The Hidden Hero

Harry was walking back from the library after a night of studying, close to curfew, when his scar started to prickle uncomfortably. He couldn’t see the scar, given his disguise, but he knew where it was on his forehead and the pain he was feeling was definitely coming from that location. He rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand. Perhaps he should detour to the hospital wing and ask for a headache potion?

However, before Harry could decide, he was distracted by whispers in a nearby room. He was surprised to hear voices because it was getting late and he had thought this corridor was deserted. Quietly, he approached the door, which was slightly ajar, and tried to hear what was being said.

It was Professor Quirrell, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. What was he doing here? And who was he talking to? Harry listened closely.

“Yes, My Lord. Of course, I’ll do as you say. But, are you sure that Professor Dumbledore has left the castle?”

Harry was confused. Professor Quirrell wasn’t stuttering. In fact, despite the fearful tone in his voice, he seemed more confident than Harry had ever known him to be. He continued talking, although Harry had not heard anyone give him a response. Harry listened more intently.

“You are right. If Dumbledore is gone, no one will stop us. Professor Snape may have suspected us before, but he has no reason to believe we’ll go after the Philosopher’s Stone now. He’ll be in the dungeon and we can retrieve the stone and be done before anyone knows what we are planning.”

Harry’s head was spinning. It was clear that Professor Quirrell was planning to steal something – the Philosopher’s Stone, whatever that was. He had apparently made sure that Professor Dumbledore was out of the way and was going to be attempting the theft right now.

Harry scrambled away from the door just in time. He hid himself in an empty classroom across from the one that Professor Quirrell was in. When he heard Professor Quirrell’s footsteps fade into the distance, he left the room and followed behind, muffling his footsteps with a simple spell that he had taught himself months ago.

Oh, how he wished he had just a few minutes to be able to contact one of the teachers! He wasn’t sure that he should be following Professor Quirrell. It wasn’t his business, after all. But, he couldn’t just let him get away with stealing something, could he? Unsure, Harry decided that he would just continue to follow Professor Quirell, to see where he went. Hopefully, he would be able to tell where the man was going and then Harry could leave and tell one of the adults what was going on.

So, stealthily tracking the older man, Harry followed as he was led up to the third floor corridor. Harry wondered where the other person Professor Quirrell had been speaking to had gone. From time to time, when Harry had caught glimpses of his prey, he had only seen the professor, usually with the ends of his robes just clearing the corner of the next turn. Perhaps, the other person was in front of Professor Quirrell, leading the way?

Harry pressed his back against a cold, stone wall and strove to listen around the corner of the doorjamb. He heard Professor Quirrell in the next room whispering, “Alohamora,” and the click of a door swinging open. For a brief moment, Harry heard a chilling growl fill the air. However, incredibly, Harry heard music start to play and, almost immediately, the growls ceased.

After a few minutes of no sound, other than the soft music playing, Harry peered cautiously around the corner of the door. A door at the far side of the room stood open, but Harry couldn’t see anyone. Hesitantly, he softly approached the room, and peered inside. A huge, three-headed dog was sleeping peacefully, its enormous body covering almost the entirety of the room.

Harry’s jaw dropped. For awhile, the only thing he could focus upon was the dog in front of him. The three heads were amazing, true, but the sheer size of the dog was what took his breath away! Wow! This must be the Fluffy that Hagrid had mentioned. Thank Merlin it was sleeping. Harry did not think he would enjoy meeting such a huge dog if it were awake.

The music suddenly stopped playing and Fluffy started to shift in its sleep. Harry took a nervous step backwards. As he did so, he finally noticed the open trap door next to one of Fluffy’s paws. It had obviously been pulled open by Professor Quirrell, and the older man must have gone through that door.

Taking a deep breath, Harry hurried forward to look through the opening. He was aware that Fluffy was starting to shuffle more energetically and he had no intention of being in the room when the dog woke up. However, Harry couldn’t see anything when he peered through the opening. It was completely dark.

Harry was about to take a step backward and see if he could find Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall, when he realized that Fluffy was staring at him. It was a heart-stopping moment. The dog opened its mouth and Harry saw teeth the size of his arm. Not even stopping to draw breath, Harry jumped through the open trap door. At that moment, it seemed wiser to jump into the unknown than to stay behind with Fluffy.

Harry felt like he had landed on a squishy mattress. He whispered, “Lumos,” and his wand tip ignited, casting a soft glow around the chamber. He looked around quickly, but he was alone. Professor Quirrell, if he had been here, had obviously not stayed long. Harry felt a movement under his leg and looked down to see what looked like an octopus tentacle circling his leg. He automatically pulled his leg away and the tentacle grabbed tighter.

Gasping, Harry sat up and realized he had landed in Devil’s Snare. Oh no! He had to escape or he would be suffocated by it. It was just like a boa constrictor. For a moment of blind panic, Harry just tugged uselessly at his trapped leg. When a second tentacle appeared and wove around the leg, binding it tighter, he forced himself to stop and calm down.

“Okay. Okay. What is the way to fight Devil’s Snare?” he asked himself. Almost immediately, Harry had a vision of the page of his herbology book in which Devil’s Snare was addressed. He recalled the illustration on the page in which a wizard held a wand from which a large blast of light issued. Of course! Devil’s Snare didn’t like light.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand and, raising it high, said, “Lumos maximus!” Light flooded the chamber and the Devil’s Snare retreated into the corners of the room. Harry felt the soft bedding on which he lay shifting. A hole opened up, and Harry felt himself falling. Luckily, he fell only a few feet further because, this time, he fell on a hard floor.

Clambering to his feet, Harry winced at a new collection of bruises. He glanced above him. Through the hole in the Devil’s Snare, he could just see Fluffy’s eye peering through the trap door. Well, he wasn’t going to be able to go back up that way. He might as well continue on and see if there was another exit. Quietly, and with the light from his wand set on low, Harry tiptoed down a dark hallway, peering into the darkness for another glimpse of Professor Quirrell.

He came to a door behind which he heard an odd whirring noise. Harry slowly opened the door, ready to slam it shut again immediately. However, it seemed just to be a room with some odd birds and, Quirrell again, was nowhere to be seen. Harry edged into the room and realized that the odd birds were really flying keys. He saw one key that looked a little the worse for wear and realized that this was the key to a closed door at the other end of the room. Quirrell must have captured the key and used it to pass through the door already.

Harry pointed his wand at the key and uttered a simple summoning charm that he had mastered months ago, “Accio key.” No response. Oh well, that would have been too simple. Seeing a broom in the corner, he summoned that instead. Mounting it, he pursued the fleeing key. It was difficult to keep an eye on the key he wanted among all of the other keys flying around. But, in a fairly short time, he was able to close his hand around the fluttering metal. He landed easily and fit the key in the lock. The door opened and Harry tentatively peered into the next room.

A giant chess set, taking up the entire room, greeted him. When the statues came to life and barred his passage, scaring years off his life, as he afterwards described it, Harry realized that he had to play his way across the board. Harry knew a fair amount of chess strategy from having watched Ron play his favorite game. He elected to take the queen’s position, since that was the most powerful piece on the board. Harry sincerely hoped that this match wouldn’t be too difficult because he didn’t have Ron’s flair for the game. He refused to allow himself to wonder what would happen if he lost the game. Playing cautiously, Harry slowly advanced upon the opponent’s king. When, eventually, he was able to corner the king, he couldn’t help his triumphant yell of, “Checkmate!” The statue king let his sword fall to the ground, and Harry strode past, through a hallway that he had glimpsed tantalizingly throughout the game.

In the hallway, he edged nervously past an unconscious troll, which had obviously been incapacitated by Professor Quirrell. The stink was dreadful! Harry was grateful that he didn’t have to deal with the creature.

On past the troll and through another doorway. There, he found a table with various flasks filled with unknown potions. He jumped when flames sprang up unexpectedly, surrounding the room, so that he was trapped inside. Harry scanned the room, trying to see if there was any opening, but there was not. Realizing that the flasks held the answer to his next step, Harry moved closer to the table holding the bottles. There, he found a riddle which provided clues as to the contents of the different bottles. If he understood the riddle correctly, he could poison himself if he chose the wrong bottle. Not for the first time since this adventure began, Harry silently chastised himself for having followed Quirrell. What the hell had he been thinking?

Harry read over the riddle a few times until he was confident that he was making the right choice. Then, taking a deep breath, he selected one of the bottles and took a deep gulp. As soon as he had swallowed the potion, he felt a chill in his blood. Hoping that this meant that it was working correctly, Harry stepped through the flames that were circling the room. He opened yet another door, and, this time, found himself in a big chamber. Professor Quirrell was waiting.

When Harry saw the Professor, he hesitated. Although his back was to Harry, Professor Quirrell was apparently aware that the boy was there. Because, without turning, he said, “Mr. Twist. I thought someone may have been following me but I was not expecting a student. Why are you here?”

The Professor was continuing to stare into a large mirror as he spoke with Harry. Harry wasn’t sure whether he should be nervous or not. The Professor’s tone of voice was not threatening. On the other hand, he was no longer stammering. Did that mean that the older man no longer saw the need to hide his real purposes? And, if so, what did that mean for Harry?

“I…I saw you going up the third floor corridor,” said Harry. “I know it’s off limits and I was curious.” He didn’t say anything about having heard Quirrell discussing the Philosopher’s Stone.

Silence greeted his explanation. It was clear that Professor Quirrell was not really paying attention to him. Rather, he appeared to be engrossed with peering intently into the large mirror in front of him.

“Use the boy!” Harry heard a strange voice. He looked around the room but didn’t see anyone else present. Who had spoken?

“But, My Lord,” Professor Quirrell was saying. “How? I don’t understand how this mirror works. I thought it showed what the heart desires and I desire to have the stone for you, My Lord. But, where is the stone? Inside the mirror? Should I break it?”

“Have the boy look inside the mirror,” directed the disembodied voice.

Again, Harry looked around the otherwise empty room. “Who’s talking?” he asked Professor Quirrell.

Professor Quirrell ignored his question and, turning to face Harry, demanded, “Come here, Twist. I want you to look into the mirror and tell me what you see!”

Slowly, Harry approached the mirror. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to see. However, Professor Quirrell said that the mirror showed the heart’s desire. Well, at this moment, he wanted to find the Philosopher’s Stone (whatever that was) and keep it safe. If he could find it first, maybe he could hide it from the Professor.

Not sure what to expect, Harry looked into the mirror. At first, it was blurry but then he saw himself, with Professor Quirrell standing next to him. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw his mirror self stop acting as a reflection, moving instead as a separate person. Mirror-Harry held up a small stone, blood red and about the size of his fist, and put it in his pocket. Immediately, real-Harry felt a heavy weight in his pocket. His eyes flew wide and he started in surprise. He hoped that Professor Quirrell didn’t notice.

“What did you see?” demanded Quirrell.

Harry lied, “I saw myself getting all O’s on my OWL exams. And, Professor Dumbledore shaking my hand.”

“He lies…he lies…” came the disembodied voice again. “Let me speak to him…face to face…”

“Master, you are not strong enough!” warned Quirrell.

“I have strength enough…for this…”

Professor Quirrell unwrapped the turban surrounding his head and revealed an unbelievable sight. A face unlike any Harry had ever seen before was sticking out of the back of Professor Quirrell’s head. Harry wondered vaguely whether he was dreaming or if the potion he had swallowed to get past the fire in the previous room was causing him to hallucinate.

A cold, high voice issued out of the ghostlike face, its eyes gleaming red, and its nose flattened, with slits for nostrils. “See what I have become, boy? The great Lord Voldemort reduced to living off the body of another. But, with the Philosopher’s Stone, I can create my own body and rise again. If you help me, I will reward you. Give me the Stone that’s in your pocket!”

Harry felt his brain freeze. It was hard to think. He was confronting Lord Voldemort. The crazy lunatic who had killed his parents and tried to kill him. The psycho who his aunt said Dumbledore warned might rise again and who would then try to kill Harry once more. And, this dangerous madman knew that Harry had the Philosopher’s Stone in his pocket and was demanding that Harry give it to him. What should he do?!

Well, one thing was for sure. There was no way he was giving that Stone over voluntarily. Voldemort had said that he could create a new body and rise again if he had the Philosopher’s Stone. No way was he, Harry, going to help Voldemort rise again.

He turned to run, but he heard Voldemort yell to Quirrell, “Seize him!” He felt Quirrell’s hand on his wrist but, then, he was released unexpectedly.

Quirrell looked at his burned and blistered hand, cradling it with his other hand. Quirrell was looking confused, and his eyes were glazed with pain. But, at Voldemort’s cry, “Seize him! Seize him!” Quirrell tried to hold Harry again.

Harry’s scar burst into fire and he felt his eyes water with pain. He blindly reached to push Quirrell away and heard the older man cry out in pain again. Instinctively, Harry pursued, and closed his hands on Quirrell’s face. For some unknown reason, Quirrell could not stand Harry’s touch. Pressing this strange advantage, Harry kept his hands on Quirrell’s face, despite the terrible pain in his own head.

From far away, as he slipped into unconsciousness, he thought he heard someone calling, “Mark! Mark Twist!”
*

Harry woke in the hospital wing, with a pounding headache. Groaning, he opened his eyes slowly, filtering out the harsh light. Through his veiled eyes, he saw his glasses on the bedstand, and pulled them on. He smiled slightly when he saw a box of chocolate frog cards and a big get well note signed by a few of his friends, including his roommates and Hermione.

He heard a soft noise and turned to see Professor Dumbledore enter the room. He was smiling at Harry and said, “Hello, Mark. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, sir.” Harry blinked. “Uh…what happened?”

Professor Dumbledore laughed. “Well, you might tell me! I found you in the dungeons with Professor Quirrell, stopping him from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone for Lord Voldemort.”

When Harry didn’t react, Dumbledore continued, understanding that at least some of this information was not new to the boy. “Professor Quirrell is dead, and Lord Voldemort has fled.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in dismay. “Dead? I killed him?”

Dumbledore looked very serious. “Actually, Mark, I would say that Lord Voldemort killed him. Something about his possession by Lord Voldemort obviously destroyed the man. There is no other explanation. And, without a body to possess, Lord Voldemort has disappeared again.”

“But, will Lord … Voldemort,” Harry hesitated over the name, but Dumbledore nodded his encouragement, “will he try to return?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. But, if everyone is as brave as you, and tries to stop him, he may never be able to return.”

Harry blushed and let the praise sink in. It was a novel feeling. Someone looking at him with admiration and telling him that he was brave. It was…wonderful.

“What about the Philosopher’s Stone, sir? Where is that now?”

“I have returned it to its rightful owner, Nicolas Flamel. Nicolas has agreed that it is too dangerous to keep and he will destroy it as soon as he and his wife put their affairs in order. The elixir made from the stone, you see, was keeping them alive.”

Harry was unsure what to say to this. Dumbledore seemed to understand what Harry was thinking and said, “To the well-organized mind, Mark, death is but the next great adventure.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured, politely, although he didn’t really understand. He asked a question that had been troubling him. “How did I get the stone, though, sir? After all, Professor Quirrell looked in the mirror and he wanted it too. Why did it appear in my pocket?”

Professor Dumbledore smiled widely. “Only the person who wanted to find the Stone and not use would be able to get it. This was one of my more brilliant ideas and, between you and me, that’s saying something!”

Harry found himself smiling back. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t so bad, after all.

*

Harry enjoyed the attention over the next few days. Everyone wanted to know what had happened down in the dungeons. Although a few people scoffed at him, and called him a liar, most of his fellow Gryffindors hung on his every word and were properly impressed. Harry enjoyed seeing the looks of admiration and receiving the pats of congratulations bestowed on him as he walked by. He had been right! Hogwarts was the place for him! And, his mother had been right, too. He was born to be a hero!

He walked along in a bubble of happiness that not even the approaching summer holiday or Draco Malfoy’s glares of dislike could dim. On the last day of term, at the end-of-year feast, Dumbledore even made an announcement congratulating Harry’s daring and awarding him 50 points for bravery. Gryffindor still lost the house cup to Slytherin, but they came in a close second. It was a wonderful moment!

The next day, Harry packed his bags and joined the other students lining up to board the Hogwarts Express taking them back to London. He planned on trying to get his old job back for the summer. He expected that it wouldn’t be too difficult. Restaurants usually needed more staff during summer holidays. First, he would see if he could stay at the boarding house he had lived in last year. Again, he expected that it would be easy to pay for a room there. Harry wasn’t looking forward to the summer, but he figured it shouldn’t be too miserable. It would probably pass quickly and, best of all, Ron had asked him whether he was interested in spending a few days at his home during the summer. Harry couldn’t wait!