Chapter 63: Fractured Fate
George returned to the void but only for the briefest of time. Before he could get too comfortable, a harsh clanking interrupted his slumber.
"Is that it? Have we won?"
George opened his eyes slightly and saw Harry standing before the white king. The sword which would usually be held between its fingers was lying on the floor. George's brain took a second to realise what was happening. The game must have just ended which meant he hadn't been out for long. That invigoration potion he'd kept for emergencies had worked a treat. Just as Harry began to turn around, George quickly closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.
Next George heard the sound of two people converging on his position. They knelt over him and patted him down. One of them, presumably Hermione, checked his pulse.
"George, can you hear me?" asked Hermione while shaking his arm.
"Can I move now?" shouted Neville from across the room.
In the heat of the moment, Harry and Hermione must have forgotten to help Neville.
"Sorry, Neville. Let me come and get you", Harry offered.
"But what about George, is he okay?"
Hermione held her hand in front of George's mouth, "he's still breathing fine but his heartbeat is quite slow. I think he's just in a deep sleep."
"Can't we wake him up?"
"With what?" Hermione retorted. "We don't have anything."
"George said it himself. We'll have to leave him behind", said Harry.
"Then I'm coming with you", said Hermione with no room for negotiation.
"It's fine. You can stay here with Neville and George. I'll go on alone", Harry insisted.
"Don't be stupid. It's bad enough we're doing this in the first place. Going ahead alone is just going to get you killed. I'm coming with you and that's final."
Harry waited a while before replying, "if you say so. Neville, are you alright waiting here with George?"
Neville fumbled over to George and kneeled down beside him. Although George couldn't be sure, it sounded like Neville had pulled out his wand. Was this some sort of desperate attempt at self-defence?
"I'll be fine here. You two go on, I would only slow you down anyway."
There was a moment of silence before George heard Harry and Hermione walking to the exit of the puzzle room. As he said, Neville stayed behind to 'look after' George. He started by taking off his robe and folding it into a makeshift pillow. Then he proceeded to carefully lift George's head and place the pillow underneath.
"Don't worry George. I'm here for you. I can't see you but Hermione says your alright, just resting. Until you wake up, I'll keep a lookout for danger. Erh… well, if I hear anything rather."
It wasn't exactly clear whether Neville was trying to reassure George or himself. Neither was working. Neville's voice didn't have a lick of confidence and rightly so. Who would trust a blind person with a wand? He would be as effective at protecting George as a chocolate fireguard. Regardless, the gesture was appreciated.
Time passed and George continued to fain unconscious. Neville had shuffled around as the minutes went by, but he hadn't left George's side. Judging by the direction of Neville's breathing, George reckoned the boy was resting against the broken horse statue.
From the moment Harry and Hermione left, George concentrated on the passage of time. He knew what was in the next puzzle rooms and roughly how long they would take. George only wanted to act once he knew Harry had separated from Hermione. At that point in time, Hermione would come back and get help from the professors. However, such an event had yet to occur.
After waiting for ten minutes, George felt certain Harry and Hermione should have finished the potion puzzle created by Snape. Why hadn't Hermione come back yet? Were they having problems solving the puzzle? George found that hard to believe since his impact on history shouldn't have affected Hermione's problem-solving skills.
With another five minutes ticking by, George decided he couldn't wait any longer. He slowly brought his hand under his robes and reached into the enchanted sack. He felt around for the potion bottle he'd made to deal with Draco a few weeks ago. After finding the right-shaped bottle, George uncorked the lid and held his breath. To get Neville's attention, he made a couple of low-pitch moaning sounds.
"What, George, is that you?" gasped Neville in surprise.
George heard the boy scrambling to his feet. Then a foot slammed into George's back, followed by a pair of chubby hands running across his body.
"Sorry George, I didn't mean to kick you. Are you waking up?"
George made another grunting noise.
"Come on George, wake up. Please wake up", Neville said excitedly while shaking George.
Even with his breath being held, George was starting to feel the effects of the potion. He had to bite his tongue to stave off the impulse to fall asleep. Hopefully, Neville was now close enough to the potion's vapours. If George was feeling it, then a weak little boy shouldn't be able to last for long.
Neville's shoving began to slow down, "hum, I feel funny. Is it getting warmer in here?"
Then he let out a big yawn, "oh, I suddenly feel… very tired. What's erh… going on? It's… I think I need to lie down."
In the next second, George felt Neville collapse on top of him. The boy had gone limp and was snoring away peacefully. Finally in the clear, George recorked the bottle and pushed Neville off him. Then he climbed back to his feet and ran to the far end of the room. Only then did he take several deep breaths of fresh air. Luckily, the Invigoration potion he'd taken before the white queen's strike was keeping him alert.
Once the foggy haze had left his system, George checked the time. His wristwatch confirmed Harry and Hermione had been gone for at least fifteen minutes. Something was a miss. The only thing George could think was that Quirrel had messed up more of the puzzles, slowing Harry and Hermione down. Regardless of who was to blame, George had to check up on them.
After positioning Neville comfortably under his own robe pillow, George left the chess room. The next puzzle room greeted George with an extremely repulsive odour. Tiredness was replaced with nausea as he had to fight the urge to throw up. There was no doubt trolls had been inhabiting the relatively small cave-like room for a few months. This had to be the most effective of all the puzzle rooms. The smell alone could put the most diehard of thieves off proceeding.
George pushed past the smell and for once saw what he'd expected. There was a large troll laying face up in the centre of the filthy room. Its head was caved in with purple ooze pouring out of each orifice. It was quite a lot of blood... too much. George leapt over the troll's feet and inspected its face closer. It turned out there was a difference from what fate foretold. This troll was meant to be out cold. However, the lack of breathing and the mashed brain matter spilling out of its ears made it obvious this troll was dead.
Harry and Hermione definitely didn't do this, it had to be Quirrell. First the delay, then the broom and the missing chess piece. Considering how many concessions George had made to avoid the future changing, it seemed he hadn't done enough. Quirrell's or perhaps Voldemort's actions seemed more desperate. George didn't like it. Desperate people tended to do unpredictable things. Without any further delay, George ran into the next room.
The terrible smell vanished the moment the door closed behind him. It was quite clear who was responsible for this next puzzle room. The space was neat and orderly, not so much as a cobweb could be found. The only adornment was a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing in a line. George walked further into the room and a purple fire sprung up behind him, blocking the way he'd come. Then another flame, except this one was black, blocked the door leading onward.
George paid no notice to his entrapment and instead looked around for any sign of Hermione and Harry. He'd half expected to see one or both in this room. But neither of them was here. Since the flames weren't active prior to his entering, that could only mean one thing. Both of them must have gone forward. This wasn't good. Why wouldn't Hermione stay behind?
After coming to that realisation, George ran over and picked up a piece of parchment laying on the floor. He quickly skim-read it to check there were no changes. After reaching the end of the parchment, George smiled.
"Ok then, one forward, one back, two nettle wines, three are death. That all adds up, but that should mean…"
George already knew the right potion to progress was in the smallest bottle. There should have only been enough for one person after Quirrell's entry. So how did Hermione go with Harry? George didn't know or have the time to find out. He reached under his shirt and performed the incantation to reach inside his stomach. It was especially painful since his friction burns hadn't had time to heal completely.
After a bit of routing around, he pulled out a tiny vial with a single droplet of black liquid inside. George very carefully uncorked it with one hand and pealed his right eye open with the other. Then he tilted his head back and placed the rim of the vial against his eyeball. Ever so slowly, he tilted the vial up and allowed the black droplet to dribble into his pupil.
The moment the liquid hit the back of George's eye, he began to spasm uncontrollably. The vial was dropped and George had to cling to the table for support. A mixture of pure cold and itchiness spread all over his body. The discomfort was so intense that George felt an almost overwhelming urge to peel off his skin. Knowing the excruciating pain would end soon was the only thing keeping him from flailing around like a madman.
It took nearly a whole minute for the itching to fade. At the same time, George noticed his fingers changing colour. They were turning brown. Not only that, but they were gaining a wooden-like texture. After a couple of seconds, they were indistinguishable from the table. George raised his hand only to realise they hadn't changed colour but were invisible. He could still feel and interact with things, but his hands could not be seen or heard. Even clapping his hands didn't make a noise.
George pulled out his mirror and realised this change wasn't exclusive to his hands. His head was gone too. He looked down at his shirt and saw everything was gone, he was just a floating school uniform. His patron had said to use this potion before entering the mirror room, but he'd neglected to explain what it would do. Now it was clear in more ways than one. George had been turned into the Invisible Man.
Since the uniform got in the way of true invisibility, George stripped down to nothing. Modesty wasn't an issue anymore as he pulled off his underpants and stuffed them inside his enchanted sack. Since the sack had to be left behind, George threw it under the table. Now was the time to perform the real test.
George walked up to the black flame and held his arm out. The flame licked his fingers, but he didn't feel a thing. It was like the flames were nothing more than an illusion.
George smirked, "Snape's weak little Conjuration is nothing compared to my patron's talent, nothing at all."
With absolute confidence in his patron, George stepped into the fire and was engulfed in darkness. He just kept walking while hoping a wall wouldn't suddenly block his way. After a couple of yards, George made it to the other side. From there he entered the final puzzle room.
"Tell me, what do you see?"
George walked in just as Quirrell, free of his nervous deposition, and a burnt Harry were staring into the Mirror of Erised. More concerningly, an equally scorched Hermione was firmly held in Quirrell's grasp with a wand pointed at her neck. Her normally calm demeanour was shattered and replaced with fear. George ran further into the room to check she wasn't seriously hurt when a terrifying image caught his eye. He almost fell over in shock after glancing at the mirror.
A massive draconic monster towered behind Quirrell, Hermione and Harry, filling the mirror's entire surface. Its grey leathery wings looked powerful enough to flip a truck, and the two serpent-like heads were large enough to swallow a man whole. One half of its body was charred black in smoking volcanic ash while the other side was covered in pale green scales thicker than George's wrists. Its two sets of eyes glowed in the same fluorescent amber that felt like they could stop George's heart at will.
The moment he locked eyes with the humongous creature, George felt like he was about to die. This was the first time he'd felt a presence that utterly overwhelmed his patron. It was like standing before a god. The creature stared down at him with hatred burning in its eyes. Such pure disdain was clearly portrayed on both its faces. Even though it was just an illusion, George felt it could break through that mirror at any second and reduce him to a pile of dust.
What was that thing, why was it here, and why did it hate him so much? Whatever was the truth, George wasn't going to stick around to find out. Anything more powerful than his patron wasn't something he could even begin to challenge. George took a step back in retreat, and the creature mimicked his actions. George paused in surprise and the creature also stopped moving. Was it copying him? George waved one hand in the air and the creature raised its wing in a similar motion. It was copying him. Wait a second. In the blind panic, George had forgotten what he was looking at. This was a mirror, so that meant…
Something wasn't right here. That… thing wasn't George. Neither was it what he desired to be. The Mirror of Erised was meant to be limited to the user's imagination. Harry saw his parents, and Ron saw himself winning the house cup. These things were within their comprehension. However, such an abomination of godly proportion had never crossed George's mind. He doubted anyone could have made this up, it was that incomprehensible.
"What is it?! What do you see?!"
George nearly jumped out of his skin after assuming those words were meant for him. He turned away from the mirror and remembered he wasn't alone. Quirrell was staring down at Harry while the chosen one was frozen in panic.
"I… I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore… I've won the house cup", Harry stuttered.
Quirrell tightened his grip on Hermione and shouted, "tell the truth! What do you see?!"
Harry looked at Hermione, but she was in no state to give a suggestion. Tears were running down her face as she futilely tried to break free. During this pause where Harry was no doubt contemplating what to do next, Quirrell's eyes became unfocused. He appeared to be listening to a voice only he could hear. After a second, he turned to the mirror with a look of concern.
"But master, you are not strong enough."
After another pause, Quirrell turned back to Harry. He threw Hermione away like a piece of rubbish and pointed the wand at his turban. With a small flick of the wrist, the turban began to unravel itself layer by layer. Quirrell's bald head was soon revealed, and Voldemort's pale face could be seen in the mirror's reflection. The red-eyed face took a deep breath and stared at Harry.
Voldemort spoke in a whisper, "Harry Potter. We meet again."
"Voldemort?" replied Harry in a mixture of bafflement and horror.
"Yes", Voldemort weakly nodded. "See what I've become, See what I must do to survive. Live of another, a mere parasite. But there is something that can restore my body. Something that conveniently happens to be in your pocket."
Harry took that moment to grab Hermione and run for the black fire. However, George knew they wouldn't make it far.
Voldemort chuckled sinisterly, "seize the girl."
Quirrell waved his wand and Hermione was dragged back into the room by an invisible force. Her robes appeared to have come alive and were tugging her off the ground. She screamed as her body spiralled through the air and stopped above Quirrell who was holding his wand aloft.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled.
"Why suffer a horrific death when you could join me and live?" Voldemort face twisted into an unsettling smile, "I'll even let you keep this mud blood as a pet."
"Don't do it, Harry. He's lying", Hermione yelped.
"Quiet", Quirrell spat as he flicked his wand.
The hud of Hermione's robes coiled around her mouth, gagging her. From George's perspective, it wasn't clear whether she could still breathe. The temptation to step in was strong, but George still needed to acquire the stone first.
"Think about it, Harry. We could bring your mother and father back, you and I. All I ask is for you to give me something in return."
Harry looked away from Hermione and stared longingly into the mirror. With some hesitation, he pulled out the Philosipher's stone from his pocket.
"That's it, Harry. There is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it. Together, we'll do extraordinary things. Just give me the stone!"
Harry seemed to be going through a rollercoaster of emotions as he contemplated his next actions. George watched on from afar and genuinely didn't know what decision he'd make. If it was just the promise of bringing back the dead, then Harry was smart enough to know that wasn't possible. But with Hermione's life hanging in the balance… it was a hard call. But one way or another, Voldemort wasn't getting that stone.
Harry squeezed the stone tightly and stared up at Hermione, "let her go, and I'll give you the stone."
Voldemort's smile widened, "you give me the stone first and I'll spare her life."
With little other choice, Harry relented under the pressure. He held out his hand and started walking towards Quirrell. In reciprocation, Quirrell lowered his wand and Hermione fell to the ground. He also held his hand out eagerly in anticipation.
"Very good, Harry. You've made the right choice", Voldemort said, barely masking his delight.
The stone was right there, George knew this was his only chance. Just before the transfer could be made, he ran over and snatched the stone out of Harry's outstretched hand. To the observers, it looked like the stone had gained a mind of its own and flown away. George quickly murmured an incantation and shoved the stone inside his abdomen. The moment the stone passed through his skin, it appeared to vanish into thin air.
"What trickery is this?" Voldemort yelled out in fury.
Quirrell raised his wand at Harry, "where is the stone?! What have you done with it?!"
"I don't know. I didn't do that", Harry said, appearing to be even more confused than Quirrell.
Voldemort gnashed his teeth, "enough of this. Kill him!"
Time seemed to slow down as George watch Quirrell wind back his hand. Knowing what spell was coming next, he dashed forward as fast as he could. Harry couldn't be allowed to die, not yet. Bending fate for the mission was one thing, but losing the chosen one was too much of a sacrifice. The butterfly effect would be disastrous. All he would have to do is interrupt the curse, or perhaps redirect Quirrell's aim. But... he just wasn't close enough.
"Avada Kedavra!"
George grabbed onto Quirrell's arm right as the bolt of green light shot out of his wand. George didn't need to turn around to know the outcome. He heard a familiar scream and was instantly overcome by rage. He squeezed as hard as he could and felt the bones snap like toothpicks. Half of Quirrell's forearm bent in an unnatural direction and let go of the wand. Then George raised his foot and planted it into Quirrell's right knee. With an almighty crunch, Quirrell's kneecap shattered and his leg folded like an ostrich.
Quirrell's feet gave out from under him, but George didn't let go. Instead, he grabbed Quirrell's face and slammed it into the mirror. Voldemort got a face full of glass while the Mirror of Erised gained a web of cracks. George repeated this action, slamming the man's head over and over again. The monstrous reflection slowly became obscured by the splattering of blood. Eventually, the mirror couldn't take any more and came clattering to the ground.
The sound of glass breaking apart helped bring George back to his senses. Quirrell's swollen eyes had rolled into the back of his head, his arms hung limply by his sides. George let go of the body and it collapsed against the broken mirror's frame. George took a few steps back and tried to recompose himself. He hadn't felt anger like that since before the Calming Draught. It came over him so suddenly, he had no control. Wasn't these emotional outbursts meant to be behind him?
George turned back, expecting the worse, and his mouth fell open. Harry was fine, but Hermione was laying limply in his embrace. Her head was hung loose like a doll, revealing her unfocused eyes. Hermione... was dead.
Harry carefully lowered her to the ground while tears welled up in his eyes. Although the curse shouldn't be familiar to the boy, he seemed to instinctually know what it had done.
"Hermione? Hermione?! Please no, no no no no no. HERMIONE!" Harry yelled hysterically.
He desperately shook Hermione's arms, but she just lay there, lifeless. It was too late, George was too late. If he'd been a little quicker or had made a better decision… This didn't need to happen. George watched on as Harry broke down over Hermione's corpse. There was nothing he could do to help. He looked back at Quirrell and saw a puddle of blood forming by his feet. If he wasn't already dead, then he would be soon. At least Harry was safe, for now.
George wanted to stay with Harry, but his hands were starting to emit some kind of barely visible mist. Assuming the potion was wearing off, George had no other choice than to leave the poor boy behind. It wasn't fair, but the mission still needed to be finished. He had just walked back through the black fire when he saw someone enter from the opposite door. The purple flames parted, and a wizard with a large white beard stepped through the gap.
Upon recognising Dumbledore, George remained completely still. The potion may be wearing off, but that didn't mean he was easy to see. With the black fire behind him, George doubted anyone would notice a translucent cloud of mist. Dumbledore entered the potion puzzle room with his wand brandished. He looked around and, to George's relief, didn't appear to notice anything.
Dumbledore hurried to the other side of the room with an unnatural speed for his age and passed George by. But just as he raised his wand to part the black flame, Dumbledore stopped and looked over his shoulder. He stared directly into George's eyes as if he could see him clear as day. His sparkling eyes had a sadness hidden within George didn't know the man was capable of expressing.
"I hope you found what you were looking for."
And with that, Dumbledore split the fire with his wand and walked through it. George wasn't sure what to do. The barely cobbled-together plan had completely fallen apart. Not only was he responsible for destroying the timeline, but he had been seen doing it. What will his patron think? The fact he'd successfully stolen the Philosipher's stone felt so insignificant. After hearing Dumbledore's parting words, George felt the mission was a massive mistake. He should have never come to Hogwarts.
George retrieved his clothes from inside his enchanted sack and unenthusiastically put them back on. All the while, his body emitted steam as his skin gained back its opaqueness. By the time he dragged his feet to the chess room, he was back to normal. Neville was still laying there fast asleep. He looked happy, and more importantly ignorant of the horrors around him. George felt like joining him.
The plan was to pretend to still be asleep so no one would know about his actions after the white queen incident, but who the hell cared at this point? Dumbledore already knew he had the stone and running off wasn't an option. The whole school will be on a tight lockdown by now, especially the third-floor corridor. There was nowhere left to escape. He might as well accept his fate and relax. It's not like he had a better option.
George lay down on the floor beside Neville and pulled out the knock-out potion. Then he uncorked it and inhaled a lungful of vapours. He quickly put the bottle away and relaxed his mind. As his vision began to narrow, George hoped he will wake up and realise this had all been a bad dream.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone