Harry’s mind hadn’t been able to settle. Ever since it had clicked that there was someone, in fact, after the Philsopher Stone, he had been trying to come up with a plausible answer as to who it was. There could be any number of unknown ambitions students that wanted the stone; who wouldn’t want to have eternal life and be able to turn any metal into gold? Harry had considered speaking to Snape about his own theories further; the Potions Professor hadn’t offered any more information towards who he suspected, but Harry had a nagging feeling that it was another teacher.
It was something that he didn’t want to really believe; all of the teachers at Hogwarts had been there for a long time. They had all seemed happy with their roles, and no one showed any signs of desperately needing curing for anything. Professor McGonagall was immediately someone he ruled out; he trusted her more than he trusted Dumbledore. Professor Sprout was far too honest to have a hidden agenda. Professor Flitwick was someone who Harry could believe might covert such a thing, but the man would want it for nothing more than to study, not to use. Professor Binns was a ghost and had no use for the stone. Professor Kettleburn could possibly use the stone to replace all of his missing limbs, but the man was too oblivious to anything that wasn’t a magical creature. There were too many people to consider, and Harry didn’t have enough information.
Monday morning, when he made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, the sunny Spring days had disappeared, and a heavily clouded grey morning had taken its place. The dark skies seemed to be threatening rain, and a cold chill hung about the air. As he walked through the doors, Harry spotted Harvey, Hermione and Ron sitting together. None of his friends seemed to have made it down for breakfast, it was still early, and few students were about, so Harry walked over to join them.
Harvey and Hermione greeted him with warm smiles, but Ron sneered at him in a very Snape like fashion. Harry had been tempted to ask if he had been taking notes about Snape’s expression rather than focusing on his Potions homework because it would explain the boy's horrid grade. Instead, he went straight to the one thing his mind couldn’t shake.
“Have you lot had any luck coming up with any possible suspects?” asked Harry.
Hermione sighed. “No.”
“Snape is the only one I think is suspicious,” mumbled Ron.
Harry sighed.
Harvey said, “Ron, you only say that because you don’t like him.”
“No,” snapped Ron, “I think that because he was acting suspiciously. He ran straight out on Halloween night to go to the third floor once Quirrell came running in and screaming about the troll. He hexed your broom, Harvey. And he got bit failing to get past that bloody dog.”
Harry wanted to punch the boy. How many times did he need to repeat himself? “Snape doesn’t want the stone, Ronald.”
The red-head glared at the use of his full name.
“What about Quirrell?” asked Harvey.
Harry glanced at his brother curiously. “Huh?”
“Professor Quirrell; does he have a motive?” asked Harvey.
Harry hadn’t even thought about the Defence Professor. The man had always been odd, and during his defence classes that year, he had felt a strange arua around the man. Harry had initially ignored it; Carlisle’s theory was that it was the garlic odour that Professor Quirrell radiated, that or the purple turban he had suddenly decided was fashionable. He wasn’t certain, though.
It had seemed strange that the Professor had disappeared for a whole year only to return and teach a different subject. It seemed an odd subject for some, a nervous and timid man to teach. When he had taught Muggle Studies, the man had seemed comfortable and adapt; not that Muggle Studies had been all that interesting of a subject to Harry, it had been an easy grade. However, Harry had noticed that the Professor’s stutter had seemed stronger than before and that he seemed more withdrawn than before.
“His only crime is that stupid purple thing he wears on his head,” said Ron.
“It’s called a turban, Ron,” said Hermione.
“Whatever.”
Harry leant against the table and wondered what Snape would say. He had never seen the two Professor together, except for the night when the Troll had gotten in, and both of them had arrived in the girl's bathroom with McGonagall.
“Harry?”
Focusing back on the three first years, Harry looked at his brother. “Yeah?”
“Should we ask Professor Snape about Quirrell?” he asked.
Ron sighed. “It’s not Quirrell.”
Harry ignored him. “I will talk to Professor Snape; he is less likely to sneer and ignore me.”
Harvey nodded.
“If fact, I should probably get him before class.” Harry glanced up and made sure the Professor wasn’t sitting at his place at the teacher’s table. The man didn’t normally eat all that often in the Great Hall, but occasionally he did.
Leaving the three alone to finish their breakfast, Harry headed down towards Snape’s lab. More students were awake and heading up, and Carlisle caught Harry before he got past the Slytherin Common Room.
“Hey, mate,” called Carlisle.
“Hey,” said Harry.
Carlisle smiled and slung his arm over Harry’s shoulders. “I have a favour to ask.”
Harry frowned. Finals were next week, and Harry knew exactly what Carlisle was going to ask. “Sure.”
“Potions has been kicking my butt this year—”
“Potions kicks your butt every year.”
Carlisle sighed. “Well, yes. But what’s the point in having a best friend who is a wiz at potions if you don’t ask for their help.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not telling you what’s on the exam.”
Carlisle frowned. “Oh, come on. Just narrow it down a bit.”
This was something that happened every year. Carlisle wasn’t stupid; in fact, he was rather smart when he applied himself. He got mostly Exceeds Expectations for his classes. But what he did like to do was procrastinate and try to find a way that would let him avoid putting in the effort. Between Amelia and Harry, they normally made sure he knuckled down, but Harry hadn’t had much of a chance to do that this year.
“Carlisle, I am more than happy to help you study. But I’m not going to help you cheat.”
Carlisle pouted.
“Meet me in the library after dinner; bring Amelia, and the two of us will help you study.”
Carlisle’s pout only grew. “Fine,” he mumbled.
Harry shook his head at his friend's antics. “Don’t be such a sour puss.”
“A real friend wouldn’t do this to me.”
Harry shoved him lightly. “Grow up. I’ll see you later.”
Carlisle cracked a smirk and waved as he headed.
Talking to Carlisle did make Harry realise that he would need to knuckle down this week. His first O.W.L. was next week, and he needed to get some serious revision done. The only bonus was that he had one less test to take than the rest of his classmates, but that didn’t mean the pressure was any less.
Snape was in his lab; no potions were brewing which was a surprise, but he was sitting behind his desk when a pensive look on his face.
Harry asked, “Should I be concerned?”
The Potion’s Professor looked up, but his expression didn’t change. “I spoke to Professor Dumbledore about our concerns.”
Harry was surprised. He didn’t think the Headmaster had returned yet. The man had been called away to the ministry on Saturday and hadn’t been seen since.
“He believes that we have no need to be worried. Dumbledore is confident in the protections place,” said Snape.
Harry nodded. He would have liked to be able to trust the protection as much as Dumbledore, but he didn’t know what was down there. Snape wasn’t exactly going to share those details, and it was probable that Snape didn’t even know what protections the other teachers had placed.
“What do we do now?” asked Harry.
Snape sighed and stood from his desk. “Keep a close eye.”
“It would help if you would tell me who we needed to keep an eye on,” said Harry.
Snape nodded. “Right.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But what I tell you does not leave this room. Your brother and his friends have tangled themselves up in this enough.”
Harry nodded. “Deal.”
“Alright, then.” Snape said, “Quirrell is up to something.”
It wasn’t what Harry expected. “Quirrell?”
“Yes. Ever since the man returned from his sabbatical, things have been odd. On Halloween, after the Troll was let into the school, I found it odd that rather than simply knocking out the Troll—which Quirrell should have been able to achieve—he chose to panic the entire school but rushing into the Great Hall. I stepped out of the hall and kept an eye on Quirrell; while everyone was doing what needed to be done, the man headed to the third floor. I followed him and tried to head him off; this led to me getting bitten by that stupid three-headed-mutt.” Snape sneered as he mentioned Fluffy. “I confronted him after everything had been dealt with. He denied it, claimed that he hadn’t let the troll in and that he was only making certain that no one else was trying to get to the stone. I didn’t believe him and decided to keep my eye on him.
“Then your brother’s first quidditch match. For some reason, someone placed a hex on his broom. My first initial thought was that someone was playing a cruel prank, but when my counter-curse did almost nothing, I knew that someone with a lot more practice than a student was casting it. I also released that it wasn’t until a certain little know it all set my robes on fire, causing me to knock into Quirrell, who was sitting behind me, did the curse break.”
Harry frowned. “Why would he go after Harvey?”
Snape sighed. “I wasn’t sure at first until it clicked.” He moved across the room and leant against the bench. “Quirrell has no reason, personally, to need the stone or harm your brother. I tried to think of any reason why he might desire an immortal life but came up with nothing. Then you mentioned the creature drinking Unicorn blood. I don’t think Quirrell wants it for himself; I think he wants it for a third party.”
“And this is the person drinking the Unicorn blood? The one who needs the stone to restore them?”
Snape nodded.
“Who?”
“Can you not think of a wizard who might need such power? Who has waited years for an opportunity to regain their power? Someone who has been trapped in a weakened state? Someone who might hold a grudge against your brother, the Boy-Who-Lived?” asked Snape.
The thought startled Harry. His stomach twisted into knots, and all he could see in his mind was a flash of green. “Voldemort.”
Snape nodded. “No one really knows what happened to him the night he chose to go after your brother; only you and Harvey were in that room. There was no trace of his body, so there is no proof that he ever truly died.”
Harry took a shaky breath. “Why would Quirrell align himself with Voldemort?”
“Quirrell has never been well respected. He was teased in school for his timid behaviour; he is mocked as a teacher for his stutter. He probably craves acknowledgement from someone, power that will show everyone who has ever wronged him that they messed up.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to think.
“Then again, Voldemort could be forcing Quirrell. The man might not have much choice in his actions.”
“Did you tell Dumbledore about Voldemort?” asked Harry.
Snape sighed. “The old man has always believed that somewhere out there, Voldemort has been lurking. There was no reason to believe that he would stay gone forever. But if he is trapped in a state between life and death, then the stone is one way for him to gain back the body he lost.”
“If we do nothing, and Voldemort gets the stone…” Harry couldn’t find the words to formulate how he was feeling. The details were fuzzy of that night, but Harry remembered how scared he felt, and he heard Harvey’s screams. He could still see the bright green light that had shot towards him and his brother. But what had happened to that man, he didn’t know. The thought that he might be live and could come after Harvey again or his family again terrified him.
“Harry, we won’t let that happen,” said Snape. “I think it would be best if you let me handle this, but I can tell that isn’t going to happen. So just keep an eye on Quirrell when you can. If anything rubs you the wrong way, then let me know, or tell McGonagall. Don’t go running in like your father would.”
Harry wanted to bite back that his father wouldn’t be that stupid, but he had heard the stories of what Sirius, James, Remus and their other friend—that they didn’t seem to want to mention—got up to in their years at Hogwarts.
“I promise not to do anything stupid,” said Harry.
Snape nodded. “Good. Now, we have a bunch of pointless first years to teach.”
Harry followed Snape into the lesson, but his mind wasn’t in it. He seemed to work on autopilot as they went through the revision, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Voldemort. If it was Voldemort, then that creature Harvey had seen in the forest was him; he had been right there and could have hurt him. He wondered how long that half-alive wizard had been watching from the forest? Or was there another way that he was moving about? And Quirrell, how was he supposed to sit in his defence class and pretend like he didn’t suspect the man?
It was bad enough that he had his O.W.L.S to focus on, but now he had a possible Dark Wizard trying to get his body back and possibly trying to kill his brother! Could his year get any more fucked up?
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The rest of Harry’s day had been less than productive. He hadn’t been able to focus on any other his other classes with the fact that Voldemort was possible running around trying to find a way to get a stone that could bring him back. It was daunting, and having to keep that information from Harvey, when his younger brother wanted nothing more than to help, was challenging.
There had been numerous occasions when Harry had just wanted to explain everything, but Harry had sworn to keep the information to himself. There was also the probability that if Harry told Harvey, then he would tell Hermione and also Ron, and Harry knew that Ron would have them all down the trap door before the day was out.
It was easier around his friends who had no concerns about the third floor or the Philospher Stone; only Jenna and Dylan had ever really heard it mentioned before, but the both of them were so deeply focused on studying for their O.W.L.S that they didn’t notice how Harry was practically chomping down his own fingernails.
Harry was trying to study. Jenna and Dylan had claimed a table in the Ravenclaw Common Room and were working together when Harry had walked in. He decided that he would try and act normal, join them and try to focus on his O.W.L.S and not the possible doom that Voldemort might be back.
He did feel ridiculous, just thinking it felt like he was being dramatic. But then, someone had tried to harm Harvey by jinxing his broom. If Voldemort was controlling Quirrell into doing his bidding, then Harvey could be in real danger?
Dylan let out a dramatic huff and glared at Harry.
He frowned at his friend. “What?” Harry asked.
Dylan clenched his jaw. “Stop tapping your bloody finger on the table.”
Harry hadn’t even noticed; his hand was nervously tapping against the edge of the table. He clenched his fingers together; he wasn’t a nervous tick sort of person.
“Thank you,” sighed Dylan.
Jenna said, “Dylan, relax. And the same with you.” She nudged Harry. “You seem incredibly high strung today.”
Harry pulled his hand into his lap. “Sorry, I didn’t realise I was even doing it.”
Jenna frowned and touched his arm. “You okay?”
He tried to offer a reassuring smile, one that he is certain did nothing. “Yeah, just busy.”
Jenna didn’t believe him; her eyes told him as much. But she nodded her head and looked back down at her textbook. “Alright, in that case, you can quiz me on Charms.”
Harry felt relieved that she didn’t push him for a real answer and was happy to distract himself.
“Can we start with defence?” asked Dylan.
Jenna squinted her eyes at him. “Charms is our first exam.”
“Yeah, but we all know that we’re good with Charms. It’s your defence that could use some work,” said Dylan. He kept his eyes on his textbook, but his mouth quirked up in a smile.
Jenna glared at him and grabbed a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean from the box that was sitting on the table and threw it at him. Harry chuckled as Dylan caught it in his mouth as he smirked, but his face quickly screwed up.
“Crap! Tastes like dirt,” said Dylan.
Jenna smiled happily before handing her textbook over to Harry. “Charms first.”
The three of them sat there and took turns. It was easy to get caught up and not realise how much time had passed. They had never made it down to dinner, and as Jenna and Dylan started packing up their books, Harry was sent to the kitchens to get them all something to eat.
They still had a few hours before curfew, so Harry wasn’t in a rush. He left the Ravenclaw tower and made his way downstairs. He passed a few other students that seemed to be lingering and couldn’t help but pause as he passed the third-floor corridor. Unlike the rest of the hallways, the third-floor was dark, and it gave Harry some reprieve to know that no one had been down it recently.
Continuing on, Harry made it to the kitchens as his stomach grumbled at him again. Inside, he found the house-elves working, they never seemed to stop, and one of them turned to smile at Harry.
“How can Tiny help you?” asked the house-elf.
Harry smiled. “My friends and I missed dinner; I was hoping you could wrap me up a few sandwiches.”
Tiny smiled and nodded. “Of course, Tiny can do that. Tiny be right back.”
Harry waited near the door and watched as the house-elf walked over to a bench with another elf. It had always fascinated him watching house-elves work; their wandless magic wasn’t something they had to learn; it seemed almost second nature to them.
Tiny didn’t take very long, and they walked back over to Harry with three brown paper bags. Tiny smiled and said, “Three sandwiches and a few other things for you and your friends.”
Harry took the bags. “Thank you, Tiny.”
The elf seemed to blush before turning and scurrying away.
Harry opened one of the bags and pulled out a sandwich as he left the kitchens and headed back towards Ravenclaw Tower; he was too hungry to wait. As he walked along, he turned down an empty corridor that passed the defence classroom and paused when he heard a cry of pain. Looking around, Harry couldn’t see anyone. No people and no ghosts. He pondered if he had perhaps not really heard anything, but then he heard a whimper.
The sound seemed to come from the defence classroom. Putting his sandwich back in his bag, Harry stepped towards the door and listened.
“I’m sorry, master.” The whimpering voice sounded familiar. “I won’t fail you—ah!”
Harry touched the door and almost jumped when it slid open. The last person to go through it hadn’t latched it properly.
“See that you don’t.”
Harry frowned at another voice. It was deeper than the first by sounded raspy like someone was struggling to breathe.
“I swear, master.” It was Quirrell. The person whimpering was Professor Quirrell; Harry was certain.
In that moment, Harry should have considered his options before doing what he did. He should have realised that he could confirm with Snape that Quirrell was working for someone, and that would be enough cause to stop him; at least Harry could have hoped that it would be. Harry hadn’t been able to tell who the second voice was, but if it was Voldemort than he was already in the school. That should have been enough for Harry to sneak away and share what he had found out.
But no. Harry’s curiosity made him step into the classroom and peer around the door. He didn’t make a sound. But across the room, leaning against the teacher’s desk, was Quirrell. For the first time all year, the Professor wasn’t wearing his turban; it was sitting in a pile on the desk. The professor’s head was on display, and Harry could see that something was on the back of Quirrell’s head.
“I need the stone, Quirrell.”
Harry almost gasped in shock as the back of Quirrell’s head moved.
“Yes, master,” said Quirrell. He gripped the desk he was leaning on. “I just need more time.”
“No!”
Quirrell’s arm slipped, and his side hit the desk. The man groaned in pain, but now the back of his head was looking straight at Harry.
There was a face. A distorted, stretched face that had horrible red eyes and staring right at him. The features on the face warped into fury. “Quirrell! The boy!”
Quirrell’s head shot up; fear was all across his face, as was pain. But he forced himself to stand and yanked out his wand.
Harry dropped the bags of food and reached for his own wand, but he wasn’t quick enough. A bright flash of light shot out of the Professor wand and hit Harry directly in the chest. The force of the spell sent Harry flying back; he hit the frame on the door flinging his head back, which hit the brick wall with a hard crack.
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