Had he not been so blinded by his own greatness, maybe he would have seen the mistake he was making. Maybe if he had looked into the boy's eyes and seen the unnatural and magical green, if he had seen the stillness with which he laid in the blankets...
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It was calling to him, whispering softly. He glided across the cold stone floor of Hogwarts, carefully hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. No one would dare stop him- not tonight. Not when it lured him in so gently, not when the world behind him stopped in a blurry picture.
And there it was- the old wooden door, leading to whatever grandiose challenges no doubt protected the stone. Would he be strong enough? Would he be too late? But no, he couldn't be- for Quirrell was still teaching, still terrified at the prospect of failing his master. Once again, Harry gently placed his hand on the door and willed it to open. Once again it creaked and crumbled beneath his will. The air seemed different this time, as if recognizing a true contestant for the stone, and the three headed dog sniffed and snarled trying desperately to catch Harry.
He wasted no time, not wishing for the creature to wake the castle up, and quietly took out a beautifully carved silver flute he had borrowed from Flitwick. Praying the guardian wouldn't notice he had no idea how to actually play it, he brought it to his lips and a gentle tune carried on. The music seemed to echo in the small empty room, creating a truly haunting melody which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The longer he stood by the door playing, the louder it seemed to get, surrounding the creature as it moved its three heads sharply, trying to figure out the source of the music- until finally it opened its eyes wide and with a loud whimper slowly lowered its heads to the ground, where it promptly fell asleep.
Harry had no desire finding out how long it would stay that way and he hurried towards the trap door located right beside the creature. It looked like a dark and bottomless drop down, but the obscurity was more inviting than the brightest fire and so with a smile, he jumped down.
Down right into a moist plant. Yew. He tried getting up but found the plant to be sticky and it covered his hand with.... "Oh, that's gross," he groaned quietly as he tried wiping away the substance. He was partially blind from the darkness and his outstretched hand touched the dump wall. He was just about to reach for his wand when a wet crawling sound reached his ears. How did he not notice it before? It filled the room, disgusting and uncomfortable, as if a hundred snakes where slithering on the floor.
And then he felt it- a slight pressure on his feet, spreading up towards his thighs as the plant twisted itself around him in its deadly embrace. He tried not to panic, he really did- but he felt trapped and the air was leaving his lungs faster and faster but whatever little air he could breathe in was wet and moist and clang to his throat and refused to complete its journey. He felt warmer and warmer as he was being covered- by his own sweat or by the plant, he didn't know, but the panic was settling and he did the only thing he could- he screamed.
People never posed a real threat on him, they were predictable and common and usually beat with force. But plants living in the darkness were unbeatable, hundreds of years old, withstanding empires and wars, growing stronger and stronger for the sole purpose of preservation and survival. But Harry grew in the darkness just like them, and he too became stronger in order to survive. The only difference? He stepped into the light, and burned brighter than the wildest of fires. And in that moment, as he was suffocated by the warmth and his own screams, he stepped into the light once more- and burned.
