"No..." Harry muttered as his mind falteringly managed to come back to life. He couldn't take his eyes off of the pile of rocks and stone that had fallen, completely covering where the Headmaster used to be.

"Good riddance," a pleased sounding Quirrell muttered with only the slightest frown on his face. "That was easier than I expected."

Harry turned to face him and found himself surprised that both of the two beings sharing the Professor's body seemed to have turned their attention away from Dumbledore. Quirrell was looking down at his feet as Voldemort scanned the ceiling. Unwittingly, Harry found his eyes following the other's gaze. The arched cavern above them, which should have reached well into the fourth and fifth floors of the castle, now only seemed a few meters higher than it had before, but Harry could see nothing other than rock. Of course.

He felt his heart drop. How could he survive this now? How long would this shield last? Would it stop curses too? Would he die now? Would Voldemort get the stone and begin his war anew? How many casualties would there be in this war? How many other people had to die because of Harry...?

"Now, Potter," Quirell said, drawing Harry's attention again. Quirrell began walking towards Harry, throwing the debris out of his way with his wand. Harry tried not to flinch at the loud thuds and cracks that rumbled threateningly around the room as each one landed. "My master would like to speak with you once more."

Was that a hint of worry Harry detected in Quirrell's voice? Oh right, Voldemort wasn't supposed to be strong enough for this. What kind of toll was this taking on Quirrell's body? On Voldemort himself? He hoped the price was rather large.

Quirrell turned around so the evil face could glare at Harry.

"Give me the stone, boy..." Voldemort said. "That dome will not last forever. If you give me the stone, I won't kill you..."

"Liar," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Don't be a fool," the face said, a malicious grin coming to bear. "You're a very valuable playing piece, especially with Dumbledore gone. You have so much potential, just as I did. You will give me that stone and come with me. If you are smart, you will eventually truly join me. If not, you will meet the same end as your parents... Dying alone, begging me for mercy, trying hopelessly to keep me from my goals..."

Bravery wasn't necessarily the top trait to have in Harry's book, but cowardice would never be something he looked on favorably, and he could not believe his parents had been cowards. At the man's words, a deep, burning rage began to bubble inside of him.

"LIAR!" he yelled again, unable to come up with anything else and far too angry about it to care at the moment.

Voldemort snorted (and a part of Harry's mind that wasn't seething with anger wondered how he could possibly be able to do that without a nose). "What a reckless reaction... I have to disagree with my servant here. Are you certain you were sorted into the correct house?"

Harry felt his teeth grinding as his hands balled tighter. Even if the shield had not been there, he would have stood his ground. He wouldn't ever give this man the satisfaction of showing him fear.

Voldemort laughed a soft, triumphant chuckle that seemed more like a hiss than a laugh. "Very well...I always value bravery to a point..." Voldemort said. "It is true, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first; and he put up a quite the courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you... Now you will obey me and give me the stone or her sacrifice will have been in vain..."

Harry wanted to rage at the being and he desperately wished for a wand to start throwing spells around He would not follow that order and he would not allow himself to be controlled, especially by his parents murderer!

His eyes narrowed at the creature in front of him. "You're planning on killing me anyway," Harry stated, sounding far more calm than he felt. Voldemort and Quirrell continued advancing towards Harry, the arm with the wand bending at strange angles to clear the path ahead of (behind?) the man. Voldemort's frown deepened, but he didn't deny it.

"Why?" Harry asked defiantly. "Because I tricked you? Because I wouldn't just bow down and cower the moment you appeared. Whatever happened to me eventually joining you?" He shook his head angrily. "You were going to kill me from the beginning, weren't you." He didn't say it as a question.

Voldemort and Quirrell had reached the dome in silence. Neither had said anything to either confirm or deny Harry's accusations. That was fine by him, he didn't need them to answer him. Harry knew he was right anyway. It's what made sense, except for one thing...

"Why?" he asked again.

"Revenge," Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowing. "You made me this! It is your fault that I am nothing but a wraith now!"

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "You're saying it's my fault that you broke into my home, killed my family, tried to kill me and then have your own spell backfire on you? No," he snarled right back. "You can't blame me for your own weakness!"

Of course, it would be at that moment that the protective dome fell. Harry blinked in surprise and horror for just a moment as the color melted away, and that was all Voldemort needed.

"Seize him! Now!" Voldemort yelled. Harry took that as his cue to book it and turned to scramble over the rubble. He didn't get far before Quirrell caught up and grabbed his wrist. "I will kill you myself when I have my body back!" Voldemort threatened, but he was cut off by a cry from both Quirrell and Harry. The pain from earlier was back in his scar, hot and sharp and it felt like it wanted to split his head in two. Desperately, Harry tugged away from Quirrell with all his might and almost fell in surprise when the man released him.

It took him a moment to orient himself as the pain in his head lessened somewhat. He then looked around wildly for Quirrell. The man stood a few meters away, watching his hands with an expression of horror and pain. Harry followed the man's gaze and blinked in surprise when he saw them turn red and blister before their eyes.

He only had time to begin to recognize the question of 'what is that all about?' running through his head before he shoved his thoughts to the side, turned once again and ran. He had to get out and get help.

"Sieze him! SIEZE him!" Voldemort screamed and Harry could hear Quirrell rushing over the rubble after him. Vaguely he wondered why the man didn't just use his wand, but chalked it up to the intensity of the moment and decided he'd be glad for it if he survived.

Then, something hit him from behind, and he fell to the ground, wincing at the bruises he knew he'd get from several of the scattered rocks he landed on. To make matters worse, Quirrell (who had apparently been the thing to hit him) landed on top of him. He grabbed Harry and wrenched him around only to thrust his hands down and onto Harry's neck, hard. He honestly didn't know what was worse, the inability to breath or the blinding pain in his forehead that seemed to strengthen when in direct contact with the possessed man.

It took him a moment to see through the haze of pain and notice that Quirrell himself was howling in agony, even as Voldemort continued to yell and scream in outrage.

"Master, I cannot hold him—my hands! My hands!"

Quirrell released Harry and sat back, allowing the boy to breathe in sweet breaths of dusty air. Again he watched as, before their eyes, the skin on Quirrell's hands burned even further, looking raw, red and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" Voldemort screamed in outrage.

Apparently bypassing his wand altogether, Quirrell raised his hand, and Harry could sense the magic building behind the move. At that point, it seemed to be a matter of life or death, and he did the only thing that came to mind—he reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face.

He'd meant it as a distraction more than anything else. He figured that for some reason, Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin and remain unscathed, and he really just wanted to get away from the two mad men sharing the body.

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him in an attempt to put distance between them as his face blistered as well, but Harry scrambled to follow. His only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from pulling off a curse.

With great effort (apparently whatever was happening between them took a lot out of Harry too) he shoved himself to his feet and caught Quirrell by the arm, refusing to let go despite the screaming Quirrell waving his arm around desperately as he tried to throw Harry off. It hurt Harry, but he clung to the thought that if he let go he would die and did his best to endure the continually intensifying pain. Somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing the scene taking place before him, only able to hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's continued yells of "Kill him! Kill him!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"

Then, between a combination of the man wrenching his arm out of Harry's grasp and Harry's inability to move his appendages or make his fingers close anymore, he felt himself lose hold, and realized all was lost. He still couldn't do much more than stumble backwards as the world went black around him.