Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warning: This chapter gets rather violent. I promised it, and I'm going to deliver on that.
Last Chapter
"Hermione…"
"No, Harry. I'm not leaving you to face him alone," she said with determination. Harry sighed.
"Alright. I just don't want to lose you…"
"And I don't want to loose you either, Harry. I'm your best friend, and I'm going to fight alongside you…" Harry pulled her into a fierce embrace, which she returned. She felt tears prickling in her eyes, and broke away. "Well, we should go," she said quietly.
Each swallowed a drop of the potion. Harry felt a icy cold spreading through his body, and stepped into the black fire. He felt nothing and walked through the fire. The two walked into the antechamber, and suddenly the fire reignited, blocking their escape.
Standing in front of a large mirror was a black-cloaked figure. He turned to face the two, and Hermione sucked in a breath. It was Quirrell.
"Deal with the companion, my servant," a cold, snake-like voice spoke.
Chapter 14: The Color of Blood
The voice froze Harry's blood, and he found himself unable to move. Hermione's eyes widened in fear. Quirrell began approaching, a malicious grin on his face. He raised his wand, pointed it at Hermione, and before Harry could bring up his own wand, he sent the eleven-year old girl crashing into a wall, knocking her out. She slid down to the ground, a trickle of blood flowing down the stones from her head wound.
Harry screamed in shock and outrage and ran over to his friend. He hadn't gotten to within three feet of her when he was abruptly lifted off his feet and suspended in midair. His limbs and head were forced backwards, and he was paralyzed, straining against the spell. There was a burst of light from Harry's wand, and suddenly the hold was relinquished as he crumpled to the ground. His wand rolled away down the stairs, stopping at Quirrell's feet.
"Master, what is it?" Quirrell cried, seemingly to no one. He settled upon conjuring ropes and bound Harry to a pillar, where he looked on helplessly at his unconscious friend and traitorous teacher. Quirrell was pacing relentlessly in front of the mirror, cursing. Harry listened closely to what he was saying.
"…Blasted mirror! I see myself with the Stone, presenting it to my master! But how can I get it out of the Mirror! Shall I break it?" Quirrell cursed again, and shot off a random spell at the ceiling, which caused a small explosion and left a black scorch mark. "Master, aide me!"
"Use the boy…use the boy…" the same cold voice said.
Harry's blood froze again. Quirrell spun around and pointed his wand at Harry, vanishing the bonds. He again levitated Harry into the air and dumped him on the ground in front of the Mirror. Harry didn't know how, but he knew that he couldn't look at the Mirror. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Open your eyes, Potter! Look upon the Mirror!" Harry didn't open them. "Obey me! Crucio!"
Harry's body exploded into the most intense agony he had ever felt. His blood boiled, his scar was on fire, and his skin felt as if it had been stabbed by a thousand burning knives. His bones felt cold against the burning of his flesh. He thrashed around on the ground in agony, screaming at the top of his lungs. Quirrell held him under the curse for nearly thirty seconds before releasing him. Harry rolled over so that he wasn't facing the mirror.
"Look upon it, Potter! Now!" Quirrell yelled.
"Never, you bastard," Harry cried. He was picked up and slammed into a wall.
"Crucio."
The chamber was again filled with Harry's screams as the Cruciatus Curse burned, flooding his nervous system with agony. He writhed on the floor until Quirrell lifted the spell. Coughs wracked his body, and Harry watched in horror as he vomited up blood.
"Ready to help yet, Potter?" Quirrell taunted. Harry rolled onto his stomach, and remained silent. He knew he had to hold on. It wasn't bravery, it was necessity. The odds were stacked against him. Surely Dumbledore had some way of knowing that the defenses of the Stone had been breached…
"Enough, servant…let me speak with him, face-to-face…" the snake-like voice hissed.
"Master, you are not strong enough – " AHH!"
"Do not doubt me, Quirrell. Turn around, and let me see the boy."
Slowly, Harrry watched Quirrell turn around so that the back of his head was facing him. The man began to unwrap his turban. Harrry's confusion turned to horror as a face was revealed jutting out of the back of Quirrell's head.
It was chalk white, with a flat nose and glowing red slits for eyes. His features were locked in an expression of malice. As he glared at Harry, his scar exploded in pain, and he collapsed back to the floor, hands clutching his forehead. Sticking out of the back of Quirrell's skull was none other than the murderer of his parents, Lord Voldemort.
Quirrell began walking slowly backwards, advancing on Harry, who was backpedaling with his arms and legs.
"Harrry…Potter," Voldemort hissed, "see what I have become…so weak that I must share the form of another…"
Harry could only whimper in pain. The events of the past few hours were catching up to him, and the eleven-year old could only take so much.
Voldemort laughed. "As a baby, you defeated me…somehow. Today, I stand before you and you cower in my presence. You beg for mercy just like your parents. How disgusting for a Slytherin…"
"LIAR!" Harry screamed, finding strength he didn't know he had. "My father died standing up to you! My mother tricked you into killing her first, so that I was protected!"
Voldemort gave what could best be described as a scowl. "Indeed…but this time you have no mother to save you. No one to die for you…"
Harry fought through the pain and managed to muster a glare at Voldemort.
"You could join me, you know," Voldemort said. "You are a powerful wizard, Harry."
"I'd never join you," he spat angrily. "Not after what you did to my parents…to Daphne! I despise you!"
Voldemort laughed, and Harry's scar burned. "Such courage...and hatredin a young man…but there is a darkness within you, a burgeoning power. We could be great together, Harry…We could bring back your parents…We have the power…"
Harry froze. For an instant, the possibility of seeing his parents again entered his mind. As it did so, he saw images of them standing in the fire behind Voldemort, beckoning to him. He felt his body begin to move as he was enraptured by his beautiful mother calling to him…
And then he broke away. Words spoken by Daphne long ago. "No spell can resurrect the dead, Harry. Only the darkest of magic can reanimate bodies, but they are little more than puppets. I'm here for you, Harry, and I always will be…
"NO!" Harry screamed. The images of his parents vanished. Voldemort's fury overwhelmed him, and he dropped back to the ground, clutching at his forehead.
"Very well, Harry. CRUCIO!"
Voldemort's Cruciatus burned worse than Quirrell's. Harry writhed on the ground, feeling nothing but the burning agony. The fire continued to burn; he felt as if his skin was melting, his blood boiling. He want it to end.
He wanted to die.
Voldemort lifted his wand, laughing softly. "Poor baby Potter." He raised his wand. "Petrificus Totalis!" Harry's arms and legs snapped together and he was paralyzed by the Full-Body Bind. He levitated Harry in front of the Mirror of Erised. Unable to close his eyes. Harry stared into the mirror.
He saw himself, covered in bruises, blood trailing from his nose and mouth, his robes torn to tatter and his legs coated in dried blood, standing up straight. A smile crossed his features, and he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a blood red stone, grinned, and put it back in his pocket. Suddenly, Harry felt the presence of something heavy enter his own pocket.
He had the Philosopher's Stone.
Released from the Body-Bind, Harry dove for his wand, and pulled it up, pulling his protesting body into a dueling stance. Voldemort laughed, and turned around so that Quirrell was facing forwards. The man let out a scream, and suddenly, his own face was replaced with that of Harry's enemy. Harry almost gagged from the sight. "You believe you can defeat me, Potter?"
Harry answered back with his own barking laugh, and something dark twinkled in his eyes. "I can only try. REDUCTO!"
Voldemort slapped away the Blasting Hex like it was nothing. "Pitiful, Potter. Crucio!"
Harry dodged the Cruciatus, and fired back a Disarming Charm, which Voldemort blocked with a wave of his wand. Then the Cruciatus hit him again. He crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony.
"I grow tired of this, Potter. Give me the Stone, and I will allow your companion to live."
Harry started despite the pain. He had forgotten Hermione's presence entirely. His mind began to race desperately. He couldn't lose her…but what would it matter if Voldemort got the Stone?
Voldemort strode over to the unconscious girl and levitated her lifeless body, aiming his wand. "The Stone, Potter…Or she dies. I can tell you care much for this mudblood…"
"Bastard," Harry hissed.
To his surprise, Voldemort chuckled. "Indeed, I am, Potter. But this bastard child has grown to be more powerful than any wizard. People fear to speak my name, in fear that I will return…"
"NO!" Harry screamed. "I WON'T GIVE IT TO YOU!"
Again, Voldemort laughed. "I'm impressed, Potter. You are more Slytherin than I gave you credit for. You know I cannot touch you, that you are protected by your mudblood mother's sacrifice. You don't wish your friend harmed, but are intelligent enough to realize that I won't spare either of you if I am returned to body…Let's test that resolve."
He leveled his wand at Hermione's stomach. "Abrumpo!" A scream died in Harry's throat as the Slicing Curse hit her in the chest at point blank range. Her stomach exploded in a shower of blood, and she was dumped to the floor as Voldemort turned away. The rise and fall of her chest revealed that she wall still alive, but Harry knew enough about human biology to know that he had precious little time before she bled out. He tore his eyes away from he sight, and stood up on his injured legs.
"No."
"I have underestimated you, Potter," Voldemort admitted. "Perhaps you are more heartless than I imagined. Not to say that I don't agree with you. After all, what use are mudbloods. All they do is die."
Harry was shaking with rage, but couldn't choke out anything but a primal growl of fury.
"But I grow tired of this game," Voldemort said. He waved his wand, and Harry was knocked hard to the ground. He leveled his wand at Harry. "The Stone, Potter, or poor Daphne will have to bury yet another of her loved ones."
"Go to hell, Voldemort," Harry spat.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort cried. Try as he may, Harry couldn't keep his eyes closed, and watched as the jet of green light exploded from the end of his nemesis's wand. Speeding death rushed towards him, and a rushing sound filled his ears. He watched as the green light connected with his chest, and his last thought…
I failed you, Daphne…
The next thing Harry saw was blinding red light that exploded from his pocket, enveloping both Harry and Voldemort. The green jet vanished, and Voldemort's eyes lit up in confusion. The red aura began to grow brighter. Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and he raised his wand for a second time.
And then the world exploded.
The red aura was transformed in a flash to a blinding white. It enveloped Harry and Voldemort, and all they could see through it was each other.
Harry suddenly felt a sensation the like of which he had never felt before. He felt safety and serenity. His body was at peace, his wounds burned no more. He was content and loved. An affectionate voice whispered in his ear:
I love you Harry.
His body felt as if it was being cradled in the arms of a mother. Every sadness, every negative emotion was swept away. Memories, good memories, began to play in front of him. Memories he had never recalled before.
A black haired man picked him up in his arms and tossed him up in the air, while a red headed woman laughed in the background.
His stared up at a mobile that featured broomsticks, a snitch, a quaffle, and a Gryffindor Lion. A face entered the picture, that of a beautiful woman with flowing dark red hair and vibrant green eyes full of caring and compassion. She pulled him up out of the cradle, and caressed his black hair. She looked as though she was about to burst with pride and happiness; her expression was that of pure bliss. Harry felt waves of protectiveness bursting from her, and relaxed in their warmth and comfort.
A black haired man with proud hazel eyes hidden by wire-frame glasses entered his sight. He gazed upon mother and child with unbridled love and affection. He reached out and ruffled his small son's tuft of black hair, before his hand was playfully slapped away by his wife. He bent and kissed her on the lips, before reaching out for his son. His wife placed Harry in his arms, and he glanced furtively at her before ruffling his hair again. He laughed, then took off his glasses, and placed them on his son. He burst out laughing at what he saw. Two more people entered the room. A tall man with bright features and lanky black hair that fell into his glittering blue eyes. He burst out laughing at the sight of the bespectacled baby, pushing the woman standing beside him, a woman with honey-blond hair and loving grey-green eyes that Harry knew very well, into Harry's line of sight. She too burst out laughing, holding on to the other man for support. She stopped and pulled her red-headed friend into a tender embrace, then took the baby from his father. She clutched him to her chest, caressing his back. The baby gurgled in pleasure.
The scene began to fade…
The chamber came back into focus, and with it, the pain of his injuries. The chamber, with the Mirror of Erised standing in the center, Hermione Granger unconscious and bleeding profusely against a pillar off the right, and in front of the fire blocking the entrance, a bruised, battered eleven-year old boy and a Professor possessed by the most feared Dark Lord since Gridenwald.
At the moment, however, the Dark Lord was undergoing an ordeal that was the exact opposite of his enemy. The love and affection that Harry had been surrounded in was as painful to experience as the worst Cruciatus. The pure light seared into the dark soul of Quirrell, who screamed at the top of his lungs, his horrifying shrieks those of a man whose body was being incinerated. Harry saw a flash of Dark shadow, and then the man was obliterated as his body exploded in a burst of white light.
The last sight that Harry saw was his dying friend bleeding against a pillar….
Severus Snape, cursing in every language he knew, dashed into the chamber containing Hagrid's mutt. His Dark Mark burned, and the presence of a harp, along with the fact that the trap door was flung wide open, told him all he needed to know. A spell restarted the harp, and Fluffy was sent into dreamland for the third time that night.
He had been a fool to trust Albus's judgment. And now Quirrell had beaten him to the Stone. The Dark Lord would kill him for his treachery, if it was indeed too late. Snape hated the man that the Dark Lord had become. He followed Albus Dumbledore because the man had given him another chance at life.
He fired an Incineration Curse into the darkness below him, and the air was filled with the screams of the Devil's Snare, the Venomus Tentaculas, and the Thorned Stranglevines. He extinguished the blaze, and jumped into the next trapdoor. He entered the key room, and found the correct key jammed into the hole. He cast an Freezing Charm on the other keys and pushed the door open.
He found one of the brooms on the other side, then stepped up to McGonagall's chess set. He found it in ruins, the chamber covered in scorch marks, and most of the pieces shattered into fragments. The white king was headless and disarmed. Obviously, the thief had not been very good at chess, and decided simply to blast the Transfigured pieces. Still, the number of scorch marks raised questions. Had Quirrell had an accomplice?
He ran into the next room, ready to decapitate the troll, but found it unconscious. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and cast the Severing Curse anyway. He proceeded into his own contribution, and found that Quirrell had either been impatient or wasn't very good at logic. The Nettle Wine bottles were smashed on the far side of the chamber, and only four bottles remained on the table. Two of the poisons, the Return potion, and an empty Forward potion. He looked in surprise at the shattered poison bottle. Repairing the bottle and replacing the contents, he found that it had been drunk. That confirmed that Quirrell did indeed have an accomplice, as he would not have been able to get the bezoars that had been placed on the table just in case. Personally, Snape found that particular measure to be counter-productive. Why keep the thief alive?
He terminated the Black Fire incantation, which he could do because he cast it in the first place. Stepping through the antechamber, he walked into the chamber housing the Philosopher's Stone. The sight that met him was shocking to say the least. Rather than Quirrell and an accomplish, he saw two eleven-year olds. Both unconscious.
Potter was a frightful sight, but Granger was bleeding profusely from a serious stomach wound. Severus waved his wand and sealed the injury, stopping the bleeding temporarily. He stepped in front of the Mirror of Erised, praying that he would see himself doing something involving the Philosopher's Stone. He knew that he was too Dark to obtain the Stone himself, but if the Stone appeared in his most heartfelt desire, that meant in remained in the mirror.
To his horror, he simply saw what he had seen the first time he gazed into the mirror of Erised. An image that depicted something that was both impossible to achieve and featured the two things Severus pined for above all others.
He spun around furiously. The Dark Lord had taken the Stone, there was no other explanation.
He had failed.
"Then why did he leave two children alive, Severus," a voice called from behind him. Severus spun around to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway, his eyes twinkling. "You have not failed. Harry has prevented Tom from talking the Stone."
"What are you talking about?" Severus demanded. What game was this old man playing?
"Harry obtained the Stone from the Mirror, that much I know. However, I do not know how he managed to cause the death of our late Defense teacher, nor delay the return of Voldemort once more."
"Are you to tell me that this…boy prevented the Dark Lord from taking the Stone? Then where it is, old man?"
"The Stone has been destroyed. Harry showed great bravery tonight, but I believe his survival was pure chance. We must take them to the Hospital Wing. If you would get Miss Granger, Severus."
"No, Albus. I will take my own." He raised his wand, and conjured a stretcher, before levitating the injured Slytherin onto it.
"A show of caring for the boy, perhaps, Severus?" Albus asked, his blue eyes twinkling madly.
"A responsibility to those wearing the green and sliver, Albus," he retorted, spitting the old wizard's name as if it was a vile curse." Changing the subject, he sneered. "Do you remember what I said to you on Halloween?" he asked as they walked at a brisk pace through the deactivated defenses.
"Ah, yes. Something about "not cleaning up your mess when it exploded in your face," it seems you were correct, my old friend. Nonetheless, there is no harm done."
"No harm done? Albus for Merlin's sake, think about what Dressler is going to do!"
Dumbledore winced. "I must admit that had slipped my mind. Let us make haste, these two need attention."