The Man with Two Faces

"Quirrell," the Dark Lord commanded. "Steal the stone from Gringotts."

"Of course, master," said Quirrell bowing out of the room and headed to Diagon Alley.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. He couldn't leave at the risk of being spotted. He couldn't amuse himself without a body, except flying around in circles around the room or rest.

But really, he thought, without a body, what was the use?

He sat and hoped Quirrell completed his task so he could finally regain a body and make up for ten years without one. And when he finally got that body, he was going to make Harry Potter, who he credited as the one responsible for destroying him, pay.

-

Quirrell had failed. And now as a result, they had moved the Stone to Hogwarts, which was protected by Albus Dumbledore.

That fool, he thought furiously, anger boiling through him. That crackpot old fool caused this. If he hadn't protected the Potters…

Voldemort's nostrils flared as he spoke menacingly. "I'm going to have to keep a closer watch on you, Quirrell," he cried in a high voice.

Quirrell raised his tearstained face. "Wh-what, master?" he asked, hoping he had heard incorrectly.

Voldemort smiled a cruel smile, "You heard me, Quirrell." And with a cackle, he launched his spirit forward straight for Quirrell's head.

Quirrell screamed in cries of agony as Voldemort used all his strength to force his spirit into the back of Quirrell's skull. Quirrell shook uncontrollably, crying and clutching his face as the face of Lord Voldemort began to form.

Voldemort tested out his jaw with an evil cackle. He breathed deeply through the slits that were his nostrils, and his red eyes glinted as Quirrell gasped breathlessly, sweat glistening on his forehead.

He spoke to his head aloud. "My Lord," he said shakily.

"Wrap me in your turban," Voldemort said, reading his question. Quirrell nodded obediently, and slowly began to do so.

Voldemort made a sound of disgust when Quirrell was done.

"Is something wrong, my Lord?" Quirrell asked worriedly.

The Dark Lord was suffocating. "Loosen it!" he cried in anguish. "Loosen the turban!" he hissed.

Quirrell did so quickly. "Sorry, my lord," he cried, doing so, and then Voldemort was once again engulfed in darkness.