The Family that Chooses You

Chapter 24: Not Alone Anymore

I'm going to die.

Harry stood there as still as a statue.  He should have been shaking from fear, from nerves, from exhaustion.  He could have easily curled up like he used to when faced with such long odds, such extreme challenges.  He could have tried to run like he used to.  Instead he stood there, staring into the Mirror.

It had been a long night and it seemed like it was coming to a very abrupt and final end.

He and Hermione and Ron had figured out that someone was going for the Sorcerer's Stone, the fabled arcane object hidden at Hogwarts.  They thought, erroneously now, that Snape was trying to get the Stone.  So the trio followed as soon as they were able.  They stopped a well-meaning Neville from trying to stop them, and went through trap after trap.  Harry had lost Ron to the giant chessboard, left Hermione behind at the logic and potions puzzle.  He was prepared to stop Snape at all costs.

He was not prepared to stop Quirinus Quirrell, his Defense Against the Dark arts Professor.

He was not prepared to stop him and the spirit of Voldemort that was sharing Quirrell's body.

How could he stop the man, the thing now, that killed his parents?  How could an eleven-year-old boy stop one of the Darkest Wizards of all time?

After shattering all the notions that Harry thought were true this year, after taunting him, after filling him with dread and terror, Quirrell and Voldemort dragged Harry in front of the Mirror.

Harry was familiar with the Mirror of Erised.  He had found it during the Christmas Holiday, sitting alone in a classroom.  He had spent hours staring into it, looking at the images of his parents, of his extended family.  He had learned from Dumbledore that the Mirror showed a person what they truly wanted to be happy, what they needed to be genuinely happy.

The Mirror was the final test for the Stone.  One that Quirrell nor Voldemort had prepared for.  One that Harry did not prepare for either.

So the hybrid monster man thing was using Harry to try and find the stone, one more use out of him before they would kill him, for good.

Harry stared into the Mirror.  He ached to see his parents again.

They did not appear.

Before they had appeared instantly.  They had stayed with him the whole time.  Hands touched his image, ones he could not feel.  Eyes saw without seeing.  They had been with him from beginning to end.  They were not there now.

They don't want to watch their son die again.

Harry wanted to cry.  He felt so tired.  His body ached.  He wanted to give up.  To make all the pain end.  To forget all the terrible memories.

He just wanted to see his parents again.

The voice in his head was a blend of voices.  The coldness of Petunia.  The cruelty of Vernon.  The superiority of Dudley.  The darkness of Voldemort.  "You're all alone," the blended voice hissed.  "Abandoned by your parents.  Cast aside by your Aunt and Uncle.  Forgotten by your teachers and the Headmaster.  Hated.  Unwanted.

"Friendless."

A single tear flowed down his cheek.  "I'm alone," he whispered.

A hand appeared in the mirror.  It grasped his image's hand.

He almost gasped, resisting the urge to look about outside the mirror.  He knew the only ones in the chamber were him and the thing that was Quirrell and Voldemort.  He did not feel anyone take his hand now.

Katie appeared in the mirror.  She held his hand.  Her brown eyes radiated warmth and care.  She looked him in the eye, her hand touched her heart.

Angelina stood behind him.  She held her arm up, a hand touched a muscle.  Then she wrapped her arms around his image's body.

Alicia stepped into frame from the other side.  Her eyes sparkled and she touched her temple with a knowing smile.

The twins bounded in from opposite sides of the Mirror.  They smiled wide identically, their hands on their mouths and stretched them even wider.

Oliver stood over his shoulder.  He touched his eyes before laying his hand on Harry's shoulder.

The images did not speak but Harry heard them.  His image heard too.  It smiled though Harry did not.  His image reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright red stone.  He then put it back in his pocket.

Harry felt his pocket in real life bulge.  He felt the heavy stone against his leg.

He was not alone.

He had the Stone.

"I'm not alone," he said out loud.

"What was that?" Quirrell asked.

"I said I am not alone.  Not anymore."  Harry turned and looked at the thing that stood before him.  "You're the one that's alone."

Quirrell laughed maniacally, hysterically.  "I have my Master with me!"

Harry snorted.  He no longer felt scared.  He knew that the odds were still against him.  He knew that physically he was by himself.

But he did not feel alone.

"Voldemort only takes.  He takes and takes but never gives.  So even with him, you're alone, Professor."  Harry injected as much disdain as he could into the title.  "He will never give you anything.  No matter what he'll take all he can from you and leave you too."

A look of panic crossed the older man's face.  "He chose me!"

Harry almost laughed.  "Yeah?  He chose to take from you then.  The ones who chose me?  They give.  They give and that's what matters."

The room was silent.

"Kill him," Voldemort whispered.

Harry dove, barely dodging the spell Quirrell cast.  Fire ringed the room, preventing escape.  Harry ran, ducking hastily thrown spells and jumping over debris.  Quirrell finally grabbed Harry.  Harry felt intense burning on his neck where Quirrell grabbed him.

The feeling was mutual.

The older man screamed in pure agony.  His skin melted; his flesh burned.  The pair of them watched with horrid fascination as his hand dissolved before their eyes, leaving nothing but ash.

Before he could react, before he could grab his wand, Harry threw himself at the man.  He tackled him as hard as he could.  He reached up with his hands to grab Quirrell's exposed face.  As much as it disgusted him, he reached towards the back of the man's skull to grab at the inhuman face of Voldemort.

Quirrell and Voldemort screamed.  Their voices harmonized and broke again and again.  It was a discordant jangle of sounds, rising and falling.  The skin continued to dissolve, the flesh disappeared, the bone crumbled.

Quirrell tried to use his other hand to make Harry lose his grip.  The clenched fist struck again and again at Harry, against the clothed parts of his body.  It hurt, being struck like that.  The punches grew wilder, more desperate.  Each blow shook Harry's body.  Every hit made him ache.

He clung tighter.

He could feel Quirrell grow weaker.  He could feel something trying to escape.  Something was trying to squeeze past his fingers.  It was a loathsome presence, one that made Harry's skin crawl.  His scar burned terribly and he almost let go from the intense pain and pressure on his head.

Harry refused to let go.

The presence was much weaker now, almost as weak as Harry felt.  It whimpered once before shattering in his hands.  Something shattered in his head too.  Harry felt himself fall to the cold hard stone below.

His eyes were drawn to the Mirror.  The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was his parents standing over him, the team with them, and a lone figure rushing up to him.

Then he saw nothing.