Author's note:
All right- I wrote this in one go. I don't know why or how exactly but sometimes you just have the inspiration, y'know? Also I didn't want to do school. So here youguys go.
WARNING: some violence, maybe slight innuendos. Nothing too bad though.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter. I do own the plot of this though so no stealing things that don't belong to you.
Enjoy!
It was with a slight sense of nostalgia that Harry boarded the train the last day of the vacation and set off to Hogwarts once again. The vacation, and more specifically being able to take a break from being "Harry" had been challenging, but it had gone as he had wanted it to. Even when he went back, he didn't really want to be Harry, but it was part of the plan. After so many sacrifices he wouldn't give it up now.
School life went on as it usually did, and that was good, but Harry couldn't shake off a vague feeling of unease. He was so close to being done, being free, that it seemed almost impossible for there not to be a hiccup in the plan.
So it was that one day, after accidentally antagonizing Snape a little to much, Harry was headed to the dungeons for a detention with the sour man. There were no other people in the hallway, and Harry heard the sound of his feet echo in the large empty space.
For a while he only heard his own feet patter on the cold tiles. As he started paying more attention to the sound though, he could swear he heard a quiet echo after his steps. Like someone was shadowing him.
To test that theory, he suddenly changed his walking rhythm. Indeed, for a step or two, he heard a distinct set of feet behind him. Choosing to ignore it, though he carefully took a hold of his wand under his sleeve, he walked on.
He walked around a corner, deciding to take a shortcut through a deserted part of the castle as he was a little late for his detention. He didn't hear any footsteps anymore, even when changing tempo, so he was quite sure his shadower had lost him.
It seemed like he was right for a moment or two. A small rustling movement later though, Harry felt a hand in his hair, and a rapidly mumbled spell later his hands were bound behind his back. He grunted, and tried to deflect his assailant before he got a good grip. Futilely, it seemed. His ambusher was surprisingly talented in hand-to-hand combat it seemed.
Harry closed his eyes in annoyance. He was getting rusty, not to have thought about the possibly that one could silence their footsteps. He slumped into the hold of his attacker.
'Hello, Potter,' a voice whispered in his ear.
Harry stiffened back up again. 'What... Quirrell?' He made another attempt to get out of the man's grip.
'The one and only,' Quirrell said in a satisfied tone of voice.
'What the hell?' Harry bit out, 'let me go!'
'Oh no, no no,' Quirrell said softly, 'we are going for a nice little walk together.' At Harry's silence, he jabbed his wand into Harry's neck. 'Can you do that for me?'
Harry's face turned to a grimace. '... yes,' he hissed.
He felt, not as much as he saw Quirrell's face turn into a satisfied leer. A little awkwardly, but very effectively stopping Harry from moving where Quirrell didn't want him, they shuffled into an abandoned classroom.
'What do you want?' Harry growled once they were inside and the door was closed.
Quirrell didn't answer, only forced Harry to move to a chair in the middle of the room. A small but vicious kick to the back of Harry's knee later, he was sat in the chair. Wasting no time, Quirrell started binding him to it more securely.
As yet another couple of ropes hit him in the chest, Harry grunted. Experimentally, he flexed his muscles, hoping for a little bit more wiggle room when trying to get out.
'Ah, ah,' Quirrell tutted, 'I don't think so. You keep those muscles nice and relaxed.'
Harry sighed and glared up at the man. Grudgingly he relaxed his arms and legs.
'Good.' Quirrell said.
Harry pursed his lips. 'What the hell do you want from me.'
Quirrell shrugged. 'I don't know... a little information, that's all.'
Harry snorted. 'Bite me.'
Quirrell started and raked his eyes over Harry's body. He raised an eyebrow. 'I'm sure you wouldn't want that now...'
Harry frowned, then shivered. 'Right. Scratch that. I meant to say that I won't give you any information about anything.'
Quirrell sighed. 'I thought you'd say that. No matter. See I want some information, but I don't really need it. I know what I need to know... that is to say, I know who you are, Hadrian Potter.'
Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Right. And who might that be?'
'I just need some confirmation...' Quirrell went on as if he hadn't heard Harry. He came closer and closer- to Harry's extreme annoyance- and put his wand to Harry's lower arm.
'Diffinido' He said. Harry grunted as the spell caused a small wound to form on his arm.
The small cut in Harry's arm was just big enough for the tiniest stream of blood to trickle down his arm and into the small ritual bowl Quirrell held against his arm.
After collecting enough to completely fill the bottom of the bowl, Quirrell moved away and grabbed another vial of blood. Together he held them up for Harry to see, a satisfied smile on his face.
'You see,' he said, 'to identify someone's blood with a ritual, you need their consent. That's why it's almost never used for nefarious means, as you simply can't do it without that annoying little matter of consent. But checking if two samples of blood are from the same person... that is way less regulated. Because why would it be? The only thing you could do with it is uncover fake personas.' He smirked. 'So nothing should happen if I were to compare your blood to this... random... sample I got from a guy by the name of Elias, right Hadrian?'
Harry shrugged. 'I suppose so,' he said, choosing not to speak to much out of fear he would say something he'd regret.
'Good, good,' Quirrell said with a small smirk on his face.
He focused back on the blood. Taking out his wand, he mixed the two bloods. Swirling them around with the tip of it, he started mumbling something that Harry recognized as some ancient Mayan chant. It was one Harry knew himself- known for being almost one hundred percent accurate at all times, he had to admit it was a good choice.
As the chant ended, the blood lit up a deep blue. Quirrell looked up at Harry with a raised eyebrow. 'Well well... Elias... what a disguise... I must applaud you for your superb acting. How sad you'll never get the chance to develop it further. It must have been very tiring, being scoped up with a bunch of kids for the whole year.'
Harry's face closed off. He leaned his head back to the chair, desperately wishing that he had his arm free to torture Quirrell to insanity.
'Wow...' he said softly, 'of all people... you... you are the one to bust me... I must say I underestimated you.'
Quirrell glared at him. 'People seem to do that, yes. But now I bested you. My master shall see me for who I really am. I will be the one to deliver him Hadrian Potter- and the one to unmask Elias Riddle. I will be looked up to- praised! And you, the everlasting thorn in the side of my master, will be dead.'
Harry nodded slowly. 'Yes... of course. I see,' he said slowly. 'Why don't we just talk about this for a minute before either of us does something rash... I'm sure we can arrange something that will benefit the both of us. I won't even try anything- I promise.'
Quirrell shook his head. 'Just because I pretend to be stupid doesn't mean I am, Potter. I am going to go grab something, and then we are going to go our marry way to my master.'
With a calculated gait, very different from his usual pace, Quirrell walked to the door.
'Wait!' Harry said, just as Quirrell grabbed the door handle. 'You're going to grab the Philosophers Stone, aren't you.'
Quirrell's back stiffened. 'I owe you no explanation. Stay here.' With a bang, he shut the door behind him.
Harry nodded. Quirrell's body language had said enough. He sighed.
'Circe.' He mumbled to himself.
So close... he was so close, and this incompetent, heel-licking baboon could take all of his carefully crafted plan and throw it out of the window.
Harry banged his fists on the armrests. Spitefully, he glared at his holly wand, laying on the ground a good four meters away from him. If it had been his Elder wand, he would have been out of there bounds within the minute.
He loathed to admit it, but Quirrell was, if nothing else, crafty with wards. There was no way for Harry to get out of these bounds without the Elder Wand.
He balled his fists. No. There must be a way out. Shaking his head, he quickly cleared it. This was no time for distractions, not now.
A valuable ten minutes later, he thought of something. Harry cursed to himself. That he hadn't thought of this before...
The wards were keyed to his magic and to his mind. That is to say, Harry wouldn't be able to get out within a couple days at least, as they were tied to his very being.
A Horcrux of Voldemort's though, combined with the piece of his mind he stored only memories of Elias? Now that would be a lot easier. Quirrell's magic was naturally submissive to Voldemort's, and though tapping into his Horcrux wasn't something Harry particularly enjoyed doing out of fear Voldemort would notice, it did twist his magic to look just like the Dark Lord's.
Just as he had expected it to, the bound were a lot easier to break through when he was exuding the dark aura of Voldemort. As a matter of fact, he easily broke through the bounds on his magic. The mental bounds were a bit more difficult though, as Harry really had to get himself in his "Elias" mindscape- something he had never, not once, done in this body.
A futile- and long- five minutes later Harry gave up on forcing himself to pretend to be Elias. It just wasn't working. He decided to try a different way. He sighed. He was not very enthusiastic for this method.
With the hold on his magic broken, Harry easily preformed some wandless magic to get his wand back. Wand in his hand, he braced himself for some pain.
Clenching his teeth together, he started on the usual changing spells he did when becoming Elias. It hurt. A lot, actually. But he was determined. The tightly spun ropes were wrapped all around his body, and didn't expand with him. It was like someone was applying selective crucio's to his body, especially around his chest. The ropes had been tight when he was Harry, but as Elias they felt like they were trying to severe his ligaments from his torso.
The good things was that he felt like Elias though, so as Elias it took him a mere two minutes to undo the mental blocks.
With the mental blocks gone, Elias third to make quick work of the ropes binding him in place. He quickly realized however, that that was not the way it was going to be. Painstakingly slow, he removed every one tying him down. He cursed, as he started to notice that undoing the ropes was possibly even more painful than growing in them.
He attempted to stand immediately after unwinding the ropes. He failed, drastically. Lying with his ankles twisted and his face crumpled up against the floor, Elias took a while to rethink the life choices that had brought him here. He sighed.
Right. He was free now. Elias shook his head to try and calm down the raging pain in his neck- failed, again- and attempted to think.
Firstly, he couldn't be seen as Elias in the castle. So he mumbled the transformation spells needed to return to the relatively sorry state of his "Hadrian" body.
Then secondly, he knew that Quirrell was after the stone for Voldemort. He couldn't care less about the stone, but the information Quirrell could give Voldemort when he returned to the Lord -with or without Elias- was of vital importance for Harry's future existence. So he had to be stopped. Harry dragged himself up, and succeeded marginally better this time. He always found that hate and revenge were good motivators.
Thirdly, if he was going to go this was, he had to say something to the kids he was friends with. To his surprise, he didn't want them in the middle of this. Was he feeling... protective?
He nodded to himself decisively. Giving the chair a vindictive kick on his way out, Harry staggered to the door. Before killing off Quirrell, he still had some things to do. He only hoped he wouldn't be too late.
And that's a wrap. Please think about voting or something I guess. Bye.
2276 words.