Descendant of Hogwarts

Chapter 15: Confronting the Enemy

With my brother's hand in mine, we descend the cold hard stairs towards the person that has been trying to get the stone this whole school year. From the way that there is a continuous fluttering of wings in my stomach, I can honestly say that I am nervous to my very core. Trust me when I say that having that constant feeling of wanting to vomit isn't very pleasant. This feeling its self isn't very good but it's even worse when you are getting closer to a person that will potentially try to kill you. No matter how much I want to turn back, I keep moving forward because I will not allow my twin brother to do this by himself.

Right as we reach the landing, which is in-between two staircases, I can hear my brother take in a sharp breath while hissing in pain. Quickly looking over, I notice that he has his red sweater covered hand raised toward his scar and the realization that his scar is hurting him again. I squeeze his hand and quietly ask him through the link if he is alright. Harry doesn't turn his attention away from in front of us, but he does nod his head slightly. Still worried about him, I turn my attention back onto the figure standing in the center of the room in front of the Mirror of Erised. Well, I guess we know where Professor Dumbledore put the mirror after talking to us. As we are stepping down the stairs toward the center of the oval room, I realize that the figure definitely isn't Professor Snape.

"You?" my brother says to the figure and Professor Quirrell turns around to look at us. I knew it! I knew that it wasn't going to be the obvious professor but a professor that nobody would ever suspect. Personally, I can safely say that I would never have thought of the nervous and always stuttering Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That is definitely my fault that I didn't even think about him when thinking of suspects. He was just so forgettable that I honestly didn't even think about this professor being the traitor. My brother's voice makes me pop out of my stupidity, "No, it can't be. Snape, he was the-."

"Yes, he does seem the type, doesn't he?" Quirrell says without stuttering. My eyebrows disappear in my hair line when I realize that he was fake stuttering this entire time. I'll give him credit though, he went through this entire school year with a fake stutter and fooled everybody. Realizing what he just said about my head of the house, a frown appears on my face as I try to keep myself from becoming too angry. "Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, s-s-stuttering Professor Quirrell?" Okay, this guy is officially starting to get on my nerves and that's saying something. Professor Snape in my opinion isn't that bad of a guy. I mean, yes, he isn't the nicest guy around the school, but from the way he interacts with the headmaster makes me believe without any doubt that he wouldn't go against him. Snape has too much respect for him.

"But that day, during the Quidditch match, Snape tried to kill me," Harry is still in complete denial that Snape actually has nothing to do with this. Rolling my eyes, I focus on Quirrell's every single move because if I get any clue that he has his wand, I'm going to surprise attack him. I know for a fact that I can't actually hurt him, but I can still try to do something to protect us. Maybe, erase his memories and then bolt out of the room.

"No, dear boy. I tried to kill you!" Quirrell shouts and my anger is going into overdrive. This man tried to kill my big brother! Unlike the smart idea of taking out my wand and use some spells, my first instinct is to go the Muggle rout and try to attack him with my fists. With my blood starting to boil, I try to walk towards him, but my brother holds me back. "If Snape's cloak hadn't caught fire and broken my eye contact I would have succeeded! Even with Snape muttering his little countercurse."

Okay, now he has done it! I start to thrash around even more, and a look of pure hatred is permanent on my face. While trying to get away from my brother, I notice a smirk starting to form on that stupid man's face.