The Sorcerer's Stone - Hermione Granger x OC

The Man With Two Faces

As Oliver and Harry cautiously stepped into the dimly lit final room, an oppressive tension filled the air. The distant murmurings of their footsteps reverberated off the cold stone walls, echoing an unsettling premonition of the impending confrontation.

Before them stood a dark figure, his silhouette illuminated by an ethereal glow emanating from the mystical Mirror of Erised. His trembling hands reached out, eagerly searching for the elusive Philosopher's Stone, an object of unimaginable power that held the key to eternal life.

The chamber echoed with the haunting whispers of dark enchantments as the boys' eyes widened, fixated on the sight before them. Oliver's heart pounded in his chest, a symphony of fear and determination, while Harry's emerald eyes blazed with an unyielding determination to protect the ancient relic from the clutches of evil.

"Snape!" Harry called out, his voice echoing through the dimly lit chamber.

The figure, startled by the familiar call, turned around to face them, but it was not the brooding Professor Snape who met their gaze. Instead, it was the innocent looking Professor Quirrell, his features twisted by a sinister smile.

"You?" Oliver questioned.

"Ah, Harry Potter, how nice of you to join me. And you've brought a friend as well, how wonderful," Quirrell said, a smile playing across his face.

"I don't understand. Snape was the one trying to get the stone. He was the one who tried to kill me during the Quidditch match," Harry said, his voice filled with confusion as he attempted to piece together the puzzle before him.

"It was not Snape who had murderous intentions, Harry. It was I who sought to end your life. Had it not been for his dreaded counter curse, my plans would have succeeded!" Quirrell exclaimed in anger.

"Was he trying to save me?" Harry questioned. "Then that means... you let the troll in!"

"Very good, dear boy. I knew you were a threat to me from the very start," Quirrell said.

"You bastard! You almost got me and my best friend killed!" Oliver shouted.

"It was merely a diversion in order to execute my real plan. Unfortunately, Snape was onto me and cut me off," Quirrell said.

Harry's scar began hurting him again, and Oliver realized that something very bad was about to happen.

"Snape never trusted me again after that and wouldn't leave me alone. That fool, I'm never alone," Quirrell continued.

Now, how do I get the stone?" Quirrell asked, his voice tainted with desperation.

"Use the boy," said an ominous voice, seemingly coming from all directions.

Oliver and Harry anxiously scanned their surroundings, their hearts racing in anticipation. The eerie silence engulfed them, amplifying their confusion as they searched for the source of the voice- a presence they couldn't see, yet felt permeating the air.

A chilling breeze brushed past them, whispering eerie words that sent shivers down their spines. Oliver instinctively tightened his grip on his wand while Harry exchanged a worried glance with his friend. They shared a silent understanding, knowing that whatever awaited them was far beyond their imagination.

"Come here, Potter!" Quirrell demanded.

Harry reluctantly stepped down, positioning himself right in front of Quirrell, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Let me speak to him," said the voice once more.

Quirrell looked visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry and the unseen force that controlled him. "But master, you are far from powerful enough," he muttered apprehensively.

"I have enough power for this," the voice replied.

Quirrell reluctantly took off the wrapping around his head, revealing another face situated on the back of his head. He turned around, ensuring the face could directly speak to him.

"Harry Potter, we meet again," the face said, its tone sending chills down Harry's spine.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked, his voice trembling with fear, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Yes," Voldemort replied, his voice dripping with malice. "You've seen what I have become. See what I must do to survive. All because of you."

"There is one thing that can make me whole again, and that thing is conveniently in your pocket," Voldemort said, his voice laced with a sinister longing.

Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cool surface of the Sorcerer's Stone. He pulled it out, his mind racing with a mixture of shock and determination. Oliver's eyes widened, mirroring Harry's astonishment.

"When the hell did you grab that?" Oliver asked, dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of the artifact.

At that moment, Voldemort's gaze fixated upon the stone, a look of twisted satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

"Ah, yes, the stone. Give it to me. We can make a great team, you and me. I can give you anything you'd ever want and more. We can even bring your parents back, Harry. I know you'd want that," Voldemort said, diabolically trying to sway Harry to his side.

The offer was tempting, a cruel temptation that exploited his deepest desires. But in that moment, Harry found strength within himself, fueled by the memories of love and sacrifice, and the unwavering loyalty of those who stood beside him.

"I'll never join you!" Harry shouted back.

"We have the stone, let's get out of here!" Oliver said urgently.

The two boys began running when flames burst out all around them. They found themselves trapped in a circle of fire, the heat intensifying with every passing second.

"Kill them and take the stone!" Voldemort ordered Quirrell.

Quirrell instantly flew at them with his hand out. Oliver attempted to take his wand out to defend himself, but Quirrell grabbed him by the throat before he could cast a spell. Quirrell threw Oliver hard against a wall, cracking his head on the floor on the way down.

"Oliver!" Harry shouted, concerned for his friend's well being.

The world around Oliver became hazy, his vision blurring as pain coursed through his body. He fought to stay conscious, but his strength waned, defeated by the brutal blow he had just endured. As darkness engulfed him, his mind full of fear, the last words he heard being Harry's desperate cry for his safety.