Joining Forces with Snape

The wails of Voldemort and Quirrell rang out in a discordant mix.

This punch had caused more than just physical damage; it had struck at the soul itself.

Harry keenly sensed that Voldemort's aura was beginning to wither, his magic flickering and struggling to maintain its hold.

Was this what Dumbledore had been expecting?

Harry acted decisively, slamming his palm onto Voldemort's face and gripping the greasy back of his head firmly: "You really should wash your hair, Quirrell, it's absolutely disgusting!"

Ssssss—

The sound of a branding iron searing flesh lingered in the air.

His scar flared with intense pain, and the scene from that night surfaced in his mind once more.

It was clearer now.

A man met his death with generosity, blocking a Killing Curse; a woman begged desperately, her red hair disheveled like withered willow branches in late autumn, sorrowful, powerless, and devoid of life.

He could hear Voldemort's breathing, that frantic laughter, and then a single phrase—"Avada Kedavra."

Voldemort shrieked, no longer able to sustain his magic.

The black serpent dissipated, and the vines binding the hand Harry held his sword with vanished as well.

With his other hand freed, he shoved the sword back into the Sorting Hat and clamped both hands over Voldemort's face.

His head throbbed with increasing intensity.

Voldemort's wails grew louder and louder.

"Fool! Idiot!" he cursed, but suddenly, Harry felt the temperature of his palms begin to fade, and the pain in his scar slowly receded.

Had the spell failed?

He looked up.

A plume of black mist surged from Quirrell's head, coalescing into a dense cloud of smoke that bore the twisted, hideous face of Voldemort.

A soul fragment!

Voldemort had abandoned Quirrell's body.

Harry shoved Quirrell aside and slammed his hand against the floor—purple light swirled as he cast the Yrden Sign.

Voldemort cried out in panic: "What have you done to me?"

He felt his spirit body become sluggish, yet hypersensitive.

Harry lashed out with a slap, and with a hiss—a more violent reaction caused Voldemort to howl in even greater agony, though it brought nothing but pain to Harry as well.

Harry drew his silver sword, ready to strike, but he swung at empty air.

Voldemort chanted a spell, and the black smoke darted away at high speed, vanishing to the far end of the room in the blink of an eye—

"Dumbledore, stop him!" Harry shouted.

But no one moved.

He could only watch helplessly as the black smoke slipped into the wall and disappeared without a trace.

The room was left with a half-dead Quirrell, Harry, and the lingering stench of dark magic.

Harry pulled out some Dittany and smeared it on the back of Quirrell's head; he didn't know if it would help, but it was the only thing he could do for now.

"Dumbledore, aren't you coming out yet?" Harry raised his voice, "Quirrell is dying!"

A moment later.

The figure of an old wizard materialized beside the mirror. He looked at Harry with a hint of surprise: "How did you know I was here?"

"Why didn't you stop Voldemort?" Harry spat, glaring at him.

Dumbledore shook his head: "He is in a very poor state right now; let him remain a remnant of a soul. If we were to kill him only for him to resurrect elsewhere, stronger than he is now... that would be a disaster."

"You might have been able to kill him for good." Harry smeared a second layer of Dittany on the back of Quirrell's head.

Dumbledore shook his head again: "No, I could not."

Harry raised an eyebrow: "The greatest white wizard claims he has no way to kill a dark wizard who wasn't even a match for me?"

"Did Professor Snape shove dragon dung into your brain instead of mine?"

"The prophecy states that only you can kill him," Dumbledore replied earnestly.

Harry frowned: "Are you really that superstitious about prophecies?"

Dumbledore didn't answer, turning back to look at the Mirror of Erised, allowing Harry to catch a glimpse of a complex expression—nostalgia, sentiment, and loss.

He was all too familiar with that look.

It was the same expression Geralt wore back at Kaer Morhen whenever he mentioned Triss.

"It seems you have a history with some prophetess?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore sighed helplessly: "Harry, please, have mercy on me."

"Severus has already come to berate me more than once because of your keenness—he assumes it was I who told you those things."

"If you were to dig into my past as well, I wouldn't have a venting outlet as good as myself."

Harry nodded: "It seems she is still alive, only for some reason, you two can no longer meet."

Dumbledore's expression stiffened: "Let us change the subject."

Harry pulled the Sorcerer's Stone from his pocket, held the Sword of Gryffindor in his other hand, and aimed it at Dumbledore: "Then let us settle our accounts."

"What are you doing?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

Harry toyed with the Sorcerer's Stone: "You do not trust me, Dumbledore."

"I have always trusted you." Dumbledore shook his head.

"You are testing me, or rather, putting me through an ordeal." Harry stepped forward, closing in on Dumbledore, "Saving Quirrell was merely an excuse; you do not care about his life or death at all. From just now until this moment, you haven't even glanced at Quirrell once."

"Even when I was applying medicine to Quirrell, you were staring at me the entire time."

Dumbledore did not retreat; he even took a step forward, nearing Harry: "He chose Voldemort of his own volition, did he not?"

"You used that excuse to decline my request." Harry ignored him, continuing at his own pace, "Letting me face Voldemort head-on—it wasn't so much that you wanted to see the effect of that spell."

"It was more that you wanted to know what kind of person I am."

Harry paused, then suddenly threw the Sorcerer's Stone, hurling it at Dumbledore's head.

Just before impact, it stopped abruptly, hovering in front of Dumbledore's head.

"You wanted to know if I, too, would crave the Sorcerer's Stone." Harry pressed the tip of the sword against Dumbledore's chest, "Whether I am a fellow who pretends to be kind and amiable but is actually filled with wild ambition."

Dumbledore shook his head with a smile, taking the red stone into his palm: "You are not amiable in the slightest; your tongue is on par with Severus's."

"That feeling is truly detestable." Harry sneered, "It seems you are quite accustomed to treating others like fools."

"Did you start setting the stage back when I was preparing to enter school?"

Dumbledore's gaze was profound: "Why do you say that?"

"Voldemort may have been crippled and reduced to a fool, but I have not." Harry shook his head, "Everything was just too logical."

"If I hadn't noticed so many things and confronted you about them."

"Perhaps... I would have learned from Hagrid about the vault being broken into and the matter of the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Perhaps, even if I hadn't asked you for my parents' inheritance, you would have given me the Invisibility Cloak, then designed it so I would run to Fluffy's room, giving me hints, letting me guess that the Sorcerer's Stone was stored there?"

"And then, after I discovered Quirrell wanted to steal the stone, going to you or Professor McGonagall would have resulted in various excuses to dissuade me—forcing me to conclude that only I could thwart Quirrell."

"You are very sharp, but aren't you overthinking things?" Dumbledore smiled slightly.

Harry remained expressionless: "Then can you explain..."

"Why was it Devil's Snare?"

"I don't believe Professor Sprout couldn't have procured Dragon Claw Vine or Hemp Thorn Tree; I have seen them in the Forbidden Forest."

"And why, in the previous room, were the antidote and the clues left right on the table?"

"Persuading Professor Snape to do such a thing must have taken quite a bit of effort."

"Not to mention myself, Hermione, Ron, or any other outstanding first-year student could have passed these trials—was it a novel final exam?"

Dumbledore nodded: "You are very clever and very calm, but could you please lower the sword? It is making me uncomfortable."

Harry sneered, making no move.

"I think I can explain." Dumbledore spread his hands, "After all, you are the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, and you are highly gifted..."

"I was very worried you might go astray; after all, the last person whose true nature I failed to see through has already caused a catastrophe."

"Voldemort?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore nodded, just as he was about to say something more.

The black flames at the doorway dissipated.

A figure in black robes hurried in, caught sight of the scene in the room, froze, and stopped at the entrance: "Potter!"

"And Dumbledore!"

"What kind of trick are you two playing?"

"Miss Granger told me you were going to stop the Dark Lord, or was that the agreement with Dumbledore!"

Harry replied: "I blocked him, but Dumbledore didn't intervene, and let him escape."

"Dumbledore!" Snape gritted his teeth, spitting out the syllables through clenched jaws, gripping his wand tighter, "Has your brain turned entirely to syrup?"

"How could you let him enter Hogwarts?"

Harry offered a reminder: "He was possessing the back of Quirrell's head the entire time; didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"Aha." Snape sneered, "Potter, it seems our dear Headmaster Dumbledore has mistaken me for you—a reckless wizard who only knows how to swing a sword."

"Oh, Severus, listen to me..." Dumbledore waved a hand.

Harry cut him off: "I think we need to teach Headmaster Dumbledore a lesson."

"You have finally made a somewhat sensible suggestion," Snape said with a cold face. "It brings me great relief that my education of you during this time has finally yielded some results."

He flicked his wand: "Sectumsempra!"

Harry exerted force through his feet, thrusting the sword held against his chest downward with all his might.

Crash—

Dumbledore's figure dissolved into a burst of flames; Harry's sword passed right through it, striking nothing, and Snape's curse missed its mark as well.

Both of them lunged toward the Mirror of Erised.

"Oh, wait, this mirror must not be destroyed." Dumbledore appeared on the other side of the mirror and flicked his wand. The space seemed to fill with sand, causing Harry to freeze, unable to move, while Snape's curse also ground to a halt.

He walked over and patted the Mirror of Erised.

The mirror vanished into thin air.

He flicked his wand once more.

Harry regained his mobility and stumbled to a stop, while the curse struck the wall, leaving a deep gouge behind.

"Very well, let us continue now." Dumbledore smiled, looking at the two of them.

Harry clicked his tongue.

Snape put away his wand.

Professor McGonagall rushed in, flustered, followed by a group of hopping chess pieces: "Potter, are you alright? Mr. Weasley told me..."

As soon as she entered the room.

She saw Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, and Quirrell lying on the floor, looking somewhat bewildered.

Thanks to cired and the friend with the user ID ending in 2201 for the tips!

Bonus chapter progress: 2700/5000

I hope everyone can click through to the final page of "To Be Continued" today; today's read-throughs will determine the second round of recommendations!

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