeble mind could comprehend."
"Stop wasting time, Quirrell," spoke a high, cold voice that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Finish your task. Get the stone."
The voice came from Quirrell, but his lips hadn't moved. Harry felt he'd gotten involved in something far beyond a simple broom-jinxing.
"Stupefy," Quirrell flicked his wand lazily, and a red bolt flew towards Harry, whose Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he dove out of the way.
Quirrell snarled and cast two more spells in quick succession. Harry ducked behind Quirrell's desk, feeling the sizzling heat as the spell flew over his head.
"Confringo," said Quirrell, and the desk exploded. Harry screamed as splinters peppered his back. He barely rolled away from another red spell.
He tried to stand up but fell back as his leg refused to support his weight. He let out a whimper as his twisted ankle throbbed.
Harry winced as Quirrell stomped on the sneakoscope as he walked past it, stemming the whining. He was filled with fury as he looked at the blue and yellow shards that had once been Alicia's present to him. Quirrell walked past him and picked up the invisibility cloak.
"Don't. Touch. That." Harry growled, propping himself up on his good leg.
"Or what, boy?" Quirrell laughed cruelly. He draped the cloak over himself, watching his body disappear. "An invisibility cloak. How useful. Thank you, Potter."
"Stop wasting time, Quirrell," the cold voice spoke again. "Take the boy and get the stone before the old fool finds us."
"Yes, master," Quirrell muttered before turning his wand on him. Harry saw a flash of red and the world turned black.
Harry Potter felt like he'd just been hit in the head by a bludger. Repeatedly. He blinked the spots out of his vision as he took in his surroundings. He was in a small room fully covered in paved stone. In the centre of the room was a golden, ornate mirror. Pacing before the mirror was Quirrell.
Harry felt a mutinous fury swell within him as he saw the invisibility cloak at the professor's feet. He tried to move only to find himself bound by thick ropes.
"I see the stone. I'm handing it to my master. I see the riches and eternal life, but where is it?" Quirrell sounded frustrated and Harry was satisfied that the professor hadn't found whatever he was looking for.
"Use the boy," said the high, cold voice. "He is the key."
Quirrell turned around abruptly. He flicked his wand and the ropes binding Harry vanished. The professor held him at wandpoint and gestured him to stand. Harry stood shakily, wincing at the pressure on his swollen ankle.
"Look in the mirror, boy," Quirrell's voice was harsh and clear. "What do you see?"
Harry looked in the mirror. He saw his reflection; except he looked different. His robes were clean and freshly pressed. He stood straight and tall, with an easygoing grin on his face. His gait exuded confidence and he wasn't alone.
Surrounding him were more people than he could count. They came in different shapes and sizes, except they all either had his messy black hair and thin face, or his green eyes. Standing next to him was a middle-aged woman with vibrant red hair and green eyes identical to his. His mother stood with her arms around his reflection as she hugged him tight. Standing with his arms around her was a near clone of Harry – except older and with hazel eyes. His father smiled back at him.
Harry stared at the mirror and his hand touched his shoulder where his mother's hand was resting. He felt nothing but the ruffled cloth of his robes.
"Mum? Dad?" Harry's voice cracked. He took a step closer to the mirror, committing every detail of their faces to memory. His vision blurred with tears, and he blinked them away furiously – he didn't want to let the reflection out of his sight for even a moment.
As quickly as it had come, the longing faded, replaced by anger. What kind of cruel joke was this mirror? Showing him what he longed for the most though he knew he could never have it? Harry's gaze turned to anger as the mirror changed colour. The magic of the mirror became visible to him, and he saw it swirl with unfamiliar traces – though he recognised a familiar blue-and-orange signature mixed into the rest.
He turned to Quirrell and saw the older man glaring at him. The black and silver magic rolled off in waves, tendrils reaching out to Harry like dark, skeletal hands. The power of the darkness was palpable, if unstable. It flickered as it reached him, recoiling. Harry took a step away from Quirrell.
The man raised an eyebrow expectantly. "What do you see, Potter?"
Harry would be damned if he was going to tell his deepest desire to the man who'd tried to kill him. "I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore – I've won the House Cup AND the Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor is cheering, and the Slytherins look angry." Harry forced out a laugh. He was rather proud of that lie, and Quirrell seemed confused, if disappointed.
"He lies," spoke the disembodied voice, and Harry's heart froze over. "Let me speak to the boy."
"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrell sounded worried.
"I have strength enough for this."
"Yes, Master," Quirrell said subserviently. He began unravelling his turban, and Harry watched with cautious confusion as the purple fabric pooled on the ground. The last of the turban fell to the floor and Quirrell turned around.
Harry gasped in a mix of terror and pain and clasped a hand to his forehead. His scar felt as if burning oil was being injected into it. Sheer adrenaline and willpower kept Harry upright as pain lanced through his body.
On the back of Quirrell's head, where there should have been smooth skin, was a second face. The face was misshapen and wrinkled. It had slits for a nose and a thin line for a mouth. Its eyes were pupilless and red, like glinting rubies in the firelight.
"Hello, Harry Potter," the face spoke. "It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"
Harry knew there was only one person this could be. "Voldemort," Harry grit his teeth, partly because of the pain in his scar, and partly because of the unquenchable rage that filled him at the sight of his parents' killer.
"Indeed," Voldemort's mouth twisted into a smile, but there was no feeling behind it. "The greatest wizard to ever live, reduced to a mere shade – a parasite. Do you see what has become of me, boy?"
He snarled and Harry looked on with disgust.
"I know you lie. Tell me, do you know why we are here?" The dark lord questioned. At Harry's blank look, he continued. "Within this mirror is a relic – an old relic that is so powerful it can return me to life. I sense that you are the key, boy. Now look in the mirror again and tell me. What. Do. You. See?"
Harry felt a wave of magic pulse from Voldemort. He saw the black cloud reach for him and felt a sudden compulsion to tell Voldemort everything. The cloud burned away in tiny sparks against his skin, and he felt the urge vanish.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Harry quickly looked at the mirror, avoiding his glare.
Once again, Harry saw the image of his family. He suppressed the anger and longing. Voldemort said there was a relic of some sort inside the mirror. Was it only a matter of time before he found it? Harry needed to find out how to get the stone if only to prevent the evil wizard from getting it for himself.
Harry's reflection in the mirror grinned at him and winked. His reflection put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a glittering red stone, before dropping it back in. Suddenly, the real Harry felt a weight in his pocket.
No way.
Harry restrained himself from checking. Thankfully, his bulky robes were enough to conceal the bulge, but he knew Voldemort would realise sooner or later.
"Well, what is it, boy?" Voldemort looked impatient when Harry turned back to him.
"I-I told you, I see myself winning the house cup and the Quidditch cup. My friends are cheering me on as Dumbledore gives me a handshake and –"
"Lies," Voldemort hissed. "I will give you one last chance, boy. Take the stone out of your pocket and give it to me."
Harry knew he was screwed, but he wouldn't go down quietly. "Never," he growled.
"Then die like your foolish parents," Voldemort said with a sinister smile. "Quirrell! Grab him!"
Quirrell turned around and lunged at Harry. He stepped backwards, and a searing pain enveloped his back, eliciting a scream. Harry lost his footing, and pain lanced up his injured ankle as he collapsed to the floor. A pillar of flame blocked the only exit behind him.
He was cornered.
Quirrell reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He screamed till his throat was ragged, feeling as if a knife was being plunged through his scar over and over. Out of sheer instinct, Harry grabbed the first part of Quirrell he could find. He felt the professor's face under his fingers and tried to push him away.
Quirrell's cry of agony snapped Harry out of the pain-induced daze he'd been in. The professor staggered backwards, clutching his face with his hands.
"What are you doing? Kill him!" Voldemort snarled from behind Quirrell's head.
The professor removed his hands from his face and Harry saw boils and blisters in the shape of handprints. Quirrell reached for his wand and Harry lunged at him, intending to rip it out of his hands.
When Harry's fingers wrapped around his forearm, Quirrell let out an ear-piercing scream. Harry held on for dear life, despite Quirrell trying to shove him away. The professor kicked Harry's injured ankle, and he crumpled to the floor, dragging Quirrell with him. The professor stood up shakily, nursing his wand arm that looked blistered and burned like his face.
Was this Harry's doing? Was he hurting the man just by touching him?
Harry felt sick but caught himself. This was Voldemort. This was the man who tried to kill him. The man who killed all those innocent unicorns. The man who killed his parents. The reason he was forced to live with the Dursleys.
Every bad thing in his life came back to the limping man stood before him. Harry felt incredible fury as the man's image flickered. Quirrell's purple robes flickered with the black and silver of his magic.
Harry snarled and lunged at the man once more. This time, he grabbed the professor by the face and listened with horror as he screamed. The rage and horror battled in his mind, the former forcing him to hold on even as the latter begged him to let go.
He looked behind him at the mirror and even though he didn't see his parents, it strengthened his resolve, and he tightened his grip. Harry recognised his magic as it intermingled with Quirrell's. His magic burned away at the tendrils, and Harry watched it spread from his hands onto Quirrell's face, leaving it burnt and blistered as it passed. There was a blinding pain in his scar as he touched the professor, and Harry screwed his eyes shut as his screams joined the terrible symphony.
After what felt like an eternity, Quirrell fell limp to the ground and Harry collapsed next to him.
The adrenaline faded away and Harry sobbed, curled into the fetal position on the floor. He dry-heaved at the thought of the pain he'd inflicted. He stared at his own hands in horror.
He heard a rustling sound and watched as a black cloud rose from Quirrell's body. He watched, terrified, as the cloud passed through him and fled through the flames. Harry screamed as his scar once again burned with a pain so intense that Harry felt his vision begin to fade away. Then, his world went completely dark.
Harry awoke to blinding white. His mind felt fuzzy, and he wondered if he was in a dream. He blinked the spots out of his vision to find himself in a startlingly white room. Light seemed to come from the white marble walls, bathing the room in a brilliant glow. He was in a birchwood bed, and even the sheets that covered him were white. He looked around in awe before his gaze rested on the woman sitting on the bed next to him.
Her hair was dark, and her skin was as pale as snow. She was round-faced, and there was an innate kindness in the laugh-wrinkles around her eyes, which were closed as she hummed along to a jaunty tune. She didn't seem to be aware that Harry was awake.
"Hello?" Harry asked hesitantly. The woman's eyes shot open and violet irises looked back at him with curiosity.
"Hello there, Chosen," the woman said merrily. "Glad to see you awake."
"Thanks," Harry mumbled. "Where am I?"
"You are in the Palace of Light. Home to my mother and your patron, Theia," the woman told him.
"Your mother? Who are you?" Harry asked.
"Surely you know who I am," the woman's lip twitched as she raised an eyebrow. She placed her hand over her heart in faux outrage. Harry gave her an apologetic look. "I sent dear Firenze to save you."
"Luna is in anticipation," Harry repeated Firenze's words absently. The woman chuckled.
"Indeed, she is," Luna cocked her head to the side, studying him. Harry gaped at her. He was talking to a goddess?
"I've been quite curious watching you, Boy-Who-Lived," Luna laughed as Harry scrunched his nose at the moniker. "A terrible life you've lived. I'm glad Mother decided to choose you. Jupiter knows you needed the help."
Harry flushed in embarrassment.
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter," he said meekly. "Ma'am," He added as a hasty afterthought.
The goddess laughed. "I know who you are, Chosen. I've been watching you."
"You've been watching me?" Harry asked dubiously.
"The moon knows all that happens in the night, Harry," there was a hollow look in the moon-maiden's eye, and she looked far older than her form belied. "I've heard every cry and plea whispered under the cover of darkness. Every spouse begging to be rescued from their violent marriage. Every abused and neglected child just wishing for someone to love them. I hear them all. I've heard you, you know? In that cupboard, praying that someone would whisk you away. That someone would only love you."
The goddess took a shuddering breath. "I know your bloodline. To think that a Chosen was being treated so horribly. It angers me – and I know it also angers my mother."
She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. "But no matter. Come, Chosen – there is someone who is looking forward to meeting you."
Harry laughed nervously. He was growing increasingly confused as he followed her out of the room.
Luna led Harry through a birchwood door, down a hallway, and into a large, open room. It was the size of the Great Hall. There was a garden on the far end with trees, shrubs, and a tiny creek (Harry wondered where the water came from). Near the entrance was a training area with archery ranges and practice dummies. A small plaza sat in the centre, with tables and lawn chairs strewn lazily about the square. Marble pillars reached into a ceiling that – much like the Great Hall – opened to the heavens. Harry watched the Moon Maiden look distastefully at the bright sun beaming down upon them. She waved her hand, and the ceiling turned to a starry night with a crescent moon. She hummed her satisfaction and walked toward the plaza. Then, Harry realised he and the goddess weren't alone in the room.
A spectre lazed about in the plaza, turning when Luna cleared her throat. It looked at him silently.
"I asked Pluto for permission to cleave a former Chosen back to their body so that they may train you, should you accept Mother's blessing. Pluto said I could have her till midsummer, so halfway through your vacation," Luna gave Harry a complex look as they approached. "She may not have completed her trials, but she knows enough to teach you the basics. Plus, I imagine you'll have a great time learning from her.
"Trials?" Harry asked. There was so much information to intake, but the word stood out to him.
"There are trials each Chosen must overcome that will test both your skill and strength of character," Luna explained gently, looking at Harry with a smile. "Only by completing the trials can one receive mother's full blessing. Only then will you become a true Chosen. Till then, consider yourself a Chosen-in-training, if you please."
Harry's brain swam with information as they approached the raised dais at the plaza's centre. The spectre waited, growing more and more opaque as they neared. Harry watched the greenish-blue hue of the ghost be replaced by pale skin, red hair, and emerald-green eyes.
Harry froze on the steps of the dais. The once-spectre-now-woman smiled sadly.
"Hello, sweetheart," Lily Potter smiled at her son.
"Mum?" Harry croaked. Lily just held her arms out to him.
Harry let out a choked sob and sprinted the rest of the steps into his mother's arms. She felt cool to the touch, and her form had a silky texture like a thick fluid barely being held together by an impossible force. He didn't care.
His arms wrapped around her middle and he sobbed. The longing that built up within him since he gazed into that blasted mirror exploded into thick, salty tears. He felt his mother's arms wrap him in an embrace – how good it felt to finally think those words. He felt like a child sobbing into his mother's arms as the fear, pain, and longing broke through walls wrought by ten years of the Dursleys.
"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry we left you all alone," Lily spoke softly, her chin resting on her son's head. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and it felt cool against his hair. "But you've done so well for yourself, despite the odds. Despite Petunia and her horrible husband. Despite everything stacked against you, you've grown into such a fine young man. I'm so proud of you Harry, and so is your father, though he can't be here right now."
Harry's sobs only grew louder as he heard the words he'd longed to hear his entire life.
"I miss you so much. It's so hard being alone, Mum," He mumbled into her side.
"I know, darling, I know," his mother whispered. "But you're not alone. Never, Harry. Your father and I are watching over you always."
Harry nodded before pulling away. His eyes scanned his mum's face, memorising every line, every crease, and every wrinkle. He committed it all to his memory. He didn't need to enter the Nothing to know that this moment would join his most treasured memories.
His mother guided him to a chair where he sat. His tears stemmed, though he imagined his eyes were still red-rimmed. Lily sat next to him, still clutching his hand, and the Moon Maiden, who'd graciously let the mother and son have their moment, sat opposite them.
"As I told you before, Chosen," Luna spoke with a glint in her eye. "If you accept the blessing, you can learn to harness your potential under the tutelage of your mother. I must inform you that the two of you only have till midsummer. Afterwards, she must return to Pluto's kingdom, and you will not see her till your time to pass comes."
Harry felt his chest constrict at the thought of saying goodbye. His mum squeezed his hand, and he felt a wave of reassurance. He never thought he'd get even a moment with her, let alone three months. He would take what he could get and live with the knowledge that he would see her and his dad again one day.
"So tell me, Harry Potter," Luna leaned forward in her chair and steepled her fingers. "Will you become Theia's Chosen? Will you swear to champion the Light Mother's values and ideals in the mortal world? Will you act as her ambassador among the mortals, perpetually furthering her agenda and illuminating their path forward? Will you represent the House of Light with justice, honour, and kindness as we are due?"
"I will," Harry spoke without hesitation. The chance to be with his mother again – if only for a few short months – was reason enough for him. Luna rested her hand over Harry's heart. A soft silver glow enveloped him, concentrated in his chest.
"Congratulations, Harry Potter," Luna inclined her head stoically, though her violet eyes shone with excitement. "You have begun the path to becoming Theia's Chosen. May the divine light guide you."
Harry could only smile in thanks. He felt his senses sharper than ever before, and it was overwhelming.
He could trace with his eyes each line in the marble walls. He could smell the sweet scent of the flowers in the garden and hear the soft rush of running water from the creek.
He narrowed his eyes, activating his mage sight before rearing back. The magic of the room was also white, except it was unbearably so. The magic shone so bright Harry could only compare the feeling to staring directly into the sun.
Lily chuckled. "I probably should have warned you that the castle uses divine magic – something far more potent than the kind humans use."
Luna stood up, prompting the other two to follow. The trio walked out of the hall they were in and entered a smaller room. Inside was a set of hangar doors and a Greek war chariot. The chariot was made of wood and covered with ornate silver furnishings. Strewn across its length were drawings of the different stages of the moon, and depictions of warriors and scholars alike praying for its guidance. The chariots were pulled by two winged horses whose pelts gleamed silver.
Luna smirked at Harry's gobsmacked expression.
"Dusk is nearly upon us, and I must begin my nightly journey," she explained. "On this occasion, I will be returning your consciousness to your body which lays comatose at Hogwarts," at Harry's panicked look, she looked bashful. "I forgot to tell you that didn't I?"
Luna hopped onto her chariot and leaned over the edge. "When you collapsed after fighting that professor of yours, you were unconscious for over a week. One day, you regained enough sense of self that, as dawn began to break, I managed to rend your consciousness from your body and bring you here. In other words, you are dreaming all of this – though that doesn't mean it isn't real," she added hastily.
"Every time you go to sleep, either myself or my brother Sol, will bring you here where you will be trained. A little favour to our mother and yourself," Luna winked.
"Unless you want your friends to think you're actually comatose, I would recommend coming with me now so I can return you to your school." Harry was conflicted. He looked at his mother and felt her hand wrapped around his. It was the first time in his life that he could talk to her, be with her, and feel her embrace. He didn't want to leave.
But then he thought of his friends. Ron, Hermione, Alicia, the rest of the team, and even Katie, who he was still rather tense around. He didn't want to leave them behind.
Besides, he'd see his mum the next night when he fell asleep.
He sighed and looked at his mother once more. She smiled encouragingly and let go of his hand. He stepped onto the chariot behind Luna. The goddess took the reins and the horses
"I can't believe I get to ride on the moon!" Harry exclaimed. His love of flying was overtaking his reservations. He wondered if it would feel anything like being on a broom.
"Sadly, if you were to remain conscious, you would be driven insane. Good luck, Chosen," Luna looked at him with amusement. Then she snapped her fingers, and for the third time, Harry's world went black.
And there's Quirrell! I'm currently writing the last chapter of first year (chapter 10) so we're almost done the first year. For those of you asking for more Quidditch, THERE WILL BE MORE I PROMISE. The final game of the year is an absolute banger, and I hope it will make up for the lack of Quidditch in the past few chapters. I promise there will be more Quidditch starting second year.
On the topic of reviews, I figured I'd respond to some of the more interesting ones I've gotten.
To GreengrassRebel, who reviewed multiple chapters: Dude I'm really flattered that you not only like my story, but enough so to notice all the small details and even the inconsistencies. It's one of those things where I love it and hate it - love it for the above reasons and hate it because it bruises my fragile ego. Never stop though! It keeps me honest and I do appreciate that.
To Superjew94 who reviewed chapter 5: First of all, crazy username - I got a good laugh out of that when I first saw the review. And thank you so much for the kind words. It's incredibly humbling that you hold my story in such high regard. I'll try my hardest to live up to those expectations!
To the Guest who ranted about the pairing in a review of chapter 6: First of all, I do appreciate the review nonetheless. From what I can tell, the review is not actually criticism of my story, just of lightningbell as a pairing and Quidditch as a sport.
To your comments about Katie as a pairing: first of all, Katie is blonde canonically, its the movies that make her brunette, though personally I think both work pretty well. Second of all, if you've 'seen it very often' please give the rest of us the links because one of the reasons I started writing fanfiction again is because of the lack of good, non-abandoned lightningbell. Katie is a great pairing for many of the same reasons that Daphne is. She's a blank slate, with the only real things we know about her is that 'she wouldn't hurt a fly' and is one of the girls that Harry interacts with the most because of her teammate status. Year six is one of those fics that I love (though I hate that we never got the epilogue. Highly recommend to anyone that hasnt read it btw) because it shows exactly what Harry and Katie can be. Where someone like Daphne is the perfect enemies to lovers or forbidden romance blank slate character, Katie is the perfect friends to lovers or teammates to lovers or Quidditch romance blank slate. Especially for someone like me, who firmly believes that if JKR wasn't clueless about sports and delved deeper into Quidditch the relationship between Harry and the team would be deeper than it was in canon. You don't spend that much time a year with someone in a team environment and don't develop personal ties. I fully believe that someone like Katie, with that much history with Harry, could be a better pairing for him than someone like Ginny if she was developed well. That's what I intend to do with Dynasty and every other lightningbell story I will post.
As for your point about how they 'start dating around the Yule ball and then never stop and get married' yeah honestly fair enough. It's a common trope but one that can be executed really well with an ounce of originality. I intend to put my own twist on the yule ball. It was one of the first things I wanted to do with this story. I can promise you though, that it won't be as clear cut as you imply.
To your point about how poorly designed Quidditch is - yeah I gotta agree. While I dont intend to change the actual rules of the game, I do intend to fix the scarcity of the Hogwarts Quidditch season in the upcoming year (as mentioned in the A/N prior to the review responses). Hopefully you stay
Until then, I appreciate all the reviews and favorites/follows :)