Destinies Intertwined
Chapter 15: Destinies Intertwined
Anticlimactically, Draco found Potter and Professor Quirrell, or Voldemort rather, having a nice chit chat. Well, Quirrell was berating Potter, but he hadn’t killed him yet, so that was a positive.
“No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.” Quirrell was explaining rather irritatingly now that his stutter was gone.
“Snape was trying to save me?” Potter looked pathetically confused.
What is it with this lot thinking Snape is trying to kill them?! No wonder they needed saving.
“Of course,” said Quirrell coolly. “Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again. Funny, really ... he needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor winning, he did make himself unpopular ... and what a waste of time, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight.”
Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Potter. Draco quickly began trying to remember what the name of that spell was and if there was a way to counteract it. He wasn’t sure.
“You’re too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Hallowe’en like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.”
“You let the troll in?”
Good. Keep him talking Potter. He’s a standard villain archetype—he’ll just keep monologuing until someone intervenes.
“Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn’t even manage to bite Snape’s leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.”
It was only then that Draco even noticed what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised that Dumbledore had told him about. He hadn’t seen it as it had already been moved down to this chamber before he knew of it.
“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this ... but he’s in London ... I’ll be far away by the time he gets back …”
“I saw you and Snape in the Forest –’ Potter blurted out. Boy Wonder was running out of ways to keep him distracted.
“Yes,” said Quirrell idly, walking around the Mirror to look at the back. “He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I’d got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side …”
Quirrell came back out from behind the Mirror and stared hungrily into it. It caused Draco to shiver.
“I see the Stone ... I’m presenting it to my master ... but where is it?”
Draco was wracking his brain for anything that might help, but honestly, first year spells were extremely basic.
“But Snape always seemed to hate me so much.”
Come on, Potter! That’s all you’ve got is more Snape nonsense?
“Oh, he does,” said Quirrell casually, “heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead.”
Well that explains a lot. Potter Sr. must’ve been just as insufferable as his son is now.
“But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I thought Snape was threatening you …”
For the first time since they had met him in the chamber, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell’s face.
“Sometimes,” he said hesitantly, “I find it hard to follow my master’s instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak –“
“You mean he was there in the classroom with you?” Potter gasped.
“He is with me wherever I go,” said Quirrell quietly. “I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it ... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.” Quirrell shivered suddenly. “He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me ... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me …”
WHAT?! Theo said his father tried to steal the Stone—unless it was simply Death Eaters taking credit? Why would they put themselves at such a risk just to get the old gang back together? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just owl each other?
Draco’s brain was moving at warp speed trying to process all the possible outcomes and filter out the least probable.
The Death Eaters knew that Quirrell was Voldemort’s new host! He’s been working with them all along—but then why would Snape not be in the know from the beginning? His allegiance to Dumbledore as a Hogwarts professor, perhaps? Why did father not tell me when I confronted him about all of this?
Quirrell’s voice tailed away. Quirrell cursed under his breath. “I don’t understand ... is the Stone inside the Mirror? Should I break it?”
Draco was becoming more and more irritated with the situation and the fact that he couldn’t come right out and tell Potter just how stupid he was for coming down here. It was a trap! Not by Voldemort of course, but of Dumbledore’s own doing. The whole thing smelt of the man trying to beat another great wizard in a pissing contest.
I bet it’s not even the real Philosopher’s Stone. That’s probably still with Nicolas Flamel and has been this whole time!
Suddenly, Potter tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.
“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”
And to both Potter and Draco’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy ... Use the boy …”
Quirrell rounded on Harry.
Of course Draco already knew that Voldemort’s face was under the gaudy purple turban, but it wasn’t any less shocking hearing that rasping voice coming from under it.
“Yes – Potter – come here.”
He clapped his hands once and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. “Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the Mirror and tell me what you see.”
Potter walked towards him slowly.
Come on, Potter. Lie. Lie like you’re going to die if you get caught.
Quirrell moved close behind him. Potter closed his eyes, stepped in front of the Mirror and opened them again.
Potter looked absolutely pale and scared. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. After a moment, Draco saw the tiniest glint of red appear out of the corner of Potter's left pocket. Somehow – incredibly – he’d got the Stone. If that truly was the real Stone, that is.
“Well?” said Quirrell impatiently. “What do you see?”
Draco braced himself for whatever would happen next. He really didn’t have much faith in Potter’s ability to lie.
“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” he invented. “I– I’ve won the House Cup for Gryffindor.”
Quirrell cursed again. Thanks a lot, Potter. We’re dead.
“Get out of the way,” he said. Potter moved aside but looked like he was about to make a break for it.
But he hadn’t walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn’t moving his lips. “He lies ... He lies …”
“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouted. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?”
The high, raspy voice spoke again.
“Let me speak to him ... face to face …”
“Master, you are not strong enough!”
“I have strength enough ... for this ..”
Dead. They were dead. At least Draco could get away before the Disillusionment Charm wore off—maybe…
Both of the boys were petrified—rooted to the spots they stood, watching as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. The turban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.
It was the most unsettling face Draco had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
“Harry Potter …” Voldemort whispered.
Potter looked like he was trying to take a step backwards but his legs wouldn’t move. He was literally petrified.
“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapour ... I have form only when I can share another’s body ... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds ... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks ... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forest ... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own ... Now ... why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”
Draco had feared as much. He’d heard his parents talking about how the Dark Lord could read and twist minds. They had called him a Legillimens. Draco hadn’t read up on that type of magic, but he knew his mother and the rest of the Black family had a natural skill at Occlumency which was supposed to be the opposite of Legilimency. He could only hope he had inherited the trait as well.
Potter stumbled backwards.
“Don’t be a fool,” snarled the face. “Better save your own life and join me ... or you’ll meet the same end as your parents ... They died begging me for mercy …”
“LIAR!” Potter shouted suddenly.
At least he’s still got some fight in him. I sure hope whatever Dumbledore’s got planned works…not that I care about Potter—he’s a thorn in my side at best, but…
Quirrell was walking backwards at Potter, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling. Draco shivered as he took a step back. He knew they couldn’t really see him, but he didn’t want to be in the line of fire either.
“How touching …” Voldemort hissed. “I always value bravery ... Yes, boy, your parents were brave ... I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight ... but your mother needn’t have died ... she was trying to protect you ... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.”
Draco had never heard exactly what had happened the night Potter’s parents were killed. He didn’t think many people had either. Dumbledore had rambled on about how Lily Potter’s sacrifice is what would protect Harry. Draco wasn’t so sure—why didn’t more people have that protection then? Surely it’s not that uncommon during a war for someone to die for their loved one.
“NEVER!” Potter shouted.
He sprang towards the flame door, but Voldemort screamed, “SEIZE HIM!” and Draco saw Quirrell’s hand close on Potter’s wrist. At once, Potter grabbed at his scar as if in agony. He yelled, struggling with all his might, and to Draco’s surprise, Quirrell let go of him.
Draco watched on as Quirrell pulled away, hunched in pain, looking at his fingers – they were blistering before his eyes.
“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” shrieked Voldemort again and Quirrell lunged, knocking Potter clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around the dark-haired boy’s neck. Instead of feeling glee at his rival’s impending downfall, Draco felt fear creep through his body—freezing him like ice.
To Draco’s surprise, Quirrell howled in agony at the contact.
“Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands!”
And Quirrell, though pinning Potter to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his palms. Draco got a good look from the angle he was hiding at and they looked burnt, raw, red and shiny.
“Then kill him, fool, and be done!” screeched Voldemort.
Draco wished for nothing more in that moment than to have learned how to perform a shielding charm. As it was, he didn’t know any spells to protect the other boy, or even himself if it came down to it.
Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Potter reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face –
“AAAARGH!” Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering too. Quirrell couldn’t touch Potter’s bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain – his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him doing a curse.
So Dumbledore was right. Well, I hope Potter feels that this risking of his life was totally worth it to test a THEORY!
Potter had jumped to his feet, catching Quirrell by the arm and hanging on tight. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw him off.
Voldemort was shouting “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”
“Harry! Harry!” Draco looked up to see Granger, Professor Snape, and Professor Dumbledore appear in the chamber.
Finite. Draco ended the charm as soon as he knew there was someone present who was capable of containing Quirrell? Voldemort?
Quirrell’s body had turned to a dry, dusty ash as if he had been cremated. There shouldn’t have been any wind down there, so far removed from the outside world, but an eerie wind whispered around the room and whipped through Draco. He felt his whole body tremble as it passed in the same manner the ghosts had his first night at Hogwarts.
Professor Dumbledore clapped Hermione on the back with an exclamation of congratulations, and asked Professor Snape to take an unconscious Potter up to the Hospital Wing. The young Slytherin turned to look at the bushy-haired girl who was staring at him in shock. Almost like I have three heads…Draco thought with a twisted laugh as he swayed on the spot and everything went dark.
…
When Draco woke, he was in his own bed. He vaguely remembered going through the trapdoor on the third floor…and a chess game…and Voldemort. Was that real? Or was it a dream?
Draco sat up and took note of his surroundings. Theo was snoring loudly with his arm still wrapped up in a sling. Something moved out of the corner of his eye—Blaise was shifting uncomfortably in a chair he had dragged next to Draco’s bed.
How long has he been sitting there? How long was I out?
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise simply held up a hand effectively silencing him.
“It happened,” his friend reassured him. “I took Weasley to the Hospital and Granger came back up not too long after. I followed her out to the Entrance Hall trying to convince her that I had already had Snape contact Dumbledore. She insisted on contacting him herself, the swot.”
Draco snorted. Shewould.
“Anyways,” Blaise continued, “lucky for us, Dumbledore was walking in just as she was about to leave. That shut her up pretty quickly. I was told to wait for you in the dormitory, so here I am.” He shrugged lightly.
“But how did I get here?” Draco inquired.
“Well, from what I overheard outside Snape’s office just after he brought you in, he’s worried that when Voldemort’s soul passed through you, it may have caused some kind of side effects,” Blaise admitted reluctantly.
“What do you mean ‘side effects’?” Draco felt the fear draw back into his core. “Is that what happened—why I passed out?”
“Yeah, Dumbledore and Snape both saw his soul pass through you,” Blaise confirmed.
“But what does it mean!” Draco ripped at his hair in frustration, and Theo grunted in his sleep at the volume increase.
“I dunno, but we’ll figure it out, mate,” Blaise tried to console him, but Draco couldn’t hold it together much longer. Between the exhaustion and confusion his emotions were threatening to explode out of him.
Draco fell back into his bed and let sleep overtake him.
…
Draco dreamt of dragons and lions, of serpents and monsters. Worst of all, he dreamt of Voldemort’s face. It was a constant in every part of his dreams—violating them and turning them into nightmares. Finally, he woke, twisted in the covers and doused in sweat yet again. This dream was much more sinister than simply failing an exam.
He took to the showers and tiredly joined his classmates for breakfast. He had the unfortunate luck of sitting next to a perturbed Pansy Parkinson, who seemed rather put out by the fact that they had to postpone her End-of-Term party.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask many questions about where he had been the previous night, but it seemed Theo had, in fact, covered for them—even though he said he wouldn’t. Theo drank enough giggle water to be in full hysteria and had to be taken to see Madam Pomfrey for the second time that day. Needless to say she was very disappointed in Theo and his choice of “resting” but she didn’t make a fuss about where he had gotten it. A calming draught and tonic water later, he was fast asleep and snoring away.
Draco owed him one.
…
Later that day, the final exam grades were released and Draco had managed to get the top Slytherin scores, followed closely behind by Blaise and Pansy who had tied for second. Somehow Crabbe and Goyle managed to make passing marks. From the whisperings around the school, everyone in their year had passed and of course Granger had beaten him by two points total—most likely on their Transfiguration exam.
Draco was simply glad to be done with it all for the summer, and hopefully things would get back to somewhat normal. Whatever that is.
Professor Dumbledore requested that Draco meet with him in his office the morning before the End of Term feast. Draco begrudgingly obliged the Headmaster, wondering what kind of sick scheme he would be involved with next and if he ever intended on explaining what happened during the last one.
“Ah Draco, how are you feeling?” Dumbledore greeted him with a soft, somewhat genuine smile.
“I’m fine,” Draco curtly replied.
“Oh, good, good,” the Headmaster nodded in approval. “I dare say with exams over and the weather so nice, I’m sure you are ready for summer holiday?”
Draco scoffed at the meaningless small talk. “Professor, can you just tell me what happened that night?”
“All in good time, my boy. Both Mr. Potter and yourself have quite important destinies that have been intertwined. As fate would have it, that night in the chamber has solidified them both. I cannot tell you much about that night, for now just know it will be revealed to you when the time is right,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in a less-than-benevolent way—like a spider weaving its web.
“Then what can you tell me?” Draco spat impatiently. What right does this old fool have to withhold information like that?!
“Draco, all you can know for now, is that my assumptions about Mr. Potter’s protections were correct, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed,” he began and Draco merely rolled his eyes. “As for what happened to you after Professor Quirrell’s body had—“
“Disintegrated.”
“—yes, turned to ash, Professor Snape and myself believe that Lord Voldemort’s soul passed through the room, hoping to find another host or move on to continue his search elsewhere,” at this, the Headmaster stared intently at Draco—his gaze almost burning into him and the young boy slipped behind the white wall in his mind to hide from it.
“Good, that is what I hoped I would find. Though still powerful, Voldemort does not have enough strength without a physical body to be able to use his Legilimency. Do you know what that is?”
Draco shrugged noncommittally. “I think I’m supposed to be a natural Occlumens and they’re related but I’m not really sure what any of it is.”
Professor Dumbledore nodded saying, “You will be spending a great deal of your summer holidays with your mother and Professor Snape.” Draco was profoundly confused. “You will begin your Occlumens training with them and once you are proficient at it, you will begin to learn Legilimency. Both Professor Snape and your mother are highly gifted in the two subjects and will train you well, I am sure of it.”
Draco wasn’t sure what to make of that. “But sir, aren’t those beyond advanced skills? I’ve only just turned twelve!”
“I am well aware of your age, Mr. Malfoy, I am also very aware of your position in this school and at home. You are nearly the top of your class and you are the most adept student at learning new magic that I have seen in a very long time. There are many other ways for Lord Voldemort to attempt to return, and should he succeed, I need to be able to trust your mind. It will be most invaluable if those times come to pass.”
The young boy simply hung his head and turned to leave. He didn’t want to hear any more of this, and was rather sorry he had come at all.
“One more thing, Draco—should you ever need it, just remember that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who need it.”
With that final note, he had been dismissed. Draco went back to the dungeons, and as he slid his hand along the stone wall, moving closer to the Slytherin commonroom entrance, he heard hushed whispers.
“Shhhhhhh!” He heard a girl yell, then a few giggles and silence.
Grindylow
Draco pushed through the door that materialized before him to hear SURPRISE! Yelled from around the common room. There were silver streamers and confetti sprinkled around him and floating through the air. Theo had a conical party hat on and was playing the “Happy Birthday” melody on a noisemaker that sputtered out more confetti every time he blew into it—undeniably from Zonko’s.
A smile erupted on Draco’s face. As frustrated and down as he had been moments ago, he was now equally elated that his friends had remembered his birthday. He thought they had all forgotten a few weeks ago, but he didn’t blame them. When his birthday was set to be in the middle of final exam preparation each year, who had time to celebrate?
The first year Slytherins enjoyed their party to the fullest—Theo even brought out a few leftover bottles of gigglewater, which Pansy and Daphne promptly confiscated from him. Eventually, the girls admitted that the End-of-Term party was supposed to double as Draco’s birthday party, but everyone was so excited to get home for the summer hols that they just ended up starting the party early.
Eventually, the party tapered off as they slowly made their way up to the Great Hall for the feast. Each was in good spirits as they knew they had won the House Cup. The Great Hall was decorated in banners and trappings of green and silver with serpents and a large ‘S’ emblazoned on them.
As soon as their little crew had sat down, the whole hall went silent. Draco rolled his eyes. Only Wonder Boy Pottercan silence an entire school. Suddenly everyone started talking very loudly, as if embarrassed by their initial reaction.
Dumbledore appeared just mere moments later, and the chatting died down immediately.
“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were ... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts … Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Draco even joined in on the ruckus, feeling like finally something had gone right. He banged his goblet on the table excitedly.
“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into ac- count.”
The room went very still. The Slytherins’ smiles faded a little. No. He can’t seriously do this.
“Ahem,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes ...First – to Mr Ronald Weasley—for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.” The Weasel turned purple at the praise.
Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver.
At last there was silence again.
“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger—for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”
Granger locked eyes with Draco for a moment, then buried her face in her arms.
“Third – to Mr Harry Potter—” said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. “—for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”
The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points – exactly the same as Slytherin. They had drawn for the House Cup.
Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent. Don’t you dare. The only other name that comes out of your mouth better be mine or Blaise’s!
“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.”
NO!
Draco felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked over at Blaise and Theo who had similar looks of shock plastered on their faces. Looking across the hall, he spotted Potter nudging Weasley and pointing him laughing.
Bloody gits. I wish Voldemort had destroyed you!
Draco felt so much hate rush into him, it was nearly stifling. His gaze shifted just slightly and met warm, chocolate and honey—she was like ice water dumped over his head. She fizzled out the blaze with just one look of understanding.
“Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, “we need a little change of decoration.”
He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape turned and politely shook Professor McGonagall’s hand. He seemed to shoot Potter a look that could kill, then turned it on Draco.
What a fun summer this will be…
…
Draco said his goodbyes the next morning, promising Pansy and Theo he would write often. Blaise offered them all to come stay at the Villa for a week in August, and they each made promises to visit often.
It wouldn’t be hard to keep those promises now that their fathers were all more closely involved. However, Draco wondered just how much free time he would be getting with his new lessons starting.