As the door creaked open before Harry, he was greeted by a brightly lit corridor lined with light-brown marble tiles, leading to a grand circular room supported by eight towering pillars. Despite its location deep underground, the room was flooded with warm sunlight filtering through the windows. Taking a deep breath, the green-eyed wizard stepped forward, flinching slightly as the door behind him slammed shut with a resonant thud.
As he neared the end of the corridor, Harry's gaze fell upon a pit at the center of the room, where the Mirror of Erised stood ominously. Other than the mirror, the chamber appeared void of life. However, as Harry approached the pit, a stone wall suddenly surged up behind him, sealing off his escape.
"You've shown up, Potter," a voice dripped with contempt for his family name. "In the end, you're nothing but a foolish, attention-seeking half-blood Gryffindor, eager to prove your worth. But fret not; your mudblood is still alive. I want you to witness my master torturing her to death, after which you'll assist him in reclaiming his body."
'So, a supporter of Lord Voldemort,' Harry thought, scanning the room in search of the hidden speaker. He suspected the wizard was using an invisibility charm; it seemed impossible for a fully-grown man to hide so effectively behind one of the pillars. Suddenly, a red beam shot toward him with alarming speed. Thanks to his dodging practice from Quidditch, he narrowly evaded the curse. With a clearer idea of where it originated, he shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" The unseen assailant effortlessly deflected the spell with a shimmering, semi-transparent shield and retaliated with another crimson curse.
"I'm surprised," the voice taunted. "How could the 'great' Harry Potter defeat the greatest wizard on earth a decade ago, while now you can't harm a mere servant of the Dark Lord? You even needed that traitorous Snape to save you during a Quidditch match!" As Harry dodged yet another curse, he retaliated with an array of first-year hexes. Realizing the young Gryffindor was too agile to hit with a spell, the invisible adversary shifted tactics, summoning a flock of sharp-beaked birds to swarm him. While Harry struggled to fend off the relentless avians, he was suddenly ensnared by a curse that manifested into red-hot chains. They bound him without causing significant harm, but rendered him immobile. His wand tumbled from his grasp, clattering to the stone floor.
Once restrained, his assailant dropped the invisibility charm, revealing himself as Quirinus Quirrell, adorned in his signature turban.
"Ah, so it's you," Harry hissed through the pain of his bindings. Quirrell feigned indignation.
"How could you suspect poor stuttering Professor Quirrell?" he asked, overemphasizing his (fake) stutter. He quickly reverted to his nefarious facade, channeling Voldemort's sinister aura. "Now, tell me how to retrieve the stone from this blasted mirror, Potter. I can see myself presenting it to my Lord, but I can't grasp it! Reveal what I must do, or I will start torturing your mudblood!"
With a flick of his wand, Quirrell revealed Hermione, unconscious and bound by stone rings against the wall opposite the entrance. Harry noticed her chest moving slightly, a small reassurance that she was alive.
"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, as he had not yet discovered the mirror's final protection. Quirrell responded with despair and cast a torturous spell at Hermione, causing her to momentarily stop breathing.
"Think again, Potter," the servant of the Dark Lord warned, renewing his aim at Hermione.
"I don't know," Harry repeated, gritting his teeth against the pain. He understood that pleading with Quirrell would only lead to further harm for Hermione, having lived with a cruel man for most of his life. The antagonist, unsatisfied with the answer, sent a purplish curse that left numerous cuts streaking across Hermione's upper body.
"This is interesting," Quirrell sneered. "Who would have thought our heroic Gryffindor enjoys inflicting suffering on his friends? Let's see how you fare when my curses are directed at you..." He unleashed a deep-red curse that thrust pain through Harry, sharper than anything he had ever experienced; it felt as if white-hot knives were stabbing him from all angles. The scream that erupted from Harry's throat surprised even Quirrell, who wondered how the boy's voice hadn't brought the ceiling crashing down on them.
Yet Quirrell had to relent, needing the boy to maintain his sanity until Harry would provide the coveted answer about how to obtain the stone. "Once again, Potter, how do I retrieve the stone?" Each word dripped with malice, designed to instill terror.
"I... don't... know..." Harry gasped, fighting for breath. Regrettably, his response sent Quirrell into a fury.
"Why you? Cursed brat!" Quirrell was about to unleash another curse when an unexpected, hissing voice interrupted:
"Stop." The command was low, radiating pure evil, causing Harry's scar to throb painfully. To Harry's shock, the voice emerged from Quirrell himself. "The boy speaks the truth."
"Yes, master," Quirrell stammered, this time genuinely. He turned back to Harry. "How is it that the great Dumbledore didn't confide in the Boy Who Lived regarding the stone's concealment?"
"That man is merely a manipulative old coot," Harry replied, still wincing from the chains' pressure. Quirrell raised an eyebrow.
"What do I hear? Is the golden Gryffindor at odds with the leader of the Light?" Quirrell began a tirade, but the hissing voice silenced him.
"Quirrell! Use the boy to extract the stone from this blasted mirror!" it ordered, and Quirrell's body involuntarily tensed with the command.
"Of course, master." With a wave of his wand, Quirrell levitated Harry in front of the mirror. "What do you see, Potter? Do you see how to claim the stone from it?" He compelled Harry to gaze directly into the mirror. Even through the haze of pain, Harry saw the reflection show him what it had before: his family. This time, however, the mysterious girl in his arms reached under his robes and withdrew a blood-red stone the size of a matchbox. The reflection smiled as she returned the stone to his pocket, and Harry felt a weight in his robe's inner pocket.
"What do you see, Potter?" Quirrell pressed again.
"I see my family," Harry said, still in agony. Quirrell opened his mouth, ready to rage, but the sinister voice intervened again.
"Family, you say?" it hissed, igniting Harry's scar with sharper pain. "Potter. If you tell me how to obtain the stone and pledge your service, I, Lord Voldemort, promise to bring back your parents."
"Not a chance!" Harry declared, defiance rocketing through his pain.
"Then you shall die today, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Quirrell, search him! He is hiding something!" Quirrell nodded and approached, his wand drawn. He rifled through Harry's pockets, first searching his pants, then the outer pockets of his robes, to no avail. "Aha!" he exclaimed, reaching for Harry's inner pocket.
Determined to protect the stone, Harry unleashed a surge of accidental magic that loosened his right hand's chains. Grasping Quirrell's wrist, the two were engulfed in pain—Harry from the scar, and Quirrell screaming in agony as the young wizard's grip burned. Ultimately, Quirrell managed to wrench his wrist free, leaving Harry gasping for breath, while the chains, now losing their heat, returned to a dull gray, still holding him but no longer causing suffering.
Looking up, Harry saw the aftermath of their struggle—a patch of Quirrell's skin was scorched, revealing gray, decaying flesh underneath.
"Master, it hurts!" Quirrell cried, but the Dark Lord was uninterested.
"Fetch me the stone, you worthless wizard!" Voldemort hissed. Quirrell, albeit begrudgingly, took a step closer to retrieve the stone from Harry's pocket. But before he could, Harry instinctively seized Quirrell's wrist again, and the familiar agony returned, paralyzing Quirrell momentarily. In response, Harry gripped tighter around Quirrell's neck, eliciting a scream of pure terror as Voldemort's essence struggled to maintain control. The professor's body withered under Harry's touch until, in one final surge of agony, Quirrell's head hung limply, severed from his neck, and the chains binding Harry vanished.
For a heartbeat, nothing stirred. Then, a sickly black and gray smoke erupted from the professor's head, swirling into the shape of a specter with menacing red eyes and a serpentine visage. "You've destroyed my host, Potter. Yet, I will still claim the stone," it hissed before lunging toward Harry, attempting to possess him.
Pain exploded within Harry as Voldemort tried to invade his body, but somehow he found the strength to push the entity back out. The last sight before unconsciousness took him was the specter of Voldemort retreating, swearing vengeance in its slithery voice.
---
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was deep in contemplation. On one hand, it appeared that young Harry possessed the power to thwart the latest Dark Lord. On the other, Harry did not align with Dumbledore's image of a destined hero. While the green-eyed boy had risked his life for his friend and the stone—albeit reluctantly—he was far too independent and cunning for the old wizard's liking.
Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, seemed easier to mold into the hero Dumbledore envisioned, and despite his shy demeanor, he appeared a better leader than Harry. Plus, as a pureblood, Neville would draw more supporters.
Ultimately, it was Harry who had again thwarted Voldemort, and thus he, not Neville, must remain the chosen one. With plans now centered around this new assumption, Dumbledore knew he needed to secure his position in the wizarding world—should the incident with the stone become public knowledge, it would undermine the trust the wizarding community had in him. This would hinder his ability to guide the chosen one towards his destiny. Therefore, the headmaster resolved to modify a few memories.
First, Hermione. Her memory needed to be altered to erase all recollection of the stone, as she hadn't seen any of the so-called protections surrounding it. Removing the golem from her memory would be wise too.
Next, Neville would pose a bigger challenge. The boy had been present with Harry and had seen too much; Dumbledore was fortunate to prevent Neville from revealing their location to Minerva. The old man hesitated at the thought of tampering with a staff member's memory, yet if the Greater Good necessitated it, he would have to comply. Ultimately, the young Longbottom would need to forget all knowledge of the stone and everything that lay behind the door on the third floor's right-hand corridor.
Finally, Harry himself—obliviating him was a last resort. The boy could tell his friends the truth, and if they retained memories inconsistent with Dumbledore's narrative, inquiries would inevitably arise. Although there were oaths to prevent tales from circulating, Dumbledore feared that Harry, being shrewd, would find a loophole to divulge whatever he suspected. The boy was too clever to inadvertently bind himself to a wizard's oath without grasping its implications.
As Dumbledore devised a cover story for the day's events, he found inspiration in the note Harry and Neville had handed to Minerva before embarking on their rescue mission. The tale would weave a narrative of a Death Eater seeking vengeance on Harry by kidnapping his muggleborn friend. The professor, Quirrell, would emerge as a tragic hero, killed while defending the school. After the Death Eater dispatched Quirrell, he would have attempted to finish the boy but was thwarted by Dumbledore, who would arrive moments too late. The ensuing battle would culminate in an explosion, narrowly avoided only due to Dumbledore's protective magic.
With a plan in place, Dumbledore would descend to the hospital wing to make his modifications and, perhaps, suggest to Minerva to temper her reprimands towards Harry and Neville—after all, though their actions had been reckless, they were born of loyalty to their friend. They had shown true Gryffindor courage, even if they needed to channel it with a bit more caution in the future.
---
For the ensuing days, Hogwarts buzzed with gossip about the events involving the 'golden trio' and their time in the hospital wing, as relayed by Dumbledore. Neville, whose memories were altered, corroborated the official narrative.
Professor McGonagall penalized Harry and Neville each a hundred points for their reckless actions, having disregarded her authority. However, she later awarded them a hundred points for their bravery in attempting to rescue their friend. As such, Gryffindor retained the lead in the House Cup, though their margin now hung perilously close to Slytherin, who trailed just seven points behind.
Hermione was the first to leave the hospital wing, having been swiftly healed by Madam Pomfrey. Treating broken bones and cuts, even those inflicted with dark magic, proved much more manageable than healing the lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse that Harry had endured. Yet, by the end of year feast, Harry too had recovered sufficiently.
The feast was as grand as the one on September 1, although many Slytherin students, having lost the House Cup for the first time in seven years, would hardly agree. The Great Hall adorned in the red and gold of Gryffindor sparkled with festivity, celebrated not just by Gryffindors, but applauded by Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—both houses, weary of Slytherin's dominance, cherished this moment of victory.
Come morning, the Hogwarts Express would ferry the students back to London, officially ushering in the summer break.