Disclaimer: Don't own it!!!
My own twisted imagination came up with this idea that Quirrell…well; you'll have to read it to find out, won't you?
It was Quirrell.
"You!" gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.
"Me." He said calmly. "Or maybe…not the 'me' you may think…"
He snapped his fingers and ropes appeared from thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry's wrists and ankles. Harry fell to the floor.
"What - what do you mean?" he asked quietly.
"Professor Quirrell is currently trapped within his own mind, as he has been since the day you met him at the Leaky Cauldron. He had, you see, received an urgent owl from the 'Ministry', telling him to go there immediately. Just after you left, I came and took over control of his body, just like I sent the owl to him. It was all part of my plan, aah, that ingenious plan…"
"And who are you?" asked Harry, dreading the answer.
"I? I am Lord Voldemort. Who else could it be?" came the reply. Harry felt fear flood through him.
"You – you have total control of Professor Quirrell?"
"Unfortunately, no. I could subdue his annoying little stutter, but not without showing my true colours and making people suspicious. And he caused a hindrance at the Halloween Feast. Because he fainted, I didn't make it to the third floor on time, and Snape managed to head me off." Voldemort spat in disgust.
"Snape knew?"
"Yes. He used to be a former Death Eater, you know. One of my servants. Seems he turned spy for Dumbledore. Been protecting you from me all year."
"He tried to kill me at the Quidditch match."
"No, no! I tried to kill you at the Quidditch match, and would have succeeded, even with Snape muttering his damned counter – curse."
"Snape was what?"
"Enough! I tire of this pointless conversation. Now, come here, Potter, and tell me what you see in this godforsaken mirror!"
He snapped hi fingers again and the ropes binding Harry fell loose. Harry got shakily to his feet. His head was whirling. It didn't make sense! Professor Voldemort? Ugh! He looked in the mirror and saw himself put the Stone in his pocket. Quirrell/Voldemort had a sort of hungry triumph on his face.
"Ha haaa! Now I can leave this accursed body to die a painful death! It will be much easier to do what needs to be done in my own form!" he cried in some sort of ecstasy.
"I didn't know you had a form." Started Harry in a vain attempt to distrct him, but was cut across by an agonised scream. It was Quirrell. Not Voldemort – Quirrell, but Quirrell – Quirrell.
"Aaaargh!"
Then there was a shadowed figure falling and a dull thud. Harry wondered what had happened when a strange gaseous … something hurtled at him, knocking him to the floor. It swerved and came for a second attack, but –
"Morturo Devinda!!!" Dumbledore's voice came from the shadows. The gaseous form writhed in mid – air, then vanished and Harry blacked out. Dumbledore stooped over Harry, when an agonised, hoarse whisper cut through the darkness.
"Help me…"
Dumbledore walked over to the source of the voice.
"Lumos." He muttered. The voice sounded again, though weaker and fading this time.
"Help me…somebody…anybody…please…"
Dumbledore crouched down and saw Quirrell's white face and torn robes. He had a nasty gash on his forehead and his leg had been trapped by a huge falling rock. His eyes weren't focused, and he seemed very weak.
"Th-thankyou…" he managed to whisper, and then went limp.
* * * * * * * * *(Three days later, in the hospital wing)* * * * * * * * * *
Harry woke. He saw sweets. Yum. He heard laboured shallow breathing from the bed next to him. Not yum. He sat up and saw Quirrell, a bloody gash on his pale face, and his half – undone, super – absurd purple turban covering one eye. He was unconscious. Dumbledore came in beaming.
"Harry! Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yeah. How's Professor Quirrell?"
"As soon as he wakes and is tended to, he will be sent to Azkaban." Said Dumbledore, frowning.
"But he's innocent! Voldemort was inside him, controlling him and his actions! He was ambushed at the Leaky Cauldron! Voldemort said as soon as he left Quirrell's body, Quirrell would die a slow and painful death!"
"He did seem quite close to death when I found him." Said Dumbledore, still frowning.
"Help…leg…hurting...V-voldemort…Harry…r-r-rock on leg…trapped…can't m- move…c-can't see…blood...head…hurting…" Quirrell seemed to have woken up. He was muttering to himself. He rubbed his head where the gash was and grimaced. He sat up and re-did his turban. Then he noticed Dumbledore and Harry.
"P-p-potter! I'm s-so sorry! The D-dark Lord…controlling m-me. Y-you aren't hurt?"
"No. I forgive you, Professor. I know Voldemort enslaved and controlled you: he told me. I hope you're not hurt?"
"N-not b-b-badly. Headmaster! I-I attacked P-potter b-because of the Dark Lord. C-can you f-forgive m-me?"
"Yes. Will you carry on teaching here next year?"
"Y-yes. Of c-course…"
Yay! A happy ending! Quirrell goes away for a year after that and Lupin fills in. How…nice!!! (I know the last bit's corny, but you can't have everything!)
My own twisted imagination came up with this idea that Quirrell…well; you'll have to read it to find out, won't you?
It was Quirrell.
"You!" gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.
"Me." He said calmly. "Or maybe…not the 'me' you may think…"
He snapped his fingers and ropes appeared from thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry's wrists and ankles. Harry fell to the floor.
"What - what do you mean?" he asked quietly.
"Professor Quirrell is currently trapped within his own mind, as he has been since the day you met him at the Leaky Cauldron. He had, you see, received an urgent owl from the 'Ministry', telling him to go there immediately. Just after you left, I came and took over control of his body, just like I sent the owl to him. It was all part of my plan, aah, that ingenious plan…"
"And who are you?" asked Harry, dreading the answer.
"I? I am Lord Voldemort. Who else could it be?" came the reply. Harry felt fear flood through him.
"You – you have total control of Professor Quirrell?"
"Unfortunately, no. I could subdue his annoying little stutter, but not without showing my true colours and making people suspicious. And he caused a hindrance at the Halloween Feast. Because he fainted, I didn't make it to the third floor on time, and Snape managed to head me off." Voldemort spat in disgust.
"Snape knew?"
"Yes. He used to be a former Death Eater, you know. One of my servants. Seems he turned spy for Dumbledore. Been protecting you from me all year."
"He tried to kill me at the Quidditch match."
"No, no! I tried to kill you at the Quidditch match, and would have succeeded, even with Snape muttering his damned counter – curse."
"Snape was what?"
"Enough! I tire of this pointless conversation. Now, come here, Potter, and tell me what you see in this godforsaken mirror!"
He snapped hi fingers again and the ropes binding Harry fell loose. Harry got shakily to his feet. His head was whirling. It didn't make sense! Professor Voldemort? Ugh! He looked in the mirror and saw himself put the Stone in his pocket. Quirrell/Voldemort had a sort of hungry triumph on his face.
"Ha haaa! Now I can leave this accursed body to die a painful death! It will be much easier to do what needs to be done in my own form!" he cried in some sort of ecstasy.
"I didn't know you had a form." Started Harry in a vain attempt to distrct him, but was cut across by an agonised scream. It was Quirrell. Not Voldemort – Quirrell, but Quirrell – Quirrell.
"Aaaargh!"
Then there was a shadowed figure falling and a dull thud. Harry wondered what had happened when a strange gaseous … something hurtled at him, knocking him to the floor. It swerved and came for a second attack, but –
"Morturo Devinda!!!" Dumbledore's voice came from the shadows. The gaseous form writhed in mid – air, then vanished and Harry blacked out. Dumbledore stooped over Harry, when an agonised, hoarse whisper cut through the darkness.
"Help me…"
Dumbledore walked over to the source of the voice.
"Lumos." He muttered. The voice sounded again, though weaker and fading this time.
"Help me…somebody…anybody…please…"
Dumbledore crouched down and saw Quirrell's white face and torn robes. He had a nasty gash on his forehead and his leg had been trapped by a huge falling rock. His eyes weren't focused, and he seemed very weak.
"Th-thankyou…" he managed to whisper, and then went limp.
* * * * * * * * *(Three days later, in the hospital wing)* * * * * * * * * *
Harry woke. He saw sweets. Yum. He heard laboured shallow breathing from the bed next to him. Not yum. He sat up and saw Quirrell, a bloody gash on his pale face, and his half – undone, super – absurd purple turban covering one eye. He was unconscious. Dumbledore came in beaming.
"Harry! Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yeah. How's Professor Quirrell?"
"As soon as he wakes and is tended to, he will be sent to Azkaban." Said Dumbledore, frowning.
"But he's innocent! Voldemort was inside him, controlling him and his actions! He was ambushed at the Leaky Cauldron! Voldemort said as soon as he left Quirrell's body, Quirrell would die a slow and painful death!"
"He did seem quite close to death when I found him." Said Dumbledore, still frowning.
"Help…leg…hurting...V-voldemort…Harry…r-r-rock on leg…trapped…can't m- move…c-can't see…blood...head…hurting…" Quirrell seemed to have woken up. He was muttering to himself. He rubbed his head where the gash was and grimaced. He sat up and re-did his turban. Then he noticed Dumbledore and Harry.
"P-p-potter! I'm s-so sorry! The D-dark Lord…controlling m-me. Y-you aren't hurt?"
"No. I forgive you, Professor. I know Voldemort enslaved and controlled you: he told me. I hope you're not hurt?"
"N-not b-b-badly. Headmaster! I-I attacked P-potter b-because of the Dark Lord. C-can you f-forgive m-me?"
"Yes. Will you carry on teaching here next year?"
"Y-yes. Of c-course…"
Yay! A happy ending! Quirrell goes away for a year after that and Lupin fills in. How…nice!!! (I know the last bit's corny, but you can't have everything!)