Written in the Stars - Visions and Vulnerablities

Visions and Vulnerabilities

“Feed me…”

Harry was drifting through a thick copse of trees, the scent of oak, elm, and birch filling his nose, the sound of running water trickling somewhere in the distance.

He shouldn’t be here.

Every instinct was on alert, and he felt dozens of pairs of eyes on him, though nothing confronted him as he sniffed the air, hunting for his prey.

Unwittingly, he swooped down on a glowering creature that had been cowering behind a bush, and it shrieked as he buried a crude blade into his throat.

With only a few kicks of resistance, it fell still, and he licked the thick, almost glittery blood from the blade.

Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he lowered his hood, and sucked greedily at the leaking wound, feeling his strength return with every swallow.

“Master, we must be quick,” a voice said urgently. “The oaf is coming.”

Harry looked up to see the glow of a lantern ambling towards them and he cursed under his breath.

He should have killed the fool long ago, and yet, even with the blood he had consumed, he was not strong enough to do so.

Taking a few more desperate mouthfuls, he growled irritably as he shot into a thicket of trees, just in time to avoid being seen.

“Another one,” the lumbering fool whispered sadly as he attempted to heal the unicorn, but it was too late.

The creature was dead.

Harry smiled at the sight, licking the last of the blood from his lips before he felt the instinct to leave overwhelm him once more.

“Potter…”

He felt his blood run cold at the whispering of his name.

“Potter?”

Harry’s eyes shot open as he was shaken awake, his breathing laboured as he looked into the concerned gaze of Lucinda.

“Are you okay?”

Harry nodded as he sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

He could still taste the blood, but he was no longer in the forest.

The Durmstrang ship had collected the students several hours ago and he was on his way back to school.

“I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “I just dozed off.”

Lucinda looked at him questioningly for a moment but didn’t comment further.

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Harry pointed out, spotting the chain and pendant around her neck.

“My mother said it would be rude not to,” Lucinda replied, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she held the pendant in her fist. “Thank you,” she added before wrapping her arms around briefly and fleeing from the room.

Harry chuckled to himself.

That was about as affectionate as the vampire would ever likely be, but he would take it.

The same couldn’t be said for Ana however, who had seemingly fallen asleep also at some point during the journey.

She had greeted him a little too enthusiastically, proclaiming her love of the gift and that even the elven elders were impressed that he had not only acquired something so rare, that he had simply given it to her.

Evidently, the metal inscribed with runes was much more precious than Harry or the vendor who had sold it to him had known.

“Who is it?” he called as someone knocked at the door.

Eleanor peered around it.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Harry nodded and gestured for her to sit.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the gift,” she began. “My grandmother was very amused that you managed to find all of the articles pertaining to her and her capture. My father was not so impressed which makes it all the funnier.”

Harry chuckled.

It had merely been a matter of writing to the publications for a copy of their articles to obtain them.

He’d placed them in a leather binder for Eleanor, though he had been irritated he’d not been able to send it until the day after Boxing Day because of how long it had taken for all the responses to be received.

He’d sent a note and some of the girl’s favourite sweets too, so she hadn’t been upset his present had been late.

“It’s fine,” he returned. “It was amusing to read about her antics. She is quite a woman.”

Eleanor nodded excitedly.

“She really is,” she insisted. “If you think I’m trouble, you should meet her.”

“You are trouble,” Harry pointed out. “I bet you’ll give her a run for her money when you’re older.”

Eleanor hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but I don’t plan on spending any time in prison. I don’t think it would suit me.”

“The world would be safer,” Harry quipped, avoiding the swat the girl aimed at his shoulder.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him before shaking her head.

“Thank you, Harry,” she offered sincerely. “As much as most of my family are ashamed of what she did, I’m not. It was nice to be able to learn of it.”

“Well, if you have any other family members that are felons, let me know. I’m sure I can dig anything up you need.”

Eleanor giggled amusedly.

“No, it was just my nan,” she assured him. “My mother says I’m just like her.”

“From what little I know, I can’t help but agree,” Harry sighed. “At least you keep things interesting.”

“Oh, I promise to always keep things interesting for you,” she declared as she stood. “Anyway, there is someone I need to speak with about something you shouldn’t know about.”

“What shouldn’t I know?” Harry asked curiously.

Eleanor said nothing but gave him a wink as she left the room, and Harry couldn’t help but think she was already looking for trouble.

He could only release a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair.

Summerbee would bite off more than she could chew one day, but until then, Harry planned to enjoy the entertainment she provided.

“Who is it now?” he grumbled as another knock at the door sounded.

He was trying to remember the dream he had, but all that came to him was the sweet taste of the blood in his mouth when he had been woken up by Lucinda.

The door opened once more, but it was not someone Harry considered to be a close acquaintance that entered.

Sergei Gulak was a seventh-year werewolf, a stern and rather large boy that even the most ardent of purebloods were cautious around.

He spoke little to any outside his own kind.

Seven years of segregation would do that.

“I was hoping to have a word, Potter,” Gulak spoke as he eyed Harry curiously. “Will you come with me?”

Harry eyed the sleeping Ana before nodding and followed the boy from the room.

Gulak said nothing else as he led him towards the stern of the ship and gestured for him to enter the furthermost room.

Harry did so and found himself facing the entire population of werewolves at Durmstrang, each of them evidently having expected him.

Cain was there too, his expression one of nervousness, though he offered Harry an encouraging smile.

“What’s this all about?” Harry asked.

Again, Gulak said nothing as he removed a familiar slip of parchment that bore Harry’s signature.

“Why?” the older boy questioned simply.

Harry’s gaze swept around the room at the mistrustful stares of the creatures and he nodded his understanding.

What he had done for them was not something many others would, and they were suspicious of his motivation for doing so.

“Because I can,” he answered with a shrug. “Because I see what all of you endure every month, and I am in a position to help you. You are not my enemies, and I do not like to see people suffer who don’t deserve it.”

The werewolves murmured amongst themselves, most seemingly surprised by his explanation.

“That’s it?” Gulak asked suspiciously.

“That’s it,” Harry confirmed, meeting the gaze of the boy unwaveringly.

The slightest of smiles tugged at Gulak’s lips as he offered his hand.

Harry accepted the proffered limb.

“We are not mindless beasts that will do your bidding,” Gulak warned.

Harry chuckled as he shook his head.

“There is not a thing that I want from you,” he assured the boy. “You all have your packs away from here, and you’re a pack together when you are. School is difficult enough without being what you are, and even though the potion won’t cure you, it will make your lives easier. That is all I wanted from this, nothing more.”

Gulak nodded.

“You are a strange boy, Harry Potter,” he sighed. “There are few wizards that care for us. Truly, I do not know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Harry replied. “I did what I thought was right.”

Gulak chuckled.

“Well, for what it is worth, you have earned my respect, as I’m sure you have everyone else in this room. We will not forget what you have done for us.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, “and I hope you remember that if I ever come across one of you when you’re transformed. I’d rather not be eaten, thank you.”

Gulak laughed heartily as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“That sounds fair,” he agreed as he turned his attention towards Cain. “You were right. Potter is one of the good ones.”

Both Cain and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“What if I wasn’t?” the latter asked.

“Then I would have made sure I was where you would be during the next full moon,” Gulak replied. “I would not have let you live to become one of us.”

The other werewolves shuddered, and Harry did not disbelieve Gulak’s words.

His eyes shifted briefly to an amber hue, his inner wolf undoubtedly a malicious creature.

“You can leave now,” Gulak permitted, “and you do so with our gratitude and utmost respect. Thank you, Potter. What you have done for us will make our transformations much more bearable.”

Harry nodded and headed towards the door, pausing as he reached it.

“I meant what I said, Wolfie. I will find a way to help you more.”

With his parting words given, he took his leave from the room and returned to his own where Ana had finally woken up.

“Where did you go?”

“Just for a meeting with the werewolves,” he explained dismissively. “They’re not a bad bunch.”

Ana shuddered.

Although she got along well enough with Cain, the rest of them tended to keep to their own kind, the large group making for quite the intimidating presence.

“Rather you than me,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Come on, we will be docking soon.”

Harry nodded as he helped the girl to her feet, licking his lips a final time and still tasting the faint sweetness of the blood he had woken to.

However, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember anything of the dream other than a glimpse of trees and a raspy voice whispering his name before he had been pulled from the vision.

“Bloody hell, look at that,” he groaned as they left the hull of the ship.

The snow was falling thick and fast, and made seeing any further than a few feet in front impossible.

“Will they really make us do our flying lessons in this?” Ana questioned. “How long will it last?”

“Until about May, if you’re lucky,” Schneider commented amusedly. “I’d forget any idea of flying lessons until then.”

Harry frowned.

He had been looking forward to flying, but if Schneider was right, then it would be weeks or even months before he would get to sit atop his broom again.

(Break)

“There was something there, Professor. I got a glimpse of it,” Hagrid insisted. “Even the centaurs and Aragog have spoken of it. They say there’s something in the forest that don’t belong there.”

Albus nodded his understanding.

“I believe you,” he murmured. “I strongly suggest that you do not enter the forest for the time being, Hagrid. I will personally investigate the matter.”

The man looked as though he wished to protest, but as ever, he took the headmaster’s advice.

“What about the rest of the herd?” he asked. “It was only a foal that was killed, but the others aren’t safe.”

“I will have them moved for the time being,” Albus assured Hagrid. “I will create somewhere safe for them.”

Hagrid smiled sadly.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said gratefully. “I’ll get the little one buried just behind my vegetable patch. It’s peaceful there.”

With a final nod, Hagrid left the office and Albus’s expression darkened.

“He must be very desperate to consume unicorn blood,” the voice of Severus broke into his rather grim thoughts.

“Indeed,” Albus agreed, “but who is it that will live the cursed life.”

“Quirrell,” Severus answered immediately. “It is his body.”

“Which makes the situation only more dangerous,” Albus murmured as he stood. “His desperation will only grow, and he will make his move soon.”

“How will you stop him?”

“I do not know,” Albus admitted with a frown.

“I will do it,” Severus volunteered. “I will kill Quirrell.”

Albus shook his head as he smiled sadly.

“I have no doubt that you would, my boy, but your cover must be maintained. Regardless of what happens in the coming weeks or months, the Dark Lord will one day rise again. I will need you Severus.”

The potions master nodded darkly.

“Will Potter be ready to do what needs to be done?”

Albus nodded.

“I believe he will be,” he replied quietly. “The reports I am receiving are that he is quite the talented boy.”

Severus snorted derisively.

“Talent will not be enough. The Dark Lord is perhaps the most talented wizard in half a dozen centuries. The boy will need to be as ruthless as him.”

Albus released a deep breath, unable to disagree with Severus’s assessment.

“Then I think we can agree that he has been in the best place to learn that,” he returned, the admission still leaving the headmaster feeling rather unsettled.

Severus fell silent for a moment.

“Do you believe he can win?”

Albus nodded firmly.

“You heard the first words Sybil spoke the night you overheard our conversation,” he reminded the man who grimaced in remembrance. “Their fates are written in the stars, and the prophecy speaks of Harry. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord,” Severus said sadly.

The words haunted him so, and Albus felt a stab of sympathy for him.

Severus could not have known what would have followed that night, but Albus could not deny that his actions had sealed the fate of the Potter family.

He was trying to atone for it, but Albus knew that no matter what occurred in the future, Severus would never absolve himself of the guilt he carried.

“She would hate that he is there,” the man whispered. “She would hate what the future has in store for him.”

“Lily died for her son, Severus,” Albus pointed out, “and you know as well as I do that she would see him live, no matter what he had to do. As would James.”

Severus’s lips curled at the mention of Harry’s father.

“He would,” he replied simply before taking his leave of the office.

Harry was a bitter reminder of what Severus believed he had lost to James Potter, and Albus did not believe the man had the capacity to treat the boy with any semblance of kindness.

He was much too bitter about the past for that.

Still, as much as Albus knew that Gellert was right and that Harry would receive the education he would need from Durmstrang and Cassiopeia Black to give him the best chance to live, he could not help but wish the boy was here where he could be under Albus’s guidance.

(Break)

Schneider’s prediction that the flying lessons for the first years wouldn’t begin until later in the year proved to be correct. The weather had been abysmal until the end of May when the final exams for the year had begun.

Nonetheless, Harry along with his classmate found themselves on what was deemed to be a Quidditch pitch on a brisk morning, those who hadn’t had the privilege of being able to fly, excited to do so despite their shivering bodies.

“Gather round,” Olaffson instructed sharply.

Harry followed the others to the enormous man and the older student he had brought along to seemingly assist him.

“You all know who I am,” Olaffson barked. “This is Viktor Krum,” he added, gesturing towards the surly teen accompanying him. “He’s the best damned flyer the school has seen in decades, so he will be helping you today.”

Some of the students began whispering excitedly.

Viktor Krum was something of a celebrity in his home country of Bulgaria having already been signed to play professional Quidditch for one of the prominent teams there.

Harry thought the boy could at least be cheerful about his lot in life. Instead, Krum continued to scowl unhappily.

“If you have any flying experience, you will go with Krum and he will assess you,” Olaffson instructed. “If you have never flown before, you will come with me.”

Without another word, the man headed towards the far side of the Quidditch pitch followed by the majority of the students.

Harry remained with Krum and eight others, all of them purebloods including Summerbee.

Krum eyed them critically before gesturing for them to retrieve a broom.

They had certainly seen better days, but Harry took possession of one of the newer Comets. It wasn’t anything of the calibre of the Nimbus 2000 Cassie had bought him for Christmas, but it would do.

“Let me see what you have,” Krum instructed, jamming his hands into the pocket of his greatcoat.

Without preamble, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground, revelling in the freedom of being in the air.

He had missed this, and though it took him a few moments to adjust to the slightly less responsive Comet, he was soon flying laps of the pitch, weaving in and out of the others.

Although it was clear that they had indeed flown before, they were all rather slow, so he climbed higher to avoid a possible collision.

The air was colder up here, but it wasn’t until he looked down that he realised just how high he had climbed.

The other students were mere specks below and not wanting to incur the wrath of Olaffson who would undoubtedly make him pay for any deemed slight, he descended in a deep dive, the cold wind stinging his eyes as it whistled in his ears.

(Break)

Viktor had not liked the idea of assisting the first years in their flying lessons, but Karkaroff had insisted he be present to offer his expertise. Reluctantly, he had joined the sadist that was Olaffson, fully prepared to be scooping up those that tried to show off from the dirt where they had overextended themselves.

Instead, he found himself watching an eleven-year-old boy zooming around the pitch as though he had been born sitting atop a broom.

Nonetheless, a nervous lump formed in his throat as the boy took to the sky, and though Viktor called for him to come back, his words were evidently unheard.

All he could do was watch helplessly as the boy dropped into a dive that most professional Quidditch players would balk at.

A dozen thoughts ran through Viktor’s mind as he hurried to where the unavoidable impact would occur.

The boy would be killed from such a height, or every bone in his body broken at least.

All eyes were on him as he descended, and even the usually stoic Olaffson looked on in concern.

Viktor paused as the boy pulled out of the dive, a beaming smile cresting his lips as the tips of his toes skimmed the frozen ground below.

The Bulgarian could only look on in shock at such a daring and foolish feat, his mouth agape.

The boy must have been trained from birth to even consider doing such a thing.

Even so, it had been foolish, and Viktor felt his ire rise as he stalked towards the smiling boy.

“What was that?” he demanded.

The boys’ smile fell and was replaced with a look of confusion.

“Flying,” he answered dumbly as he stepped off the broom.

“Flying?” Viktor scoffed. “You could have been killed.”

The boy shook his head.

“I always do that,” he defended.

Viktor frowned.

“How much training have you had?”

“None,” the boy answered with a shrug. “I taught myself.”

“You taught yourself?” Viktor snorted, sobering when he realised the boy was telling the truth. “You never had professional coaching?”

“No. I just got on a broom and realised I could fly.”

Viktor could only shake his head.

“Do you play Quidditch?”

“No, I never really got the chance,” was the response he received.

Viktor hummed as he removed a Snitch from his pocket and released it.

He always kept one with him ever since he had been a small boy.

“Find it and bring it back,” he instructed.

“Krum!” Olaffson snapped. “The boy is not going back in the air.”

“Professor, you saw for yourself what he can do,” Viktor replied. “Let him humour me.”

Olaffson huffed irritably.

“If anything happens to him, it will be on your head,” he warned.

The boy looked at Olaffson and then Krum.

“Don’t kill yourself,” Viktor sighed, gesturing for the boy to proceed.

With a nod, he did so, and without the fear the boy was in danger, Viktor was able to watch and appreciate his form and the ease with which he flew.

Even if he’d had years of coaching, there was no denying his natural ability.

Flying was mostly an instinctual art, something that could only be learned to a person’s limitations in ability.

This boy was simply superb, and Viktor nodded appreciatively as he continued to watch.

He was almost unsurprised when they boy returned only ten minutes later clutching the Snitch in his hand, and though it was a beginner’s model, the feat was still rather impressive for someone who had never played before.

“I got it,” the boy declared as he handed it to Viktor.

“You did,” the Bulgarian observed, wondering what could be done with the boy.

He was a natural and allowing his talent to go unnurtured would be a waste.

From his own selfish thoughts, Viktor realised that in only a few short years when the boy had grown a little more, he could be an excellent training partner whilst he was at school.

With his mind made up, he nodded thoughtfully to himself.

“I would like you to train with me and the other Quidditch players.”

“Why?” the boy asked confusedly.

Viktor beckoned for the boy to follow, and when they were out of earshot of the others, he spoke once more.

“For your own benefit, your status within the school will grow. Even half-bloods and creatures are respected if they prove themselves to be good flyers.”

The boy shrugged indifferently.

“I don’t care about that.”

Viktor chuckled amusedly.

“Okay, well for my benefit, I think you have the potential to be a very good training partner in the future,” he said honestly. “I need people to work with me whilst I am here, and the ones I have are not good enough. I bet you could beat most of them in a Seeker’s duel already.”

“That still doesn’t explain how it helps me,” the boy pointed out.

Viktor smiled.

Already the youngster was growing on him.

He was bright, and already looked out for himself, something that was needed at Durmstrang.

“I will help you become an even better flyer, and even how to become a Seeker if you like,” he offered. “I’ll even help you with anything else you need if I can. You can think of me as a mentor.”

The boy seemed to mull it over for a moment before finally nodding.

“I suppose having a contact like you could be useful in the future,” he mused aloud. “I might want tickets to a cup final or something. Fine, you have a deal,” he finished, offering his hand and a winning smile.

Viktor accepted it with a chuckle.

“Good,” he declared. “Well, if we are going to be working together, I think I should know your name.”

“Harry,” the boy answered. “Harry Potter.”

Viktor’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Just like everyone else, he had heard the name synonymous with not only surviving the killing curse, but for defeating a Dark Lord as a babe.

“It is nice to meet you, Harry,” Viktor said sincerely, pleased he had made the acquaintance of a boy just as, if not more famous than he was.

They had common ground already, and though Harry believed he had made a useful contact, Viktor believed he had gotten the better end of the deal.

(Break)

“I didn’t know you could fly like that,” Cain snorted as Harry approached his housemates after finishing his rather bewildering talk with Viktor Krum.

Harry shrugged.

“It’s just flying,” he said dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Bruno laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What did Krum want?” Lucinda asked.

“He wants me to fly with him and the other Quidditch players.”

“He wants you to train with him?” Cain gasped.

Harry frowned as he nodded.

“We made a deal,” Harry explained.

Cain looked at the others as he shook his head.

“Lucky bastard,” he murmured.

Harry didn’t quite see it the same way as his friend.

Of course, he knew he had considerable experience to gain by flying with Viktor, but that also meant he would have to take time out from his studies to do so.

Still, he would make it work.

He had meant what he said when he had pointed out that having Krum as a contact could be useful for the future.

“Come on, we have Transfiguration next,” Lucinda reminded them.

The group headed back into the school and up to the fourth floor where their lessons in the subject took place.

It was a quiet part of the building where few went unless they were attending a lesson.

Harry guessed that was why Barkus and his friends decided to confront him here, knowing they were unlikely to be interrupted.

He had been waiting for the inevitable confrontation.

Since he had returned to school after Christmas, Barkus had not attempted to conceal his intentions, offering threatening gestures and the like at Harry.

“There’s no Karkaroff to protect you now, Potter,” the boy chortled, his lackeys joining in.

Harry frowned as Cain pulled on his arm in attempt to move him along, but Harry was not going to run from Barkus.

The boy was a fool if he believed that Cassie had allowed him to come here unprepared for such an eventuality.

No, Harry was not as helpless as Barkus likely thought, and he would discover that for himself in the coming moments, if he chose to proceed with his goading.

“Just piss off, Arse-Kiss,” Lucinda growled irritably.

“Don’t you dare talk to me, you filthy creature!” Barkus snapped before turning his attention back to Harry. “What’s wrong, Potter, do you need your girlfriend to fight your battles?”

“No,” Harry denied calmly as he freed himself from Cain’s grasp. “I can deal with you well enough without my girlfriend’s help.”

He felt the glare Lucinda sent towards him, and it brought a smirk to his lips, or it may have been caused by the impending confrontation.

“Well, let’s get it over with, Barkus,” Harry sighed.

His wand had been poised and ready the moment he had spotted the other boy, though Barkus wasn’t to know that.

Without further provocation, the boy launched his attack, and Harry shouldered Lucinda aside as he avoided the sickly blue curse, returning fire immediately with one of his own, courtesy of the Blacks.

Barkus managed to duck the offering, but one of his cohorts was not so fortunate and the boy collapsed to the ground with his hands pressed over his ears.

Still, the blood leaked out onto the stone floor, and Harry continued is attack, his temper giving way in the face of being set upon.

Cassie had taught him to be ruthless, to strike first and deal with the consequences after.

Not that Harry had needed encouragement.

It had always been in his nature to do so, a killer instinct he seemed to have been born with.

After only a moment, Barkus seemed to realise his error, but it was too late to backtrack now.

With a snarl and final flourish of his wand, Harry’s spell broke through the boys’ pitiful defence, and Barkus crumbled, falling to the ground bereft of his wand, his fingers snapped backwards.

He screamed, and it was only Summerbee stepping in front of Harry that prevented him attacking further.

“He’s had enough,” she pleaded.

Harry’s nostrils flared, but he nodded, nonetheless.

“What is going on here?”

Professor Karkaroff had arrived, and he looked displeased by the scene he had come upon.

“Barkus attacked Harry,” Cain defended.

Karkaroff looked at the cowering older boy, his jaw clenching in displeasure.

“Get up,” he barked, “and get yourself to the medical bay. We will be having words.”

Barkus wiped the tears from his eyes as he stood and all but ran from the corridor with two of his companions in tow.

The third was still on the ground, whimpering as he continued to clutch his ears.

“Potter, undo whatever you did to him,” Karkaroff sighed.

Reluctantly, Harry complied, and the boy left without being told to.

“The rest of you, off to your lesson,” Karkaroff instructed.

“What about me?” Harry asked.

“You too, Potter,” Karkaroff replied. “You are not punished for defending yourself here. Barkus should have known better. On your way.”

Harry frowned at the retreating headmaster’s form before turning back towards his friends who were eying him cautiously.

“Are you okay?” Cain asked.

Harry nodded.

“I didn’t get cursed,” he pointed out.

“We can see that,” Lucinda huffed. “Where did you learn to duel?”

“My Aunt,” Harry shrugged, shuddering at the dozens of memories he had of being under the tutelage of Cassiopeia Black.

From when he could walk, the woman had drilled him in being able to dodge unfriendly spells and made him practice his wand movements in preparation for receiving his wand.

It had been a daily thing, and something that Harry was now grateful for.

Everything he had done had been on instinct, though he did question why he had the urge to continue attacking Barkus when he had already been disarmed.

Did he want to hurt the boy?

Yes.

He could not deny that he had wanted Barkus to suffer for what he had done.

“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again,” Cain snorted. “You’re quite scary, Potter. I’m just glad I’m on your side.”

Harry chuckled as he shook his head, falling quiet as Lucinda gripped his arm.

“We only have two weeks left of the year,” she sighed. “Do you think you can make it without getting into more trouble?”

“Anything for my girlfriend,” Harry replied, ducking as Lucinda growled, baring her fangs as she swung at him.

Knowing he had perhaps pushed her too far, he took off running towards the Transfiguration classroom, once more anticipating some time away from the school in a matter of days.

He liked it here, but he missed Cassie, and though he knew he would crave the company of his friends, he was looking forward to some time to himself.

(Break)

Albus had made quite the production about leaving the castle, publicly informing Minerva of his intended absence during dinner. Of course, the note he had received from Cornelius requesting his presence to assist on an urgent matter had been a forgery but having had it presented to him by an official Ministry owl, the headmaster knew tonight would be the night.

Having left the castle, he had made his exit as obvious as possible, pausing to speak with two of the prefects on patrol, and also the Fat Friar who had been hanging around the second floor.

He’d even paused in Hogsmeade to greet a few locals before apparating away to London where he was currently waiting, a sense of trepidation becoming more prominent with each passing minute.

Albus could not return to the castle too soon or Tom would simply abandon his attempt, and he couldn’t arrive too late, just in case the Dark Lord managed to break the magic protecting the stone.

His former student could not be allowed to obtain it.

“One more minute,” Albus murmured to himself, preparing to return to the castle, though this time he would be doing so quietly in order to catch Quirrell in the act.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor did not concern him.

Quirinus was not without talent, but Albus would be being modest if believed for a moment the man alone posed a threat to him.

With Tom possessing the man, however, Albus knew he must be prepared for anything.

He was no expert in the art of possession, and he could not be certain if Tom’s presence within Quirinus could give the man an unknown edge.

Releasing a deep breath, he whistled lowly and took hold of Fawkes’ tail as the phoenix appeared in a burst of fire and immediately transported them to the door on the third floor of the castle.

“He is in there,” Severus informed him urgently, “and has been for some time.”

Albus nodded his understanding as he drew his wand.

“I would have you guard the corridor, Severus,” he requested. “I do not wish for any to come upon us.”

Severus appeared as though he would protest, but merely nodded his compliance, drawing his own wand as Albus stepped passed him and entered the room containing a slumbering Cerberus.

With little difficulty, he dealt with the Devil’s Snare below, and managed to summon the correct key to admit him into the next room where he came upon a troll that had been rendered unconscious.

The next room was a matter of formality for the experienced headmaster as he simply broke the animation charms Minerva had cast on the chess set.

The black flames parted with nothing more than a waved of his wand, and when he stepped into the antechamber on the other side, he was greeted by the sight of Quirinus staring at his own reflection in the very mirror Albus had placed here.

“How did you fall so far?” he questioned the turban-clad man.

Quirrell grinned in response.

“The Dark Lord has power that you never will, Albus,” he answered. “Now, retrieve the stone for me.”

Albus shook his head disappointedly.

“We both know that will not happen,” he sighed. “Has your ego truly grown so much to believe it would?”

Quirrell frowned as he continued investigating the mirror.

“It is here, I can feel it,” he snapped irritably. “Maybe I should break it. Yes, that is it.”

“No,” another, raspy voice spoke. “If you break it, the stone will be lost to us. We must take the mirror.”

“But Dumbledore…”

“Silence!” the raspy voice commanded. “I would speak with him.”

“No, you do not have the strength, master.”

“I do for this,” the other voice said firmly.

Reluctantly, Quirinus began unravelling the turban he wore, and when the fabric pooled towards the floor, Albus found himself looking at the reflection of a face he would never forget.

“Is this what you have become, Tom?” he pressed.

“For now,” Riddle acknowledged unhappily, “but we both know that it is only a matter of time before I return. I cannot be killed, not even by your saviour.”

Albus shook his head.

It seemed that even experiencing such a humbling setback, Tom’s ego knew no bounds.

“I must admit, I was disappointed to learn the boy had not attended this year,” Riddle continued. “I had expected we would meet. Have you kept him hidden, Dumbledore?”

Albus shook his head.

“Harry chose to not come to Hogwarts this year,” he answered vaguely, “but as ever, you overestimate yourself, Tom. You will not be leaving with the stone this evening.”

The Dark Lord chuckled.

“Who will stop me when you’re dead?” he replied. “KILL HIM!”

(Break)

It was odd watching spells being fired towards him via a reflection in the mirror, and Harry felt a sense of vulnerability that he was not fond of set in as the man with the white beard continued to attack.

Try as he might, he had no control over the body he found himself within and competing with the conflicting emotions of excitement and fear was enough to induce quite the headache.

Harry could only look on whilst he tried to pull himself away from the situation.

The fighting between what seemed to be himself facing away from his opponent and the bearded man only increased in ferocity until a piercing scream rent the air.

Harry found himself face down on a stone floor.

“Your victory is hollow, Dumbledore,” a gravelly voice spat, one that Harry had heard too many times for his liking.

“Perhaps, another agreed, but the stone will remain safe.”

A manic laughter filled the air.

“The stone was only one way I could achieve my return. There are yet many other avenues to explore. You cannot prevent it, Dumbledore.”

“No,” the second voice agreed, “but I will delay it as long as I can.”

“Master, help me!” a third voice pleaded.

“Pathetic,” Voldemort muttered. “You have failed me, Quirrell.”

A bloodcurdling scream escaped the third man, and Harry felt himself being torn painfully until he was free of the body.

Quirrell, whoever he was, fell silent and unmoving as Harry found himself suspended several feet in the air, glaring at the bearded man with his wand pointing towards him.

With roar of fury, Harry felt himself being propelled towards him, only to be sent off course and through the ceiling above.

Harry woke with a start, his head feeling as though it had been split in two, and he was gasping for breath, his shirt soaked through with sweat.

“Harry, are you okay?”

“Of course, he isn’t. Send for the matron.”

“No,” Harry mumbled as he rubbed his aching scar. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Are you sure?” Cain asked.

Harry nodded as he opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

“It was just a bad dream.”

Cain’s eyes were full of concern.

“You were screaming,” he explained. “I know you have nightmares, we all do, but nothing like that.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said dismissively as he stood.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Harry offered his friend a smile.

“I am,” he replied, though he could not help but think that what he had experienced had not merely been a dream.

It felt too real to be so, and the same vulnerability he had felt whilst within the chamber with the bearded man returned.

“Where are you going?” Cain asked as Harry began retrieving some of his belongings.

“Just for a walk,” he replied as he took his leave of the dorm.

He hadn’t lied, but he would only be walking to one of the secret rooms he had uncovered.

He would sleep no more tonight, and with some time on his hands, he needed to work, needed to do all he could so that he never experienced that vulnerability outside of the visions that haunted him.