----------------------------------------
Previously -
My heart freezes, as I slowly turn my head, finding Harry Potter in the same situation I am in.
Tied down, trussed up like a pig to the slaughter.
"Lucas, can you hear me!? Answer me you bastard!? Tonks is shouting in my head and I almost cry in relief.
"I'm here." I reply back, and I can hear her crying in my head. "We're in the third corridor, at the end."
Quirrell taps his thin lips as he watches us both, "Well, I have to say, I would be lost in time forever right now if it weren't for the two of you, to think bringing the children along stopped Albus' trap from snapping shut. How soft of him." He shakes his head, "Absolutely brilliant, this time trap, genius. I'm quite jealous."
He snaps his fingers and they're both slowly dragged forward in front of him.
Quirinus Quirrell grins with a hint of dark promise, "Let's discuss what happens next, shall we, boys?"
…
I stare up at him, mind practically blank, what can I even say, what can I even do? The plans I'd made were defunct, I have Tonks as support, but on the other side of some sort of time bubble? Time ward? Whatever Dumbledore had tried to catch Voldemort with.
I'm completely at his mercy, together with Harry Potter, who of course just had to end up here, even if I did my best all year to focus him on getting stronger and having friends - instead of going on hairbrained adventures.
Fate isn't it?
"What's there to discuss?" I say coldly, refusing to cower in fear. I now remember the first encounter I had, outside the room of requirements - I'm not that boy anymore. I will not go to my death without a fight. "You didn't bring us here to talk, you have some use for us, Voldemort!"
Next to me Harry jerks in his bindings, staring at the both of us in horror, face completely white, his scar standing out more prominently as dread overtakes his every feature.
Quirrell on the other hand, simply begins to chuckle, the fingertips of one hand held to his head, before the chuckles move into full out laughter, which eventually peters out. "Haaah," He breathes out after a moment, controlling himself, "What a good reminder that for all your scary abilities in divination, you're still just a boy."
"My Master is not here right now, little mudblood, it's all me." He croons, a cruel smile blossoming onto his face.
"You're… Not possessed?" I choke out, eyes wide in realization. I had let my bias control me, if Quirrell isn't Voldemort's vessel… "No… He wouldn't!?" I shake in my bonds, refusing to believe Voldemort would ever lower himself so much as to inhabit Argus bloody Filch!
Yet, my ritual had shown the man briefly, a mistake I had thought, so focused on Quirrell - and hadn't I just ran past Filch in the corridors before I'd been stunned and brought here? "Voldemort would never!" I cry out desperately, because if that was true, then he was free to do whatever while we were stuck here!
Quirrell crouches down, thin fingers grasping my jaw as he turns my head to and fro, studying me with a frown on his lips, "Interesting, immediately upon realizing you were wrong, you were able to get to the right conclusion, just how much have you seen?" He murmurs.
"Filch is Voldemort!?" Harry cries out, looking the most distressed I've ever seen him, looking seconds away from throwing up his breakfast.
I blanch, thinking of the time I ended up sending Harry to Filch. I have literally delivered the boy-who-lived to Lord Voldemort this year. No doubt he's been obliviated to hell and back too, I close my eyes in regret.
My mistakes just pile up, can my successes even count against all of this? My hubris?
Unfortunately the likelihood of Harry ever trusting me enough for me to use Legilimency to try and poke at those blocks are slim to none, and by next year they'd likely be unrecoverable anyway, if not already. I have to assume Voldemort is even better at this than Quirrell after all.
If I survive this, the thought of what Voldemort did during those detentions… It's going to be on my mind for a while. But who would have ever thought Voldemort would possess Filch of all people? How did he even manage to do that to a squib and not have to drown in unicorn blood all year?
Quirrell chuckles again, turning to Harry, while still grasping my jaw uncomfortably, his fingernails digging into my skin, "Oh, don't look so horrified, Potter. The Squib was himself most of the time, it's not like my Master would lower himself to clean up after little brats like yourself." He glanced back down at me, eyes cool and calculating, "I did ask you a question mudblood? How much have you seen? How much do you know about my Master?"
"I don't know anything." I spit out, glaring at him, pushing down the fear that threatens to paralyze me, forcing it into the back of my mind.
"Leave him alone!" Harry yells, struggling harder against his bonds, "You want me, don't you? The boy-who-lived?" He says bitterly, "So leave him alone!"
"Shut up, Harry!" I growl out, wanting to smack the idiot Gryffindor, but I can't even turn my head his way to glare at him properly, my face still held by Quirrell.
Between the two of us, I'm the one that has suffered torture of a kind before, I definitely don't want Harry to go through that - I can hold out, Tonks is on the way. And she'll be able to call for help, I have to believe in it, in her.
"Children behave." Quirrell says with an amused quirk to his lips, before tilting his head towards Harry, "Don't interrupt again, little lion," He warns Harry, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes, "As much as it pains me to admit, this mudblood right now is much much more important than you and your little scar."
Just got to keep wasting time, keep him talking. I think firmly, glaring at him.
Quirrell laughs under his breath, "Oh, you have managed to strengthen your mind, but not enough for me to not see exactly what you're hoping for." He leans in so close I can feel his breath ghosting over my cheeks, "Time in here moves so much slower little mudblood, I should thank Albus, really, we have all the time in the world to… Talk…"
My breath catches in my throat, is that why I haven't heard anything back from Tonks? But… I managed to talk to her when we entered the room? Had the effect not kicked in properly?
Tonks? I try, my gut sinking when I don't immediately get a reply. I hadn't even realized how quiet my mind had become.
Knowing Tonks, there's no way she would not have been chattering my ears off right now - with status updates, asking how I'm doing, the whole thing…
As my realization sinks in, Quirrell lets go of my jaw, standing back up, smirking cruelly, "Yes… That's right, not exactly what dear old Albus had planned for this I suspect. But now you're locked in here with me, and who knows how long… So I'll ask one more time, Lucas… Little Mudblood…" His face twists into a snarl, as he jabs his wand towards me, "What have you seen in regards to my Master?"
I can't tell him, things are bad enough as they are, if I reveal I know about the Horcruxes, Death Eater identities, Voldemort's history…
Tonks… You better be working on it… I think, steeling myself. The situation is bad enough as it is, without me helping Voldemort with future knowledge. The fact he's running around Hogwarts somewhere while Quirrell is here - only makes it worse.
All I can do is continue to distract Quirrell, he's not even bothering with the stone right now because of me, so I'll have to keep him focused on me…
This is going to suck…
"I don't know anything more about Voldemort, I thought you were him." I say, holding back my instinctive response of telling him to go fuck himself. Hoping I'll delay things even for just another moment by being less confrontational.
Of course I should have known my luck doesn't work that way.
Quirrell's smile widens, glee overtaking his features, "I was hoping you'd be difficult." He admits, laughing lightly, before darkly calling out, "Crucio!"
I am immediately writhing on the ground, consumed by a pain so intense it obliterates everything else. Someone is screaming, maybe it is me, maybe it is Harry, I can't even understand it, all that matters is the agony.
Every nerve in my body is on fire. It feels as though a thousand red-hot knives were stabbing me simultaneously, each twist and turn of the blade sends shockwaves of torment through my veins. My muscles seize up, contorting my body into unnatural shapes as I scream, or at least I think I scream, but the sound seems distant, muffled by the overwhelming pain that dominates every thought, every breath.
Time loses all meaning. Is it seconds? Minutes? It could have been hours for all I knew. Each moment stretches into eternity, an endless loop of suffering that I can't escape. There is no relief, no reprieve. Just pain, pure and unrelenting.
My mind, usually sharp and alert, becomes a haze of agony. I can't think, can't focus on anything but the raw, searing sensation coursing through me. Even my memories start to fade, replaced by this singular, excruciating experience - it's all of my existence.
At some point, I feel my body give in completely, muscles twitching uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face, I am no longer in control. The curse has taken over, reducing me to a helpless, quivering mess. My screams turn to whimpers as the last vestiges of my strength ebbs away.
When it finally ends, the pain doesn't just disappear. It lingers, a dull ache in every part of me, a cruel reminder of what I have endured. I lay there, exhausted, broken, every breath a painful effort. The room slowly came back into focus, but I am changed. The memory of that unbearable pain is etched into my very soul, a scar that I don't think will ever fully heal.
The real thing is so much more… Then I could have ever imagined. I see now why the Longbottoms lost their minds. I can see why it's called an unforgivable. There is no excuse ever to use that curse.
My panting breaths feel extremely loud in the chamber, my hair soaked through with sweat, the only thing I hear besides my own breath is Harry struggling in his binds, tears falling as he bears witness.
"Is… Is that all you've got?" I manage to get out weakly. Refusing to bend, refusing to give in, I will find a way, Tonks will find a way.
I'm not going to let this bastard just do whatever he wants!
Quirrell clicks his tongue, shaking his head, "Bravado, really? From a Hufflepuff? You've felt it now… Can you really say you want that experience again?"
I don't. I really really don't want to feel that again. But the other two options are that I either spill the beans and likely doom the magical world - or let him take a turn on Harry.
And I can not let either of those options happen.
"I've…Had… Worse… Playing as a… Kid…" I manage to get out between clenched teeth, my breath almost stolen from me as my lungs seem to spasm.
Didn't know lungs could spasm like that… It isn't a fun feeling.
Weirdly enough, Quirrell almost looks at me with respect, practically saluting me with his wand, I would have thought it an hallucination, except for what he said right after,
"Mudblood you may be, but at least you're the cream of the crop of your species." He murmurs appreciatively. "When we take you with us and use your divination for our cause, you can't be too broken, unfortunately…" He sighs, looking put out. "Ruins all the fun…"
This man makes no sense to me, minutes ago he mocked my bravado, after I've suffered pain beyond reckoning, and I do the same thing again, he is suddenly able to respect me?
Also, what? I shudder, not from the pain still wracking my body, but from the idea Lord Voldemort apparently has designs for me.
Good news, it means Quirrell can't kill me or break my mind here - bad news, it means if I don't find a way to eke out a win here, I'll get the worst kind of end. One where death is a mercy.
"Well, one more shouldn't hurt!"
Pain. So. Much. Pain.
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Ministry of Magic,
The air in the Wizengamot's chamber was thick with tension. The majestic hall, nestled deep within the Ministry of Magic, was designed to command respect and awe. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with magical frescoes of significant events in wizarding history loomed above, while grand pillars lined the walls, their surfaces etched with the names of former esteemed members. Today, however, the hall felt more foreboding than majestic.
As the last member had entered an hour ago, the massive oak doors had closed with a resounding thud. They had been immediately sealed with a complex array of enchantments. Wands raised in unison, the members of the protective division of the Wizengamot had chanted in a low, rhythmic cadence. A shimmering golden barrier had sprung up around the perimeter of the room, flickering momentarily before solidifying into an impenetrable shield. This was no ordinary magical seal - it was designed to prevent any form of intrusion or escape, and more importantly, to ensure absolute confidentiality.
Albus had been in quite a few meetings like this, where they called upon magic from ancient times and ensured no disturbances could possibly interrupt them.
But never for such a simple thing like this. Cornelius had really gone all out in an effort to punish his wife's killer. These kinds of meetings were usually for matters of grave national security, or war. Not for a single assassination.
Albus would have felt more comfortable with the effort if it wasn't so obviously a ploy from Tom to keep him out of Hogwarts.
The trap was already set, the outcome would be victory, of that Albus was fairly certain. Yet he felt uncomfortable having to be away for the duration, without being able to put his finger on the scale.
Either Tom and his servant would be trapped forever in time, or they'd get the stone and escape - and Albus would still win in the end. But he'd be more comfortable with being able to direct the ploy to the end. Although he always assumed Tom would find a way to draw him out of Hogwarts, the plan did account for that, it still left him feeling… Discombobulated.
Only because of this chance for absolute victory, had he allowed the year to go on as it had, even as it broke whatever heart he had left to see his students pay for it. He trusted his staff, they'd be able to minimize the damage, surely.
They'd all agreed in the end, him, Rufus, Amelia, Algernon, Nicholas… A final solution would require sacrifices.
If only it could be them providing said sacrifices, and not innocent students who should only have to worry about what homework to skip, and how much candy to eat…
The longer the year went on, the more Albus felt his age. For the greater good… Such an innocuous statement that could lead to so much suffering. Yet if they won in the end, he admitted to himself, he'd do it all over again - no matter the sacrifice.
He slumped slightly in his seat, fiddling with his half moon glasses, letting the enchantments on them sweep over the room, cataloging which members had what kind of spells or magical objects on them.
There was always a chance Tom would try and strike here too, to remove him from play through deceit and ambush tactics. Tom always did enjoy convoluted plans. Yet there was nothing in particular that stood out, the usual suspects had the usual charms on to hide their… Predilections.
Albus thought a Wizengamot meeting was an odd locale for enjoying such… Private endeavors and toys. But he was an old man, who was he to say what the young ones got up to nowadays? As it wasn't anything dangerous, he let it be, eyes scanning the room for anything actually dangerous, finding nothing.
It didn't mean there wasn't something, just that whoever Tom sent was just that good in that case. Albus would have to remain on guard. He didn't fear for himself, he was after all a wizard of the level even Tom didn't attack lightly. But there were other targets in this chamber who could set their efforts back if they were lost, hence his seating arrangement.
Albus stroked his long silver beard softly, as it glistened in the low light, he was seated beside Alastor Moody, sent to represent the Auror office, and not far from Amelia Bones, his ally. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief or wisdom, were now clouded with concern as his thoughts turned back towards Hogwarts.
Alastor Moody, the gruff man acting as the Head of the Auror Office's representative, to allow Rufus to remain outside, protecting the ministry - leaned in towards Dumbledore, his voice a low murmur.
"It's a mess, Albus. Cornelius is beside himself with grief and rage. We've never seen anything like it, this could become troublesome going forward." Alastor whispered, his gruff voice barely audible over the murmur of the other members conferring in their seats.
The whole first hour had been nothing but Cornelius raging, and some brief statements about the evidence, Karkaroff had not even been heard from yet, chained up completely in the chair facing the Wizengamot, his eyes confused and fearful.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the figure in the center of the room. Igor Karkaroff, a Death Eater, as was now confirmed. The former Headmaster of Durmstrang, sat chained to the chair. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes darting around in confusion. It was clear he had no real idea why he was there.
Other than what he'd been told.
"The Obliviation was somewhat botched," Alastor continued. "Whoever did it was either in a hurry or not as skilled as they thought. Most of Karkaroff's more useful memories are gone, but there are fragments - images, feelings - that keep surfacing according to what little we could get out of him before Fudge set off this circus. It's enough to know he was involved, but not enough to understand why or how."
Dumbledore sighed wearily. Oh, Igor, you could have been so much more... "Do we have any leads on who might have tampered with his mind?" He asked, mind only half on the issue, as it continued to wander to Hogwarts.
Alastor shook his head. "Not yet. It's likely it was an accomplice, someone who didn't want Karkaroff to spill the details." He hesitated briefly, scowling, before looking around furtively, lowering his voice further, "Whoever did the deed, botched the Obliviation just enough that we got a name from his previous affiliates, enough to begin to dig."
Amelia called the session to order, by dint of her job as the head of the DMLE, she'd be in charge of this special session due to its criminal nature. Her voice echoed through the chamber, amplified by magic, and the members immediately began settling down.
Albus wasn't the only one that was pleased that they didn't have to listen to Cornelius rant any longer. Although he hid it better than most.
"Members of the Wizengamot, we convene today under the gravest of circumstances. The murder of Amelia Fudge is a tragedy that has struck at the heart of our community - and our Ministry. We must ascertain the truth, no matter how deeply it may be buried." Amelia said sternly, sending them all a look that brooked no arguments.
She turned her gaze to Karkaroff, who flinched under her scrutiny. "Igor Karkaroff, you stand accused of the murder of Amelia Fudge. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Karkaroff looked up, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I don't... I don't remember. I don't know what happened. Please, you have to believe me."
Heckling came from some corners of the Wizengamot, before they all quailed under Amelia's gaze.
Amelia nodded to a scribe who stepped forward, holding a shimmering vial. "This is Veritaserum, Karkaroff. Three drops will compel you to speak the truth. Given the state of your memory, this is our best chance to piece together what happened."
Normally there would need to be a vote for such a thing, and Albus wasn't one to usually advocate for speeding things up for the sake of simplicity and saving time - but in this instance he was relieved.
When it came to Veritaserum, even though the law was clear that any outed Death Eater had no right to refuse it, fierce debates always began whenever it was brought up, and they'd likely spend days in here if Amelia hadn't just sidestepped it completely and simply ordered it done.
Just a few years ago, she'd have refused to do such a thing, Albus knew. Times had changed, and they all had to be adaptable to ensure the best results came to be. Even if Amelia and Rufus didn't believe in the power of prophecy quite like he and Algernon did.
Nicholas of course enjoyed playing the old mentor, and refused to share his own opinion properly.
It frustrated Albus to have the old man duck out on explaining his position on things properly, always having some trite saying or convoluted message instead of plainly speaking his mind.
The scribe carefully administered the potion, and a tense silence fell over the room as they waited for the serum to take effect. Karkaroff's eyes glazed over, and his body relaxed into the chair.
"Now, Karkaroff," Amelia began, "Tell us what you remember about the events surrounding Amelia Fudge and her murder."
Karkaroff's voice was flat and monotonous as he began to speak. "I remember being in a dark room looking out. There was a lot of noise... Shouting. I saw a flash of green light. And then... Nothing. Just darkness."
Dumbledore leaned in closer to Alastor, murmuring. "If this is what we think it is, we won't get anywhere via Veritaserum, sadly."
Death Eaters were generally a careful bunch nowadays, they wouldn't have left much to chance - not if Tom was giving the orders again as it seemed.
Alastor nodded grimly, chewing on his lip, "We have to move through the steps, or Fudge will lose it, as pointless as it is." He sounded resigned to a long day, both of them knowing that for all that he was fairly competent as Minister, Cornelius Fudge held his grudges to the bitter end.
Better he focused on Karkaroff, then on them, if their hand was revealed through recent events.
One of the members of Fudge's entourage interjected herself into the interrogation, a singularly unpleasant woman, he thought - and Albus very rarely held such opinions. "Karkaroff, who were you with that night? Do you remember any faces, any names?" She called out, ignoring the dark look Amelia sent her way.
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Karkaroff's brow furrowed in concentration, even as his voice remained monotone. "There was a woman, no a… Man? Tall, with dark hair? Maybe… I think... I think he was giving orders. But I can't remember his face clearly."
The members of the Wizengamot exchanged irritated glances. This fragmented recollection was frustratingly vague, and was preventing them from getting anywhere.
Amelia pressed on. "Do you remember anything specific about this man? A name, a distinguishing feature, anything?"
Karkaroff shook his head slowly, eyes still glazed over "No. It's like trying to remember a dream. It's all... Fuzzy and indistinct."
Albus sighed again, feeling restless, as he leaned back in his chair. "This is going to be more difficult than we anticipated, without a real answer, the day will grow long."
Alastor clenched his jaw. "We have to find out who did this to his memory, even if it isn't someone high up in the chain, revealing just one cell could be invaluable. There has to be a way to recover the lost information." He eyed Albus meaningfully, asking without asking.
After all, the Aurors could hardly demand for someone to use the extremely restricted art of Legilimency on someone. That would open a whole slew of legislative issues. Now if the order came from above…
Well, that would be their headache then.
Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully, letting out a brief hum, as he thought it over, "Legilimency might help, but given the state of his mind, it could also be of some risk. We might damage what's left of his memories." He warned solemnly.
Alastor grimaced, looking down at Karkaroff with distaste. "We don't have much choice. We need answers, and we need them quickly, if there's something else going on, we must know, you know that as well as I do, Albus."
And it was not often they had a confirmed Death Eater on hand to squeeze either. If they could draw out a few names… Even if the use of Legilimency would not allow them to prosecute those names, just knowing them would be of use to the DMLE.
Amelia was conferring with the other senior members and Cornelius, arguing barely audible as they discussed what to do, Karkaroff barely able to give them anything as he was.
Surreptitiously, a tiny piece of parchment made its way down from Alastor's sleeve, down to the floor, navigating its way across to Amelia, and up her robes, before sliding into her hand. Albus could sense it all, but no one else noticed, as Amelia simply glanced down at the note briefly, giving no other sign she'd received it.
She spoke briefly, and Cornelius lit up, immediately looking around for Albus. Moments later, Amelia called the meeting to order again, then turned to where Albus and Alastor were sitting. "The Minister has authorized the use of Legilimency and will take full responsibility. We will proceed with all due caution. Albus, would you be willing to perform the Legilimency?"
Albus nodded. "I will do my best."
Karkaroff was given the antidote to his dose of Veritaserum, as the chamber waited in heady anticipation. With the mind arts so heavily restricted, Legilimency was not something many had much experience with, even in such an august body as the Wizengamot. The members were almost, dare he say it, excited to see it.
Albus had worked tirelessly to help the magical world move forward, and yet, he felt he'd never really understand many of his fellows. This was not anything to look forward to. To be excited for this, he weeped for the state of wizarding kind.
He stood and approached Karkaroff, his wand held gently in his hand. "Igor, I am going to look into your mind. I will try to recover what has been lost. This might be uncomfortable, but it is necessary." He said sorrowfully, knowing that with the man's memories so butchered, this was not going to be comfortable for him.
He'd once tried so very hard to redeem the man before him, so it hurt to know that they were at this point. Just another failure at his feet.
Karkaroff's eyes widened in fear, but he nodded slowly, accepting what was going to happen, although Albus doubted he fully understood it, as he was. "Do what you must." He said quickly.
Albus placed a hand on Karkaroff's shoulder and pointed his wand at his temple. "Legilimens."
The chamber fell silent as Albus' mind connected with Karkaroff's. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, images began to flicker through Karkaroff's mind - fragmented and disjointed, like pieces of a broken mirror. His Occlumency, like his mind, was broken, at least allowing ease of access.
Albus saw flashes of a dimly lit room, the faces of the bodyguards, and the terrified face of Amelia Fudge. He saw the flash of green light that ended her life, and not much else.
Digging deeper, mindful to not disturb the mind more than necessary, he found nothing more that could shed light on the situation. The name Alastor had mentioned, yes, but nothing pertaining to this situation.
Suddenly he staggered, letting go of Karkaroff as he stumbled away, his wand falling from his suddenly numb fingers.
"Albus!" Came from several quarters, Alastor the quickest as he arrived by his side, his wand pointed at Karkaroff, a snarl at his lips, as he prepared to put the Death Eater down.
"Not him…" Albus said weakly, tears running down his face, into his beard. He'd left the Hogwarts wards to his deputy, to Minerva. Trusting no one else to hold them as things stood with Tom on the move.
The wards had just violently returned under his control, and he knew there was only one thing that could have led to that. Sacrifices were needed, but I never thought it would be you… He cried out inwardly, anguish felt deep into his soul.
"Minerva McGonagall is dead, I'm needed at Hogwarts." He croaked out, his wand flying to his hand, "Unseal the chamber!" He ordered.
A cacophony of noise overtook the Wizengamot chamber as the members realized what such a thing would mean. Minerva McGonagall was fiercely respected in the magical community, and anything that could remove her, meant their children were now in peril.
One of the scribes looked at Albus helplessly, "T-that is not an immediate process." She said, almost quaking in her boots.
"Then start now, you useless twit!" Alastor roared at the woman.
Albus and Alastor shared a brief look of intense pain, before Alastor stomped off, to push them to work faster, no doubt.
Albus was like an island, as the chamber erupted into action, no one quite as bold as to approach him as he stood there.
Tears still ran down his face, as he gripped his wand tightly, waiting for the moment he could call on Fawkes, and return to Hogwarts.
Minerva…
I'm so sorry.
----------------------------------------
Tonks was glad that whatever was supposedly protecting the third corridor was no longer there, she didn't have time for puzzles or whatever magic tests that would have been in place - she needed to get to Lucas.
She could only assume they were all destroyed by Quirrell, and thankfully did not reset on their own, likely to allow the Professor's to get through quickly.
Which could have been helpful right about now.
Except they were kind of busy. With a Basilisk.
And she and Lucas would be talking about how he knew there was a Basilisk at their school and he never said anything!
She needed to save him so she could beat the bloody shit out of him for ignoring the literal mythical monster capable of mass slaughter sleeping beneath their feet!
She knew he had some knowledge, likely from all his fiddling with divination, but what use was it if he didn't use it? Not that it helped much with Quirrell, she thought angrily, as she ran, feet slapping onto the stone floor as she ran through the chambers.
The bastard had somehow figured it out, and pre-empted them, and now here they were, with no support. And Penny out there facing a Basilisk…
She shook her head wildly, she couldn't think like that. Penny was safe, she was new, she'd be sent to evacuate students, not to fight a Basilisk, that was for the heads of houses. Sprout… Don't die! She thought, even as she came to a halt, skidding, as she entered the final chamber.
How did she know it was the final one?
Because the whole wall and entrance forward was covered in a shimmering veil of magic, tiny granules of sand floating within.
"Bugger." She said succinctly.
This was so out of her league it wasn't funny.
If only she could reach Lucas again, he'd know what to do, he always did, especially when she was struggling.
"What would Lucas do…?" She mumbled to herself, eyeing the shimmering veil angrily, pacing back and forth, her hair shifting constantly.
Her hand brushed against a pouch, the dice… The dice she'd been holding on to because Lucas didn't trust himself not to roll them and continue to use divination to the point he ruined the results for himself.
So Tonks had them, so they'd be easily available for his friends to roll for questions, but not in his grasp where he'd do it himself. She bit her lip, fingers grazing the small cubes.
Her and Lucas were connected. Ominis had said it would be like Lucas himself was doing it if she performed divination. He'd warned them against it…
"Listen to me you shitty dice! I'm not Lucas, so don't give me any lip, you're going to work! Bloody screw the rules, you're going to work!" She hissed at the dice as she removed them from the pouch.
She had been learning about wards, preparing for her Auror career, so she knew at least enough to spell herself with a kind of limited mage sight, allowing her to see the particulars of wards.
A regular ward had at least a dozen weaves of magic interlaced through it. When she put the spell on to allow her to see through the ward, she saw thousands, if not tens of thousands of weaves.
Her jaw dropped, and she trembled slightly. This is impossible… I can't….
For a moment. Just a moment. She thought of just… Going for help, leaving things as they were, getting someone else to solve this.
Then the feeling of disgust welled up in her. Leave Lucas behind? After all he's done? NO WAY!
She growled, angry at herself for even contemplating it. And kicking herself for her stupidity. "I need a Hogwarts house elf!" She called out.
Immediately an elf appeared, its floppy ears shaking as it looked at the ward with an open mouth.
Tonks waved at the ward, "Can you get through that?" She asked, because first things first. Why deal with the giant fuck off ward if she could just bypass it entirely with a house elf.
The house elf slowly shook its head, trembling, "Sopsy can not, miss." Before the house elf firmed up, shaking a finger at her, "Miss shoulda be evacuating with the other little girls and boys." She chided.
Tonks had figured it was a long shot, but it was worth a try, "Yeah, whatever, look, there's a student caught in there, get the Professor's down here, now." She ordered, stepping closer to the ward, examining the weave, feeling determination filling her.
She would not give up. Never again as long as she lived would she ever give up again. She owed it to Lucas. He'd taken her pain, sacrificed for her, for her bumbling idiotic failure of a life, he'd taken it all on to help her.
She would do this. "Go now!" She yelled, and the house elf made a distressed sound, and popped away.
She didn't know if a Professor would make it in time, but she wasn't going to sit around and pray for them to solve it either. She'd seen already that while powerful, they were not omnipotent, they did not solve all issues just by existing.
This was down to her.
She identified a weave, rolling the dice. "Will unfolding this weave destabilize the ward?" She asked, eyes intent on the little dice.
She continued to roll, weave after weave, until she found one that said yes. Then she rolled again, will doing this kill her or Lucas?
Yes.
And back to it she went until she found another weave, and another, until on the fifth weave with a yes to destabilizing the ward, she got a no, to killing her or Lucas.
So she rolled for a third time, asking if it was safe for them to begin unraveling that weave. Since there were a lot of things that could happen to a person that was below dying - but would still be really horrible.
No, was her answer.
She sighed, and began again.
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In the chamber,
"Harry Potter, why don't we chat while the little mudblood is having a break." Quirrell says, sauntering forward, leaning over to press a finger to his scar, "You know, I expected something… More. But you're entirely normal aren't you? Just fate's little puppet."
I can barely breathe as I lay in a pool of my own vomit and blood, but still I raise my head and look in their direction, Harry looking defiant, even as his gaze flickers my way every so often, blanching at whatever he sees.
"What's wrong with being normal?" He says defiantly, trying to move away from Quirrell's fingers. But they move with him, stroking the scar, Quirrell making an odd sound in the back of his throat, before he suddenly steps back, laughing darkly to something only he knows.
"Oh, I might be mistaken about how normal you are, now that I think about it, but as for what's wrong with that…?" He clicks his tongue, looking disappointed, "Harry, Harry, Harry, being just another person in this world is the same as giving up. If you're not willing to claw your way forward, why even bother living at all?"
He gestures to me, my head straining to remain upright, my throat raw from screaming, "Look at that boy, mudblood that he is, he's still fighting, he's still clawing at everything to survive. He's the lowest of the low, only barely above an animal, but due to his wish to improve his lot, he's something. And never, ever, normal."
Harry looks disgusted, "I'd rather be normal anyday than be someone like you, willing to harm anyone just for what? Voldemort? Like he cares, he sent you here to be trapped didn't he?"
Quirrell, rather than getting upset, just smirks enigmatically, "Hah, he sent me because my Master is wise. He knew Dumbledore would attempt to trap him, and I admit, my Master might have been entrapped by the Mirror of Erised too. Although he'd never admit it, he would never be able to resist looking, resist the challenge, I am more humble, and can avoid that particular trap."
"Don't you want what's in there, doesn't it mean you have to look?" Harry cajoles lightly.
I want to bang my head against the floor, if only it wasn't covered in vomit, Harry, really? Is that the best amount of subterfuge you're capable of?
Quirrell pats him on the head condescendingly, mirroring my own thoughts. "I know you're a Gryffindor, Harry, so I don't expect much, but that was a pathetic attempt." He grasps his hair, dragging him towards the mirror, "Especially when I can just make you look into it, hmm?"
No! I have to stop this, if Harry gets the stone out, Quirrell has no reason to stay, he can leave with us before Dumbledore or the heads of houses can arrive.
"Fucking… Coward!" I call out hoarsely, spitting blood on the ground, letting out a cough.
Quirrell stops, laughing to himself, a playful grin on his lips, "Now, see there, Harry. That's a good way to get me to do something the mudblood wants me to do. He wants to distract me from the mirror, so he's offering up his services yet again." He drops Harry roughly to the ground, raising his wand towards me, "One more time shouldn't break your mind completely, I have faith in you."
I brace myself, but no amount of bracing can help, as I stare at the wand readying another round of absolute agony.
I can only hope the cavalry is on its way.
"Crucio!"
My mind gets swept under.
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I find myself in a completely white space, just a cube of white, floors, walls, ceiling, all white - blinking in surprise as the pain hasn't followed me, and I can finally think without agony disrupting my thoughts.
"You're kind of pathetic, you know?" A voice I recognize well says.
I close my eyes briefly, Merlin, why!? I complain, before I turn around and face myself, the me I defeated when I had my weird little mind fuck episode. He looks like the darker edgier version of me, dressed in all black, and a ridiculous cape.
"I am literally your mind, I can hear you dissing the cape, low-cultured swine!"
"Didn't I defeat you? Shouldn't we be all like one or some nonsense now? Or you could be completely gone, I'd prefer that one." I say bitingly, crossing my arms.
The other me gasps dramatically, holding a hand out, facing my direction, a dark smile on his face, "By striking me down, you only made me more powerful than you could possibly have imagined!"
"If you're playing the bad guy of the two of us, why are you using Obi-wan Kenobi quotes?" I say, unimpressed.
To that, he looks mortally offended, going so far as to swirl his cape dramatically. "Are you even me? There is never a bad time to use an Obi-wan quote." He chides, looking disgusted with me.
"Why are you even here?" I ask again, trying to not break down over the pointlessness of this.
He frowns, giving me a patronizing look, "Because someone's too chickenshit to peek behind the curtain, so here I am, still me!" He spread his arms out, chuckling, "It's great to be me, even if you suck at it, maybe you should take more of a page from dear old Obi-Wan, huh?"
I laugh bitterly, turning away from this ridiculous mental representation, "Yeah, I'll have to disagree there, being tortured to death, changes my perspective… Except no! I'm not that lucky as to simply die, because Voldemort and Quirrell want to lock me up and suck divination juice out of me with a straw!"
"Are you a wizard or not?" He asks sarcastically.
"Sure, I'll just tell my muscles and nerves to stop shrieking in agony." I say back just as sarcastically.
"... Yes. That's the point." He tells me, like I'm being slow.
I stare at him, "I can't just shut off my pain receptors." I explain to him, like he's slow.
"It's magic, why the fuck not?" He says casually, shrugging.
"Because it doesn't work that way…"
"Why?"
"It just doesn't."
"Sounds like a pretty shitty excuse."
"If you've got something to say, say it!" I grit out angrily, almost wishing to be back under the Crucio instead of dealing with… Myself. Merlin I'm fucked up.
"Mind over matter you dumb fuck!" He yells, swishing his cape angrily back and forth as he paces, "You've got all this nice void you've shoved all your memories into, who's to say you can't do the same with pain, huh? You can make someone cluck like a chicken, transfigure a dude into a ferret, and you're saying you can't figure out how to shunt off some itty bitty pain? Are you a wizard or a muggle?"
I move to fire back, and then stop. My mind is drawing a blank, because… Why couldn't that work?
It wouldn't remove the actual physical issue of my nerves being damaged, that would still need healing after, but if I could undo the pain, allow myself the ability to think, and move and use magic, I could surprise Quirrell.
"Can I do it…?" I murmur. "I have to try…"
My opposite scoffs, "Do or do not, there is no try."
I grimace, "Was I a star wars fanboy? You can tell me…" I ask the other me.
"Peek behind the curtain if you wanna find out you scaredy cat." He scoffs, before suddenly appearing before me, leg cocked back, "Now go back out there and stop being a little bitch!" Leg goes forward right into my crotch.
"I'm a terrible person!" I manage to squeak out, before the white room fades…
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As I come back to my own body, I concentrate everything I have on withdrawing into my mind again, except focusing entirely on the pain, instead of trying to fight or flee from it.
Mind over Matter!
I chant to myself as I focus on the void, focus on drawing everything in, putting it in the void, the pain, the feelings, everything. Just away, in the void. Distant, unfeeling, separate.
Slowly I feel it working, I don't know how long I have been working on it, but suddenly I can feel my limbs again, even as Quirrell chuckles, torturing me while holding a conversation with Harry, who's pleading for him to stop.
My scream cuts off for a moment, before I catch on and fake another one, please everything that is holy, Merlin, Morgana and Maeve, just distract him for two more minutes!
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Tonks takes a deep breath, she's done everything she could, performed her due diligence on the matter.
It is time to just let fate decide.
Lucas…
She pokes the weave she wants undone, pushing her magic into it, the whole veil beginning to shake and strain.
…
Quirrell's head snaps up, "What!?" He calls out, horrified, as the room seems to waver, his spell cutting out as he starts sending what I assume are diagnostic spells at the walls, "What kind of madman would destabilize a ward like this?" He yells, half exasperated, half terrified.
He tosses Harry at the mirror, using a spell to force him to look into it, crowing as the stone no doubt enters Harry's pocket.
Harry's cry of "NO!" Turns into a scream, as Quirrell snarls and fires off a quick Crucio, only holding it for thirty seconds, but it's enough to knock Harry for a loop.
"As I thought, a fake!" Quirrell laughs, holding the stone in his hand.
I see my chance, using a wordless accio to call my wand into my hand, I slice the ropes off me with a muttered spell, before firing a cutting curse at Quirrell's neck from behind him, again barely vocalizing it.
The room shakes again, and it saves Quirrell's life, as he loses his footing, the cutting curse slicing his left ear off, as Quirrell falls.
Before I can regain my own footing, Quirrell is back on his feet, blood running down the side of his face and his neck, and his eyes rippling with hatred. "You'll regret that!" He promises, kicking Harry towards me, which wakes the boy up. I immediately cut his ropes, watching Quirrell warily, Harry drawing his own wand with shaking fingers as he stood up.
It's like an explosion erupts all around us suddenly, but like time is slowed, the door practically disintegrating as everything around us seems to vibrate, even the air itself. The doorway shows a shocked looking Tonks on the other side, as time continues to move slowly. I can see Snape and Sprout running behind her, heading her way, the cavalry's here, we could make it!
Bringing my wand arm up feels like it takes minutes, as I point it away from us, firing off a burst of air, lifting myself and Harry off our feet, throwing us back towards the doorway.
In that same time frame, Quirrell has leveled his wand at me, a snarl of pure hatred on his face as he calls out, "Avada Kedavra!"
Apparently if they can't have me, no one can, I assume his reasoning as.
It's all in slow motion, us flying towards the doorway and freedom, the green light coming closer, I can literally see death coming for me, unable to to do anything but flail, the slowed time making it impossible for me to get a spell off in time.
Except, I see it long before it happens. I see it the moment Harry decides it. See it when he begins the movement, time letting me see it all, letting me scream inside my head, and probably audibly too, don't do it!
Moments later, but feeling like minutes, we fly out of the doorway, Harry against my chest, as the killing curse impacts him, both of us skidding across the stone flooring.
"Seal it!" Professor Sprout shouts, even as Quirrell slowly makes his way towards the door, wand raised.
"I'm trying! This fool girl has interrupted the weave!" Snape snarls, his wand waving like he was conducting an orchestra.
Tonks rushes to me, falling down on her knees, sobbing in relief as she pulls me into her lap, Lucas! She shouts in my head, the rest garbled.
"Harry…" I manage to get out, weakly, pushing against the body.
You stupid fucking kid, why did you do that?
Tonks hears my thoughts of course, and she looks down at the boy-who-died, threading a hand through his hair softly, He saved you, he really is a hero… She thinks sadly at me.
A Merlin damned hero only ever gets death. I return, trying to hold onto my consciousness. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the pain is returning, as I'm unable to hold it all back anymore, my extremities all shaking.
We watch, and both breathe out a sigh of relief, as the door to the chamber of Erised closes back up again, Snape and Sprout breathing heavily.
Quirrell was trapped in time. We'd won.
I look down again at Harry, some of us won…
Snape comes over, staring down at Harry, his fists clenched, "Minerva, and now this… Albus, when I see you next I'm going to…" He cut himself off, and there was honest pain in his voice that surprises me, then I clock on to what he's saying.
"Professor McGonagall too?" I manage to croak out.
Snape grimaces, and without further ado, stuns me.
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Hogwarts Hospital Wing, a day later.
Dumbledore sits by my bed, the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls of the hospital wing. The faint rustle of Madam Pomfrey moving around in the background is the only other sound breaking the heavy silence. Harry lay unconscious in the bed next to mine, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I can see the faint outline of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, a stark reminder of his connection to Voldemort, except if I'm not mistaken, it's already growing more indistinct.
It shouldn't have worked. Quirrell wasn't Voldemort, they weren't tied by blood either. So why did he survive? And how can I fix the fact the golden idiot apparently believes throwing himself in front of killing curses is the magical solution to everything?
Okay, it's weird it did work twice, but I'd rather he didn't try and get a taste for it and try a third time, especially because of me.
Tonks lay in another bed, having come close to magical exhaustion by throwing herself so recklessly into fiddling with a ward beyond anything even a ward master should touch. A collaboration between Dumbledore, Flamel, and the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore had told me, when I'd enquired upon waking, about her status.
The room is warm, the soft flicker of the enchanted torches on the walls creating a cozy atmosphere, but it does nothing to alleviate the cold dread that has settled in my stomach after all of these events. I am exhausted, every part of my body aches, and the events of the past day weigh heavily on my mind. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything, but the pain and confusion clouds my thoughts.
I want to rage and rail at Dumbledore, but the recent events have laid bare my own failures quite clearly, so I'm no longer so willing to throw rocks in glass houses. How many good intentions did I have?
How different am I from Dumbledore? Refusing to trust anyone else with the information I have… At the last, I should have tried something, someone. Even Snape.
It's my fault Professor McGonagall was dead. I could have prevented the Basilisk, I hadn't thought it pertinent this year. I'd put it out of my mind. I'd kept the information close to my chest. And it could have ended the entire student body, it almost did. And in the end it did kill two of our professors. All on me.
So no, I don't rage at Dumbledore. Even as he sits there with his stupid compassionate eyes.
Dumbledore's presence is in a way both comforting and unsettling. He looks older than I had ever seen him, his usual twinkle absent from his eyes. Instead, there is a deep weariness, a heaviness that speaks of years of burdens and sacrifices. His robes, though still immaculate, seem to hang more loosely on his frame, as if even they had grown tired.
Is this me in the future? If I keep on the path I'm walking?
Or… Is it Quirrell I see in my future?
"Lucas," He says kindly, his voice soft but filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "I owe you an explanation."
They'd already talked somewhat about what had happened, but this is the first time he offered something back, the silence having grown heavy between us before this.
I turn my head slightly to look at him, not meeting his eyes, wincing at the pain that shoots through my neck. "Why did it have to be like this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did Voldemort have free reign all year, Quirrell as well?"
He'd also told me Voldemort got away, having plundered the Headmasters office, where the real prize had been all along.
Dumbledore sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leans back in his chair. "I wish it could have been different," He says quietly. "But some things are beyond our control. Voldemort's return has always been inevitable, and we had to be prepared - had to give it all in one shot to end it before it begins anew. The events of this year were set in motion long before you or Harry ever set foot in Hogwarts."
He pauses, as if gathering his thoughts, and then continues. "The Philosopher's Stone has always been a temptation for Voldemort. We knew he would come for it, and we needed to be ready. The trap we set in the third corridor was designed to contain him forever, to give us the best chance to stop him once and for all."
"But we failed," I say bitterly, the memory of the Cruciatus Curse still fresh in my mind. "Voldemort escaped, didn't he? With the real stone? You only caught his lackey, and Harry... Harry almost died." The last part I mutter lowly, still coming to terms with having someone else basically throw away their life for you.
Harry didn't even like me all that much.
Dumbledore's eyes flicker to Harry's still form, and a shadow of pain crosses his features. "Yes, we failed in that avenue," He admitted. "But we also succeeded in ways that may not be immediately apparent. Harry's survival, your bravery and perseverance, Nymphadora's loyalty... These are not small victories. They are signs that we still have hope, that we can still fight."
I shake my head, the frustration boiling over. "But at what cost? How many more people have to suffer because of this? How many more have to die?"
Dumbledore reaches out and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I understand your anger, Lucas, I share it. Every life lost, every moment of suffering, weighs heavily on my heart. But we must remember why we fight. We fight to protect those who cannot protect themselves. We fight to create a world where future generations do not have to live in fear."
He leans forward, his blue eyes piercing into mine as I find I can't tear my gaze away. "You have a gift, Lucas. Your ability to see into the future is a powerful tool. But it is also a heavy burden. You must learn to use it wisely, to understand that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary for the greater good - as much as it will tear you apart."
He goes silent, closing his eyes, no doubt thinking about McGonagall, as he swallows harshly, looking like he's holding back tears.
I swallow hard as well, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I don't want to be a pawn in some grand plan. I don't want to be the reason people suffer." I say, looking away, my fists clenching around my blankets.
Dumbledore's expression softens, and he gives me a small, sad smile. "None of us want that, Lucas. But we do what we must. We make choices, we take actions, and we bear the consequences. It is not an easy path, but it is the path we have chosen."
He hesitates for a moment, before waving his wand, all sound coming to an abrupt stop, preventing any chance for any eavesdropping. I watch him warily, as he seemingly struggles with something.
"Your Occlumency, it's gotten very strong." He says slowly, as any old wizard in any world, he's unable to come to the point immediately.
"Yes…" I say, hesitantly.
I haven't worked as hard on it lately, because the memories of my sister I dug up… It hurts. I'm not sure I want to find out more about my old life, the memories I locked away.
Which apparently meant my other me was still kicking around somewhere inside my mind, all because I wouldn't peek behind the curtain, as he put it. What a bother.
"This information can't be passed around, but I feel that with your skill in divination, it's best you have some of the facts available, so you don't get the wrong idea." He mused, almost to himself, "Even still, I will bind you so you can not speak of it yet."
Begrudgingly I accept the binding, because at this point I'm dying to know, and I watch with interest in my gaze as he mumbles something under his breath, a golden string attaching our wrists together. "Anything we say from now until I break this binding, you will be unable to speak of to others." Dumbledore explains.
Silence ensues, as I wait, and Dumbledore ponders how much to share.
I'm not an idiot, with what he said earlier, with being aware of my divination skill, he wants me on his side. Harry is already a devoted Dumbledore ass kisser, so he's not bothering to explain any of this to him. Only to me. In a bid to draw me closer.
My skill is apparently invaluable, enough that Voldemort ensured Quirrell would take me with him after he ascertained whether the third corridor was real or fake. Of course Dumbledore would want it too.
Not sure how I feel about being such a hot commodity.
Eventually he speaks up, "The idea came from me, Voldemort has always been attracted to the dark powers of the world, it didn't take much for him to fall headfirst into the darkness in the first place. Knowing he'd want my mentor's stone, I got together with Nicholas, and together we devised something unique."
"Wait… He doesn't have the philosopher's stone?" I ask, wondering where he's going with this.
Dumbledore slowly shakes his head, a small smile breaking out on his face, "Together, we devised a stone that would pass well enough for it, especially to someone with only middling Alchemical skill, like Voldemort."
I hold back a snort, wondering if I could one day say that to Voldemort's face. Your mid at best old man.
"He will use it to return." Dumbledore says with absolute conviction, "And when he does, his body will be tied to the forces of light, no dark magic may ever pass through him again, his body will violently reject it. Violence itself will be difficult, if not impossible, his entire being will be made anathema to death and violence."
I can only stare in shock, because what? "You're trying to redeem Voldemort!?" I manage to force out, my mind reeling. Because it didn't remove him as a threat entirely, but it sure changed things, it changed them a lot.
Dumbledore smiles sadly, "We had the time trap, and we had this. One was a prison forevermore, one was a chance at seeing life without hate and spite running through his veins. I find myself somewhat… Glad… That this is the way it ended."
"Won't he just make a new body?" I ask, still completely taken aback.
Also, Merlin dammit, just like canon, if no one interfered at all, Quirrell would still be time trapped, and Voldemort would still resurrect as a light creature. Way to make me feel useless Dumbledore…
Except… Quirrell would have still taken Harry wouldn't he? So at least Tonks and I's presence had managed to prevent Harry actually being abducted or killed. Well… Killed permanently.
Dumbledore's eyes glitter with mischief, "I'm something of a light wizard myself, and somehow I've never managed to find any way to do such magic. Even if he trusts his supporters enough to set up a ritual, his new body won't even be able to go near it, due to the ritual's inherent darkness."
He stood up, the lines of fatigue still etched deeply into his face, but some lightness now rested in his eyes. "Rest now, Lucas. You have been through a great ordeal, and you need time to heal. We will speak more later, when you are stronger."
As he turns to leave, I call out to him. "Professor, will it ever end? Will there ever be a time when we don't have to fight? Or will there always be a new story between good and evil born?"
Were we doomed to repeat?
Dumbledore pauses at the door, his hand resting on the frame. "I believe so," He says quietly. "But it will take time, and it will take all of us working together. For now, focus on healing. The future is still unwritten, and we must be ready for whatever comes."
He'd deflected me. That hadn't been a full answer. Someone of Dumbledore's stature would know about stories and their effect on magic.
If there always had to be a villain and hero, this would never end. After Voldemort there would be another. If all of humanity was wiped out, maybe there would be an evil Centaur needing to be defeated by a plucky young Griffin instead?
Not something I could think of now, it was too big. How would one go about changing magic anyway?
With his piece said, Dumbledore left the room, the door closing softly behind him. I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling once more. The weight of his words settle over me, a heavy mantle that I know I will be forced to carry for the rest of my life - I can't go back now, Voldemort and Dumbledore both know too much. But beneath the weight, there is a flicker of hope, a small, stubborn flame that refuses to be extinguished.
I will do better.
I won't fall to just playing my role, like they did.
I will change it!
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