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Ascension 24
🕑 Added 2023-08-01 17:54:50 +0000 UTC“Neville Longbottom…Boy-Who-Lived…come to die!”
Quirrell stood up from his conjured throne the next moment, striding forwards with a gleeful expression, and Neville struggled against the body bind with all his might—even though a part of him realized how futile it was. “A part of me can’t help but bemoan just how stupid and gullible you have turned out to be, Neville Longbottom,” the wizard whispered as he drew closer to them, his wand swiping across the air and launching them all across the air, making them strike the wall behind them harshly before their backs stuck against the surface—and not even a single sound escaped their throats, as the body bind kept their lips sealed.
“But I guess it isn’t entirely your fault now, is it?” He raised an eyebrow, his amusement palpable in his words as he crossed his arms behind his back and smirked, “Who would suspect innocent Professor Quirrell, a Defence and Muggle Studies Professor…when you just have a convenient person to accuse in the form of dear Severus. His past as a Death Eater, a close acquaintance of that mudblood Evans, and, well, no one likes a dark, brooding, terrorizing antisocial creature, do they? Especially the one that seems to focus all of his taunts and deductions on you pure, poor Gryffindors.”
“But he has always been like that, doing my work for me even without needing to be told,” the man chuckled, and Neville’s brain stopped for a moment. There was only one man, who Snape had ever worked for in his life, and while it had been said in his testimony that he had been Albus Dumbledore’s spy from the start…he had worked for the Dark Lord. As if reading his thoughts—and all Neville knew, he was already doing that—Quirrell smiled arrogantly, leaning down slightly to look him in the eyes, “So while you and your little trio thought that he was going to steal the Philosopher’s Stone right from under Dumbledore’s nose…well, I really haven’t laughed like that since that day…curiously, then also it was Severus because of whom I was in such high spirits.”
“And you can speak up now, Persephone and Harry,” he said, turning towards the twins, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, “I know that you removed the body bind a while ago from your mouths, quite impressive to see someone you age consciously use their magic like this.”
“Why did you make us come here?” Harry asked, alighting down on the ground along with his sister as he once again raised his wand. “Neville I can understand, because you are working for the Dark Lord or whatever and trying to get the Philosopher's Stone…but why us?”
“Working for the Dark Lord?” the man raised an eyebrow, his tone amused and shocked at the same time. He started chuckling the next moment heartily, and the small sound of his laughter soon turned into the mad cackles of a lunatic as he threw his head back and laughed. All three first years, on the other hand, took a step back—mentally in Neville’s case—as they saw Quirrell descend into madness, heaving great gulps of air as his echoing cackles slowed down to an amused chuckle, “Dear children, whatever gave you the impression that I am working for the Dark Lord?”
“Neville told us about the Unicorns being killed for their blood,” Harry answered, his fingers tightening on his wand as he silently freed Neville from the body bind. The Gryffindor fell to the floor with a gasp, surprised at his sudden freedom, and his eyes snapped to the only one who could have done so as Harry continued, “And Philosopher's Stone conveniently provides immortality better than Unicorn Blood, and it was also stored in Gringotts, from where someone tried to steal it. If it had only been the riches you are after, you wouldn’t have killed Unicorns in the forest.”
“I suppose that is true,” Quirrell mused, turning around to look at the Mirror of Erised as he crossed his arms behind his back. He hummed for a moment as Neville quietly came to stand beside the twins. “How adorable! If nothing else, I brought the Heir Longbottom to stand beside the children of his parent’s betrayers! But we are straying from the topic.”
“You are not wrong about me desiring the rejuvenating effects of Philosopher’s Stone,” Quirrell said softly, raising a finger towards the Mirror before him, and a golden barrier sprang up around the Magical Wonder, reaching all the way up to the rocky ceiling with three rings of runes floating around it, “But I don’t work for the Dark Lord, you foolish children.”
Cold sweat broke on his forehead, and Neville gulped as his brain began to run faster than a Unicorn. There was no chance that the stone wasn’t meant for the Dark Lord, and Quirrell didn’t have any magical ailments that needed the desperate measures of getting cursed multiple times. Unbidden, a memory of long ago rose through his mind, the words of Albus Dumbledore echoing in his thoughts as he remembered the time he had met the man at a ministry event.
‘Do you think I really killed him, the Dark lord?’
‘His name is Voldemort, Dear Boy, not the Dark Lord…fear of the name increases the fear of the man himself, and his moniker is nothing but a means to that,’ blue eyes twinkled as Dumbledore peered at him through his half-moon glasses, a glass of butterbeer in his hands as they stood off to the side, away from the reporters and various wizards and witches littering the Atrium. The aged wizard—and wasn’t that an understatement? Dumbledore looked positively ancient—took a sip of his beverage, and hummed a little, ‘And regarding whether you really killed him, or your mother did, who knows? But I will tell you one thing, Heir Longbottom, Voldemort is not dead. He was one of my students at Hogwarts, you know, and I know him better than anyone alive. Despicable, dark, and twisted he may be, but he is probably the most brilliant wizard I have ever seen, with an intuitive grasp on magic rarely witnessed—and of course, the power to go along with it. I believe…that he was greatly weakened the night he gave you that scar, rendered to a form that is between physical and purely metaphysical like the ghosts…but he shall return. Of that, I give you my word.;
‘And how shall he accomplish that?’
‘Magic is the most wondrous thing, Dear Neville,’ Dumbledore smiled, but it didn’t really reach his eyes as the man sighed a moment later,’ When you put your mind to it, there is nothing you can’t do with it. People have moved mountains, raised cities, and destroyed whole nations with a single flicker of intent…I suppose coming back to a physical form shouldn’t be too difficult. But enough of these topics,’ he suddenly changed his tone, brightening up as he patted Neville on his shoulders, ‘That day might never come for all know, so go and enjoy the party Neville, and I think I saw a certain red-haired girl staring at you earlier.’
“You are him,” Neville breathed, staring at the back of the turban with horror in his voice, his face paling beyond measure as his hold on his wand tightened, and he barely stopped himself from taking a step back, “Yo-You are Lord Voldemort!”
His scar throbbed suddenly, and the foreign sensation made him gasp right at the moment the Potters connected the dots. Neville fell to his knees, the lightning bolt on his forehead feeling like someone was stabbing at his head from within, and he groaned in agony, feeling all the strength in his joints seep away even as Quirrell hummed and once again turned around.
“Such insolence,” he mused, but the three children could feel the anger barely restrained in those words as the man knelt before Neville, once again freezing the twins and binding them with ropes as he sneered down at the groaning child before him, “Do you really think you have the power, the knowledge, the mind, and sheer might to speak on even terms with me, boy? Perhaps the ramblings of your senile grandmother have finally rubbed off on you, Neville Longbottom…but let this be a reminder to you. I am the most feared wizard in the last millennium, I have studied and mastered magics you can not even dream of…and you shall never ever be my equal.”
“Now, I have a simple proposition for you, Heir Longbottom,” the ma-monster composed himself and smiled sharply, his flashing crimson as he stood back up, and nodded in the direction of the bound and alarmed Potter twins, “You help me get the Philosopher’s Stone, and I won’t kill these two…slowly.”
“Yo-You would kill the children of your most trusted wand?” Neville hissed back between gasps, slowly feeling the pain in his head subside to bearable levels as he raised his head, staring right into Quirr-Voldemort’s eye., “Kill them for all I care, they are the children of you right-hand man, aren’t they? In what world do you see me helping you come back just to save the lives of Potters?”
“On a world where you want to be a better friend than their father ever was to Frank Longbottom,” came the response as Quirrell flicked a wrist towards the twins, and silence descended upon them all. Neville stopped breathing as the words spoken registered in his brain, and even the twins stopped struggling as they became deathly still. Seemingly amused by their reactions, the man—and just how was Voldemort inside Quirrell?!—stood up and walked towards the Mirror, “You have a choice here, Neville Longbottom. Refuse me and get the twins killed before I use the Imperius to get you to help me anyway, or save your hands from getting bloodied by innocent deaths, and do what I say…quietly…and if that isn’t upto what the Boy-Who-Lived might consider his mercy’s worth, maybe that Weasley and Mudblood might be enough of a motivation? Don't be foolish like your parents Longbottom…I am giving you the choice of keeping your friends alive, and we both know you are not going to stay idle if you can save their lives.”
Neville’s heart stopped beating once again as he felt his heart and mind tear his soul in two directions. He didn’t want to help Voldemort in any way or form, much less return to power…but he also didn’t want to let his…friends die, that too after they were here just because they had wanted to help him in the first place.
“What do I have to do?”
“Just go through the wards and stand in front of the mirror, and tell me what you see.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Persephone didn’t know what to think of the happenings going on around her. Professor Quirrell, the man she had slowly begun to respect and, dare she say, trust…was Lord Voldemort. Or at least, the Dark Lord was possessing the body of Quirrell because she doubted he would have taught Muggle Studies for the years prior without revealing himself to Albus Dumbledore. She was still bound in the body bind alongside her brother, and unlike the last time, it was proving much more difficult to slip out of it.
She couldn't understand why they were still stuck in their places, despite both of them flexing and trashing against the magical bonds upon them. And, of course, there was the fact that the Dark Lord was standing barely a meter away from her and could just decide to end their lives on a whim—though she doubted he’d kill his most trusted man’s children. And that was without confusion in her mind.
She didn’t know what she should feel regarding the prospect of the Dark Lord’s return. As far as she was aware, the people who stood against him hated their guts too, but it was the same with the so-called ‘Traditionalist’ or ‘Death Eater’ faction too. But that was all a matter for the future—a future where she wasn’t imprisoned under a spell and just waiting for the Dark Lord to decide her fate.
Neville grabbed her attention as the Longbottom Heir agreed to the Dark Lord’s demands, acquiescing to help him in exchange for thei—Granger’s and Weasley’s lives. He passed through the golden barrier slowly, and Persephone’s eyes turned towards the Mirror itself, wondering why one of the Magical Wonders of the world was present in a fucking school of all places.
“It was created by the Romans,” Qui-The Dark Lord’s sibilant voice spoke up as he looked back at them over his shoulder, “A relic of a bygone era when it is said that the very gods walked the Earth. Legend says that the smiths of the Roman Empire made this for Aphrodite so that she would know what she desired at any moment and could fulfill it. No matter how strong your Occlumency or mental discipline…the enchantments on the Mirror will still break into the deepest pits of your mind and conjure your wishes on the surface.”
If Persephone could have, she would have blinked up at the Dark Lord’s back as she stopped trying to get out of the body bind for a moment. She wondered about where the Dark Lord was going with his explanation, especially when his short ruse of a teaching carrier was clearly over. However, it seemed as if he had heard her thoughts as Quirrell's face peeked over his shoulder and with a flick of his wrist, they floated over to a stop right in front of him.
“Let see…what the prodigious twins of the disgraced, vilified House of Potters desire, shall we?”
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He stood resplendent in robes of black and red—the Potter colours, Daphne and Arcturus had told him—tall, free and powerful. Persephone languished on the chair besides him, her crimson hair falling in gentle waves and framing her emerald eyes as she spun her wand between her fingers. Behind them, a large manor rose, the grounds lush and rich with gardens and fountains.
It was an image of the Potter’s ancestral home, Harry realised, remembering the pictures Arcturus had shown them of their rightful home. The surface of the glass wavered slightly, like a ripple forming in the lake from a stone thrown. Harry blinked as shadows seemed to stretch around him and Persephone for a moment before they went away, leaving the dead bodies of Lucius Malfoy and Bartemius Crouch strewn before their feet.
If Harry could have, he would have blicked at the sight of the glassy eyes and bloody ruins on the ground, but before he could think anymore, the scene shifted again. Agusta Longbottom kneeled before them, her head bowed towards the ground and her hands raised with a scroll between them as a leash went from her neck to his hands. And behind them, the Potter Manor was replaced by the illustrious castle of the Longbottoms, their banners, and flags upon it replaced by those of the Potters.
“What did you see boy? Quirrell’s voice interrupted his swirling thoughts, unmistakable hunger in the words, and Harry watched as the Mirror once again transitioned back into its silvery surface, “What does the Muirror show you?”
“Uh…I am standing before the Longbottom Manor, Grandmother is standing behind me,” Neville answered, and Harry’s focus shifted from the Mirror towards the Longbottom and the possessed body of Quirrell as the Dark Lord took a step forwards, his hand reaching out towards Neville's shoulder, “I am the Minister of Magic, and James Potter is before me with Dementors sucking his sou-”
“You lie!” The Dark Lord hissed, his hand stopped by the barrier once again as Neville jerked around, his eyes wide as he beheld the anger in Quirrell’s crimson eyes, “Where is the stone, Longbottom? What did the Mirror reveal to you? Tell it to me now, or not even Dumbledore’s wards will be able to save your Grandmother from the most agonizing end I can give her!”
He watched Neville’s eyes flick towards them momentarily, and Harry renewed his struggle against the body bind once again. He concentrated upon the feeling of restriction over his skin, and heaved against it with all the magical power he had, feeling something give away slightly before the spell re-asserted itself. Growling mentally, Harry watched as the Dark Lord raised Quirrell’s wand and pointed it at the barrier separating him and the Longbottom heir, a blue spell shooting out of it and crashing against the wall of golden magic.
“Weak!” the Dark Lord spat—so much hate in that word that Harry thought even his dead whale of an Uncle might have taken some notes—as the blue light fizzled out against Dumbledore’s protection, looking down as the wand in his hands as if willing it to combust into ashes, “Do you see what I have been reduced to Longbottom?! A parasite that is living off of weaklings! A god amongst men, now I am but a specter, forced to use sacks of uselessness like Quirrell to achieve my goals! Give me the stone Longbottom, or I promise you that the next spell will be aimed at Granger and Weasley, and I assure you, weak though it is, Quirrell’s magic is more than enough for them!”
The spell binding him shattered the next moment, and Harry stumbled as he suddenly felt his body once again come under his control. Quirrell was still turned away from them, his wand pointed towards Longbottom as he screamed threats and promises of torture and death, and Harry took the moment to free his sister, a quick finite enough to remove the bindings upon her. “Do we run?” she whispered, raising her wand as they both stood side by side again. The Dark Lord was still focused on the Gryffindor, and both of them saw how the Gryffindor’s eyes flicked down to his robes for a moment before he looked at them, his eyes somehow pleading with them to help him, “We still do not know when the Professors or Dumbledore will arrive—if they arrive at all. This isn’t our fight!”
However, their choice to decide their next action was taken from them as Harry watched Quirrell whirl around, the tip of his wand glowing a sickly yellow as it flashed through the air. Casting the strongest shield he could with a shout of protego, Harry winced as he felt the curse slam into the glowing blue barrier he had created between them.
“You are not going anywhere!” the man hissed, raising his wand once more to launch another spell at the shield separating them, and this time, a series of cracks appeared before them, “I shall butcher every person in this castle, starting with you two, and let's see how long you can go with your little rebelion Longbottom!”
“Enough for you, I suppose, Lacero” came the response from the boy as he walked out of the golden shroud that had been his protection, raising his wand and casting the cutting spell, a smirk on his lips, “Your body is failing you Voldemort. It has been months since you last killed a Unicorn, and possession isn’t that easy to maintain without a steady dosage of restoratives.”
The Dark Lord whirled around instantly, slapping away the cutting curse as easily as he would batting away a fly, and he flicked his wand once, vines breaking out of the ground around Neville to restrain him. “Finally have the backbone to stand up against me, Longbottom?!” he taunted, only to frown as flames burst around the vines and disintegrated them before they could even touch the boy. At the same time, a shield sprouted around his body, stopping the bone breaker from connecting to the back of his head as he looked over his shoulder, “Ah yes, I had forgotten about you two…no matter, this room shall be your grave too then.”
“Are you sure you can keep moving and casting magic until then?” Neville’s voice taunted as Persephone shot another bone-breaker at the Dark Lord, and he raised his wand to transfigure the stray pebbles around him into needles, all of them stabbing towards the man the next moment, “Quirrell wasn’t someone who was even remotely used to shooting spells and casting shields, and you are also hindered by his weaker magical power and a wand that is not your own. I’d say we have got a good chance, Professor”
“Incendio!” Harry whispered, a torrent of flames gushing out of his wand, hotter and brighter than normal as he poured his will and power into it, and once again, Voldemort conjured a shield between them. Now that Neville had mentioned it, Harry could see what the other boy had been talking about. Throughout the night, Quirrell's face had been paler than usual, his eyes slightly sunken in his face, and now, after barely casting a handful of spells, he was paler yet. Determination and fear filling him with equal measure, Harry moved away as a purple bolt of magic shot towards him, before the Dark Lord turned around and batted away the spells Neville and Persephonem had shot at him “Glacius!”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Matching Voldemort’s crimson glare with his own, Neville a series of piercing hexes at the man, using every bit of anger and hate within him to fuel the spells. The Philosopher’s Stone rustled in the pockets of his robe, reminding him of just what was at stake here as he snarled, wordlessly turning a stone into a tin lance of iron that he shot towards Quirrell. The physical attack passed through his shield unhindered, and Neville grinned at the sight of blood that welled up from the arm that had been pierced.
It had been only been two minutes, but he was on his last legs already, and if the little pants that Persephone was giving out were any indication, then it was true for the crimson-haired girl too. Shielding from the spells of an adult wizard was no easy task, and as he watched another salvo of spells head towards their shields, Neville couldn’t help but pray for Dumbledore to reach them the next moment.
Or a miracle to happen.
The next moment, Harry’s shield broke first, and a pink arc slammed into his hastily raised clypeus, breaking through before slicing through his shoulder. Blood sprouted from the wound instantly, even as Harry shouted and kneeled down, his eyes clouded with pain as his face twisted into a grimace. Their shields, on the other hand, held, but just barely. Shooting to his feet, he shot another lacero at the Dark Lord, feeling the spell sap away at yet another hefty chunk of his power as it shot toward Quirrell’s chest. From the side, Persephone cast another blasting charm; even though he was breathing heavily and running on fumes, Neville took solace in the grunt the Dark Lord let out as he blocked their spells yet again.
A drop of blood slid down from Quirrell’s nose as he dispelled the shield separating down, and all of them watched as it moved down his sweaty face, spreading through the beads of perspiration and coloring them red. “You Merlin be damned INSECTS!” Quirrell’s voice roared an eyeblink later as he raised his wand, and dread filled Neville as he saw the tip grow a familiar, famed shade of green, “Enough of this playing around!”
“I agree,” Persephone spoke, raising her hand towards Quirrell, and Neville watched with shock as the man suddenly choked, “It is as you said, Professor, enough playing around.”
His baleful eyes turned towards the Potter girl, and he gurgled helplessly as Neville watched his throat constrict even more. Whatever magic the girl was using, Neville decided to thank her later as he moved to help Harry up. Now if Persephone continued to choke Quirrell’s body for a few seconds more, then he would fall unco-His thoughts were interrupted as Persephone shot back through the air, slamming into the wall behind them with a sickening crack. She slumped down to the ground, and Neville gulped as he realized that he alone was standing now against a very pissed but very weakened Dark Lord.
Stumbling a little in the aftermath of Persephone’s harsh choking, Neville shot a piercing hex right as he turned towards him, scoring a hit on Quirrell’s leg before he was forced to dive away from a cutting curse. Cursing mentally, Neville stood back up, only to stumble and fall on his front as a foot landed on his ribs. Quirrell’s hand grabbed him by the back of his head and raised him up, only to slam his head into the floor with a hiss.
“What sorcery is this?!” Quirrell's voice screamed into the empty chamber, and Neville gasped as he slowly turned around onto his back, his ribs protesting at the slightest of movements—but he persevered because it was the first time tonight that he heard the fear in the man’s words, and Neville knew at that moment, that this was his chance. His vision cleared up a little as he summoned whatever dregs of power were left within his body, and watched with fascination as the skin on Quirrell’s right hand, the hand which he had touched his head with, blistered and burned.
Delirious with exhaustion creeping through his veins and the pain on his head, Neville realized that whatever was happening to Quirrell’s arm, it was happening because the man had touched him. Grinning as he crawled back to his feet, Neville stumbled towards the shocked wizard. “Of course,” Voldemort muttered in a dazed tone as he still stared at his burnt hand, “That woman’s sacrifice must have cast an enchantment of protection so that I could not lay a hand on him…but no matter, magic still works!”
The Dark Lord’s wand rose once more toward him, another killing curse on its tip as hate shone through the possessed man’s eyes. But before Voldemort could launch his spell, a small cough came from behind him, and Neville watched as Harry raised his hand slowly, blood streaming down from his nose. Quirrell paused for a moment as he realized where he was looking at, and turned around as fast as he could…but Harry was faster. With a hoarse shout that turned into a bloody cough, a small piece of sharpened iron, barely more finger in length and thickness, plunged through the air.
“You think I would fall for such a thing again?!” Quirrell’s voice rasped as he stopped the needle with a swipe of his arm, glaring down mockingly at the barely conscious first year before him, “What did you hope to accomplish from this pathetic attempt Potter? Beyond hastening your impending death?”
“Wasn-Wsnt aimin’ for you as-asshole!”
Before Quirrell could even begin to turn around as he realized what Harry had done, Neville was upon the man like a hungry dragon. His hand warped around Quirrell’s face, fingers digging into his mouth and eyes as he roared, every fiber of his body feeling as if on fire. Quirell screamed through the fingers grabbing at his lips, twisting and turning as he was practically cooked underneath the Longbottom’s touch, the heat and sheer agony of the Longbottom’s touch making his body writhe.
He slammed back into the ground, and with a growing rage and panic, and the soul clinging to Quirrell’s withered and battered one realized that its hold upon the dying body was slipping. The sudden influx of tortuous pain and the weakening in the absence of Unicorn blood had greatly diminished Voldemort’s ability to suppress and possess Quirrell, and now that everything was culminating down to this moment, Quirrell’s soul and mind were waking up from their slumber, subconsciously fighting off against the possession from within—while at the same time, Neville blindly grabbed and scratched at any bit of skin her could fi9nd purchase on.
Blisters formed and bled even as the muscles beneath turned to ash, and Neville screamed as he grabbed the neck of the dying man, feeling his fingers dig through the muscle as if hot knife through butter. Voldemort stumbled to his feet violently, trying to shake off the child on his back, but his balance was lost as with a final push from Quirrell’s awakening mind and the soul-searing pain of Neville’s touch, he was forced from the body he had been inhabiting. Quirrell's screams died out the next second as a dark specter rose from his body, even as the man himself came back to his senses…only for Neville’s fingers to literally burn his neck to ashes.
As Quirrell felt his head strike the ground and his eyes open up for the first time in over a year, he saw the wraith he had found in Albania rise up into the air before it shot through the air towards a bo—Neville Longbottom, his mind supplied. HE watched the wispy miasma of magic and power ghost through the Boy-Who-Lived’s body with a shrieking scream, and Quirrell shuddered mentally as he felt the hatred and anger in that voice. Deciding to help the boy, Quirrell tried to move his body, only to feel nothing below his lips. However, before he could do more than panic for a second, his head fell apart into ashes…the last sight sight of his burning eyes being that Neville Longbottom falling to the ground, blood welling from his lips.
Comments
TheWateringWizard
What a final confrontation with Quirell !! Very good cooperation from the twins and Neville ! I wonder if Voldemort is playing along with the narrative that James was his right hand man while laughing on the inside… Second year might be quite harsh on the twins if they’re suspected of being the Heir (especially if they use parseltongue in public) but while it’s quite distant, I CANT WAIT for third year. That’s presuming that James will be the one to escape from Azkaban, but I can’t wait for the twins to learn the real truth behind their father’s actions
