Chapter 17
Harry Potter was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
These were the sentences repeating themselves inside his head, as he slowly walked down the stairs leading to the last room, where he'd find Snape. Cassidy's necklace hummed against his chest, something it had never done before. It was getting warmer and warmer with each step, and he thought it would burn his skin off.
But still, he pushed on.
Harry's scar was on fire. The closer he moved toward the final room, the worse it became. His chest burned too, where Cassidy's necklace lay beneath his shirt. It pulsed and throbbed as though alive.
Harry turned, expecting to be met with the sneering expression of Snape.
He was horribly wrong.
At the center of a moonlit room stood Professor Quirrell, whispering to himself in front of the mirror. Harry blinked in disbelief.
"You?" he said, his voice shaking. "It can't be—Snape—he was the one trying to—"
Quirrell turned, his expression calm and composed, far removed from the stuttering wreck Harry had thought him to be.
"Yes, he does seem the type, doesn't he?" Quirrell said smoothly, his eyes gleaming. His gaze flickered to Harry's chest, where the faint glow of Cassidy's necklace peeked through the fabric of his robes.
"You have it."
Harry instinctively clutched the necklace, but Quirrell merely sneered and turned back to the mirror.
"Poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?" Quirrell mocked. "Yes, next to Snape, who would suspect me?"
"But during the Quidditch match—Snape tried to kill me!" Harry shot back, desperate to make sense of it all.
"Kill you?" Quirrell chuckled coldly. "No, dear boy, I tried to kill you. And trust me, I would have succeeded if your friend's little necklace and Snape's silly counter-curse hadn't interfered."
Harry's grip tightened on the necklace as a chill ran down his spine. "What do you mean?"
Quirrell waved a dismissive hand. "Dark magic clings to that trinket, boy. Strong, ancient magic. When I cursed your broom, it... pushed back."
The necklace seemed to hum in Harry's hand, its glow intensifying.
"Coupled with Snape's little spell," Quirrell mused, "It was getting far too difficult. I should've known then and there that it was more than just a family heirloom. No matter. It will belong to my master soon."
Harry shook his head, a thousand thoughts whirling through it.
"Snape was... he was trying to save me?" Harry spluttered.
"I knew you were a danger to me right from the off," Quirrell continued. "Especially after Halloween." Harry's eyes widened in realization.
"T-then you let the troll in?!" Harry accused more than asked.
"Very good, Potter, yes." Quirrell rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his every word. "Snape, unfortunately, wasn't fooled. While everyone else was running around the dungeon, he went to the third floor and herded me off!" Quirrell recounted, exasperated. Then he paused.
"He, of course, never trusted me again." Harry touched his scar, hissing in pain.
"But he doesn't understand. I'm never alone. Never." Quirrell muttered coldly.
"Now, what does this mirror do?" He said to no one in particular. Harry thought he heard someone whispering. Quirrell spoke again.
"I see what I desire? I see myself holding the Stone, and the necklace... but how do I get it?!" He seethed, impatient.
"The boy." A voice whispered. Harry turned around frantically, trying to find its source.
“COME HERE, POTTER! NOW!" Quirrell demanded, pointing towards Harry, who'd been trying to back away.
Helpless, Harry stepped forward. The necklace grew warmer, its pulse quickening, as though warning him of the danger ahead. Quirrell grabbed Harry by the arm and shoved him in front of the mirror.
"Tell me what you see!" Quirrell hissed, his grip tightening.
Harry stared into the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his reflection smirked and reached into his pocket, pulling out a blood-red stone. Harry felt the weight of the real stone in his pocket and fought to keep his face neutral.
"I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry lied. "I've won the House Cup."
Quirrell's eyes narrowed. "He lies," hissed the voice, cold and high-pitched.
"TELL THE TRUTH! WHAT DO YOU SEE?!" Quirrell bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.
"Let me speak to him," the voice continued. Quirrell stiffened, his expression flickering with fear.
"Master, you are not strong enough—"
"I have strength enough for this." The voice hissed.
Quirrell began unwrapping his turban, and Harry's breath hitched. Slowly, the fabric fell away, revealing a face on the back of Quirrell's head. Pale and snake-like, with slitted red eyes, Voldemort stared at Harry with cruel satisfaction.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly. "We meet again."
"Voldemort." Harry breathed, terror possessing his very being.
"Yes. You see what I've become? See what I must do to survive?" Voldemort replied hoarsely.
"I must live off another. A mere parasite. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but it cannot give me a body of my own. But there is something that can. Something that conveniently enough, lies in your pocket. The Stone." He continued, his voice chilling.
The necklace burned against Harry's skin, its glow now nearly blinding. Voldemort's eyes flickered to it, and his lipless mouth twisted into a sneer.
"So, it has found its way here," Voldemort whispered. "Do you even know what you carry, boy? That necklace belongs to a family that once defied me. A mistake they will pay for dearly."
Harry didn't reply, but his mind was racing. What was Voldemort talking about?
"No matter," Voldemort said. "Hand them over."
"Never!" Harry shouted, turning around to run.
"Stop him!" Voldemort cried.
Quirrell snapped his fingers, and the area around the two burst into flames. Harry stumbled back, the flames reflecting in his lenses.
"Don't be a fool. Why suffer a horrific death, when you can join me and live?" Voldemort offered, his sickening voice softening. Harry glared at Quirrell and Voldemort, eyes full of loathing.
"NEVER!" He yelled yet again. Voldemort laughed mirthlessly.
"Bravery. Your parents had it too." He sneered. Harry's fury only grew at the mention of his father and mother. "Tell me, Harry, would you like to see your mother and father again?"
Harry stared into the Mirror of Erised, his surprise mounting as the faces of James and Lily Potter slowly appeared beside Voldemort's reflection.
"Together, we can bring them back," Voldemort said softly, his voice silky and persuasive. "All I ask is for something in return..."
Harry's eyes flicked to his pocket, his hand trembling as it dug for the Stone. Pulling it free, he stared at its crimson surface, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.
"That's it, Harry," Voldemort coaxed. "There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."
The necklace against Harry's chest pulsed suddenly, a sharp, warning heat that jolted him from his thoughts. Cassidy's voice echoed in his mind, clear and steady:
"You're the Boy Who Lived. Stay true to that name, alright?"
Harry blinked, his grip tightening around the Stone. He turned his gaze back to Voldemort.
"Together, we'll do extraordinary things," Voldemort urged, his voice rising with fervor. "Just give me that necklace, and give me that Stone!"
Harry narrowed his eyes. The images of his parents faded from the Mirror of Erised, leaving only his reflection and Voldemort's.
"You liar!" Harry shouted, fury surging through him.
"KILL HIM!" Voldemort roared.
Quirrell lunged at Harry, knocking him to the ground. The breath fled Harry's lungs as the Stone rolled from his hand. He reached for it desperately, but Quirrell's hands wrapped around his throat, choking him.
Gasping for air, Harry clawed at Quirrell's hands. His skin burned as it made contact, and Quirrell screamed, pulling away in agony.
The necklace around Harry's neck flared with light, sending a sudden pulse of force outward. Quirrell was flung across the room, crashing into the wall with a pained cry.
Quirrell's hands began to crumble, ash and smoke rising from his body. He looked down at his blistering flesh, his face twisted in terror.
"WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse and panicked.
"FOOL!" Voldemort hissed. "GET THE NECKLACE AND THE STONE!" Quirrell started towards Harry, injured but determined.
Without hesitation, Harry scrambled to his feet and ran toward Quirrell. Pressing the necklace against Quirrell's chest with one hand, he placed his bare palm against Quirrell's face with the other.
Quirrell shrieked as his body burned beneath Harry's touch. Smoke and ash poured from his crumbling form as he stumbled back, collapsing against the wall.
"NO!" Quirrell roared, his voice breaking as his body gave way entirely. With a final, tortured cry, he crumbled into nothing but dust.
Breathing heavily, Harry stepped back. He looked down at the glowing necklace in one hand and his other, bare palm.
What had just happened?
His gaze shifted to the Stone, now lying on the floor nearby. Its blood-red surface gleamed faintly in the firelight. Carefully, he slipped the necklace back around his neck and bent to pick up the Stone.
Turning it over in his hands, he allowed himself a small, victorious smile. He'd done it.
But the moment was fleeting.
A sudden gust of wind whipped through the room. Harry spun around, his heart racing, only to be met with the vengeful spirit of Voldemort.
The ghostly form screamed in rage, hurtling toward him. Harry barely had time to react before the spirit passed through his body, a cold, piercing sensation that stole the air from his lungs.
Harry collapsed to the floor, the Stone still in his hand. His vision blurred as unconsciousness loomed.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the soft glow of Cassidy's necklace, fading slowly into nothing.
Harry slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness flooding the room.
He was in a hospital bed, his torn and burnt pajamas replaced by fresh, clean ones. Warm blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon, their softness a stark contrast to the events that had landed him here. He rubbed his eyes groggily, reaching for his glasses. As he sat up, he noticed Cassidy's necklace still hanging around his neck. Its glow was gone, its surface cool and inert—just as dull as it had been when he'd first seen it around her neck on the Hogwarts Express.
At the foot of the bed, an array of candies and presents greeted him. A particularly large tin adorned with The Sweet Spell logo caught his eye—it had to be from Cassidy. Get Well Soon cards cluttered the bedside table, their cheerful colors a stark contrast to the lingering ache in Harry's body.
As he stared, a familiar figure strode into the room.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Professor Dumbledore greeted warmly. His eyes twinkled as they scanned the candy and cards. "Ah, tokens from your admirers."
"Admirers?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"What happened in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is, of course, a complete secret," Dumbledore said lightly. "So naturally, the whole school knows."
Harry grinned.
"I see that young Ronald has saved you the trouble of opening your Chocolate Frogs," Dumbledore remarked, his gaze flickering to the wrappers scattered on the bedside table. "And Cassandra has been most generous, as always." He gestured to the tin of sweets, a fond smile crossing his face. "Her family's confections are legendary. I admit I've indulged in more than my fair share over the years."
"Wait—Ron and Cassidy were here? Are they alright? What about Hermione?" Harry blurted out, concern flickering in his eyes.
"They're all just fine," Dumbledore reassured him with a raised hand. "A little shaken, perhaps, but unharmed."
Harry relaxed slightly, though a new question immediately formed. "But what about the Stone—"
"The Stone has been destroyed," Dumbledore interrupted gently. His gaze shifted to the necklace resting on Harry's chest. "The necklace, as you know, has not."
Harry touched the cool metal absentmindedly.
"My friend Nicolas and I have had a little chat," Dumbledore continued. "We agreed it was for the best."
Harry nodded slowly but frowned. "But Flamel... he'll die, won't he?"
Dumbledore sat at the edge of the bed, his expression softening. "He has enough Elixir to set his affairs in order. But yes, Harry, he will die. That is the way of life."
Harry absorbed this in silence before voicing another question. "How did I get the Stone, sir? One moment I was staring at the mirror—"
"Ah," Dumbledore said, his tone brightening. "That, Harry, was the magic of the Mirror of Erised. Only a person who wanted to find the Stone—not use it—could retrieve it." He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling. "One of my more brilliant ideas, if I do say so myself."
Harry gave a small smile, but another thought nagged at him. "Does that mean, with the Stone gone... Voldemort can't come back?"
Dumbledore's expression darkened slightly. "I'm afraid there are other ways for him to return."
Harry's heart sank, but Dumbledore pressed on. "Harry, do you know why Professor Quirrell couldn't bear to touch you?"
Harry shook his head, confused.
"It was because of your mother. She sacrificed herself for you, Harry, and that kind of act leaves a mark."
Harry's hand went to his scar instinctively, but Dumbledore chuckled. "No, no, not that kind of mark. It's something deeper. It lives in your very skin."
"What is it?" Harry asked softly.
"Love, Harry. Love."
For a moment, Harry thought of his mother, but then his fingers brushed Cassidy's necklace. "What about the necklace?" he asked. "It—it did something. I'm not sure what."
Dumbledore nodded. "The necklace is no ordinary trinket. It contains magic that goes beyond what we fully understand—magic tied to Cassandra's ancestry. It reacted to your heart, Harry, to your determination to protect others. That kind of magic can amplify the courage and love within us. It may be dormant now, but I suspect its story is far from over."
Harry looked down at the necklace, his brow furrowing.
Dumbledore patted his shoulder. "In time, Harry, you'll come to understand. Magic has a way of revealing itself when we least expect it."
Standing, Dumbledore's eyes sparkled mischievously as he turned to the pile of sweets. "Ah, Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans! I was most unfortunate in my youth to encounter a vomit-flavored one, and since then, I've been rather cautious."
Harry chuckled softly as Dumbledore inspected the jellybeans, finally selecting one. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
"Alas, ear wax," Dumbledore muttered, grimacing slightly.
Harry smiled faintly as Dumbledore left the room, the old wizard's robes swishing behind him.