Face to faces
"Why, good evening, Mister Potter!", Quirrell boomed, missing his usual stutter - apparently, he had faked it, which led Harry to believe that he had faked his incompetence, as well. Provided that this was even Quirrell, at all, and not Voldemort.
'No, it's Quirrell', Tom grimly confirmed. 'My... alter ego may be hitching a ride, so to speak, but he isn't at the wheel.'
'So, it's a situation like ours?', Harry asked.
'Not quite, Voldemort is actively leeching off Quirrell's magic, slowly killing him. Idiot.'
Quirrell meanwhile continued. "I was wondering if I'd meet you here tonight, and I am ever glad that you are."
"Funny", Harry replied. "I was about to say the same thing."
Quirrell laughed, a cold, high sound of pure cruelty. "What, was I unable to fool you? Did the image of the p-p-poor, stut-t-t-tering Professor Quirrell, who fears his own shadow, not convince you? I applaud your perception, boy, I even managed to pull the wool over that old goat's head!" Quirrell laughed again.
"You might've succeeded", Harry said. "Had I not run into you trying to steal the Stone a few months ago."
The teacher's face twisted in anger. "Ah, yes, I was wondering what had caused the alarm to go off", he muttered. "I should not be surprised that it was you, you've had a knack for disrupting my and my Master's plans. A shame I didn't succeed in killing you during that bloody Quidditch match."
Harry recoiled in surprise. "You?! But I thought Snape--"
"Snape?" Quirrell laughed again. "Yes, it would be right up his alley, wouldn't it? After all, he already looks the part of the evil bat, and his attitude is no better, it's no wonder everyone thinks him to be the great, evil wizard in the castle. But no, as much as the sentimental fool might hate you, he would not try to kill you. No, he tried to save you that day. It's a shame that Longbottom whelp distracted me with his questions when your little mudblood girlfriend set Snivellus on fire, and that I had to keep up appearances and put it out. Otherwise, I would have rid the world of three nuisances in one masterful stroke."
'God, that guy loves talking, doesn't he?', Harry muttered. 'Tom, tell me he doesn't have the Stone yet.'
'He doesn't have it yet', Tom confirmed. 'I think it's somehow inside the mirror.'
Harry was about to ask what he meant by that when he finally spotted the Mirror of Erised behind Quirrell. 'Bloody hell, Dumbledore must've placed it in there when he caught us after curfew', he muttered.
'Probably', Tom agreed. 'And knowing him, it's protected by something so ridiculous that there's no way anyone will figure out a way to get the damned thing.'
Quirrell, meanwhile, continued talking. "But then, it would have been a shame to kill a wizard with your sheer potential. The way you eliminated my troll on Helloween... brilliant, utterly brilliant!" The man actually applauded, and Harry had to resist rolling his eyes. "I long suspected there was something different about you, Potter, but to be able to cast a Killing Curse at your age... it is not often that my Master is surprised, but you certainly managed to do just that." He sighed. "Mayhaps then, you can put that mind of yours to use for me, then. I for once find myself in a bit of a pickle, with that damned mirror blocking my access to the Philosopher's Stone. Help me with this, Mister Potter, and I promise no harm shall fall upon you."
'He's lying', Tom grumbled.
'Yeah, I figured that out myself', Harry shot back and gripped his wand harder. 'Any suggestions?'
'I think we both know what I would do in this situation', Tom replied. 'And I think you want to do it, as well.'
Harry narrowed his eyes as he looked at Quirrell and his turban, who had now turned his back on him, studying the mirror. 'Yes', he admitted. 'Yes, I do.' He raised his wand and took a deep breath before opening his mouth--
"Expelliarmus!"
--only for it to be ripped from his hand and into Quirrell's free hand as the teacher lowered his wand, a smrik on his face. "First rule of dueling, Potter", he lectured. "Before casting a spell, make sure you do not send any obvious signs that you are getting ready to do so! Now, come on over here, please, might as well make the most out of your interference..."
'Well, there goes that plan', Harry grumbled.
'He does not know you are able to perform wandless magic, though', Tom thought out aloud. 'Or that I'm able to keep an eye on him, even when he's behind you. Wait for the opportune moment, get your wand back, then strike him down.'
'And let me guess, you'll tell me when the opportune moment?'
'You're gonna have to trust me', Tom sighed.
'I am... for now.'
"The mirror is the key to the Stone...", Quirrell meanwhile muttered. "Typical, Dumbledore just had to come up with the stupidest safeguards... but until he gets back, I'll be long gone..."
Harry checked the reflection and saw Quirrell squint his eyes. "I see the Stone", the teacher continued to mutter. "I give it to my Master... but how? How do I get it? Do I need to break the mirror?"
'Breaking mirros usually brings bad luck, so by all means, feel free to do just that', Tom snarked. 'Damnation, where the hell is he hiding?'
'Looking for your alter ego?', Harry grumbled as he studied the mirror, and surpressed a sniff when his parents walked up beside his reflection again.
'Yes', Tom replied. 'I know he's lurking around in Quirrell's body, and I am betting that he warned him about your attempt earlier, but... I cannot find him.'
"How?", Quirrell was meanwhile growing more and more desperate. "How does this mirror work? Master, please, help me!"
And then, to Harry's horror, a voice replied, cold and high and cruel, coming seemingly from Quirrell himself.
"Use... the boy..."
'Is... is that what I sound like?', Tom asked.
Harry did not answer, too focused on the mirror, trying frantically to think of something to say to keep Quirrell and Voldemort - wherever he was - busy, when...
'Uh-oh', he thought when he realized a new weight in his left pocket. 'Tom? Tell me this isn't the Stone.'
'I'm afraid it is', Tom muttered in response. 'What the hell?'
'Is it a good time to strike back yet?', Harry asked as he forced his breathing to calm down.
'Not quite, no... damnation, I need to think.'
"What do you see, Potter?!", Quirrell asked, growing ever more frantic.
"I... I see Dumbledore shaking my hand", Harry replied, saying the first thing he could think of. "I just won Gryffindor the House Cup."
'Really?'
'Hey, I'm running out of ideas here', Harry snarked as he made a move to back away, only to be blocked by Quirrell. 'If you have anything better, do share.'
"He's... lying...", Voldemort said. "Let... me.. speak... to him."
Quirrell suddenly looked frightened. "Master, you aren't strong enough yet", he whispered.
"I am strong enough... Let me speak to him... now", the voice said again.
'He's growing distracted', Tom said. 'Get ready.'
'To do what?', Harry asked. Tom didn't reply in words, only sending images, flashes of memory, and Harry... 'You are crazy', he said.
'Maybe', Tom admitted. 'But it's our best bet.'
'But if I do this... the Stone will be...'
'Harry', Tom said grimly, sounding entirely earnest for once. 'It's far better that the Stone is destroyed than it is to risk Voldemort getting his host's hands on it. I know what this will mean for me and my plans, but this is the only way to beat him. And I would rather stay shattered and broken, than to risk him coming back to power.'
Quirrell meanwhile was rather distracted indeed, taking off his turban and turning around, facing the door back to the potion test chamber... only for a second face to look out of what should be the bald back of his head. The face was hideous, with contorted, almost reptilian features, bloodshot red eyes, a near unnoticable nose, and a thin slit for a mouth, and the skin was deathly pale and breaking in multiple areas. It was a face of nightmares, and pain shot through Harry's scar as it laid eyes on him and smiled a hideous, wicked smile.
'Before you ask', Tom said, 'no, this is not going to happen to us.'
"Harry Potter", Lord Voldemort said, his voice of pure evil stronger now. "At last, we meet... again. Look upon me, see what I was reduced to - what you reduced me to. Nothing but shadow and smoke... only able to take shape when inhabiting a willing servant's body... the blood of the unicorns sustained me, but it is a desperate soul's drink at best... no comparison to the elixir of the Stone, to a drink befitting a God..."
"You are no god", Harry said before he even realized it.
Voldemort laughed, a cold, high pitched sound that radiated malice and evil. "I was, once... until that fateful night, ten years ago... when my power broke... at the unwitting hands of the one born to those who thrice defied me... it nearly became four, had your father had his wand that night, or had your mother fought me instead of pleading... instead, they died, trying to protect you from me..."
"And you still lost", Harry snarked. "You lost to a baby. You're no god, Voldemort, you're just a fool."
'Good, keep him talking', Tom encouraged. 'Keep him distracted.'
Voldemort meanwhile laughed again. "Mayhaps, I lapsed in my judgement... but not again. I thought you to be nothing more than a nuisance, Harry Potter, a fool's hope for salvation to come at a later date... but now I see that you are my equal, as was foretold... and we need not be enemies." He extended his hand - Quirrell's hand, the arm it belonged to twisting backwards in a near unnatural way, causing the teacher to whimper in pain. "Join me, Harry Potter, and you shall know power as you never could have imagined it."
'Is he serious?', Harry asked.
'Yes, he is', Tom replied. 'He's afraid that you might just be the one to destroy him, and he still wants to prevent it. He failed in killing you before, and now, he tries to entice you to his side instead. Mad, yes, but not as stupid as you might think.'
Harry shook his head. "If you think that I would ever join the man who killed my parents and ruined my childhood, you are as idiotic as you look", he said with barely concealed fury.
"I did what I thought I had to do to survive", Voldemort responded with an evil smile. "As did you, when you killed my servant's little distraction... how curious, that you would know this curse... I'd have thought that Dumbledore would not have taught it to you, but mayhaps I underestimated the old fool... or mayhaps, you are more similar to me than even I realized..."
"We're nothing alike, Voldemort", Harry whispered.
"Do not be a fool, Harry Potter", Voldemort said, his voice growing evermore furious. "Do not die a senseless and wasteful death like your parents! Be more than they were, seize the opportunity before you to achieve true greatness! Help me seize the Stone, and you shall have whatever it is your heart desires!"
Harry looked back at the mirror, where his parents smiled and waved at him, and this time, he did not stop the tears from flowing. "What my heart desires", he whispered, "you took from me." He turned back to look at Voldemort, his face twisting in fury. "If you think I will ever help you, Voldemort, you are even more of an idiot than I thought. And if you want this", he reached into his pocket and pulled out the Philosopher's Stone, "you'll have to kill me for it."
Voldemort's face twisted in anger and confusion at the sight of the glowing artifact, and for the briefest of moments, it was apparent that he had not expected any of this to occur.
'Now's your chance, Harry!', Tom yelled. 'Do it!'
"Seize him!", Voldemort yelled at Quirrell, just as Harry raised his right hand and yelled out the incanation Tom had suggested. "FIENDFYRE!"
The effects were immediate and disastrous; just as Quirrell lunged forward to try and grab Harry, burning pain erupted in Harry's right hand, far worse than all the times he'd burned himself while handling Aunt Petunia's pots and pans, and fire flew from it and ignited the room, consuming the carpet, wall ornaments, statues, before reaching the Mirror of Erised. Harry caught a final glimpse of his parents giving him a proud smile before the glass cracked under the heat and the gold frame melted and was consumed by the flames.
Quirrell meanwhile had recoiled in shock, and, as Harry noted, had dropped both his wand and his own - naturally, he lunged forward and grabbed them, raising his to direct the flames, while tossing the other directly towards them. It was hard, far harder than even Tom's memories had suggested, for the fire fought his will at every twist and turn, but for all its power, Harry's will was stronger, and he forced the flames to obey him, and directed it towards the possessed teacher.
For his part, Quirrell recovered quickly and began casting counterspells to extinguish the flames - a remarkable feat, considering he was doing it without a wand - which now started to take some semblance of shape - Harry thought that they looked like a giant bird of sorts - but it had given him the window he needed, and he tossed the Stone right towards the flames, which immediately obeyed and turned to catch it with what resembled a beak. And just as Tom had speculated, the flames proved too much to handle for the artifact, and as soon as the Philosopher's Stone touched the flames, it was consumed by them.
"NO!", Voldemort yelled in anger and fright as Quirrell cast a final spell, which put out the fire for good - mere seconds after the . "You fool, do you even realize what you did?!"
"Yeah", Harry replied as he was trying to catch his breath and to ignore the burning pain in his right hand. "Your little plot to return is ash now, Voldemort. Avada Kedavra!"
The green curse shot from Harry's wand, but Quirrell - or maybe Voldemort - was quick to dodge it. "Stop him, you fool!", Voldemort yelled at his host body, and Quirrell raised his hands almost mechanically and yelled out a curse of his own. "Crucio!"
Harry tried to dodge himself, but he tripped over the now exposed stone floor and fell, and the curse hit him. It was more painful than anything he'd ever experienced, like a million molten knives piercing his skin, and his head throbbed with pain as Voldemort laughed.
'Tom... help... me...', he cried out.
'Damnation', Tom muttered. 'Alright, but I will say in advance, this will not be pleasant.'
Harry did not care if it would be unpleasant at all, all he wanted in this moment was for the pain to stop. However, instead, a renewed sharp pain shot through his head - no, not his head, his scar, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quirrell recoil, and then, he heard a voice speak as his mouth moved.
"Enough", this foreign voice growled as Harry's body rose from the ground, and Harry realized that it wasn't him moving it, and just why that voice sounded so familiar.
It was Tom.
"Master...", Quirrell whimpered. "His eyes..."
"You will not harm the boy", Tom continued in this painful, yet furious growl. "I will not allow it."
"What... who...", Voldemort stuttered, sounding utterly confused for the first time this night.
"I made a mistake with you, Voldemort", Tom said as he narrowed Harry's eyes. "And I swear on my magic that I will not rest until you are gone from this world for good. So... mote... it... BE!"
"You... what... are... you?", Voldemort growled, confusion replaced by fury - just as Tom released his grip over Harry's body, and Harry recoiled in shock as Tom slunk back.
'What just happened?', he asked.
'Had to... break the curse... distract him...', Tom slurred, sounding tired and wounded. 'But you... need to... finish it... not... strong... enough...'
"Master, what was that?", Quirrell whispered.
"Seize the boy!", Voldemort yelled, and Quirrell, ever the diligent servant, lunged forward to grab Harry - only to yell in pain as his right hand boiled and blistered and burned off upon touching Harry's shoulder.
"My hand...", he whimpered as he sunk to his knees.
'Tom, is that your doing?', Harry asked bewildered as he looked at the whimpering figure, but no response came.
"Seize him, you useless fool!", Voldemort meanwhile yelled. "I will have my answers, even if it kills you for good!"
Quirrell whimpered, but he rose again, trembling, holding the sad remnants of his hand, and turned to Harry, and fear turned into fury.
"You...", he growled. "I'll have your head for this, Potter!"
And Harry, finally realizing that whatever was going on, it could harm Quirrell, and maybe even Voldemort, let out a cry of rage and lunged at Quirrell. The man clearly did not expect this, and apparently, he was already so weakened by Voldemort's possession that Harry's short figure and light weight was enough to cause him to fall backwards on the ground. Voldemort let out a sharp cry of pain as his face impacted the cold, hard ground, and Harry for the briefest of moments thought he heard the all too familiar sound of bones breaking. He did not care though, as he held firm on Quirrell's head, holding it down, while the man screamed and screamed and screamed, as his head slowly burned and melted upon Harry's touch.
Harry, too, yelled in blind fury as he held Quirrell down, even as darkness grew all around him, and he last thing he saw before it fully took him was a silver streak appear at the door behind him, and a dark shadow rising in front of him.