PREFACE

This both is, and is not, a "single point of departure" story. It is in an out-of-universe sense: this story works by following the book (or movie) of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone up to a certain point, and then taking a different path onwards (in our case, the point of divergence is the climax in front of the Mirror of Erised). However, it is not in-universe: not only am I not following the later books, but I'm not following background information revealed in later books either. This means that key elements of the canon backstory are no longer relevant, most notably revolving around Voldemort's past, motivations and actions during the First Wizarding War. Some concepts or characters from later books/movies might pop up again all the same, but any and all departures are fully intended.

On a wholly unrelated note, and though this is not a HPMOR fanfanfic, I did get some inspiration from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality for this; I am a huge fan of it (actually, I'm more of a HPMOR fan than of a Canon Harry Potter fan). Therefore, if some ideas seem to be reminiscent of it, don't be surprised.

I'd also like to give a warning. You'll be harshly disappointed if you come here expecting Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality or Seventh Horcrux: I'm still a very inexperienced writer. I hope this story will be entertaining, but it is my no means a masterpiece.

Finally, and relatedly, all my thanks to Kishoto on reddit, who gave me a very good idea on how to handle Lily Potter's death (a first, clumsier version of that chapter had been posted and met with negative reviews), and also those who helped me correct a number of silly typos, such as noggin-scratchet.

Now, to the story.

CHAPTER I

The Stone

It was a dark but ornate room, with a mirror on one side and a gate on the other. The mirror was not a normal looking glass — this was the Mirror of Erised, a magic artifact from long ago, built to show a wizard his heart's greatest desire. The Mirror was no longer quite as its makers had devised it, though; some time before then, Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the Hogwarts school, had cast additional enchantments on it to conceal the fabled Philosopher's Stone.

In front of the Mirror, were two people — apparently. One of them, tall and dressed in Oriental-looking attire, was Professor Quirinius Quirrel, Defense agains the Dark Arts teacher, recently revealed to be a traitor. The other was Harry James Potter, student of Hogwarts and considered a national hero due to having witnessed (and possibly enabled) the presumed death of the infamous evil warlock Voldemort whilst still an infant. Just moments ago, Quirrel had revealed his treachery. Now he was pondering, looking at the Mirror:

"Now, how does this work? I see what I desire - I see myself holding the stone - but how do I get it?"

A raspy, hissing voice coming from an unseen source whispered:

"Use the boy."

Quirrel nodded ever so slightly, before shouting:

"Come here, Potter! Now!"

The young boy walked forward hesitatingly, raised his head and looked at the mirror.

"Tell me, Potter, asked Quirrel. What do you see?"

Potter, as a matter of fact, saw himself holding what seemed to be a rough piece of amber (and knowing, somehow, that this was the Philosopher's Stone) and pocketing it. Feeling his own pocket, he noticed a lump that wasn't there before, identical to the one in the mirror. He barely held back a yelp of surprised. But whatever hatever that liar Quirrel was planning to do with the precious artifact, it was probably nothing good. He opted to lie, clumsily imitating the unimportant vision of his friend Ron.

"I… I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore. I've… won the house cup."

Again the hissing voice:

"He lies!"

Visibly unnerved, Quirrel ordered even more imperatively:

"Tell the truth! What do you see?"

"Let me speak to him", asked the voice.

"Master! You are not strong enough!"

"Bah! I have strength enough for this!"

In a move most confusing to Harry, Quirrel began to unravel his turban. To his surprise, the Professor was actually bald under his peculiar but concealing headwear. Quirrel turned around, and his bare skin began to reshape itself, progressively forming a rough human face, so gaunt and wrinkled that it almost looked like a skull; yellow eyes with black irises opened on the bewildered schoolboy. The voice, that of the skull face, spoke again, this time loud and clear.

"Harry Potter… We meet again."

"Voldemort!"

"Yes… You see what I have become? You see what I must do to survive? Live off another… a mere parasite. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but it cannot give me a body of my own. However, there is a thing that can… a thing that, conveniently enough, lies in your pocket."

Seeing where this was leading, and still stunned by Voldemort's discovering the stone's location, Harry turned away and blindly ran towards the gate.

"STOP HIM!" yelled Voldemort.

Quirrel, obeying his master's command, snapped his fingers, creating a wall of fire between Harry and the corridor.

"Don't be a fool, boy!" said the dark wizard. "Why run headfirst into a horrific death, when you don't even know the whole story? I have no desire to kill you or harm you, nor your friends outside. I'll let you go, if you wish, once you have listened to me. But first, please, just give me the stone!"

"Never!"

"Haha! Bravery… Your parents had it too… That foolish Gryffindor bravery that, however beautiful it may seem, will get you nowhere, except to your demise. No. Success lies in cunning plans, clever schemes, in thinking things through. So let's think, shall we? And talk."

Quirrel took a step backwards, getting Voldemort's face closer to Harry.

"Tell me, boy. Why won't you give me the stone?"

"Because… Because… Because if you took it away, Master Flamel would die!"

Voldemort looked at Harry, dumbfounded. Unnerved, he muttered:

"So people really think that low of me now…"

Then louder:

"Of course Master Flamel would die if I took the stone away! But I have no intention of doing so! I never had, I never would! It would be cruel and unnecessary and stupid!"

At the angry rants of the wizard, Harry had backed away slightly, frightened. Voldemort was panting now, the artificial face blurred somewhat by the caster's exhaustion.

"Today I only seek a new body for myself. It will take… half an hour or so; Mr Quirrel here, under my guidance, will do it in this very room. And when my resurrection is complete, I'll put the stone back where I found it and leave. Now give me that stone!"

"But it's not… it's not just that. It's… Hagrid told me… you killed people!"

Voldemort seemed about to answer to this new accusation, but he suddenly seemed to sense something. He said, as much to himself as to Harry:

"Dumbledore! That confounded meddler is approaching… Is he here to rescue you, or is he merely visiting the classroom above us?… I cannot take the chance. Give me the stone now, boy! We'll talk later, elsewhere!"

"No!"

"I expected you to say that — but mark that I did give you a chance. Ah, well. Quirrel! Get that stone!"

Quirrel turned back to face Harry and rushed towards the boy; Harry threw himself backwards, ending up lying on the floor, the stone rolling a few feet away. Quirrel tried to get it, and Harry, instinctively, grabbed the man's hand. As he did so, the flesh that he had touched began to burn without flames before finally crumbling into ashes, making Quirinius Quirrel scream in pain.

"Aaah! Master! What is this magic?!"

"FOOL! yelled Voldemort. Get the stone!"

The Hogwarts professor, raising his remaining hand, went for the stone; understanding his adversary's weakness, Harry threw himself in his path, putting both his hands on the man's face. In a last agonized scream, Quirinius Quirrel's whole body burned down and turned to dust. And for one faint minute, Harry hoped all of this was over. However, it was not. The smoke of the magic fire that had consumed the Dark Lord's minion slowly rose over the remains of the dead man, and began to took the shape of the skull-face. It turned towards Harry, whose scar felt like it was going to explode any second, and spoke.

"Congratulations, boy; you have just killed someone. See how easy it is to do, in the heat of the moment? And yet, would you think me righteous if I now refused you your last chance to live? Eh?"

Harry had not quite realized what he'd done. Now he looked again at the empty suit that still contained the pile of ashes that had once been Professor Quirinius Quirrel. Professor Quirrel had been a liar and a servant of evil. And yet, and yet, he felt a horror for his actions, a sorrow over the man's passing. He hated himself all of a sudden. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Voldemort's hovering form seemed as though it was about to say something, to continue the argument, to urge Harry to take the stone. However, he glanced at the boy, whom he found weeping on the ground; he remained silent, suddenly melancholy himself. For him too, it had been very hard, the first time.