521-DREAM
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SS Chapter 11: One Stone
🕑 Added 2024-09-11 08:18:50 +0000 UTCXI. One Stone
A loud chatter filled the Great Hall. Most of it, Harry suspected, was coming from Pansy. The girl rambled loudly about everything from the weather to the latest Azkaban breakout. Sitting beside her, Draco Malfoy looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Let’s cheer him up a bit.
Smiling, Harry strode across the hall. The blonde-haired Slytherin boy panicked at once.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy hissed. Harry took the seat opposite him along the Slytherin table, pulling a plate of bacon toward him.
“Talking to Daphne, of course,” Harry said smoothly, “I think I like her.”
The girl stared at him. Around them, the other Slytherins looked as though he had grown a third eye.
“Kidding,” Harry yawned, now buttering a piece of toast, “Honestly, haven’t any of you heard of a joke? No, I’m here to hold up my end of the bargain.”
“Bargain?” said Draco faintly. Harry nodded.
“We agreed that if you helped me on my History of Magic Essay, I’d do something for you, too,” he reminded the blonde boy. Harry glanced over at Daphne, “You remember that, right, Daphne?”
“Yes,” she frowned, staring at him. Harry turned back to Malfoy.
“Well, I’m here to get out of debt,” he smiled, “I tell you what you wanted to know, and then we go our separate ways.”
Some of the surrounding Slytherins looked away, feigning disinterest. Others genuinely were uninterested - History of Magic Essays weren’t exactly the most enthralling subject matter, after all.
Harry waved his wand, throwing up a silencing ward. The eavesdropping Slytherins muttered angrily.
“There,” Harry said cheerfully, “That way they can’t hear us. It’d be awful if they heard what you’d asked me to uncover -”
“What are you playing at?” Malfoy interrupted. Harry frowned.
“Rude,” he said irritably, “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know - you’re off the hook.”
“What?”
“Something you said yesterday in the chamber got me thinking,” Harry admitted, “Ask Neville, not me.”
Draco stared at him.
“He’s not going to agree,” he hissed, leaning closer, “He knows you’re nothing more than an act. He’ll see right through you.”
“I know, I know,” Harry frowned, “It’s been awful, really. For the longest time I’ve had no idea how to deal with him. But you got me thinking . . . Nev’s a bit of a Hufflepuff, really. Loyal at heart, strong morals. Imagine if he saw the real me. The humanity of Harry Potter, doing its very best to escape the influence of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
Malfoy snorted.
“Cute, but it won’t work. He’ll know it's an act.”
“But he won’t,” Harry said thoughtfully, “Not when he wants to believe it’s true. Combine that with a subtle heart-to-heart and smidge of desperation -”
Bingo.
“Nev understands better than anyone what it’s like to lose your parents,” Harry said at last, “Just tug on a few strings, and voila!”
Someone to watch over me and less suspicion from Neville. Two birds, one stone.
The silencing ward shattered, and Harry stepped away, smiling cheerfully.
(-{- S S -}-)
Fleur eyed the handsome boy, watching as his lips curved upwards. He laughed alongside his friends at something one of them had said. Fleur’s gaze lowered to the thin sheet of parchment she had pressed atop the table:
‘Hard-working, highly moral, kind, and humble. Attractive, though he doesn’t use it to his advantage. Sixth-year Hufflepuff. Excels at transfiguration and arithmancy.’
“Done yet?” Adeline asked irritably, leaning over to read what Fleur had written, “Attractive, is he?”
Fleur blushed, pulling the parchment closer.
“Madame Maxime asked me to profile any possible Triwzard competitors,” she said hotly, “Stop being annoying and let me focus.”
“On what, his pretty face?”
Fleur stabbed the parchment with her quill.
It was midday now. Faint light appeared through the cloudy sky, spilling into the Hogwarts Library. Fleur and Adeline were sitting at a table near the furthest end of the library, watching as Cedric Diggory and his peers studied.
“Who else have you got?” Adeline asked curiously, reaching for the sheets of parchment beneath Diggory’s, “Angelina Johnson, Roger Davies, Adrian Pucey - why not those redheaded twins?”
“The ones who were complaining about the age rule?” Fleur asked. Adeline nodded, “They’re not exactly the spitting-image of skill.”
“You said that about Hugo, too, back when we were dating,” Adeline reminded her, “He’s still a piece of shit, but just because people know how to have fun doesn’t make them stupid.”
Fleur nodded in agreement.
“I’m aware.”
If half the stories I’ve heard of those two are true, they might be more talented than most of the Beauxbatons seventh-years.
“But?”
“But,” Fleur continued, “There are two of them. They seem a little too similar for the Goblet of Fire to pick one over the other.”
Adeline nodded thoughtfully.
“I can’t help but notice you have one candidate from each Hogwarts house,” she hummed, glancing over the sheets once more.
“It was an expected coincidence,” said Fleur truthfully, “Each of the houses seem to have rallied around a singular leader.”
“Oh, right,” Adeline’s gaze lowered, “Is the fifth page from the Durmstrang Champion, then?”
Fleur frowned.
“No, I did that yesterday. It’s almost guaranteed to be Krum.”
“Unsurprising,” Adeline admitted, “And for Hogwarts?”
“Diggory, I think,” she said uncertainly, “But it's less clear. Everyone Madame Maxime asked me to review has potential.”
“Why Diggory, then?”
“Most balanced,” Fleur said simply, scribbling across her parchment, “That’s good for me, really. Means I don’t have to worry about him having any Aces hidden in his sleeve.”
“Vanilla, huh?” Adeline pouted.
“That’s what Madame Maxime seems to think.”
And from the looks of it, she’s right. Hard-working but lacking in true ambition and pure, raw talent.
A familiar, uncomfortable feeling slid down her spine. Fleur studied her notes with unnatural focus.
“People are staring again,” Adline whispered, “Control yourself.”
“I am,” Fleur hissed. She closed her eyes, mentally tugging on her allure, “They should be controlling themselves, not me.”
Adeline placated her with a rub on her shoulder. She tossed Fleur’s hood over her head.
“Give it a moment. They will get bored.”
The two of them waited in silence. After several minutes, the feeling had faded. Adeline spoke.
“You never told me who the last sheet was for.”
Fleur frowned, pulling it from the bottom of the stack. She traced it with her quill.
“Potter.”
Adeline grinned.
“The fourth year? I thought he wasn’t talented?”
“Madame Maxime disagrees,” Fleur sighed, “She’s heard stories, apparently. Something about killing a professor and an oversized snake.”
“Ooh, I didn’t hear about the second one,” said Adeline cheerfully, “Though Alice and I did figure out why the Bones woman was glaring daggers at him during her speech.”
Fleur looked up from her parchment.
“Go on.”
“Apparently he helped Sirius Black escape,” Adeline grinned, “He used a Patronus Charm on an army of about a hundred dementors. Stopped Black from getting his soul sucked out.”
Fleur paused for a moment before jotting that down.
“A tall-tale probably, but just in case.”
Adeline quirked an eyebrow.
“You believe that?”
“It’s not impossible,” she noted, “Patroni are one of the few forms of magic that derive their strength from sheer willpower. If he wanted it enough, it’s certainly within the realm of possibility.”
She finished scribbling it down, reading it once over. Adeline peaked over her shoulder.
“You should probably add the professor murder, too.”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to observe him now, too?” Adeline asked curiously, “He’s the last one you need, and I saw him here when we were coming in.”
“He’s over there,” Fleur whispered subtly. Adeline glanced across the library, spotting the boy amongst a number of girls. She glanced back, watching as Fleur squibbled a few notes across her parchment.
‘Confident, bordering arrogance. Highly charismatic, clever, and cunning. Easy on the eyes, uses this to his advantage. Fourth year Gryffindor. Excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms. Said to be extremely gifted at practical magic.’
“Why is Diggory attractive but Potter’s easy on the eyes?” Adeline frowned.
“Because Potter is fourteen,” said Fleur indifferently. She looked up before adding a single word to her notes.
‘Womanizer’
“In his defense, I don’t think he’s flirting with any of them,” Adeline yawned. Fleur considered her words.
“I suppose you’d know better than anyone -”
“Actually, I’m wrong,” Adeline was staring obviously at the otherside of the room. Fleur hissed in panic, “He’s definitely flirting with the Indian girl.”
Fleur dragged Adeline down before chancing a glance across the room. Sure enough, Harry Potter was nodding before a rather pretty girl, a beatific smile etched across his features. Fleur sighed.
“Womanizer stays, then,”
Adeline shrugged.
“It’s only one girl. That hardly makes him a whore.”
They watched as the boy’s eyes slid from the brown girl and toward the entrance. A pudgy boy with short, blonde hair and Gryffindor robes stood at the entrance to the library, looking around nervously. Harry Potter eyed him carefully.
Fleur turned to Adeline expectantly.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well, you used to manipulate boys all the time,” Fleur said as though it were obvious, “What’s he doing?”
Adeline rolled her eyes.
“I occasionally flirt with people of the opposite sex,” she corrected without conviction. Fleur stared at her, “Unless it turns out that Potter’s gay, I can’t help you.”
Fleur frowned. She watched as Harry rose to his feet. The boy leaned closer, smiling at the girl and whispering something before chasing after the blonde Gruffindor.
“And there goes your observation window!” Adeline grinned, “Unless you’d prefer to oggle Diggory?”
Fleur groaned, pocketing her sheets and straightening up.
(-{- S S -}-)
“Neville! Hey, Neville!”
The blonde boy slowly turned. Harry doubled over upon reaching him, now thoroughly out of breath. The pudge Gryffindor stared down at him.
“What do you want?”
Harry thought for a moment. It was sudden;y dawning upon him how terrible of an idea this was.
“I - I need your help.”
Neville stared at him.
“With what?”
Harry glanced around before waving his wand before his chest. Wards sprang to life around them, preventing potential eavesdroppers from listening in.
“You remember what Riddle said in the chamber, don’t you?”
Neville frowned.
“It’s pretty difficult to forget.”
“Right,” Harry grit his teeth, “Right, well, I - I want to force a vision.”
Neville stared blankly at him.
“And you need me because . . .”
“I need someone who can activate a ritual that will pull me out should something go wrong.”
Neville nodded slowly.
“Can’t risk anyone seeing through your little act, can you?” he whispered. Harry frowned.
“Can’t bring anyone into the Chamber of Secrets without getting asked questions.”
Neville froze.
“You expect me to go back there?”
Harry shrugged.
“It’s separated from the Hogwarts wards. I’m not sure if the Hogwarts wards can pick up on ritual usage, but I’m not trying to find out.”
“Why not use Malfoy?”
“He chickened out.”
“You’re lying,” said Neville with an air of certainty, “I was there when you blackmailed him into that vow. I know you can make him do it if you want to.”
“Technically, I can’t,” said Harry earnestly, “There’s a stipulation in there - I can’t make him do anything that goes against his best interests. If Voldemort finds out about this . . . well, you can figure it out.”
Neville glared at him.
“But you’re okay with getting me killed?”
“Voldemort has been after both our families for decades,” said Harry pointedly, “You and I both know this won’t change a thing.”
Neville grit his teeth, glaring at him.
“This is stupid,” he snapped uncharacteristically, “Ever since the chamber, you’ve always been so utterly unprepared around me - which makes sense, really, since you know your little Riddle act won’t work on me. But do you always have to be so stupid?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can tell you came up with the idea of using me about five minutes ago,” said Neville irritably, “And, for your information, I’m really not interested in being your pawn.”
He turned around, moving to leave. Harry hurriedly chased after him.
“I’m after the Resurrection Stone!”
Neville froze.
“What?”
“I’m after the Resurrection Stone,” Harry repeated, breathing heavily. His face was uncharacteristically vulnerable, “Voldemort had it. I want to see what he did with it.”
Neville turned around. There was a sharp look in his eyes.
“Why?”
Harry swallowed. He forced himself to look away.
“You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Harry shifted.
“My parents,” he whispered, “I - I want to see my parents.”
A heavy silence stretched between them. It was Neville who broke it.
“Why risk telling me about the stone?” he asked determinedly. Harry forced himself to stare longingly at the ground.
Because I know you won’t tell anyone, just like you never told anyone about Riddle.
“I - I don’t know,” he said instead, “I guess I either have to tell you or . . . or . . .”
He trailed off. Neville stared at him. Harry could just barely spot the approving glint in his eye.
“I’ll be in the Gryffindor common room at midnight,” the blonde boy said at last, “We can walk to Myrtle’s together.”
With one last glance, he turned away, heading out of sight. Harry couldn’t help but smile.
Two birds . . .
(-{- S S -}-)
“Are you sure this will work?”
Harry turned around, inspecting the blood covered runes that lined the floor. He frowned.
“The ritual will do what it’s meant to do, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not,” Neville said hoarsely, “I mean, do you think you’ll be able to force it?”
Harry sighed.
“Only one way to find out, really.”
He lowered himself to the cold floors of the chamber, shivering slightly as the cobblestone pressed against his skin. Neville’s disbelieving expression loomed overhead.
“I don’t think Voldemort would approve of your complete lack of a plan.”
“I don’t think I care what he approves of.”
This is, however, a terrible, terrible idea.
Neville nodded reassuringly, stepping aside. Harry internally calmed himself.
“Ready?”
Harry nodded.
“Ready.”
The pudgy blonde held out an arm, carefully tipping a vial of sleep potion (not the dreamless variant, as Harry had triple checked) over Harry’s open mouth. The bespectacled boy closed his eyes.
All at once, the world went black as sleep overtook him.
(-{- S S -}-)
Show me the stone.
Harry’s mind raced, seeing and hearing nothing. He could feel the sleeping potion pressing against his consciousness, dragging him down into murky depths -
The stone. Show me the stone.
Something spawned within the nothingness. Harry assumed it was far away; a glowing bead of scarlet, racing toward him at breakneck pace. As it approached, the bloody lights split in two.
Fuck.
Harry tried to move, but he had no body to man, nowhere to go. Heat and anger radiated from the pair of scarlet eyes.
The stone. I want to see the stone!
Another whirl of light appeared. It was further now, sitting far beyond the eyes of scarlet. Rich greens and stormy white flickered off in the distance.
Little Hangleton.
All at once, the world spun. Harry found himself standing just outside a small, dilapidated shack, the scarlet eyes floating menacingly beside him. Harry felt his skin crawl and, upon looking down, felt slight relief at the realization that his body had returned. He turned back to the eyes, inspecting them curiously.
“I suppose you’ll be watching along with me, then?”
The eyes, unsurprisingly, said nothing. Still wary, Harry turned away, taking in his surroundings.
They stood along the outskirts of Little Hangleton. The little shack beside them overlooked a great portion of the small village. From here, Harry could see the bar he’d visited recently, as well as the sparse shops and homes -
And the manor. The place where Riddle killed his parents.
Harry and the eyes waited for quite some time. This dream wasn’t normal, the former realised - at least not as normal as his other visions. Usually, he inhabited Tom as the dreams played out. Harry suspected the eyes’ presence had something to do with the change.
Not that I’ll say it out loud. Even if the eyes don’t have ears.
“What’s taking the younger you so long?” Harry frowned, nodding at the scarlet orbs, “Not that I’m in a rush or anything.”
The eyes twitched. Harry watched, panicked as they floated into his chest, a burst of violent magic overcoming him. He fell to his knees.
What - what -
And suddenly, everything was as it usually was. Tom Marvolo Riddle rose to his feet, surveying the shack that lined the edge of Little Hangleton. His eyes trailed across the snake that had been nailed to the door.
“Open,” he hissed impatiently. The door swung aside, granting him entry. Tom sneered at the small, moldy shack.
“The gamekeeper’s hut is bigger than this.”
Shaking off his disapproval, he removed a small golden box from his robes, opening it carefully. Smooth velvet lined the insides. Tom removed a gold and black ring from his finger, placing it carefully within the box.
Time for protection. I will not let it be stolen.
He waved his wand wildly, muttering in rapid parseltongue. After several long minutes, he stepped back, panting heavily. The raw strength of his Withering Curse practically emanated from the ring.
“No one but I can touch it,” he whispered, eyeing it carefully, “No one but I . . .”
Deciding against checking whether or not he could hold the ring, Tom sealed the box. A loose floorboard rose with the curling of his fingers, and Tom, crouching down, hid the box beneath the floor.
“Perfect,” he whispered, resealing the floor. He stepped back to admire his work.
You’re not done yet.
Tom waved his wand, throwing countless wards and enchantments over the building. Most were derived through Parseltongue.
Something Dumbledore, despite his abilities, can not hope to overcome.
After nearly an hour, Tom stepped outside. He eyed the shack morosely.
“Goodbye, mother.”
And with a faint crack, he disapparated, the dream ending at once.
