Chapter 111: The Intruder
"You have to hand it to Quirrell," Ryan sighed, "he really knows how to deliver a villain monologue."
The five of them—Dumbledore, Flamel, Gellert, Flitwick, and Ryan—were gathered in the chamber of the Philosopher's Stone, watching the events unfold on a series of magical monitoring screens.
"It's not Voldemort's face," Dumbledore said grimly, "but it's certainly his style."
"He's underestimated the power of magical creatures and Muggle ingenuity," Flamel observed.
"A little brat, too obsessed with his own power," Gellert sneered.
"But how could it be him?" Flitwick squeaked. "I've been deceived! We've all been deceived! Albus, didn't you have Severus test him?"
Though they had all suspected Quirrell from the beginning, Snape's report had seemingly cleared him. Voldemort, Snape had argued, would never have allowed himself to be intimidated. It was only after the incident with Ron and the cursed Galleon that they realized this new Voldemort was playing a different, more subtle game.
"We took precautions," Ryan said, shaking his head. "We placed protective charms on Madam Pomfrey and Ron, but to avoid arousing suspicion, they were only designed to prevent death, not injury." He had known that this plan would result in casualties, but he couldn't have warned the entire school without revealing the trap.
"There is no need to worry," Dumbledore said, a chillingly familiar glint in his eye. After many long years, the man who had once been the first and greatest follower of a dark lord was once again on the hunt. "This is Hogwarts Castle. We have taken measures to protect the students."
"But Headmaster," Ryan countered, "people will still be hurt." He thought of Fluffy, the three-headed dog, and the brutal beating it had taken. Hagrid would be devastated. He pushed the image of the giant groundskeeper weeping from his mind. He noticed Professor Flitwick's crestfallen expression and offered him a piece of chocolate. The Charms Master took it, his hands trembling. He could rationally accept that one of his students had fallen to the dark side, but on an emotional level, it was a bitter pill to swallow.
"And all these challenges," Ryan said, watching as Quirrell-Voldemort breezed through the various obstacles, "they were designed to be solvable by a first-year, weren't they? For Harry's 'savior training'?"
"I am not a prophet, Ryan," Dumbledore said with a weary sigh. "How could I have known? And Quirrell himself designed one of the challenges. We couldn't make them too difficult without tipping him off."
They watched as Voldemort blasted his way through McGonagall's giant chessboard and strode nonchalantly through Snape's wall of fire, finally arriving in the room with Ryan's Nightmare Mirror.
"I feel like I'm casting pearls before swine," Ryan muttered, his heart sinking as he watched Voldemort approach the mirror. It was a priceless artifact, the centerpiece of a master Transfigurationist's lost workshop. Gringotts would have paid tens of thousands of Galleons for it. A string of very creative, very un-Hogwarts-like curses rose to his lips, but he managed to swallow them down. He would have to give Voldemort a special welcome for this. He began to subtly transfigure the decorations in the chamber.
"What pathetic protections," the intruder sneered. He knew that Dumbledore had deliberately weakened the mirror's power. If it had been operating at its full potential, linked to the magic of Hogwarts Castle, even he would have had some trouble with it. "Dumbledore is getting old and senile," he muttered. He picked up the cracked mirror, planning to gift it to one of his loyal followers after he had announced his glorious return to the wizarding world.
"Now, for the Philosopher's Stone," he thought. "I don't know what final protection Dumbledore has devised, but given the pitiful state of the other challenges, I'm not worried." After all, why would the old wizard go to the trouble of weakening the other obstacles, only to create an insurmountable one at the end? And with the whole school at the Quidditch match and Dumbledore himself at the Ministry, a fact he had confirmed through multiple sources, the path was clear.
Victory is mine!
With a surge of exhilaration, he strode into the final chamber. And stopped. Where am I? Did I take a wrong turn? Was that last door a Portkey? He couldn't believe his eyes.
Stretched across the room was a massive banner that read: WELCOME, MR. NO-NOSE TOM RIDDLE, TO YOUR OFFICIAL INSPECTION OF THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE'S PROTECTIONS!
Below the banner was a large, unflattering photograph of his noseless, snake-like face. To the side was a list of the welcoming committee:
The Failed Educator
The Failed Revolutionary
The Failed Professor
The Failed Prophet (and his junior)
The Incompetent Alchemist
And in front of the banner, five figures—young, middle-aged, and ancient—were watching him with varying expressions of amusement and contempt. A large, magical screen floated in front of them, displaying footage from every chamber he had just passed through. He had been played for a fool, a clown performing for an audience.
Suddenly, a deafening, magically amplified chorus of cheers and applause filled the room. "WELCOME! A WARM WELCOME!"
Tom, still wearing Quirrell's face, could only stare, his mind a complete and utter blank.
~~~
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