Initus

Initus

(noun. an approach, arrival, or advent.)

A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover

Part 4 of the Amalgamation Series

by Tannin & Tele

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters.

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Warnings: Chapter includes descriptions of violence, major character death, mentioned child abuse, child neglect and mild language.

The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's.

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Author's Note: Thank you all so much for sticking with me thus far! While Harry's first year at Hogwarts is done, his story is only just beginning. Unfortunately, due to the inevitable stress of school, updates may not be as common - perhaps once a week - but rest assured, the story will continue. Please enjoy this recent installment, and the next part will be posted, hopefully, in the next week or so. 

Please continue with your support and comment if you can, I appreciate any and all genuine feedback given!

Chapter Seven

. . .

June 4th, 1992

The Boy-Who-Lived stepped forward tentatively, glancing at the Mirror of Erised which took up the majority of the chamber. So this was where Dumbledore relocated it, then? Is it another precaution for the stone?  Harry wondered. 

"Of course it's you," Harry said softly, his tone dripping with distaste as Quirrell turned to face him. 

"Me," he replied jovially, although his smile was cold. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Mr. Potter." 

Harry clenched his fists. "There was no question whether or not I'd come. I can't let you do this," he warned, grasping at his wand. 

Quirrell laughed, looking highly amused. "Do what, exactly, Mr. Potter? Tell, how much has Dumbledore let slip about this little plot of his?  

"Quite a bit, actually," Harry admitted.  "But I only really figured it all out today. Hagrid's not particularly good at keeping secrets, is he?"

The former Defense teacher broke into a pleased grin. "Apt deduction," he agreed. "Although I'm sure Snape had a hand in these revelations as well, hmm?" 

Harry's eyes widened at the cutthroat amusement in Quirrell's tone. "How did you know about that?" 

"It wasn't difficult to see Snape distrusted me," the man shrugged. "He's disliked me from the beginning of my tenure, even before my trip to Albania. This year, however, he was quite a bit more proactive with his attempts of thwarting me; unfortunately, his constant barrage of threats were - are - nothing compared to my Lord's temperament." 

"Your Lord?" Harry wondered. "Voldemort?" 

Quirrell's expression hardened. Snapping his fingers, ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry's body, yanking him against the wall. "You dare speak the Dark Lord's name?" he hissed, summoning Harry's wand. "You, a mere child, know nothing of my Lord's magnificence, of his sheer magical prowess - " 

Harry coughed, the ropes squeezing his chest cavity. "Magical prowess?" he rasped. "Your precious Dark Lord can't even kill a baby!" 

The wizard let out another hissing sound, his neck arching angrily. "Silence! You're too nosy to live, Potter. Rather like your dear parents, actually; too meddling for your own good. What with scurrying around the school on Halloween, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in," the boy realized, eyes narrowed. 

"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." Quirrell scowled. "Useless creatures." 

He whipped around to face the mirror, his purple turban tilting slightly. "Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror. This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell monologued, 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." 

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror. "If you knew Professor Snape suspected you, why didn't you - " 

Quirrell barked out a laugh. "And I thought you were a Slytherin, boy!" Harry flinched slightly. "If dear Severus had gotten on the wrong side of a nasty . . . accident with Dumbledore watching, the wizard would have immediately changed tactics! No, the old coot is far more predicable when you play by 'his rules'," Quirrell sneered. "Insanity seems to disagree with him." 

Harry struggled with the bindings, the ropes around his torso loosening with Quirrell's distraction. 

"Now . . . I see the Stone; I'm presenting it to my master, but where is it?" the man growled in frustration. 

"Your master  - is he on the grounds?" Harry asked, forcing down his steadily rising panic. "That was him in the Forbidden Forest, I presume?" 

Quirrell stiffened, and for a moment, fear flashed in his eyes. 

"He is with me wherever I go," he said quietly. "I met him when I traveled 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, and decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me . . . "

Harry remembered his trip to Diagon Alley, wondering how could he have been so stupid. He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron. The man had probably broken into Gringotts only moments after he and Hagrid had left the bank. 

Quirrell cursed under his breath. "I don't understand! Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing. 'The Mirror of Desire'  he remembered. Harry shut his eyes, thinking deeply.

While Quirrell muttered to himself, Harry tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing. Unfortunately, the ropes around his ankles were too tight - he slid down the wall, swearing softly. The wizard ignored him, still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do?" Quirrell whispered. "How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Much to Harry's apparent horror, a voice answered, seeming to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy . . ." it rasped. "Use the boy."

Quirrell rounded on Harry, eyes wild. "Yes, Potter - come here." He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off.

Harry slowly rose to his feet, desperately wishing he had a weapon.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated, becoming impatient. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see." 

Harry walked toward him warily, wiping his sweaty hands against quavering thighs.

Quirrell moved close behind him, his front nearly pressing into Harry's back. The boy tried not to choke on the funny smell that seemed to come from the man's turban. He closed his eyes, thinking hard, before stepping before the mirror. 

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. Dark shadows shifted behind him, but only one image was clear. It was a man, tall and imposing, but with kind blue eyes and thick black hair. Harry's lips pursed in confusion as the man snapped his fingers, looking down reassuringly;  and - suddenly - Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Backing away quickly, Harry looked up nervously at his captor. 

"Well?" Quirrell asked impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "My relatives," he said swiftly. "They're smiling at me, finally accepting me into their family." As if, he thought internally, heart panging with an old hurt. "Treating me . . . " As though I wasn't a Freak. "Like they loved me." 

Quirrell ground his teeth. "Useless, maudlin drivel," he spat. "Get out of the way,"

As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

Harry hadn't shifted five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies!" 

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell growled, turban tilting as he spun around. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him, face-to-face."

Panic entered the professor's voice. "M - master! You are not strong enough!" 

There was a pause, before a deep, shaky breath was taken. "I have strength enough, for this . . ."

Hesitating slightly, Quirrell reached up before snapping his fingers as an afterthought. 

Harry struggled, but he couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as the man began to unwrap his turban, revealing flashes of bald, pasty skin. The turban fell away, Quirrell's head looking strangely small without it. Harry's gaze shifted to the Mirror of Erised, and a strangled noise slipped from his lips. 

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. 

It was Voldemort. 

"Harry Potter," it whispered, eyeing his small figure up and down. "See what I have become?" Voldemort said, voice scathing. "Mere shadow and vapor. . . 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!"

His voice echoed through the chamber, shrewdly victorious. "Now . . ." the man said, his lips stretching in a gruesome bastardization of a smile. "Why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?" 

At a flick of Quirrell's wrist, the feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward, tripping over too-long pant legs. Harry itched for his wand. 

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled. "Better save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same sticky end as your parents," the beast paused, as though thoughtful. "You know, they died begging me for mercy. And I, the merciful Lord I am, spared them the greatest mercy possible. If you so please, I could give you the same generous honor." 

Harry's nose flared, although he didn't speak a word. 

"You are a Slytherin, are you not?" Voldemort tried another tactic, Quirrell slowly walking backwards - toward him. "A weak one, true, but any Slytherin must inherently value self-preservation. Surely even the son of two Gryffindors can recognize a lost battle?" 

"That's ironic, you taunting me of being weak," Harry finally spat out, back straightening with resolve. "I mean, I am the one who, as an infant, vanquished your arse halfway to hell. So if I'm weak, what, exactly, does that make you?"  

"How touching," Voldemort hissed, visibly restraining his anger. "Quite the barbed tongue on you, child. Now give me the Stone, unless you want it ripped out!" 

Harry swallowed tightly, before looking over Quirrell's shoulder 

He gasped. "Dumbledore!" Harry shouted, causing both Voldemort and Quirrell to wheel around.

Seeing no one, the wizard's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, whelp?" 

Harry smirked at them, slipping the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket. "Stalling, of course," the boy said nonchalantly, pulling his arm back. By the time Voldemort had processed Harry's words, the boy had already thrown the rock with the skill of - well, an eleven year old. 

The rock soured through the air, shattering against the stone wall before Quirrell even began uttering the summoning charm. 

Silence reigned for several short moments before Quirrell lunged toward the boy, howling with rage. 

At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two. He yelled, struggling against Quirrell's grasp with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. 

The pain in his head lessened, and Harry looked to see where Quirrell had gone. The man was hunched in pain, looking at his heavily blistered hands. 

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell leaped for the boy wizard. Kicking out, Harry slammed his foot between Quirrell's thighs. Hearing a distinct crunch, Quirrell screeched shrilly.

Falling forward, he knocked Harry off his feet and landed on top of him. Wherever their skin touched, Quirell burned, the man howling in agony.  "M - Master, I cannot hold him," he gasped out.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" 

Quirrell raised a shaking hand to perform a deadly curse, his eyes wide and horrified, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell around the face. Smoke sizzling from his skull, Quirrell rolled off him, his skin raw and red. 

Harry knew now: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain.

This was only chance to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse. Harry staggered to his feet, grabbed Quirrell around the waist, and hung on as tight as he could.

It was almost like a hug - but, you know.

Deadly.

Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off. The pain in Harry's head was blinding, his vision filling with blissful darkness. As Harry sagged to the ground, he could only hear terrible, pained shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, perhaps in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"

The boy blinked up, his breath catching in his throat as he caught one last glimpse of the Mirror of Erised. Two figure watched him, the tall man from before standing solemnly behind a red-haired beauty. Lily Evans looked grief-stricken, silver tears streaking down her cheeks as she mouthed to him 'stay strong' . . . 

Harry felt ash trickle onto his face. His last view was of Quirrell's blackened and crispy face hovering above him, before all Harry knew was lost.

A pair of green and blue eyes followed their son slip and fall (into the arms of Morpheus), while a frantic figure banished the row of flames from the other side. Sweeping into the room, black hair and robes disheveled, Severus Snape watched Quirrell disintegrate completely, the dark cinders marring Harry Potter's pale skin. 

"Potter," Severus breathed. 

Ignoring the shattered remains of the Philosopher's Stone and the green eyes watching him from the enchanted Mirror, Severus immediately rushed over to test the boy's pulse, fearing the worse. Breathing out in relief as he felt a faint thumping, the man quickly schooled his expression as Dumbledore came flying in seconds later.

The headmaster halted at the door, seeing red glass marring the floor and ash scattered everywhere.

"Voldemort?" he breathed, sounding quite winded. 

Severus nodded grimly, his Dark Mark pulsing in agreement. "Harry?" Dumbledore asked next, concern crossing his wrinkled face. 

"Alive, although not in stable condition." Severus informed, prompt as always.

"But alive," he breathed out, looking down to brush the sweaty bangs from Potter's forehead. The famous lightning-bolt scar was burnt pink, a trail of blood trickling down his temple. "Seems the Boy-Who-Lived has managed the impossible once more," the man said idly, his tone lacking the usual dry sarcasm. 

"So it seems, Severus," Dumbledore looked his age, face tightening as he flicked his wand to gather the remains of Quirrell. The red shards he left, sparing them the barest cursory glance. "So it seems." 

July 8th, 1992

Harry awoke slowly, and then all at once as he felt hot breath on his cheek. Jerking slightly, Harry blinked up at the gently smiling face of the headmaster. "Good afternoon," the man said kindly, leaning back. 

"Sir," Harry said distractedly, feeling as though he was missing something. "What're . . .  " his eyes widened in remembrance. "Sir! Professor Quirrell, is he - " 

"Calm yourself, dear boy," Dumbledore said softly, touching Harry's hand.

"But - " 

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed harshly and looked around. Recognizing the white curtains and uniform layout, Harry realized that he was in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore explained, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

Harry couldn't even muster a smile. "How long have I been in here?" he asked, forcing himself to ask one question at a time. 

"Three days," the wizard informed. "Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried. They hadn't wanted to leave your side for a minute, but Madam Pomfrey threw them out for meal times," he added. 

The young Slytherin felt a flush of warmth, fondness for his friends filling his chest. 

"Is Ron alright?" Harry asked quietly, eyes fearful. "Hermione and Draco didn't get hurt on their way back, did they?" 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled benignly. "Your friends are fine, my boy. A few scrapes and scratches and a small bump on Mr. Weasley's head, but nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix in a jiffy." 

Harry sighed in relief, the boy lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. Belatedly, Harry realized he wasn't wearing glasses - but he could see perfectly fine. "My glasses?" Harry choked out, a bit astonished at the change. He could see far better now, without his glasses, than he'd ever experienced with them . . . however, his Aunt had found them in a bin at the dollar store, so Harry couldn't have expected perfection. 

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, sounding pleased. "Madam Pomfrey took the initiative to perform a few extraneous healing charms, among them corrective spell for your eyesight. It seems that you never quite needed glasses, despite a little damage to your retinas - you know, perhaps I'll have our lovely Nurse explain the procedure. I'm a bit unfamiliar with it," his expression was sheepish. 

Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to recall his memories from the other night. "Sir, about the Stone . . . " 

"I see you are not to be distracted," the headmaster sighed. "Very well, the Stone. As you are aware, it was destroyed during your struggle with Quirrell, although I'm unsure of the specifics. I'm sure we'll get to that eventually," his eyes gleamed pointedly. "As for your former professor, by the time I arrived, the wounds he'd acclaimed were . . . unfortunately,  beyond even our esteemed Nurse's capabilities." 

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?" Harry asked, sitting up. 

"We must have crossed in midair," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived shortly after you'd fallen unconscious, my boy. I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were," Harry said quietly. "I wasn't sure how long I could keep him from fleeing."

"Not Voldemort, boy, you - the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had."

Harry picked at a stray thread on the sheets, his eyes betraying extreme doubt at the wizard's concern. 

" - Sir?" He changed the subject after a moment. "What will happen to your friend, Nicolas Flamel, now that the Stone is gone?" 

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" Harry asked, sounding regretful. 

"Do not worry, my boy. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harry lay there, lost for words.

Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling. "Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking, even if the Stone's gone; Voldemort is still going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? Something tells me he isn't gone for good this time," he frowned. 

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share. Yet not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry pressed his lips together, his stomach sinking in dread. "We'll just have to hope that he doesn't, then, won't we?" 

Dumbledore gave the boy hero another smile. "Often, Harry, you'll find that hope is the only thing stronger than fear. But you must hold onto that hope," Dumbledore patted Harry's leg. "And never give up, for you'll always find that the beginning is always the hardest."  

Harry lifted an eyebrow, wondering distantly to himself - so this is only the beginning? 

. . .

What seemed like several hours of explaining later, Harry smirked as Draco choked on his spit, the blonde staggering from his place against the wall. 

"Wait, wait. Back up. You kicked the Dark Lord in his - " 

"Draco!" Hermione hissed, elbowing Ron as the redhead starting laughing. 

"It's official," Ron sniggered around a chocolate frog. "You're officially eviller than You-Know-Who!" 

Harry merely smiled innocently in response, eyeing a deep purple-colored bean. He tasted it warily, pleasantly surprised to taste ripe, sweet grapes. Harry continued telling his friends of the events that followed his crossing through the flames, finishing before mentioning the two mirror figures that had watched him fall into unconsciousness. 

That was a mystery he'd keep to himself.

"So the Stone's gone?" Ron said finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said," Harry said, lips pressed in consternation. "I think it's terrible, however, Dumbledore thinks that - what was it? - 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

"I always said he was off his rocker," Ron said, and Draco nodded in agreement.

"So what happened to you three?" Harry changed the subject.

Draco scratched the back of his head, looking vaguely penitent. "I went to find Uncle Sev, like you told me too, but he wasn't - ah. Well, when he woke up to a bezoar being shoved down his throat, he wasn't the most pleasant of company."

"I can't believe you drugged him," Hermione muttered from her chair beside Ron's. 

"It's not that unbelievable. I'm just surprised we didn't caught right away, after all, he is supposedly the best Potion's Master in Scotland." Draco shrugged. "Anyways, after I told him you'd gone down to stall Quirrell, he looked like he was about to murder someone." the Malfoy scion paused, his face turning red. "He petrified me and stuck me in the corner, and I wasn't released until yesterday morning! Thankfully, an elf came by to feed me, otherwise I'm sure I'd have died of starvation." 

Harry's lips quirked, laughter threatening to bubble forth. "What?!"  he giggled, covering his mouth. 

Draco flushed further, crossing his arms. "It was absolutely horrid," the blonde pouted. "Severus even came back for a few hours, but he barely even glanced at me, other than to tell me you were alright." 

"Speaking of, I got back all right," Hermione tried to distract them, although her eyes were crinkled with amusement. "I brought Ron 'round - that took a while - and we were jut dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall. It was like he already knew about you! He just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" Ron asked, his mirth fading away. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well!" Hermione cut in, looking furious. "If he did, that'd have been terrible - you could have been killed!"

Ignoring her, Harry paused for a moment, thinking. "I suppose he could've planned it all. I mean, don't you find it odd? All of those protections, they weren't terribly difficult to solve." At Ron's affronted look, he pushed on. "I mean, they were difficult, yes, for first-years - but for Voldemort? He'd have gotten passed these in minutes. Think about it; anyone whose read about Orpheus, that Greek guy, could have easily figured out Fluffy's one weakness."

Harry ticked the numbers off his fingers. "We were taught about Devil's Snare by Sprout and in Potions, Snape had us brew Herbicide Potion! If I'd known about the Snare beforehand, I'd have most definitely brought some."

"We were given flying lessons within the first few weeks of school," Hermione jumped in. "And any well-rounded witch or wizard knows how to play chess. The troll, we could've knocked out eventually, and logic quickly got us through the purple fire. It's almost as though - "

"As though Dumbledore wanted Voldemort to steal the Stone, of course," Draco spat, pacing across the small space. "He practically gave us the tools in order to apprehend the Dark Lord! The Mirror of Erised was the only real obstacle, and apparently only certain people could get past it."

"Merlin, why didn't I see it before?" Hermione broke in, slapping her forehead. "The Stone wasn't even real!"

As the others gaped at her, she dived for her book bag, pulling out her notes on Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone. "See, look here - 'The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The infrangible stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.'" 

"Infrangible," Draco mused. "That means unbreakable, right?"

"But if I smashed the Stone against a wall, it had to have been a fake. " Harry's eyes narrowed. "And that means . . . " 

"It means it was all just a trap for the Dark Lord . . . and for you." Draco finished, his voice naught but a whisper.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "It seems I can't trust anyone anymore." he murmured, rubbing his fists into his eyes.

His friends exchanged looks, before Hermione leaned forward to touch Harry's hand. "You can trust us, Harry," she told him, reassuringly. Ron and Draco nodded in agreement.

"I know." Harry spared them a weak smile, clenching Hermione's fingers in response. "I know." 

Their fifteen minutes were up, and the shaking didn't occur until Harry was sure his friends were gone. He laid back into the cool sheets, sobs threatening to wrack his body. Placing a fist over his mouth, he practiced his breathing, thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

Dumbledore was right, Harry thought sardonically to himself, brushing away a rivulet of tears. 

This is only just the beginning. 

Tobe continued inOphidian,Story Five of the Amalgamation Series