AN:/ So I had this thought. It's a little rough, and Harry is very OOC, but it conveys my point. Will rewrite if you want me to- make him IC.
"Let me deal with this, you incompetent fool." The voice growled.
"M- Master, are you certain you are strong-" Quirrell simpered.
"I'm perfectly strong enough to deal with a mere child." The voice drawled back. With trembling hands the DADA professor slowly unwrapped the turban from his head and turned around. On the back of his new bald head, there was a gruesome visage. A second face sneered at harry.
"See what you have reduced me to? A mere shell of my former glory! But it is of no matter. With the stone and your body, I shall regain my powers!"
"Y- you mean you're Voldemort?" harry asked, looking puzzled.
"Yes you idiot! I am lord Voldemort!" He roared back.
"I'm calling BS." Harry said, relaxing his wand.
"What?! You don't believe me?" Voldemort? demanded.
"If you are Voldemort, then you spent the past ten years living in some forest in Albania, possessing snakes and rats. No dark lord would demean themselves so much. Thus, I'm declaring bullshit. You're not him. Go home." Harry concluded, pointing at the flames.
Voldemort looked irate, sputtering and growing red. "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT YOU INSUFFERABLE CHILD! IT WAS AWFUL IN THAT FOREST. YOU HAVE NO IDEA THE HORRORS OF POSSESSING SUCH SIMPLE CREATURES! IT WAS MIND NUMBING. I FEAR I LOST INTELLIGENCE AND POWER BECAUSE OF IT! ALL THOSE FORBIDEN RITUALS AND DARK ENHANCEMENTS, ALL WASTED FROM INHABITING SUCH FILTH."
"You're still not Voldemort. You're a fake. Give it up before Dumbledore makes his way down here. Just run away, and don't look back." Harry says, looking back at the flames. The face on Quirrell's head pales at the mention of Dumbledore and spins to the front. The new man points his wand at harry threateningly, but runs back through the flames without firing a curse.
Dumbledore runs down the stone hallway, robes flying. He arrives at the doors to see young Harry walk out, escorting Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. Of Quirrell, there is no sign.
"Well, m'boy? What happened?" Dumbledore asks, adjusting his robe.
"Oh, there was a Voldemort imposter trying to steal the stone. He's gone now." Harry replies.
"Imposter?"
"Yes, some fool pretending to be him. I called him out though, there's no way any dark lord would possess a rat in some desolate jungle. Not for ten years, at least."
"I see." Dumbledore says sagely, while feeling inwardly worried. He had genuinely believed it was Voldemort. This threw his judgement into question. Perhaps he should get some of his decisions double checked by someone else, someone he trusted implicitly. Aberforth! His brother would do fine.
"Er, professor?"
"Yes, M'boy?" The wizened Wizard relies, looking down caringly.
"Can we be excused? Ron hit his head on a McGonagall's chess set. I'd like to see him to the infirmary."
"Of course, of course. Carry on." Most troubling…