Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

In the next room, I see Professor Quirrell, standing in front of what can only be the Mirror of Erised. Did Dumbledore use that thing as part of the so-called defenses as well?

"Hello, Professor Quirrell," I say darkly.

"Ah, if it isn't the young Mr. Potter," Quirrell says. "I had wondered if you would come."

"Why?" I wonder. "It's not like I've exactly done anything particularly reckless or heroic." That anyone knows about, at least.

"And yet here you are," Quirrell says. "No matter. Today you will die."

With a snap of his fingers, ropes appear out of nowhere and tie themselves around me, holding me in place tightly. How did he do that? No wand, no incantation, just a snap of the fingers? I've got to learn how to do that. As it is, well, this isn't good. I can't reach my wand like this.

"Now, why don't you stay there and wait quietly," Quirrell says. "I must examine this most fascinating mirror." He turns to look into the Mirror of Erised. "This is the key to finding the Stone, I am certain."

I don't know how the mirror might be protecting the Stone, but I fear that if he's allowed to concentrate on it, he might just find the way past this puzzle. I've got to distract him. "What do you hope to gain from this, Quirrell? Riches? Long life? Or is it something more?"

Quirrell chuckles softly. "When I traveled the world, I came upon my new master. I had many foolish notions about good and evil, once, but Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. And so I have served him loyally. But he is a strong, powerful wizard, and I am so weak..."

I stare at him, as it dawns on me what he intends to do. "You're trying to resurrect the Dark Lord?"

"Oh, yes," Quirrell says. "Lord Voldemort's return will be a glorious triumph! He is not very forgiving, and I have failed him numerous times, but this time I shall succeed! He was angry about my failure to retrieve the Stone from Gringotts, and decided that he needed to keep a closer watch upon me. And so now he is always with me..."

I peer about. Does this mean that the Dark Lord is here in the room with us somehow, as some sort of disembodied spirit? That's no good. I go cold with dread.

Quirrell continues to examine the mirror, muttering to himself. "I don't understand this puzzle. Is the Stone within the mirror? Should I attempt to break it to get it out? How does the mirror work? Help me, Master!"

An eerie voice replies, "Use the boy..."

"Yes... yes, of course," Quirrell says. "Potter! Come here." The ropes that were holding me fall away.

I take the opportunity to pull out my wand. I'm not playing his stupid games. I don't dare even pretend to try to help him find the Stone. "Fulgoris!" I exclaim. A bolt of electricity shoots from the end of my wand, striking Quirrell. I haven't had a chance to try out this hex before. I figured it would work well for me due to my affinity for lightning.

But Quirrell doesn't appear to be badly harmed. "Now, now, none of that, Potter." The wand suddenly flies out of my hand. Quirrell catches it and tucks it away. "No more spells from you. Now, come take a look into this mirror."

This is no good. Maybe if I try to stall him, help will arrive. What a slim chance. Who is going to come and help? Dumbledore won't be back today. Maybe the twins will find a way through. Maybe Neville will get help. I don't like the look of this situation. How am I supposed to stop him? He's an adult, and while hardly the most terrifying wizard ever, even to the point of describing himself as weak, he's still far more skilled and experienced as I am.

I take a deep breath and step in front of the mirror. Don't show me the Stone. Please don't show me the Stone. I don't want the Stone. I wouldn't be able to keep it from him if I had it. The image in the mirror is the same as it was before. Although if anything, I look more powerful than I did last time.

"Well?" Quirrell presses. "What do you see, boy?"

"I see myself surrounded by my family and friends," I say. "And I'm the most powerful wizard in the world."

"Ambitious, are you?" Quirrell says, giving a wry grin. "Perhaps you should have been in Slytherin, then."

"I don't think the school houses are intended to be the ultimate gauge of a person's personality, nor determine their path in life," I reply dryly. "Besides, I could have easily been in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, too. The hat told me so."

"But what of the Stone?" Quirrell says. "Do you see anything of the Stone in the mirror?"

I shake my head. "Nope," I say. "Not a sign of it, I'm afraid."

The strange voice says, "He's warding his mind. He could be lying. So young, he must be a natural Occlumens. Let me see him for myself..."

Have my Occlumency skills really progressed to the point where I can keep the Dark Lord himself out if he's not looking into my eyes? It has become second nature to me to keep it up all the time without even really thinking about it anymore.

Professor Quirrell reaches up and unwraps the turban from around his head, and turns around. There's a face on the back of his head. A terrible face, a horrifying sight. Misshapen and monstrous, with sinister red eyes. I quickly avert my gaze. I don't want to make Legilimency easy on him, even if I'm not lying about the Stone. It would be disastrous if he found out the truth about me. I focus upon my mental wards. The eye of the storm. Nothing will get through if I have anything to say about it.

"Harry Potter..." hisses the face. "See what's become of me? I'm but a shadow of my former self. I've been strengthened by unicorn blood, but once I have the Philosopher's Stone, I shall be able to have a body of my own once more with the help of the Elixir of Life."

"You..." I say, "... are a very bad person. And I won't help you."

"Don't play the fool," Voldemort says. "Why don't you save your own life, and join with me? There's no need to throw your own life away, like your parents did."

"Better to die than to join you," I say.

"Such touching bravery," Voldemort says. "I killed your father first, you know. He was courageous and defiant until the end. But your mother... she died trying to protect you. Now, do you want her to have died in vain?"

She did die in vain already. But no. Voldemort hasn't found out my secret yet. He must not find out my secret. I surround my mind in rage, in hopes that he will think I'm upset about "my" parents.

"Don't talk to me about my family," I say coldly.

"And if you will not be convinced to cooperate, then I will simply kill you and be done with it," Voldemort says. "I will not warn you again, boy. Bend your knee to me, or you will die."

"Then I will die," I say grimly. Maybe on the next run, I can figure out a way to stop him. A better spell to use against him when I get the opportunity. Someone else to bring along who might help. Something. Anything. I know I can get in again.

"Very well, Potter," Voldemort says. "Don't say I didn't give you the opportunity. Quirrell! Finish him. Now."

"Yes, Master," Quirrell says. He turns around and raises his wand toward me. I brace myself, clenching my teeth and closing my eyes.

Pain. Terrible agony. Can't breathe. I collapse. It's over in moments.

I wake. I just need another try, damn it. Just one more try. I'll figure out some way to beat him.

I'm so tired. I fall out of bed and hit the floor face first. Where are my potions? There. I pull out a Wideye Potion and guzzle it down. Not good enough. Still tired. I drink down a second one. A third. A fourth.

My heart is racing. Blood pounding in my veins. Head is buzzing. I feel like I'm about to explode. Too much. Twitching. Everything goes black again.

I wake. What just happened? So tired. Need potions. No. I think I drank too many potions. Damn it. I can't do it like this. And I can't sleep now. Can't sleep. I'll miss my chance. Voldemort will get the Stone. I have to stop him. How can I stop him? I can hardly move.

I climb out of bed and collapse on the floor. Desperately trying to stay awake. Can't sleep now. Must not sleep. But I can hardly move. I can't do it. Can't do it.

I try to get to my feet. Stumbling. Two steps. Falling. Smack. I hit the floor. No use. It's no use. I can't do this.

"Harry!" It's Neville's voice. Footsteps, running up to my side. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Neville," I gasp.

"I'll get you to the hospital wing," Neville says.

"No," I croak. "Neville. Listen to me. You have to... you have to... go see Snape--"

"What?" Neville says incredulously.

"Tell him," I rasp. "Tell him the Stone is in danger. The Dark Lord is after it. Tell him. Please, tell him."

"But, isn't Snape working for the Dark Lord and trying to steal the Stone himself?" Neville says.

"No!" I insist. "Please, trust me, Neville. The Dark Lord... possessed Quirrell... You've got to tell Snape. And... and tell him... Stormseeker. He'll know what it means. Please, Neville. Please. You're my only hope."

Before I can even hear his reply, I pass out.

I wake. I look up at the ceiling. This isn't the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Where am I? I think I'm in the hospital wing. What am I doing here? How did I get here?

Then I remember what happened before I passed out, and my heart sinks. Did Neville listen to me? Did Snape get to Quirrell in time to stop him? I try to sit upright.

"Now, don't try to move yet," Madam Pomfrey says. "Relax, and take it easy."

I lay back on the bed, letting out a heavy sigh. No help for it. Success or failure, it's too late to change it now. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey replies. "Severe magical exhaustion. I don't know what you were doing, but it drained every drop from you."

So it's not just how long I've been awake, but every time I go back, it costs me some energy as well. That would explain why the Wideye Potions could only do so much. They couldn't replenish my mana reserves.

Shortly, Professor Dumbledore and Snape arrive. Dumbledore says, "Madam Pomfrey, if you would, we must speak with young Mr. Potter in private."

"Of course, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey says, heading off to give us some space.

Snape mutters a quick "Muffliato", and looks me over appraisingly. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to learn that I was able to stop Quirrell per your warning."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the gods," I say. "I was worried that Neville wouldn't listen to me."

"Yes, well, Mr. Longbottom looked as though he were about to soil himself just from the effort of attempting to speak with me," Snape says dryly.

"You need not worry about the Stone any longer," Dumbledore says. "You can relax. Your friends have apparently been quite worried about you." He gestures toward a table beside me, which is piled up with sweets. "I believe it was the Weasley twins who attempted to send you a toilet seat, but Madam Pomfrey confiscated it."

I smile broadly. I'm definitely going to have to trade secrets with them. That map of theirs would no doubt come in handy.

"Tell me, Stormseeker," Snape says. "Did you attempt to track down the Stone yourself?"

"Yes, sir," I reply. "Then I found out that Quirrell was possessed, and he killed me."

"Awfully foolish of you to attempt to take on a grown wizard, even if it was Quirrell," Snape says.

I smirk, and say, "With that stutter, I didn't think he'd have even managed to get a spell off. How was I to know that he was faking it the whole time to cover up being possessed?"

"You have a point," Snape says, smirking right back. "But, tell me. How many times did you die down there?"

"Um..." I say. I count them mentally. "Seven," I reply sheepishly. I don't count the overdose on Wideye Potions.

"That would explain the magical exhaustion, I imagine," Dumbledore says.

Snape sighs. "Stubborn, foolish, reckless boy."

"Hey, I've never had this happen before, either," I say. "How was I to know that it would do this?"

"Now you know," Dumbledore says. "And I would advise you to be more cautious in the future. Or the past. Or wherever and whenever you might find yourself. Sooner or later, this may lead you into a situation that you cannot get out of."

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. "Point taken." I pause for a moment, looking up at them. "What's going to happen with the Stone?" I ask.

"It will be destroyed," Dumbledore says.

"Oh," I say, disappointed. Well, I can't say I really expected anything else. I didn't even manage to get my hands on it myself, after all. I did so want to study it, though, and I'm certain that the Weasley twins would have had some fun playing with it. But perhaps it's just as well. Maybe one of these lifetimes, I'll figure out how to make one of my own.

"You didn't really want it, did you?" Snape asks.

"No, not really," I say. "I just wanted to study it."

"You don't have nearly the foundation in alchemy to have any hope of comprehending such an object," Snape points out.

"Yeah, I know," I say. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps another time."

"Voldemort has been foiled this time," Dumbledore says. "But he is not gone for good. His spirit remains, lingering in this world, ever seeking a means to return to his former power. We must always be diligent if we are to keep him at bay."

"I do hope that he at least lets me get through school before causing too much more trouble," I grumble. "I hate feeling helpless. I want to be able to fight."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle as he looks down at me. "You will get your day, my dear boy," he says. "For now, you should rest. Madam Pomfrey estimates another couple days before you are fully recovered."

Snape and Dumbledore leave again. A bit later, I convince Madam Pomfrey to allow my friends to visit. Ron and Neville storm in, looking quite relieved to see me alright.

"I thought you were going to die right there in the dorm!" Neville says.

"You really had us worried, mate," Ron says.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "But, I'm proud of you, Neville. Thank you. You saved us all..."

Neville's face flushes. "I-- I thought you might've gone completely bonkers at first. But you were so serious. How could I refuse?"

"Yeah," Ron says. "Still, going to Snape for help? And how did you know Dumbledore would be out of the castle? I did try to find him as well, when I found out what was going on."

"I knew Snape could be trusted," I say. "He's kind of rough at times, but he means well. And honestly, if I had to teach a batch of dunderheads like us, I'd get impatient with us too. I know I'm lousy at Potions."

"Well, you might have a point," Ron says. "Still, Snape? I can't believe it turned out you were actually right about that! Who would have thought Quirrell of all people would turn out that way?"

"So, are you going to tell us what happened?" Neville says. "Why'd you pass out like that? And how'd you know about Quirrell?"

"Um..." I stammer. I don't really want to lie to them, but the truth? No way. The fewer people know about that, the better. "I had... a dream."

"You were dreaming about You-Know-Who?" Ron says. "That sucks."

"Well, just as well that I was, since I realized what he was up to," I say. "Maybe I've got, like, a connection to him, or something. Because of my scar. Or something. I don't know." It sounds like a really lame excuse, to my ears. Who ever heard of such a thing? But they seem to buy it.

"Alright, boys, that's enough!" Madam Pomfrey says. "Mr. Potter needs his rest. Away with you now, shoo!"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Neville says dejectedly, and the two of them leave.

All things considered, despite the fact that Quirrell was stopped, I'm going to have to consider this one a failure on my part. It was only because of Neville and Snape that the Dark Lord isn't free to roam the world again. All I did was foolishly get myself killed over and over, and then pass out when it proved to be too much. I'm really glad that Neville was there. I resolve never to put myself in such a situation again.