Harry Potter and the Gift of Memories [Harry Potter Fan Fiction]

Chapter XXXXVI: The Philsopher's Stone, Part I

After stepping through the door that would lead to the Philosopher's Stone and the one trying to get their hands on it, Harry Potter stopped and took a quick look around.

Torches lined the stone walls and cast enough light that everything within the room was illuminated. Large and cylindrical, spanning about a 50-foot radius and with a height of somewhere around 40-feet, the room reminded him of those ancient spires in old castles... only without the ascending staircase. In the center of the room sat the Mirror of Erised, and standing in front of it, mumbling to himself, his head covered in a large purple turbin, was none other than Professor Quirrell.

“Professor Quirrell,” Harry said calmly as he walked down the stairs with a measured pace. He absently palmed his wand, ensuring it remained hidden beneath the voluminous sleeves of his robes, the only reason he had worn them and not something that would offer less restricted movement. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Potter,” Quirrell smiled grimly at the young boy. “I'm not surprised you suspected it was me. Though I am curious to know how you figured it out.”

Harry decided to indulge the man. It would give him a moment to prepare himself for the confrontation to come.

“You were too obvious. No one stutters that much when they talk, even if they are frightened to death of their own shadow. There is also the troll to consider. It's not well known, but for those who know how to properly gather information, it's not impossible to discover that you have a special gift when it comes to controlling trolls.” Harry cocked his head to the side. “The fact that I always felt a legillemency probe in your classroom those first few weeks of school may have also had something to do with it.”

“Such intelligence,” Quirrell praised the raven-haired boy in a mocking fashion. “It's too bad I can't let you go.”

Quirrell snapped his fingers and several ropes appeared out of thin air.

“Diffindo!”

Harry's wand sprang into action, several cutting curses shooting from the tip and slicing the ropes apart before they could reach them.

He jumped to the left just in time to dodge that same sickly yellow curse he'd run afoul of in the forest. It flew past him and splashed against the stairs, eating through them like they were made of rotting wood.

“Where is Voldemort?” Harry asked, his wand held aloft. Quirrell stood opposite him, his own wand out and ready to send another attack. “I know you're working for him. I know that you're trying to get the Stone so he can regain his body. Where is he!?”

“That's none of your business, Potter,” Quirrell sneered as he fired off more curses. Most of them were the same acidic spell Harry was becoming intimately familiar with, but a few were of a kind he had never seen. Though he assumed they were dark curses designed to not only do damage, but inflict pain as well.

Harry dodged most of them, blocking those he couldn't by conjuring small rocks and banishing them into the path of the spells. It was easier to block spells with physical objects instead of a Protego, something Harry had determined when coming up with battle strategies.

However, while this strategy kept him from dying, it was only a delaying tactic. So long as Quirrell controlled the flow of battle, Harry would never win. He needed to put the battle in his favor by changing the playing field.

“Very good, Potter. Very good,” Quirrell complimented in a taunting voice. “It seems you have improved since the last time we fought.”

“The last time we...” Harry only needed a moment to understand what that statement meant. “That was you in the Forbidden Forest?”