FicWad

I'm not dead yet! Sorry for the wait everyone, but between Easter, the school year winding down, and just how long this chapter turned out to be . . .

Ah, well, First Year almost done! By the way, if anyone wants to make fanart for this, I wouldn't say "no." (cough Blatant Begging cough).

WARNING: This chapter is tagged for sappy adolescents, scary images, and abuse of ellipses ( . . .)

SoS

Harry Potter and the Man with Two Faces

"NO" Daphne screamed. She tried to run after Hermione, but couldn't. The fastest way to her fallen friend was a diagonal path, and she was a knight; she couldn't lift her legs to take a step. "No, no, no, no, NO!"

"Daphne!" Harry called. She turned to him. His face was pale, but there was a look in his eyes Daphne had never seen before, not full on. It reminded her of the look she sometimes saw from the side when he chased after the Snitch in Quidditch. "It's going to be OK. We've won."

Swallowing, Harry began walking diagonally across the board. He stopped at the edge. To his side, he could see Hermione's crumpled body and hear her moans. For an instant, he considered trying to run off the board to save her. Instead, he pushed his face away—somehow—and faced the King, who was three squares away and trapped. "Checkmate!"

The sword the armored figure held dropped from its hands at Harry's feet.

When the sword fell, the magic holding them in place vanished, and Harry and Daphne rushed to Hermione. The bushy-haired witch was moaning, one hand clutching her side. Daphne kneeled down to try to help her, but the instant she touched her friend's body, Hermione let out a heart-breaking "O-owwwwww!"

"She needs help," Harry said, kneeling on Hermione's other side.

"If you go back into the last room, maybe you can steal one of the brooms and use it to fly out," the blond suggested.

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I'll stay with Hermione," Daphne said, gently lacing her fingers through the other witch's.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. "No . . ."

"Hermione?" the pair asked, looking down at their friend. The brunette witch had blood around her lips, but she was talking.

"If you go back . . . If Vol-Voldemort gets the Stone . . . . This will all have been for nothing . . . You have to . . . keep going."

"But what about you?" Daphne asked. "If Harry goes after Voldemort, then either I'll have to stay with you and wait for him, or I'll have to leave you to get help!"

Hermione's lips contorted into something like a smile. "I'm not going . . . anywhere . . . anytime . . . soon . . ."

"All right."

Daphne looked up at Harry. He had that same look as before: pale but . . . driven.

"I'm going after him."

"Harry—" Daphne tried to say.

"Promise me you'll take care of Hermione."

"Harry—"

"Promise, Daphne. Please."

"I will," she said, and although she didn't see it, she held Hermione's hand just a little bit tighter.

"Thank you," he said. "I love you both."

Daphne's brain exploded into a million tiny pieces as it tried to process what it had just heard. It wasn't the kind of "I love you," cousins or siblings exchange. It was the farewell a man gave to the women he planned to spend the rest of his life with, the women for whom he'd gladly to throw the rest of his life away.

"Harry . . ." Hermione's broken voice cutting though her confusion, bringing her back to reality. "I—I'm sorry . . ." Daphne could see it was more than physical pain that had broken Hermione's voice; there were tears in the bushy-haired witch's eyes.

"Shhhhhhhh," he said, leaning in close to her. "When I get back—when you're feeling better—I'm going to claim you as my hetaera; you'll never be able to betray me again, Hermione, even if you want to." He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "And my first order will be that you never let yourself be hurt ever again."

"And mine," Daphne said. She didn't care that Harry saw her watery eyes when he looked up at her. "I'm going to be your consort; she'll be my hetaera, too."

Hermione was still crying, but she was also smiling. "Thank you."

The green-eyed wizard smiled, and Daphne thought those eyes looked more beautiful than ever. "I'll be back, I promise." he said. Then he gave Daphne a kiss of her own before getting to his feet and running down the tunnel.

"You'd better come back, Harry," Daphne whispered.

"He will . . ." Hermione croaked. "He's a . . . great wizard . . ."

"Greater than you?" Daphne asked, trying to smile through the tears.

"Much greater . . . All I ever had . . . was books and . . . cleverness . . . He has—Cough! Cough!" Daphne leaned forward to examine Hermione. Her lips were still bloody, but it didn't look like she was coughing it up; she probably just bit herself when she crashed into the ground. "Courage . . ." the injured witch continued. "And friendship . . ."

"You have those too, Hermione," Daphne said, crying even more. "You're the perfect Gryffindor." Then, she leaned forward and gave her beloved's concubine-to-be her own kiss.

"Thank you . . . Daphne . . . Do you want to borrow . . . my wand?"

SoS

Wow, Harry thought. Standing before him was a Troll larger than the one he, Daphne, and Hermione had fought last semester. Uglier too, he decided, although that may have been due to the large bloody wound on its head. The beast was leaning against the wall of the cave; Harry wasn't sure if it was alive or dead. He wasn't checking to find out, either.

Guess there's an advantage to chasing after someone. Harry wasn't sure he could have beaten a Troll that size with his friends' help, let alone by himself.

Actually, that thought was perhaps the scariest thought of all. Three First-Years had beaten all three of the previous traps. Traps made by three of the best teachers! What was going on here?

Worry about that later, Harry decided, recalling something Uncle Liam had once taught him. When you're chasing someone, focus on what's going on around you, in front of you, behind you, and beside you. Worry about other things later, and right now, what the other teachers were thinking was something to worry about later.

Harry drew his wand and advanced to the next room. The Troll made no sound, even when Harry walked right by it. He decided it was probably dead.

As soon as Harry stepped through the door, the threshold was consumed in purple flames, while the doorway before him was engulfed in black ones. Between the two was a table with seven bottles of varying sizes. This must be Severus' defense, Harry thought. He noticed a note the table.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
/]
[/Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,
/]
[/One among us seven will let you move ahead,
/]
[/Another will transport the drinker back instead,
/]
[/Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
/]
[/Three of us are killers, waiting bidden 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 size,
/]
[/Neither dwarf nor 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.

Two are wine, three are poison, one lets you go back, one lets you go forward. Harry looked at the bottles and wished his fiancé and . . . other fiancé were with him now. If it were me, he thought, I'd put the way forward in the smallest bottle, or maybe that's too obvious. Harry picked the tiny flask up. It was half empty.

Someone's had a taste of you before, he thought. Looking around, none of the other bottles were missing any liquid at all. Well, there isn't a dead body on the floor, so it probably isn't poison, unless it's actually acid, he thought. On the other hand, that didn't prove it was the one that would let him walk through the black flames. There wasn't a burnt corpse in the doorway, although magical flames might be hot enough to cremate it.

Harry read the note again. "Let's see," he said, looking at how the bottles were arranged. "These are poison . . . Those are wine . . . that means. . ."

Only the tallest and the smallest were left. "Well, here goes nothing," the young wizard said, downing the last of the bottle's contents. The liquid felt odd going down his throat, though it was definitely better tasting than most potions.

Harry took a deep breath. His last thoughts before he stepped into the raging black flames were of his family: his mother, sister, uncles, and the two witches he wanted to spend his life with. Sorry if I'm wrong, he thought.

SoS

Harry wasn't burned by the flames. In fact, they felt rather cool. He stepped out of the threshold and into a wide, empty room. Well, it would have been empty except for two things. One was a tall, standing mirror. Harry instantly recognized it as the Mirror or Erised. The other was . . .

"Oh, hello Mr. Potter," the man in the purple turban said.

"Professor Querrill?" Harry asked. The stuttering man looked different than he normally did. He looked confident, harsh, unyielding. And we wasn't stuttering.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter, it's p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Querrill," the man said.

"But, why?" Harry asked. From what he had heard, the man's cowardice was the result of trying to fight hags and vampires and other beings he wasn't mentally prepared for, but he'd set out with the best of intentions.

"Oh, I was once like you, Potter," the man declared. "A young man, wandering the world with silly notions of 'good' and 'evil' in my head. Then, I met my master, and he showed me the way the world really worked."

"You mean Voldemort," Harry said, rather than asked.

Querrill smirked. "I wouldn't be so smug if I were you, boy. If it weren't for Snape and that meddling centaur, I'd have killed you already."

"You mean that stunt you pulled with my broom?" Harry asked. "I wondered who was doing that, but I thought it was Voldemort killing the Unicorns, like some kind of Vampyre wannabe." Anger is good motivation, but it can be a distraction, Uncle Liam had taught him. When in doubt, start making fun of your opponent. "I know you're not a real one; you wear too much garlic in that turban."

"You little scamp!" Quirell growled. Then, he smiled. "But you're just fighting back with the only weapon you have: words. To answer your question, you saw my body that night. It was my lips drinking the Unicorn's blood, acting as a surrogate for my master. Don't worry your little head about the complexities of it; it's quite advanced magic. More advanced than you'll ever learn, I'm afraid."

"You let the Troll in on Halloween night," Harry said. "The one two rooms back was your 'protection,' wasn't it?"

"Very good, Mr. Potter," Querrill answered, still smiling. "Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, I've always had a way with Trolls. Pity Professor Snape was guarding the door or I might have been able to sneak in and take the Stone while it was less-well protected. Though, I might have been the one mauled by the beast instead of him."

"You killed it," Harry accused.

"It had served its purpose," Quarrel replied, unrepentant. "I only needed it to make it look like I was trying to protect the Stone. How kind of dear old Dumbledore to show me the way past all their traps . . . except one." The treacherous teacher turned back to the Mirror. "The Stone is hidden in this Mirror, Dumbledore told us all that, but he never explained how. I look into it," he did so, "and I see what I desire; I see myself holding the Stone, but how do I get it? Should I destroy it?"

"Use the boy . . ."

Harry shivered. The voice which had just spoken was so . . . alien. It was hollow, yet tight and raspy, and seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Come here, Potter," Quirell ordered. "NOW!" he demanded when Harry didn't immediately obey.

Harry thought over his options for a moment, then decided to do as he was told. Wait for the right moment, Uncle Liam said. He walked over to the teacher.

"Look into the Mirror," Quirell ordered. "Tell me what you see."

I'll lie to him, Harry thought. Whatever the Mirror shows me, I'll tell him the opposite. I can't let him get the Stone. I'll find it and run as fast as I can.

As he looked into the Mirror, however, Harry didn't see anything. His reflection and Querrill's stared back at him in the glass. Then, Mirror-Harry smiled at him and reached into his pocket. Harry's eyes widened as his reflection pulled out a roughly cut stone, dark red in color. The reflection winked at Harry and put the Stone back in its pocket. Except Harry felt it in his pocket.

"Well, where is it?" Quirell snapped.

"Uh," Harry said. His reflection stared back at him. It wasn't moving anymore. It was just an image in a mirror. "I'm talking to Dumbledore. I've won the House Cup . . ."

"He lies . . ."

Harry looked around. Again, the awful voice seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"Tell the truth, Potter. Now!" Quirell ordered.

"Let me speak to him . . ."

"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirell said,

"I have strength enough . . . for this . . ."

Quirell said nothing, but took a step back, turned around, and began unwinding his turban. Harry thought about running; this was his best chance to get away, but he couldn't. He was transfixed by what the professor was doing. He had called the voice "Master," which could only mean one thing . . .

Quirell finished removing the purple cloth. He was bald beneath it, but his head was not bare. On the back of the man's shaven dome, was a face.

"Harry Potter . . ."

"You—your'e Voldemort . . ." the young wizard said, staring at the awful abomination before him.

"Yes . . ." Voldemort croaked. "You see what I've become . . .? See what I must do to survive . . .?" It occurred to Harry that Voldemort's voice sounded almost sickly. The dark wizard certainly looked unhealthy, beyond the whole living-on-the-back-of-a-guy's-head thing. Voldemort had no real nose, only slits for nostrils. His eyes were red, a darker shade than the Philosopher's Stone, and the skin on Voldemort's half of the head looked pale and tight as like on a starving man.

"You did survive," Harry said, swallowing.

"I did . . ." Voldemort answered with a smile. "But I lack the strength to live on my own . . . I've become a parasite . . . living off the life of others . . . Unicorn blood can sustain me . . . But it cannot give me a body of my own . . . Only one thing can do that . . . and it's in your pocket!"

"Stupify!" Harry yelled. Quirell spun around and blocked the spell with ease. Harry didn't care. He fired again and again, circling around the man—men?—as he did so. "Stupify! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus! Stupify! Epelliarmus!" The spells themselves weren't very strong, but they came as fast as Harry could cast them. He knew he couldn't overpower Quirell, but if the Death Eater was constantly defending, he couldn't attack, and Harry could run away. If I can make it back to Snape's challenge, he thought, I can drink the potion that will take me back through the purple flames. I'll take it with me, that'll slow him down. But what about Hermione and Daphne? What if they're still in McGonagall's challenge? What if the black flames are still burning? Unfortunately, Harry wouldn't find out.

"Stop him . . .!" Voldemort ordered. Quirell snapped his fingers. A ring of flame surrounded them. Cutting off the path of escape.

Oh no! Harry thought. Things quickly got worse, however. Quirell silently cast another spell, a disarming one. "NO!" Harry cried out loud this time as his wand flew from his hands.

"Just give up, boy . . ." Voldemort said. Harry turned around. Quirell was facing him, but Harry could see Voldemort's reflection in the Mirror. "There's no need for you to die . . . Just give me the Stone . . ."

"Never!" Harry yelled. He looked around the room. There had to be a way out. There had to!

Voldemort laughed. "Bravery . . . Your father had it too . . . Tell me, Harry . . . Do you want to see him again . . .?"

Harry looked into the Mirror and saw the reflection of his heart's deepest desire: the face of James Potter, his father, stared back at him. He pulled the Stone out of his pocket . . .

"Yes . . . Harry . . ." Voldemort hissed. "You see . . .? There is no 'good' or 'evil' there is only power . . . and those too weak to seek it . . ."

"No," Harry said. It was barely more than a whisper. He put the Stone back in his pocket and dove for his wand.

"Kill him . . .!" Voldemort ordered his host.

Quirell flew at Harry, literally flew. The older man crashed into Harry. Harry struggled for a moment, but Quirell's hands locked around his throat, and tightened. Harry tried to pry the hands off . . .

Harry wasn't sure what happened first. Was it his fingers, fingers scrambling to find purchase on Quirell's arms, that touched the man's hands first or did his collar slip enough for Quirell's hand to touch his skin? Harry would never know, nor care.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Quirell's arms left Harry's throat. The young wizard gasped deeply. He heard Quirrell screaming "What is this magic?" Harry saw that his hand was badly burned.

"Fool . . .! Get the Stone . . .!" Voldemort ordered.

But Harry was faster than Quirrell. Almost on instinct, he ran forward and covered Quirrell's face with his hands. The teacher screamed in pain, but Harry held on, until a black something that wasn't shadow and wasn't smoke evacuated itself from Quirrell's body. It passed through Harry, and the young wizard's insides felt like they were on fire. Harry screamed;then, everything went black.

Author's Notes: Wow. I actually wanted to end this before Harry confronted "Quirrellmort," but that was too short. (Heh, heh). If you're wondering why Harry didn't entirely solve the riddle: two reasons.
*]
[*1) I didn't want him to seem too smart, Harry's smart but he isn't as sharp as his ladies.
*]
[*2) I couldn't figure it out any further than Harry did. Really.
*]
[*Sorry if the ellipses bothered anyone. I really wanted to make Voldemort sound like he does in the movie (Man, Ian Hart sounds creepy!)
*]
[*Ok, next chapter should wind up First year and then comes Summer, featuring the long-awaited Harry/Hermione/Daphne threesome!
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