Chapter 14: The Philosopher's Stone
Harry had expected the fire to hurt. But it was far worse than he had imagined – for a second. Then, still in the heart of the fire, he felt his magical core twitch again, and everything went white. Then he was rolling onto a stone floor on the other side of the flames, still in pain, but apparently not too badly injured. He lay there, gasping in pain, when he heard the sound of slow applause. He raised his head shakily, but everything was a blur; his glasses had come off. As he groped around for them, someone spoke:
"Oh bravo, bravo! I was wondering if you would show up Potter, I must say, you've done very well to get past all those challenges. Maybe you are as special as they say… How did you manage it may I ask?"
Harry found his glasses, putting them back on before looking up. Quirrell was standing there, arms folded, a sardonic smile on his face.
"Well?"
"With… With a little help from friends…"
"Ah, of course: that typical Gryffindor sentimentality. How nauseating. And where are they now? Or have they fallen prey to some of the more dangerous challenges back there?"
Harry glared at him.
"They've gone to get the other staff; they'll be here any minute."
Quirrell raised an eyebrow.
"I highly doubt that. Not that it matters. You've fairly effectively blocked us in for the moment, and once I've retrieved the Stone then they won't be able to stop me. Elixir of Life you know, wonderful stuff…"
Harry spun round at these words. Where the black flames had been there was now only a solid wall of ice. He walked towards it, stretching out to touch it. It was so cold it burned. He turned back to Quirrell.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything Potter, it's all your own work. Now if you don't mind, I am rather busy, so do be quiet."
Harry drew his wand in a fury, but Quirrell waved his own in a dismissive gesture. Harry was hurled several feet across the room.
"Potter, you are eleven years old, and I am a rather powerful Dark wizard. In addition, you are tired and badly injured: you don't have a hope of beating me. Now lie there and be quiet and I may let you live."
He aimed his wand again, and a stream of rope came out, wrapping itself around Harry.
Quirrell turned away, walking back to a large mirror in the middle of the room: the Mirror of Erised, Harry realised with a jolt. Quirrell walked round it several times, tapping it with his wand, muttering to himself. After a minute, he stepped back, and muttered an incantation. A bolt of light came from his wand, striking the Mirror in the middle of the glass.
Nothing happened.
Quirrell let out a cry of frustration, walking straight up to the Mirror again.
"I can't even see anything in this damn thing! What's the old fool done to it…?"
Harry had been watching this with a rising sense of hope: Quirrell didn't know how to get the stone from the Mirror! If he could just distract him a little more, then Hermione might really get back with help in time. With this in mind, he called out to Quirrell:
"So this is Dumbledore's contribution?"
Quirrell looked over his shoulder, an unpleasant look on his face.
"That's right, curse him. He didn't do anything about it for months, and then he springs this little gem! It's a surprisingly dark guardian for him, though. Do you know about the Mirror, Potter? It feeds off your mind, body and soul, leaving nothing behind. Not the kind of thing you'd associate with Albus Dumbledore at all, but it's apparently been in his family for generations! And as if it wasn't bad enough already, he's changed it. I should be able to see myself getting the Stone, but it's just showing me blood. Blood… I wonder: maybe you just have to pay a price?"
He started moving his wand in different, more complex patterns. Small balls of light appeared and started to orbit the Mirror, floating round it before flying back to Quirrell and, seemingly, into his body. More and more started to appear, before Harry suddenly called out again:
"Why do you want Voldemort back?"
Quirrell stiffened, losing concentration, and the globes disappeared. He turned to Harry, growling, and walked over to him.
"Because he will grant me everything I desire, and he will restore the Wizarding World to greatness! Even you can't be that stupid Potter: look at us! We're reduced to cowering in terror from people who only worked out how to communicate instantly less than a hundred years ago! They're nothing compared to us, so… insignificant. But the Ministry would have us hide like mice, when every true wizard or witch knows in their heart we should be ruling over them! The Dark Lord - "
"Don't you mean Voldemort?"
"Do not speak his name! You are not worthy you insolent little brat!"
Harry smiled.
"What's the matter Quirrell? Scared of Vol – "
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed in agony, every nerve ending being twisted, a thousand knives digging into him, flames licking at his skin… And then it stopped. Quirrell stood over him, a mad expression on his face.
"The Dark Lord will be most pleased when I bring you to him along with the key to immortality Potter. I would not count on a swift death!"
He walked back to the Mirror, conjuring more glowing globes, which again began to circle the Mirror. Suddenly he began to stroke the Mirror, still muttering to himself. Harry lay there, doing his best to ignore the excruciating pain wracking his body.
"What – What made – What made you try and kill me that night?"
"Hmm? What was that?"
"Why – why try and kill me then?"
Quirrell laughed.
"Oh, that wasn't me dear boy, no, that was my… shall we say 'business associate'? We've been working together very closely. I have a suspicion he would just love to see you, Harry."
"You mean… that was Vol –" Quirrell raised his wand again. "I mean, You-Know-Who?"
"No no, just a colleague. But one who would love to meet you. I'd tell you, but he'd want to see the expression on your face."
"How did You-Know-Who survive?"
"That is not for you to know Potter, and for those of us he deems worthy to associate with to keep a secret. Ah-ha!" He stepped back from the Mirror, a triumphant grin on his face.
"I was right! A blood price! You know, Potter, say what you like about Dumbledore, but he really is very clever sometimes. No-one can change the nature of the Mirror of Erised, and believe me, hundreds have tried! So he hasn't changed it, just… manipulated it a bit. I'd say it was genius, but it won't work. You see, Potter, the Mirror has a basic desire, if I can use the word, for humanity. That's how it works, it uses the soul of those who go mad staring into it, and the body of those that walk into it, to power the magic behind it. So all Dumbledore had to do was manipulate it into demanding a price for its contents – and Dumbledore can be very persuasive when he wants to be. So it's perfectly simple; a blood ritual: a body's worth of blood for the Philosopher's Stone. It is rather brilliant in its own way, because no-one would kill themselves to get hold of something. However, since I have a guest…"
Quirrell began to smile. Harry stared at him, first in confusion, then in shock, as the Dark wizard pulled a knife from his robe. He gestured with his wand, and Harry was hauled upright, before being dragged forwards, towards the Mirror. He jerked to a halt just in front of it, and Quirrell Vanished the ropes. Harry moved for his wand, but Quirrell waved his wand again, and Harry's arms were suddenly fixed to the Mirror, which began to ripple at his touch.
Quirrell stepped forward, knife raised. He moved it to just below Harry's wrists.
"Any last words Potter?"
Harry moved his mouth soundlessly, too stunned to speak. Quirrell shrugged, before slashing the knife along Harry's wrist.
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, the staff were frantically searching for the source of the outpouring of Dark magic that had triggered the wards. It was reminiscent of the war against Voldemort at its height, and none of them were eager to face such a threat again. Professors McGonagall and Snape were searching together, when Snape suddenly stopped.
"This is pointless Minerva. We'd have felt it again by now if there was really something there."
"Oh, and I suppose you can explain why someone would go to all this trouble just to get us out…"
They stared at each other.
"The Philosopher's Stone! Oh Merlin…"
They both turned back towards the castle, Snape sending up the sparks to signal a return. Hagrid was guarding the doors to the castle, and he stared in confusion as they raced past him. Snape suddenly stopped.
"Hagrid, come on – we need you to pacify Fluffy!"
Hagrid stared at him, before shrugging and following. Ten minutes later, the two Professors were standing looking at the burnt out Devil's Snare. Snape cursed under his breath.
"Do you think they'll have been and gone yet, Minerva?"
"Let's hope not, Severus. Merlin only knows who it could be!"
They walked on through the dark corridors, arriving in the key room at the same time as Neville and Hermione.
"Longbottom! Granger! What are you doing down here?"
"It's Professor Quirrell sir, he's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone! Harry's still in there, he was trapped in the room with the Potions."
Snape swore, running off in the direction Neville and Hermione had come from. McGonagall stayed with the students, casting a charm on Ron to levitate him, Hermione still babbling the story to her. She hurriedly led them away from the underground obstacle course.
Meanwhile Snape was casting the complex spells to breakdown the bewitched flames, mulling over all he had seen. The exit to the key room had clearly been blown apart somehow, in a staggering display of power. And the chess pieces had been decimated: Quirrell was clearly more powerful than he seemed. Or could it have been Potter? As the flames died down, he hurried down the steps, only to freeze in shock: there was a solid wall of ice in front of him. He cast a particularly vicious version of a Blasting curse at it, but it had little effect. He followed that with a powerful burning curse, but again, by the time he cancelled the magic little had been achieved. He resigned himself to a lengthy wait.
Harry screamed as Quirrell cut his wrist open. Blood began to spurt out, sinking into the Mirror. Quirrell began to laugh, but the Mirror suddenly shuddered. Quirrell backed away, dropping Harry to the floor, who swiftly tore a strip from his robes, tying it over the cut. Then he looked at the Mirror. Cracks were appearing all over the glass, and the Mirror was shaking violently.
It exploded.
Shards of glass went flying out from the Mirror. Harry froze, unable to move, and was hit by several of them. Two hit him straight in the face, one of them in the middle of his head, right over the lightning bolt scar left there by Voldemort.
Quirrell watched in shock as the boy in front of him fell over, glass sticking out of him in several places. Weirdly, he wasn't bleeding. Suddenly, the fragments of glass began to melt, glowing as they did so. As Quirrell looked on in astonishment, the glass flowed into Harry's body, leaving him apparently unmarked. Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Quirrell dumbly. For the first time, Quirrell felt a flicker of fear. He had been intrigued when the black flames had turned to ice as the boy came through them, but this was something else entirely.
"Potter, I have no idea what you're doing, but if nothing else, you will die tonight!"
Harry raised his wand in a feeble attempt to defend himself, but Quirrell disarmed him with a single wave of his wand. Harry backed away, falling over again, and Quirrell moved further forwards, towering over him. He bent over, grabbing Harry by his robes, and raised his wand over his head. In desperation, Harry tried to shove him away, hitting Quirrell in the face.
Quirrell screamed, dropping Harry and his wand. As Quirrell staggered back, Harry looked up at him; a hand print had been burnt across his face. Quirrell looked up, snarling, and ran forward, pulling the knife from his robe again. Harry ducked a wild swipe, before grabbing Quirrell's neck. He could actually see his hands glowing now; there was a horrible smell, and he could see smoke coiling out from under his hands. But he held on with all his might, not knowing what was happening but fully conscious that he had no other chance of survival.
Quirrell was flailing madly under Harry's painful grip, beating him in the chest. A sudden blow to Harry's stomach drove the wind from him, and he fell back, wheezing. Quirrell stood up, sobbing with pain. His neck had been burnt black, and Harry felt slightly sick knowing that he had done that to someone. The glow from his hands intensified, becoming whiter, almost painfully bright. Quirrell stumbled over to his wand, but Harry, now crying himself from the knowledge of what he must do, tripped him up, placing his hands on him, one on his head, and one over his heart. Quirrell screamed even louder as Harry's unrestrained magic poured into his body, burning it up from the inside. Quirrell began to smoke, his flesh drying out, cracking, as more and more magic seeped from Harry's fingertips into his body.
There was a loud crack as the ice covering the door finally shattered under Snape's spells; the Potions Master burst into the chamber just in time to see the Boy-Who-Lived jump away from Quirrell, as the Defence teacher burst into flames. Snape swiftly conjured a stream of water to quench the flames, but he was too late; as the flames died down, all that was left of Quirrell were some tattered robes, and a large amount of ash. Snape looked at the remnants of his colleague in horror. Harry was crouched a short distance away, vomiting.
Snape shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing, and turned to Harry, crouching next to him. The boy was muttering to himself, and Snape reached out, touching him on the shoulder. Harry looked up at him, a vacant expression on his face.
"I didn't… I didn't mean – "
"I know that Potter. It's – it's ok…"
This is ridiculous! Snape thought to himself; Comforting James Potter's son? He tentatively patted Harry on the back.
"Come on, let's get you back, that's it…"
He helped Harry to his feet, wincing at the inadequacy of his comments. As Harry stood up, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed again.
An hour later, and Harry was sleeping peacefully in the Hospital Wing. Ron was also there, heavily bandaged, and rather grumpy over his "imprisonment". Hermione and Neville had been sent back to the Gryffindor dormitories, as neither had any injuries. McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore were in the Headmaster's office, discussing the events of the evening.
"It was definitely Quirrell, I recognised the robes, and he's the only member of staff unaccounted for. I suppose the idea of immortality and unimaginable wealth proved too much of a temptation." said Snape
Dumbledore nodded wearily.
"Such a shame… He was a most gifted individual in his own little way."
Snape shrugged, a miniscule twitch of the corner of his mouth revealing his true feelings on that subject.
"And why on earth were Harry and his friends there? Do they not trust the staff?" Dumbledore went on.
Snape winced.
"I fear that may be my fault, Headmaster. I saw Potter not long before the explosion of Dark magic in the Forest; he was babbling about something. I assume he was trying to warn me about Quirrell, but I didn't listen to him at the time."
Snape seemed to cower under the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze, but McGonagall intervened.
"Leave him alone, Albus. I would have done the same in his position; I'd think we were mad for believing it now if I hadn't seen it myself…"
Dumbledore sighed and nodded.
"I suppose so, but I'd still recommend never letting Sirius find out that little detail, Severus! Now, you said you were worried about Harry?"
"I saw him burn Quirrell up from the inside out [just using raw magic, Albus; I don't think he could control it, but that's little comfort: the boy shouldn't be in school! He needs one to one tuition, where he won't be a danger to so many people. You know what he did to Weasley. Just imagine if that had happened unexpectedly during a meal: he could have injured dozens of people!"
"I disagree, Severus. Harry's magic may be uncontrolled, but it is predictable: the level of the magic seems to be in direct proportion to his levels of stress. I cannot imagine him facing an equal level of stress during a meal as during a duel with a Dark wizard, can you?"
"And what if he gets worse, not better? What then, Albus?"
"There is no evidence to suggest he will get worse: indeed, he has already shown some improvement over the year but yes, if he does get worse I will re-evaluate the situation."
Snape and McGonagall considered this possibility in silence, before nodding their agreement.
"And what of the Philosopher's Stone, Albus?"
"Destroyed with the Mirror of Erised, Minerva. No-one will have access to the Elixir of Life again, I'm afraid. Fortunately Nicholas and Perenelle never intended to live forever, and were already talking about… moving on, shall we say. Nevertheless, I'm sure the destruction of his greatest achievement will hit Nicholas very hard indeed. I shall talk to Harry in the morning, and see if he can shed anymore light on proceedings. For now though, I think sleep would do us all good."
However, Dumbledore sat up long into the night, pondering the strange qualities of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Harry woke up the next morning, looked around him, realised where he was, and groaned. It seemed like he had spent more time in the Hospital Wing over the year than anywhere else! He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, and lay back, trying to remember how he had got there. Then it hit him: he had killed, no, destroyed Quirrell. He grabbed a bed pan, vomiting again.
"Oh dear Harry. I had rather hoped you would be fully recovered this morning; you didn't appear to have any serious injuries."
Harry looked up to see Dumbledore smiling down at him.
"Quite the little adventure you had last night my boy, wouldn't you say?"
Harry stared at him for a moment.
"Sir, I killed him!"
"And how do you feel about that?"
"Well… Well awful, obviously…"
"Why? You would not, I assume, take issue with the fact that he was trying to kill you? Would you feel awful had you killed your attacker last term, or is it merely the manner in which Quirrell died?"
Harry looked down.
"I guess – I guess it's more the way he died. I mean, he thought he was going to bring Voldemort back after all, so why I should feel sorry for him…"
"What?"
Harry looked up, startled at the passion in Dumbledore's voice. The old wizard's eyes were blazing furiously.
"I heard him talking to someone, about how the Stone would restore Voldemort. I mean, that's clearly insane, Voldemort's dead… isn't he?"
Dumbledore looked – guilty? What did he have to feel guilty about? Harry opened his mouth to ask, but the look of guilt passed from the Headmaster's face so swiftly he could almost have imagined it.
"There is some speculation about that Harry, but he is certainly defeated. There is a crucial difference, remember that."
Harry nodded slowly. Dumbledore was clearly hiding something, but it was equally obvious that he wouldn't find out what anytime soon.
"I still burnt him alive, sir. That's a horrible way for anyone to go."
"True… Yet not entirely your fault. The explanation lies in evening of Voldemort's defeat: your mother sacrificed her life for yours, Harry. That is ancient, powerful magic, more powerful than any curse or potion. It certainly contributed to your defeat of Voldemort and I believe it still lingers within you. That is what caused the… reaction you had to Quirrell."
Harry frowned.
"But I could feel my magic…"
Dumbledore nodded.
"The power had to come from somewhere, Harry. Quirrell's death was a tragic accident, but undoubtedly kinder than the punishment the Ministry would have given him. Voldemort's supporters have not been treated kindly in recent years. Mourn Quirrell if you feel you must but take heart in it as well. If he really was in league with Voldemort, then you have done the world yet another great service in preventing his return!"
Harry nodded slowly, a small smile making its way onto his face. His mother protecting and helping him from beyond the grave? That was definitely something to be pleased about! Dumbledore stood up to leave, but Harry had one more question for him.
"Why did the Mirror explode sir?"
A sad, not to mention guilty, look passed across Dumbledore's face.
"Are you aware of why Quirrell wanted your blood Harry?"
"Yes sir; he said you'd changed the Mirror so that it wanted blood in exchange for the stone."
"That is correct – but I suspect he did not discover that the payment had to be voluntary. As he was forcing your blood from you, the magic of the ritual rejected the offering. That rejection, combined with the undeniable power of your blood, resulted in the destruction of the Mirror. I am not proud of my choice Harry, but I genuinely believed that it would be the perfect guard for the Stone. I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me for the injuries it caused you."
The Headmaster had never looked so old as he did now, gazing almost pleadingly at Harry. Harry just shrugged.
"I wouldn't have been hurt if I hadn't been stupid enough to get involved like that, or if Quirrell had been a little more thorough."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Maybe Harry, but it is people getting involved in such a fashion that makes the world what it is today. Never forget that. Now, I'm sure Madame Pomfrey would have a great deal to say about me keeping you up like this. Get some well deserved rest, Harry! I have no doubt we shall talk again soon."
And with that the Headmaster left Harry alone.
Harry was allowed to leave the Hospital Wing only a day later, the shortest time he had spent in there over his several visits. Despite the brevity of his visit though, he had received numerous visits from well-wishers, all congratulating him on his victory over Quirrell. It seemed, according to Hermione, that it was only the general gist of what had happened, rather than the precise details, that had become widely known, something for which Harry was profoundly grateful.
Dumbledore had made a speech at dinner after leaving Harry, informing them all of the Defence teacher's unfortunate demise in a misguided attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone, omitting the fact that Harry had actually burned him alive. He had also handed out a very generous amount of house points, although not quite enough to take the House cup from Slytherin. Ron had been rather vocal about this, but Harry knew that Dumbledore was merely trying to avoid accusations of favouritism: they had, after all, been utterly destroying the rules as opposed to merely breaking them.
Hermione, Neville and Ron had all been fascinated and, Harry suspected, slightly disturbed by the story of what had actually happened between him and Quirrell. Hermione and Ron having filled Ron in on events up to the Potions test. They all agreed he had been lucky to escape in such good condition as he had. Despite everything, all their injuries had been cured within seconds, or after a short period of bed rest. Somewhat ironically, Ron had been injured most severely, something for which Harry was most apologetic.
Soon though, it was time for the journey back to King's Cross. It passed most enjoyably, with much lively debate about Quidditch, Quirrell's replacement for the next year, the likelihood of Snape being sacked (small, in conclusion), at many games of exploding snap. Shortly before their arrival at the station, Harry happened to look at the door of their carriage: Zacharias Smith was standing there, a faint smile on his lips. He nodded at Harry, before walking away. Harry quickly opened the door, but there was no sign of him, and Harry had a feeling that he would not find him in any nearby carriages either. Shaking his head, he ducked back into the carriage, where Hermione and the others were having an argument.
"Harry, what do you think the chances of us having a normal year next year are?"
"As normal as it ever gets at Hogwarts sure; I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"
End of Book 1
A/N: And there we have it. Book one of the 'Second War' series is complete. If you've enjoyed this story (and I hope you all have) the sequel, The Sneaking Serpent Walks will begin posting next Monday. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you will stick with the series.
Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated.