No Fortress Is So Strong, Chapter 16
Title: No Fortress Is So Strong
Summary: In 1981, the two Potter sons had their fates switched, and Nicolas Potter became a famous face. But there are those who know the truth, that the real Chosen One was the younger child. The Slytherin. Now, two brothers share a destiny.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes & Caveats: This is a rewrite of the fanfiction story Slytherin Serpent. The premise was originally thought up in 2004, rewritten in 2006, and rewritten again in 2009. This is the only complete version.
This chapter is as yet unbeta’ed for spelling, grammar, and brit-picking. I apologize for this in advance. If you spot any error, no matter how small, please tell me in a review so that I can fix it.
Many thanks to Micah, who examined this story for plot and continuity errors.
“When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.” ~Antisthenes
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Chapter Sixteen: Brothers, Always
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Suddenly, exams were upon them. Harry would never know how he’d managed to actually study when he half expected a corpse-like Voldemort to suddenly come alive and go after his brother, but somehow he did.
It was getting hot by then, especially in the library, and the dust made for especially dry throats.
For exams themselves at the beginning of June, they were given special quills with Anti-Cheating charms on them, and the first year classes were put into a large classroom on the first floor to do their written exams.
There were also practical exams, like when Professor Flitwick called them back into his classroom one at a time to make a pineapple tap-dance across his desk (Harry managed an excellent show, although he nearly sent his pineapple toppling off the edge with the ending bow), and Professor McGonagall wanted them to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Harry’s was a pretty little box with a pattern of shaped vague birds, but it was coloured entirely greyish brown, like the mouse, and had pink corners. The overall effect was somewhat nice, but McGonagall knew he’d forgotten to factor in colour, and he had points taken away for that.
Snape made them all very nervous, even his Slytherins, by breathing down their necks while they all tried to make a Forgetfulness potion. Harry thought he managed very well, despite that…and despite the fact that Harry was unable to sleep properly.
It was the dreams, vague and confusing as they always were, but worse than ever now that his tensions ran so high.
The longer Harry thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was possible to truly resurrect someone with the Resurrection Stone, and the more convinced he became that Quirrell wanted to do exactly that.
It was during their last exam, History of Magic, that Harry’s head began to ache. The pain centred on his forehead, exactly where his funny-shaped scar was. Harry flinched and rubbed it - it had stung and burned before, but never to this degree.
A feeling of pervading excitement rose up in his chest, beside an emotion very much like fear. The two emotions battled each other strangely, and Harry was gasping by the time their exam wrapped up, and Harry knew he’d probably failed that one. He’d only got three-quarters of the way through.
There was something going on, Harry knew it. Something with that sense that brought the dreams to him, and had alerted him as to what was happening when Nick had gone after Hermione and found the troll as well.
Harry just hoped that the presence of Dumbledore would be enough to keep Quirrell away from the Stone, or barring that, that Hagrid keep his mouth shut about finding a way past it…
Oh, why hadn’t he thought of it before…
Harry fled the classroom while his year mates were still cheering the end of exams. Alone, he flew down the stairs and out into the bright, hot sunshine, sprinting for Hagrid’s hut.
Hagrid was sitting on his front stoop, shelling peas from a large bowl.
“Hullo,” he said when Harry came to a halt in front of him.
“Hi Hagrid,” Harry said, forcing fake cheer into his voice. “How are you?”
“I’m jus’ fine thanks, Harry. Finished with your exams? Got time for a drink?”
“Sure,” Harry said, smiling despite an urge that was telling him to hurry, hurry.
Hagrid stood up and went into his hut. Harry followed.
“Where’s Fang, Hagrid?” Harry asked, looking around for the dog with a hopeful expression on his face.
“’E’s outside,” Hagrid said, pouring iced pumpkin juice into mugs.
“Do you think he’d want to play fetch or is it too hot?” Harry asked, injecting a bit of worry into his tone.
Hagrid laughed.
“Probly too hot,” he said, smiling through his bushy black beard.
“Oh,” Harry said disappointedly as he accepted his mug and followed Hagrid back out. “Hey Hagrid, I never got to see Fluffy. Is he still here?”
“Yeah, still on te job,” Hagrid said proudly.
“Is he very big, like Fang?” Harry asked, making sure he looked rapt and interested.
“Oh, aye,” Hagrid said. “He’s very big, much bigger than Fang, actually.”
“Noo,” Harry said crossly. “You’re teasing me. How much bigger?”
“Quite a bit bigger than yeh’re thinkin’ even,” Hagrid chuckled. “I wouldna be able ter control ‘im if’n I didn’ know how.”
“How do you control a dog that big?” Harry asked, making his voice just the right blend of interest and childhood innocence.
“Eh, it’s righ’ easy it is, yeh jus’ play ‘im a bit o’ music an’ he drifts righ’ off ter sleep.”
“Really?” Harry asked doubtfully, and this time his doubt was genuine.
“I shouldn’ta told yeh that,” Hagrid said dolefully.
“Oh,” Harry said. “I won’t tell anyone you did, I promise.”
“That’s a good lad, Harry,” Hagrid said, ruffling Harry’s hair fondly with an enormous hand.
“Hagrid,” Harry said seriously. “Have you told anyone else how to get past Fluffy?”
“Well,” Hagrid said, and his guilty, ashamed expression gave him away.
“Oh look!” Harry said, distracting him before Hagrid could come up with a lie. “There’s Fang! Hi, Fang!”
The boarhound raised his head from where he was lounging under a tree a few meters distant, then laid it back down on the ground with a loud sigh.
“I should go, Hagrid,” Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest. “My friends will be looking for me.”
“All righ’ Harry, take it easy now,” Hagrid said, still looking slightly worried.
“You too Hagrid,” Harry said, and started walking back up to the castle. When he was out of sight of Hagrid’s hut, he broke into a run.
He headed for the lake, where he instinctively knew his brother was lounging with the rest of the Gryffindor second years. Harry arrived pale and sweaty and wouldn’t tell his brother what was wrong.
“Come with me, come with me,” Harry insisted quietly, avoiding the gazes of the Gryffindors.
“All right,” Nick said, rising to his feet. Harry took off at a jog towards the castle, Nick at his heels.
“It’s Hagrid,” Harry explained when they were far enough away from the lake as to not be overheard. “He’s told someone - Quirrell, clearly - how to get past Fluffy. I know because he just told me how to do it.”
“But the Stone will be safe as long as Dumbledore’s here, right?”
“One can hope,” Harry said grimly. Nick looked dismayed.
“We should tell him at least,” Nick whispered. “Dumbledore, I mean. Just so he knows.”
“Yes, all right,” Harry said. “Let’s go.”
The two boys hurried up the steps and into the castle, then paused, for they didn’t exactly know where the Headmaster spent his time.
“What are you two doing inside?” a voice asked briskly from behind them, and they turned. Professor McGonagall was coming down the Great Staircase, arms full of books.
“We’re looking for the Headmaster,” Nick said bravely.
“Why is that?” McGonagall asked, as though such a request was very strange (which, Harry thought, it probably was).
“Um,” Nick said, wavering, then threw caution to the winds. “It’s about the three-headed dog,” he said in a rush. “We think someone’s er…figured out how to get past it.”
Professor McGonagall looked shocked and then angry.
“However did you find out about that?” she asked irritably.
“Never mind that,” Nick said desperately. “We need to tell Professor Dumbledore.”
McGonagall looked at them for a long moment.
“I will tell Professor Dumbledore when he returns in the morning,” she said finally. “Rest assured however, there is no danger.”
“But Professor - ”
“Potter,” she said sharply. “I know what I am talking about. I suggest you both go outside and leave adult matters to the adults.”
With that, she whirled around and stalked away, her spine perfectly straight.
“Dumbledore’s gone,” Harry murmured, subdued. “And Quirrell has everything he needs.”
“It’ll happen tonight,” Nick whispered in reply. “What’re we going to do?”
Harry stared after the departing Head of Gryffindor House.
“We’re going to stop it,” he vowed, his face set in determination.
“How?” Nick asked curiously.
“We should tell Snape at least,” Harry said, “he’ll know what to do - ”
“No!” Nick hissed, and Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Nick blushed. “Look,” he said. “I believe you, I think you’re right - but just in case, all right? It would be stupid if we’re wrong.”
Harry scrutinized his brother’s face, taking in the tense worry that lurked in his dark eyes and the twisting of his mouth.
“All right,” he said finally. “We don’t tell Snape. We go after the Stone ourselves, instead.”
“All right,” Nick breathed.
“Tonight,” Harry said tensely.
“Tonight,” Nick echoed, and it sounded like a vow.
-----
They waited tensely for night to fall. They struggled through dinner at their respective tables, doing their best to act normally. It was easy for Harry - he’d been fooling people his entire life - but Nick had to struggle a little bit. Once, he accidentally knocked his cup over and startled himself, garnering a strange look from Katie.
Finally though, dinner was over. Harry caught up to his brother in the entrance hall to say goodnight, as was normal for him. He slipped a note into Nick’s hand as he did so.
Seventh floor, empty classroom to Gryffindor’s right going in, as soon as everyone’s gone to bed.
Harry didn’t have to wait that long, just until the rest of his year mates went to bed. He joined them in their evening ablutions to keep up the appearances of normality, then waited for them to get into bed before pulling out his silver cloak and slipping out of the dorm. With luck, they would never know.
He crept up to the seventh floor, going slowly and carefully since he knew Nick wouldn’t be out for a while yet. There, he waited in one of the abandoned classrooms on that floor, huddled beneath his cloak.
What seemed like ages later Nick finally showed up, dressed in his school robes and looking very nervous.
“Hey,” Harry said quietly, pulling off the cloak. Nick started, then shook himself as if to chase away the nervousness. Harry beckoned him closer and tossed the silver cloak over them both. “Ready?” he asked in a whisper.
“Let’s go,” was the faint reply.
They slipped through the darkened corridors as silently as possible, walking one-behind-the-other with Harry in the lead.
At the foot of the stairs leading down from the seventh floor, they spotted Mrs. Norris and gingerly sidestepped around her, holding their breath. She sniffed suspiciously in their direction.
They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the fourth floor, where Peeves was loitering as he loosened the carpet so people would trip. Nick’s shoe scuffed the floor in his surprise, and Peeves shot upright, small dark eyes narrowing wickedly.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you a ghoulie or a ghostie or a wee student beastie?” He floated there, squinting. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. “Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen,” Peeves threatened, and Harry had suddenly had enough.
“Peeves,” he whispered, his voice like a bitter breath of wind. “The Bloody Baron has business here tonight, and his own reasons for remaining out of sight.”
Peeves almost fell over in shock, and Harry winced. Was that how the Baron sounded at all? Had he just ruined everything?
“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir,” Peeves said smarmily. “Didn’t see you - of course I didn’t - forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir…”
“Stay away from this place tonight,” Harry whispered, not daring to hope.
“I will, sir, I most certainly will,” said Peeves, and he sidled away. “Hope you’re business goes well, Baron,” he said as he fled. “I’ll not bother you.”
“Bloody hell, Harry,” Nick whispered when he’d gone, sounding fiercely impressed, and Harry shook with silent, terrified laughter.
Then they were there, outside the forbidden corridor on the third floor - and the door was already open.
Panicking now, Harry pushed it open enough for them to both squeeze in.
“How’re we getting past the dog again, Harry?” Nick asked, alarmed.
“By singing,” Harry whispered, staring up at the vast dog. “Hiya, Fluffy.”
“Fluffy?” Nick hissed. Harry grinned despite the thunderous growls, and started to hum a tuneless, trembling song. Almost at once the dog quieted, then teetered on its paws. After a moment he crumpled to the floor and started to snore.
Nick pushed the cloak off and stepped closer, staring at the trapdoor with interest.
“We’re good,” he whispered hoarsely. “He didn’t fall on it. C’mon - look, Quirrell’s already come - that must be his harp.”
Harry nodded, still humming, and Nick struggled with the trap door, finally heaving it open to expose a deep, black hole. They couldn’t see anything at all.
“I’ll go first,” Nick said. Harry shook his head madly, but Nick gave him a dirty look. “Yes, I will go first,” he insisted. “I’m older. I’m the boss.”
Harry glared fiercely, but Nick ignored him and sat down on the edge to dangle his feet into the hole.
“See you down there,” he whispered, and scooted in to dangle by his fingertips from the edge. “Don’t come down until I call,” he whispered. “If I don’t, run as fast as you can and send Rocky or Hedwig to Dumbledore, all right?”
Harry nodded reluctantly, forcing himself to keep humming, and Nick let go and vanished into the darkness.
“It’s okay!” Nick called up a moment later. “Come down!”
Harry wasted no time. Still humming, he sat down and swung his legs into the darkness, and slid inside. And fell, down…down…down, until he landed with a flump on something spongy and soft.
“Oof,” Harry said when he landed, then looked at his brother.
Nick was wild-eyed, staring at his legs with fright.
Harry turned to look, then leapt to his feet and struggled to the edge. They’d landed on a plant thing, and while it had cushioned his fall it had also wrapped long, slender vines tightly around Nick’s legs, and had begun doing the same to Harry as soon as he’d landed.
“Nick!” Harry yelped, and Nick was galvanized into action, trying desperately to fight his way free. Frantic, Harry fought his way over to help, kicking hard when the vines tried to grab him too.
“Harry,” Nick said, panicking. “Harry, burn it up!”
Harry yanked out his wand and yelped out a fire charm. The vines flinched and fled away in the face of it, shrinking and releasing Nick’s legs. Nick scrambled to his feet, breathing hard.
“Come on,” Harry said nervously. “Before it comes back. This way.” He led the way down a stone passageway - the only way forward.
They walked and walked and walked, the only sound their own footsteps, breathing, and the faintest trickle of water on the walls. The passageway sloped gently downward, taking them deeper and deeper underground.
Until, finally, Harry heard something. He paused and cocked his head, and Nick stared in front of them intently, as if he could see the origin of the noise just be wanting to hard enough.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, and they crept forward cautiously, and the soft rustling sounds grew louder and clearer.
A light appeared ahead, and beyond that, Harry could see fleeting shadows, moving. Harry and Nick exchanged a cautious look, then moved ahead. They came out into a huge, brilliantly lit chamber, the ceiling arching high above their heads and filled with small, glittering metallic birds, flitting from one end of the room to another. Harry and Nick stared, bewildered. There seemed to be no set pattern to their flight; they flitted and spiraled and darted this way and that. They looked tiny and harmless, but Harry didn’t doubt that they were the test.
He looked harder.
“Nick,” he said slowly, thinking his eyes were fooling him. “Are those…?”
“They’re keys,” Nick said breathlessly. “Look, one of them unlocks the door over there.”
“How’re we supposed to - oh, look, broomsticks!” He glanced at his brother and they both grinned.
“Come on then,” Nick said, and they both jogged across the room and grabbed up a broomstick. Harry took a moment to look at the door.
“Look for an old fashioned silver one,” he said. “Like the handle.”
“Right,” Nick said, mounting his broom. Harry followed suit, and they both kicked off from the ground.
It was the first time they’d flown together, and Harry knew right away that they would have to make a habit of it. They flew like they knew each other’s thoughts.
The keys were fast, and agile. They turned and darted and dove, but they were no match for Harry and Nick. Within a minute, Harry spotted a big silver key with bright blue wings, one of which was crumpled as though someone had already grabbed it.
“There!” Harry called, pointing. “The big silver one with the bent wing!”
“I see it!” Nick said, and went dashing off in the key’s direction. Harry hovered inconspicuously near the corner of ceiling and wall, holding very still as Nick herded the key towards him. When it was close enough Harry reached out, lightning quick, and snatched the key from the air.
It wriggled and struggled harder than any Snitch, but Harry kept a good hold on it as they landed and ran to the door and shoved it in the keyhole.
It worked. The lock opened with a faint snick, the doorknob turned, and the key yanked itself free and flew off, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice. Harry looked at Nick, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door.
The next room was so dark they couldn’t see anything at all until Nick eased one foot inside. Then the room blazed with bright light, illuminating a gigantic chess board, complete with black and white, life-sized pieces. The two boys stared at the board, wary.
“What now?” Harry asked finally, and Nick took a few steps into the room. They’d come in behind the black pieces, at the edge of the board. Across from them were the towering white pieces. Harry’s stomach twisted, because the white pieces had no faces.
“Do we have to join them to get across?” Nick whispered curiously to his brother, and jumped when one of the black knights nodded from aboard his rearing horse. “I’m not very good at chess,” Nick admitted.
“Me neither,” Harry whispered. “But the two of us…”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Okay, I’ll be a bishop, Harry, you be that castle.”
Harry obediently took the place of the castle, which scooted off the board as soon as Nick stopped speaking.
Nick took his place, breathing fast.
“White always plays first,” Harry murmured, and sure enough a white pawn moved forward two squares.
Nick started tentatively directing the pieces, and they silently did as he said. Harry’s breath started coming faster.
Nick moved diagonally four squares to the right.
“Nick, the Knight,” Harry murmured, and his voice echoed in the cavernous room. Nick looked at the Knight, poised in front of the white queen. Nick understood.
At Nick’s instruction, the Knight moved forward and sideways, and the faceless white queen struck him down viciously and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.
Shaken, Harry made his move to take the other side’s bishop. He merely tapped it and pointed off the board, and the piece moved obediently away.
The white pieces however, showed no mercy. Time after time they struck, until nearly all the black pieces were taken. Harry fought hard to keep from trembling, and Nick was nearly green with fright.
And then, quite by accident, Harry stood just a move away from checkmate. Both Harry and Nick gaped for a moment as the queen smashed the other Knight, but far be it for Harry to look a gift horse in the mouth. With all haste he hurried forward, and the white King threw his crown at his feet. It rang as it fell to the floor, and Nick and Harry bolted across the board to the door.
“Oh bloody, I can’t believe we did that,” Nick panted. “I thought we were both done for.”
“What next?” Harry asked, still dealing with the residual trembling. “We’ve done Sprout, and Flitwick, and McGonagall…that leaves Snape then, if they’re going by Heads of House.”
“The Headmaster, maybe?” Nick asked uncertainly.
“You don’t think they’d use Quirrell, do you?” Harry froze. The two boys looked at each other frantically, then turned and pushed open the door.
They were immediately met with a horrible stench, one very similar to something they’d smelled once before, although this time it was much, much stronger. Covering his mouth and nose with his hand, Harry blinked his watering eyes to bring them into focus. On the floor, out cold with a blood lump on its head was an enormous troll, even bigger than the one they’d had to deal with on Halloween.
“Oh damn,” Harry said, the words muffled behind his hand.
“Glad we don’t have to deal with that one,” Nick muttered.
“It’ll help us catch up too,” Harry said as they inched gingerly around the troll’s outstretched arm.
They braced themselves as they opened the next door, prepared for the worst…but there wasn’t anything scary in that room at all. Just a long table, holding a long row of glass bottles. They cautiously entered the room. Harry nearly fell backwards when there was a whooshing sound, and flames burst into existence at the door they came in through, and the door across the way.
They looked at each other, then looked at the table.
“Snape’s,” Harry said with certainty. “There must be a way to get through the flames. Here, look.” He held up a note that had been on the table, and Nick leaned close to read it with him.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line,
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;
Second, different are those that stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death on their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right,
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Again, Harry and Nick looked at each other, uncertainty in every part of their bodies.
“It’s a riddle,” Harry murmured.
“I’ve never been very good at riddles,” Nick admitted, and Harry laughed quietly and a little hysterically.
“Okay, so how are we going to do this. We don’t want either one at the end,” Harry started, and picked up the rounded bottle on the right and the tall bottle on the left, and set them aside.
“Twins once you taste them,” Nick muttered. “Two are nettle wine. The second on the left and the second on the right, so that means that the third on the right and the one on the very left were both poisons. That leaves the smallest bottle and the square one.”
“Neither dwarf nor giant holds death on their insides,” Harry said, and the two brothers looked at the tiny bottle, the only one left that wasn’t a poison.
“There’s not enough for both of us,” Nick whispered, face pale.
“But there wouldn’t have been enough for us at all, if it isn’t a refilling bottle,” Harry whispered in reply. “One of us has to go back, then do the puzzle again.”
“Which bottle is that?” Nick whispered.
“We found all three poisons,” Harry replied, pointing them out. “And both nettle wines. This one’s the potion to go forward, and that one to go back.” Harry pointed at the rounded bottle that had been on the far right.
“I’ll go forward,” Nick said, jaw firming in determination. “I’m older.”
Harry scowled fiercely.
“By one year,” he said grumpily, and garnered a grin from his brother. “Fine,” he said finally, “but only because I’ll be right behind you. Let me go first - when I’m through the flames, I’ll give you thirty seconds before coming back in.”
“Deal,” Nick grinned, and gave his brother an impulsive hug. Harry buried his face in his taller brother’s shoulder and held on tight for a long moment before stepping back.
“All right,” he whispered, smiling shakily. “Thirty seconds.”
Nick watched uneasily as his brother picked up the rounded bottle and tossed it back, then shivered.
“Is it poison?” he asked anxiously.
“No, but it feels like ice,” Harry whispered.
“Go, before it wears off,” Nick ordered, and Harry nodded and went through the purple flames.
The stench hit him again at once, triggering his gag reflex. Harry groaned and tried hard not to breath, and barely made it to thirty seconds before he gratefully ducked back inside. Like before, the moment he went in the door slammed shut and flames burst to life, blocking them. To Harry’s intense relief, all seven bottles were back in a row, like they’d been when Harry had come in with Nick.
And even better, the tiniest bottle was once again full.
Harry hesitated only long enough to make sure the poem hadn’t changed before swallowing the potion in one gulp and rushing through the fire.
-----
Harry had been right, Nick saw. As soon as he was through the black flames he’d known his brother was right, because Quirrell stood there silently, as if he’d been waiting.
“It is you,” Nick blurted out. Quirrell smiled, and his face wasn’t twitching at all.
“It is me, indeed,” he said calmly. “I’d wondered if I’d be meeting you here, Potter. No little friends? Pity.”
“I - ”
“You don’t seem too surprised to see me here, Nicolas,” Quirrell said, raising an eyebrow.
“My brother was the one who knocked you down the stands,” Nick said furiously.
“Oh?” Quirrell asked pensively. “How positively rude. I’ll have to pay a visit to young Mr. Potter when I’m through here. But whoever set fire to dear Severus?”
Nick almost swallowed his tongue, ice pouring through his veins. He’d just made Harry a target.
“Ah, well, so that particular scheme did not pay off,” Quirrell said regretfully. “And it was so much fun watching dear Severus swooping around like an overgrown bat. I had thought, next to him, who would suspect p-poor, st-stuttering P-p-professor Quirrell?”
Nick narrowed his eyes.
“All of us,” he said defiantly.
“Shame, that,” Quirrell said quietly. “And after all Severus did trying to save your life, I’m going to kill you tonight.” Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of the air and wrapped themselves tightly around Nick, from his shoulders down to his ankles. He wobbled badly and struggled to keep his feet.
“You’re far too nosy, Potter,” Quirrell said. “Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that - why, you might have seen me on the third floor, for all I’d known!”
Nick spat at him.
“Not only did my troll fail to brain you to death,” Quirrell continued, “but Snape headed me off at the third floor, and that be-damned three-headed dog failed to bite his leg off properly.” Quirrell turned around idly, and continued, “now wait quietly Potter - I must examine this interesting mirror,” and at that moment Harry ducked through the flames, his hand over his mouth, and straightened up to fix Quirrell with a flat, unsurprised gaze.
Quirrell spun around in surprise.
“Hullo, Quirrell,” Harry whispered.
And Nick realized just what was going on - for behind Quirrell’s turbaned form stood the Mirror of Erised.
Quirrell’s face contorted in surprised anger. Harry ducked backwards when Quirrell lifted his wand, and yelped, “Finite Incantatem,” at Nick’s back. The ropes unraveled and dropped to the floor, then vanished. Nick stretched his hands out to the side and shared an conspiratorial grin with his brother.
Harry ducked Quirrell’s spell, and ran towards him. Nick raised his wand and fired a Leg-Locker Curse. Quirrell blocked the spell but couldn’t dodge Harry in time, and Harry crouched down and bowled into Quirrell’s legs.
Quirrell staggered and only barely kept his feet. His features twisting, he turned to face Harry with his mouth curling up into a snarl.
Harry’s hand whipped out palm first and hit Quirrell’s nose, and he howled in surprised pain. Nick lunged as he fell backwards, raising his wand…
But Quirrell was fast. Before Nick got a spell off he’d turned and slashed his wand, and Nick was flung backwards to hit the ground, hard, on his back.
Harry screamed and leapt, and managed to wrap his hands around Quirrell’s throat. His thin fingers tightened, intent on strangling, and he closed his eyes as his scar seared with blinding pain. Quirrell screamed.
A blow shook Harry down to his bones, and he lost his grip on Quirrell’s throat. He hit his knees and Quirrell slashed his wand again. He hit Harry with the same spell he’d gotten Nick with and Harry was flung backwards. He crashed into the wall and slid down it, where he slumped to the floor and lay very still.
Nick gasped and cried out, and struggled to his feet as Quirrell turned to him, rage on his face.
“Now,” Quirrell hissed as he raised his wand. “I do not have time for this. Petrificus Totalus!”
Nick was too unsteady to dodge - the spell caught him in the chest and snapped his body into a rigid board. He toppled backwards and landed flat on his back, his eyes rolling wildly.
“The mirror,” Quirrell whispered to himself, and turned back to it. “It is the key to the Stone. Is the Stone inside? Should I break it? I see myself, giving it to my master…”
“Use the boy,” a whisper wafted through the air, like wind through dying leaves.
“Yes,” Quirrell breathed, entranced. He snapped his fingers, and Nick went limp, the spell dissolving from his limbs. “Come here, boy,” he ordered, and Nick got unsteadily to his feet. He looked longingly at his brother, crumpled in a heap on the other side of the room, but Quirrell raised his wand threateningly and Nick moved reluctantly to stand before the Mirror.
At that moment, the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart was to find the Stone and get away from here, safely, to where his brother could get help.
His reflection smiled at him, smudged and bruised, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a blood-red stone, winked, and dropped it back into his pocket. As he did so, Nick felt something drop into his own pocket, for somehow, the Mirror had given him the stone.
In the mirror, Reflection Nick turned away and rushed to the other side of the room, where Harry was beginning to move.
“Well?” Quirrell demanded. “What do you see?”
Nick spoke the truth.
“I see myself,” he whispered through a mouth that was bone dry and tasted like ash. “Taking Harry to the hospital.”
There was a scream of rage and Quirrell shoved him, hard. Nick fell sideways and landed hard on his elbow with a wince, then struggled back to his feet. He turned towards Harry but only got a few feet before roped wrapped around him once more, tripping him up.
“Master,” Quirrell said desperately. “What do I do?”
“Let me speak to him, face to face,” the bitter whisper returned, and Nick felt a rush of absolute terror.
“Master, you are not strong enough!”
“I have strength enough - for this.”
Slowly, as Nick watched in horror, Quirrell reached up and began to unwind his purple turban. As it fell away, he turned around.
Nick had to suppress a scream, for there was another face on the back of Quirrell’s head. It was bald - they were both bald, for how could one be and not the other? And it was flat - just a gaping slash for a mouth and slits for nostrils, and gleaming, blood-red eyes.
Nick leaned back, terrified, desperately wishing he could reach his wand, laying on the ground near the entrance. He couldn’t move because of the ropes.
He was done for.
But then, in a voice as fragile as spun glass, there came a whisper.
“Finite Incantatem,” Harry breathed, and Nick barely heard it at all. He was only certain of it when the ropes dissolved around him.
Nick leapt backwards, away from Quirrell, and the thing that was using Quirrell as a host.
“Nicolas Potter,” the face whispered, brittle and deathly, like air from a tomb. “Do you see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor - I have form only when I share another’s body…”
“Voldemort.” Nick’s lips shaped the word, but he was voiceless.
“Yes,” the face whispered. “Yes, it is I…a parasite, no longer with a body of my own. But once I have the Elixir of Life, I will return stronger than ever. Now…why don’t you give me that Philosopher’s Stone in your pocket?”
So he knew. The feeling surged back into Nick’s legs, and he stumbled backwards.
“Don’t be a fool!” Voldemort snarled. “Better save your own life and your precious brother’s, and join me, than to share the same fate as your foolish parents. They died begging me for mercy…”
“LIAR!” Nick shouted. Quirrell was walking backwards towards him as he stumbled away, and the evil face was smiling with that gash of a lipless mouth, a gaping black hole in the back of Quirrell’s head.
“So courageous,” Voldemort hissed. “So very like your parents. I killed your father first, you know, and he put up a very brave fight…but your mother needn’t have died, did you know that? She died trying to save you, and by doing so, she left you alone…now give me that Stone, unless you would have her death be in vain…”
Nick choked and tripped, nearly falling. His breath rasped painfully in his chest, and he gasped out in a voiceless whisper, “Never.”
“SEIZE HIM!” Voldemort shrieked, and Quirrell spun around and leaped. His hand closed on Nick’s wrist and suddenly Harry was in the fray, clamped on Quirrell’s back like a monkey, his face dangerously close to Voldemort’s own.
Quirrell shrieked and thrashed, letting go of Nick in the process. He fell to his knees and twisted, violently and lightning fast. Nick caught a glimpse of Harry’s face, his eyes clenched tightly shut. There was a trickle of blood behind his ear, sliding down his neck.
Quirrell was screaming, throat-tearing, bloodcurdling screams, and Voldemort was shouting, “KILL HIM, KILL HIM!”
“Nicolas,” a quiet voice said from behind him, and Nicolas froze a split second before he would have leapt to his brother’s aid. He turned.
Professor Dumbledore stood behind him, standing tall in bright blue robes. His face was a mask of fury, and his wand was raised.
Nicolas scrambled out of the way, and turned to watch.
Quirrell was on his knees, his screams getting weaker. Harry had his arm clamped around his throat, and the fingers of his other hand digging into Quirrell’s face. The man’s skin was a mass of red, angry blisters, popping and oozing clear fluid. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air.
Harry was burning him.
“Harry!” Nick shouted. “Harry, get clear!”
Harry obeyed just as Dumbledore lifted his wand, and he fell away limply, as though clinging to Quirrell had been the only thing keeping him awake.
Dumbledore slashed his wand through the air, and Quirrell stopped moaning his pitiful, agonized cries and fell forward, silent and still.
In the sudden stillness, Nick’s panting breaths were the loudest sound in the room.
“Severus!” Dumbledore suddenly called, and there was an indistinct shout, a loud bout of swearing, and Professor Snape came through the doorway, his face a thundercloud and his hair sticking every which way. “Please see to young Nicolas, if you would,” Dumbledore said, and turned back to the room. Nick watched as he hurried down to Harry and knelt at his side. Nick struggled to get up, panicking because his brother was so still…
“Stay down, Mr. Potter,” Snape said quietly. “Where are you hurt?”
“I - ” Nick whispered in bewilderment, unable to concentrate. “I - he hit Harry. With a spell that made him hit the wall. He was so quiet, and he didn’t move…” Nick’s breath escaped him in a sob.
“Your brother will be all right,” Snape said impassively. “Can you stand?”
“Yes,” Nick said determinedly, and Snape grasped his elbow and helped him to his feet.
“Come,” Snape said, and Nick cried out in protest.
“No,” he cried desperately. “Harry!”
“He will be coming right behind you,” Dumbledore said reassuringly, and sure enough Dumbledore was rising to his feet and conjuring a floating stretcher, levitating a prone Harry to lay atop it. Nick calmed, but wouldn’t move until Dumbledore let him walk beside it.
They walked straight through, Nick supporting himself on Harry’s stretcher and on the hand Snape held under his elbow. Dumbledore did not need to complete the challenges, or perhaps you simply didn’t need to, on the way out. Regardless, nothing hindered them on their journey through, not even the trap door, so high above their heads. Dumbledore simply floated them all out.
The halls were still empty - morning had not yet come, despite the fact that it felt like years had passed since Nick had led the way down through the trap door. Guilt stabbed at him - if he’d only gone alone, or done as Harry had said and told Professor Snape…
“He wanted to tell you,” Nick said, feeling his eyes well with tears as he looked up at the Potions Professor. “He wanted to - he trusted you. I didn’t. I told him not to. I wasn’t sure…” Nick sobbed. “And now he’s…will he be all right?”
“He’ll be quite all right, Nicolas,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Madam Pomfrey will patch him right up.”
“You realize that your brother did in fact fracture his neck when Peeves pushed him down the stairs?” Snape asked softly. “Mr. Zabini was quite correct in that assessment, and I only tell you this to prove to you that magical medical care is enough to cure or fix almost anything.”
“Yes, sir,” Nick whispered, and felt tears falling down his cheeks.
Then they were at the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey was coming out in her nightgown and ushering him into pajamas and then into bed. Nick’s heart felt like a band had been clenched around it as he watched Snape and Dumbledore magically transfer Harry to the bed, but then Pomfrey forced a potion down his own throat.
Nick’s eyes suddenly felt too heavy to lift, but he struggled against the encroaching blackness.
“Professor,” he mumbled, and both Snape and Dumbledore turned. With fingers that felt like lead, Nick fumbled in his pocket for the red, ruby-like stone and offered it on his palm. He felt Dumbledore take it as his eyes drifted closed.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said in the distance, and the pain in Nick’s chest was easing as he drifted away into darkness.
Epilogue