Okay, I decided to turn my near-obsessive attention away from Light's Hope, Death's Hunters for a moment to make this chapter.
I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, that travesty known as Half-Blood Prince would never have existed.
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Chapter 11 - Trial by Fire
For the next two weeks, the four Marauders were tense in anticipation for when Voldemort would make his move for the Philosopher's Stone. They kept a close eye on Quirrel, who did not act beyond his normal cowardly self.
"Merlin, I'm getting tired of waiting for Voldemort to show up," Blaise groaned after leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "All we've been doing is listening to Quirrel ramble about zombies with more attention than normal." Harry was about to respond when a voice whispered in his mind.
Tonight….
"What?" Harry said, confused. Everybody turned to him.
"What?" they echoed. Harry looked at them, pointing to his ear.
"Did you hear that? That voice?" Michael, Hermione and Blaise looked at each other.
"We didn't hear anything, Harry," Hermione said worriedly. Then the voice returned.
Now, my servant, while the meddlesome old fool is away, we strike tonight…. It dawned on Harry what he was hearing: Voldemort's plan.
"Oh, crap," Harry said. Hermione decided not to admonish him for his language.
"What?" Michael asked.
"Voldemort. He's making his move tonight. And Dumbledore's won't be here to stop it."
"We got to tell Professor McGonnagal!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry sighed.
"It probably won't work, but okay." With that, the four of them ran to McGonnagal's office.
McGonnagal was grading some O.W.L. papers when someone knocked on her office door. Setting her quill down, she stood up and opened the door to see her four top students leaning against each other, gasping for breath.
"Good heavens! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. Harry, being the closest, was the one who responded.
"Stone…Voldemort…tonight…" he huffed, still trying to catch his breath. "Voldemort will be taking the Philosopher's Stone tonight!" McGonnagal's eyes widened slightly, but quickly returned back to her calm demeanor.
"I don't know how you found out about the Philosopher's Stone, Mister Potter, but I assure you that it is perfectly safe."
"But-" Harry began, only to be cut off by McGonnagal.
"No buts!" she interrupted. "We have taken measures to assure its safety. Now, this is a fine day. Go outside and enjoy it. Good day." With that, she gently closed her office door shut. Harry sighed in exasperation. Hermione glared at him.
"Don't you dare say-" she began threateningly.
"I told you so," Harry said quickly before she could finish. Hermione scowled at him.
"I guess this means we're doing it ourselves," Michael said dully. "Oh, joy."
At 9:30 that night, the four Marauders snuck out of the Gryffindor Common Room under the invisibility cloak, using the Marauder's Map to guide them. After carefully avoiding Peeves, Filch and his mad cat Mrs. Norris, they finally reached the room that Fluffy was hidden in. Carefully opening the door, they saw the giant beast fast asleep, a harp gently strumming in one corner of the room.
"Okay, who here can play flute the best?" Harry asked. Hermione raised her hand. Harry handed her the reed flute that Hagrid had made him for Christmas. "Hellhounds go right out when they hear music, so if that harp stops playing, start blowing, okay?" Hermione nodded while Harry rolled up his cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. While Hermione fingered the flute nervously, the other three children struggled to lift Fluffy's paw off of the trap door, trying not to protest about the beast's foul breath too loudly. As soon as they moved the paw, the harp stopped playing, and Fluffy began to stir, but Hermione started playing the flute and he quickly went back to sleep. With a heave, they lifted the trap door with a loud creak, but didn't disturb the hellhound's slumber. Hermione got closer, and the other three jumped down the hole one by one. Hermione stopped playing and jumped in just as Fluffy woke up. And as soon as she jumped in, she heard two words that did nothing to increase her confidence.
"Ah, crap," Harry groaned. Hermione fell onto something soft and…slimy.
"Is this what I think it is?" Hermione whimpered. She could hear her friends struggling a few feet away.
"Yup," Harry confirmed. "Devil's Snare. Just our luck."
"I fell asleep in Herbology, how do you get rid of Devil's Snare again?" Blaise grunted as she struggled against the slithering plant.
"Light! Heat! Fire! Exactly what we don't have!" Michael yelled, panicking. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, are you wizards or not? Use your wands!" Michael struggled against his bonds.
"I don't know about you, but I can't use my wand on account that I can't even use my bloody arms!" Harry took a few deep, calming breaths and stood still, and instead of trying to crush him, the Devil's Snare pushed him downwards onto a hard stone floor. Then it hit him.
"Stop struggling!" Harry yelled. "Stop struggling and it'll let you through!" The screaming stopped, and moments later, the other three dropped down. Michael shot up and started brushing himself off.
"Well, let's never do that again," he said. Harry rolled his eyes as he helped Hermione and Blaise to their feet. They walked down a corridor to a wooden door. They opened it to show a large room. There was another door on the other end of the room, a single broomstick hovering in the center, and hundreds of small, glittering objects fluttering in the air above them.
"Are those birds?" Blaise asked, amazed at the sight. Hermione shook her head.
"No, those aren't birds. Those are keys." She walked to the other door and felt the lock. "We're probably supposed to find the one that fits this lock. It would be silver and old-fashioned."
Harry looked up at the hundreds of keys fluttering about, and almost instantly saw it: an old silver key with a crumpled wing.
"Okay, so the question is who's going to get it?" Blaise said. Michael turned to Harry.
"You've always been a better catch than me, bro. It's all yours." Harry sighed in exasperation. "Hey, look at it this way, if you get it, you can try out for seeker next year!" Michael added, trying and failing to lighten the moment. Harry rolled his eyes and slowly stretched out his hand towards the broomstick. The moment his fingers touched the wood, the keys sprang from their lethargic fluttering and started swarming around Harry. Harry quickly mounted the broom and kicked off, flying around the room as fast as he safely could, tailed by a cloud of silver and gold.
The target key fluttered away from Harry in a desperate attempt to escape, while the young wizard closed in on it. Moments before he could grab it, a stray key plowed into his hand, bruising it. Ignoring the pain, Harry reached forward and grabbed the key.
"Here, catch!" he shouted as he threw the key at Hermione, still trying to avoid the angered swarm of keys following him. Hermione quickly jammed the struggling key into the hole and twisted it. Hearing a satisfyingly loud click, they wrenched the door open to the next room.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione yelled. Harry dove straight towards the doorway, and as soon as he was through, the other three children slammed the door shut, wincing as the sound of a hundred keys slammed against the wooden door. They turned around to see Harry climb off the broom, clutching his hand to his chest.
"Let's never do that again," he said, wincing in pain. The others nodded in agreement. The booming sound of torches being lit drew their attention to the next obstacle they had to face: a giant chessboard, complete with pieces. Harry rolled his eyes again. "Oh joy, who wants to bet that they're as vicious as real wizard's chess pieces too?" Michael walked up to the edge of the board and surveyed the area.
"I guess the object is to play our way across the board," he said. He turned to the other three. "Harry, you take white bishop. Hermione, you take black castle. Blaise, you take black bishop. I'll take white knight." Without a word, the four named pieces except for the knight jumped off their positions on the board, to be taken by the four children.
"Hey, Mike," Harry said as Michael got into position. "Don't sacrifice us." Michael nodded his head.
"I'll try. Pawn to D-2!" And the game began.
In a battle of wits and strategy, the chess game dragged on for what seemed like hours. Michael shouted moves from atop his chess piece like a general ordering his troops into battle from his horse. For every black piece that was struck down, a white piece was struck down with it. Soon, the entire chessboard was littered with the dusty remains of the fallen pieces. Michael analyzed the situation, and saw a path to victory. Unfortunately, with victory must come sacrifice.
"Harry!" Michael shouted. "You're in a position to win the game, but I've got to get out!" Harry wheeled around to him.
"No!" he shouted. "There's got to be another way!" Michael shook his head gloomily.
"Not this time, bro. After I move, move four spaces up to your right. Knight to H-3!" Michael clutched the collar of his horse nervously as the stone figure scraped its way to the appointed position. Stone ground against stone as the white queen turned to face him, and started advancing towards his position. As the looming figure came closer and closer, Michael couldn't help but mutter, "This is going to hurt." When the queen stopped one space in front of him, Michael closed his eyes and braced himself as the opposing piece took up its sword and smashed through the horse, sending Michael flying across the board and knocked unconscious.
Trying to shake what just happened from his memory, Harry followed Michael's instructions, emerging two squares away from the white king.
"Checkmate!" Harry shouted. With a groan, the white king's sword fell from its hands and clattered on the floor in a sign of defeat. Harry sighed while Blaise ran towards Michael.
"Go!" she prompted. Harry and Hermione didn't move. "We'll be fine. Keep going!" Harry came up to her and gave her his invisibility cloak.
"Don't lose that," he said. Blaise nodded in acceptance. While Harry and Hermione ran into the next room, Blaise rolled up her robes and used them to prop Michael's head up.
When Harry and Hermione entered the next room, all they saw was a table with several bottles and a piece of parchment on it. When they approached it, two walls of flame burst from the ground, trapping them. Seeing no other choice, Harry and Hermione walked towards the table, where Hermione read the parchment out loud:
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you will find,
One among us seven will help you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different in size,
Neither dwarf or giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left, and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight*." Hermione sighed and pondered the poem.
"Okay, obviously, only one bottle will take us forward, and one will take us back," she said, mostly to herself, "two are wine, and three are poison. Great, no pressure." Time drug on as Hermione negotiated the carefully thought-out puzzle. After what seemed like an eternity in the heat, she figured it out. "I got it!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly. She grabbed an end bottle. "This one will take us back." Then she grabbed the smallest bottle in the row. "And this one will take us forward. Then she saw the amount of potion in the bottle, barely a mouthful. "There's only enough for one of us, though." Harry gently took the bottle out of her hands. Hermione looked up at Harry, tears welling up in her eyes. "Be careful, Harry. You were one of my first friends, and I don't want to lose you." Harry pulled her into a hug.
"You won't lose me," he whispered into her ear. Hermione nodded into his shoulder and stepped
back.
"Good luck," she said before drinking her bottle and walking through the flames back to the chess room. Sighing, Harry pulled the stopper out of his bottle and drank the potion. It went down like ice, and chilled his body. Setting the bottle down, he closed his eyes and walked through the flames to see a large, ornate mirror, and the purple turban of Quirrel. The thin, pale man turned around to look at Harry.
"Ah, Mister Potter, so glad you could join us," Quirrel said, his stutter gone. "Unfortunately, I can't have you having your wand. Accio!" Before he could react, Harry's wand flew out of his pocket into Quirrel's outstretched hand. "Ahh, that's better. With a wave of his wand, Harry was dragged towards the front of the mirror. "Dumbledore was clever, hiding the Stone within this mirror. Obviously he placed safeguards so that people like me couldn't get to it. But maybe you can. Now tell me, what do you see?" Harry looked at the mirror, but instead of his reflection, a scene played out in front of him. He saw his parents, alive and well. He, his parents, and a wild-haired girl about five years old were in the park having a picnic. Sirius, Michael and a very pregnant Lizzie walked into view, where they sat down on the grass where they talked and laughed. The mirror Harry reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a blood red stone the size of a tennis ball. Mirror Harry looked towards the real Harry, winked, and slid the Stone into his pants pocket. At the same time, Harry felt a weight in his own pocket.
"Well?! What do you see?" Quirrel demanded. Before Harry could answer, a cold, sibilant voice floated through the air.
"Let me speak to him," the voice commanded. Quirrel looked around worriedly.
"But my lord, you are not strong enough."
"I have strength for this." Defeated, Quirrel turned around and slowly began untying his turban. As the final layers fell away, Harry saw all that remained of Lord Voldemort: a wrinkled face stretched across the back of Quirrel's head. "Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, "we meet again. Now you know what I am, you see what I've become. Shadow and vapor, lesser than the lowest ghost, living off this pathetic servant like a parasite!" By then, Harry had turned around and was staring Voldemort down. "But that can all change. Together, we can do extraordinary things. All I ask is for something in return. Do you want your mother and father back, Harry? Do you want your godfather free? Together, we can accomplish all that and more. All I ask in return, is for that stone in your pocket. There is no good and evil, Harry. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. What say you, Harry?" Harry faked a thoughtful look as he slowly pulled the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket.
"Do you want this?" Harry asked, holding the stone up so it glittered in the firelight. Voldemort grinned evilly.
"You have made the right choice, Harry. Take it, my servant." Quirrel turned around and started advancing towards Harry. Harry wrapped his fingers around the Stone.
"You want it? Then go get it!" With a mighty throw, he flung the Philosopher's Stone over Quirrel's shoulder and past the enchanted fire.
"NOOOOOOO!!!" Voldemort screamed. "Kill him!" With his wand in one hand, Quirrel lunged for Harry's throat with the other, but as soon as he grabbed his flesh, Quirrel's hand burned as if on fire. Harry took the opportunity to slip his wand out of Quirrel's pocket.
"What is this magic?" Quirrel gasped as he watched his hand crumble into dust.
"Fool! Kill the boy!" Snarling, Quirrel raised his wand above his head.
"Avada Keda-" he began, but was interrupted by Harry casting a spell of his own.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, the wave of magic shooting from his wand into Quirrel's chest.
An interesting thing about the expelliarmus charm is that if not pointed at the target's hand, the target will be blown back as if suffering a physical blow. And that is exactly what happened to Quirrel. Unfortunately for him, Harry wasn't watching where he was aiming, so Quirrel was knocked back by the spell….
…Right into the fire.
Harry closed his eyes and turned away as Quirrel writhed in the flames, screaming in agony. Eventually, the screaming stopped, and Harry cracked open his eyes to see a smoldering corpse in the mirror's reflection. He didn't immediately notice the mist forming behind him, and by the time he saw it, the spirit of Voldemort had blown through his body, and his world went black.
When Harry next awoke, he was laying in a bed in the hospital wing surrounded by his three friends.
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Michael said in a sing-song voice. Harry groaned in pain.
"My head…" he complained. "I feel like a hippogriff played football with my head." Everybody chuckled at his predicament.
"Madame Pomfrey said that you'll be out in a few days, Harry, so don't worry," Hermione said, holding his hand. Harry nodded in understanding. Michael stood up and cleared his throat.
"I'm sure that Harry here enjoys his fangirls swooning over him-" Harry shot him a withering glare, "but there's something personal I need to tell him, so if you ladies could vacate for a moment, that'd be great." They both glared at him, but left anyway. Harry turned to Michael.
"Okay, what's so important that you had to chase out my so-called `fan-girls?'" Harry asked. Michael grinned mischievously.
"Oh, you're going to love this. This morning, I was lying in bed awake, and guess who I found." He pulled a shrunken cage out of his pocket and enlarged it. Inside was an unconscious rat.
A rat with a missing toe.
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Only a couple more chapters left until the end of this year!
I'm sure no one here minds that I skipped the potion riddle solving part, but that was dreadfully boring (that, and it's really late here).
Don't forget to read and review!
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