It Could Have Gone That Way; A Harmione Fanfiction

Chapter 13: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

It was Quirrell.

Harry had been shocked. He had expected to see Snape - if not Voldemort - but Quirrell? It didn't make sense. Or did it?

Quirrell, it turned out, had been one of Voldemort's most faithful servants, as Lord Voldemort himself had been hiding under the ridiculous purple turban that had been upon Quirrell's head for so long. Quirrell explained to Harry that he had, in fact, been the one who had been trying to curse Harry's broomstick in his first Quidditch match, and that Snape was trying to counter it. If Hermione hadn't knocked Quirrell over in the process of setting Snape on fire, the curse would have worked, and Harry would be dead.

The only other thing in the room was - to Harry's surprise - the Mirror of Erised. Harry had been made to stand in front of it and tell Quirrell what he saw. Looking into it, he did not see his parents, but only himself. The reflection was smiling. It put a hand into it's left pocket and pulled out a deep red stone. That's it! Harry thought, The Philosopher's Stone! The reflection held the Stone up so that Harry could look at it before placing it back into his pocket. As it did so, Harry felt something drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd got the Philosopher's Stone.

"Well? What do you see, boy?" Quirrell demanded impatiently.

"Oh...it's me...with the House Cup!" Harry lied, faking excitement,"Yes, Professor Dumbledore's giving it to me...I'm Head Boy!"

"He lies!" Voldemort hissed,"Kill him! Kill him!"

Quirrell suddenly lurched forwards and grabbed Harry's wrist tightly. It didn't hurt Harry at all, however, Quirrell had let go, hunching over in pain. He was whimpering as his hands turned to dust in front of him.

"Get on with it!"

Quirrell ran back at Harry, pinning him against the cold floor, but this time, Harry knew what to do. He reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face. The man shrieked in pain, rolling off of Harry, who jumped to his feet. He caught Quirrell by the arm and hung on as tight as he could.

Between Quirrell's howls of pain as he crumbled to dust and Voldemort's yells of,"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Harry could hear other voices. They seemed to be coming from inside his head. The voices were both female and both rather familiar to Harry, although he could not put his finger on who either of them belonged to,"Harry! Harry!" They cried.

But Harry had let his guard down for too long; Quirrell had wrenched his arm free, and Harry could feel himself falling down - down - down...

**********

"Please, just five minutes?"

"No, Miss Granger, he's not woken up yet."

"But Madam Pomfrey-"

"Be quiet, Mr Weasley!"

Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up. He was in the hospital wing. At the foot of his bed was a pile of cards and sweets.

"Please, Poppy, let them in after me, just for five minutes."

"Oh, alright. If you insist, Albus."

"Yes!"

"Thank you, Professor!"

"There is no need to thank me, Miss Granger."

Harry reached over and found his glasses. He put them on just as a figure entered the room.

"Professor Dumbledore, Quirrell's got the Stone! He's going to-"

"No, Harry, he doesn't."

"But-"