Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stomach Ache

Chapter 17

What if Harry misunderstood who he was fighting against?

By

Jason Richard

So Harry Potter ended up going alone to the actual third-floor corridor. Hermione, still bald, and Ron, still with two black eyes, decided they'd had enough. If the traps were as dangerous as Flitwick said Snape didn't stand a chance as far as they were concerned. They were curious as to why Harry was still going, covered in those bee stings as he was.

Harry, "Because the boy who lived will back down from nothing!"

Ron and Hermione, "Whatever."

So Harry went by himself. Turns out Ron and Hermione were wrong. On that night the three-headed dragon was asleep, the devil's snare frozen, the door unlocked, the statues blown to smithereens, the troll unconscious with a bump on its head, and the firewall extinguished.

Clearly, Snape and his master had been busy.

Or at least he thought Snape had. It was, of course, Quirrell and Voldemort behind everything, but Harry hadn't quite caught onto that. Voldemort had noticed Harry's obliviousness in that regard and was prepared for a dramatic reveal to completely take Harry off guard, proving Voldemort's genius at remaining undetected, even with such a hapless minion.

As they heard Harry coming up, Voldemort gave one last instruction.

"Alright Quirrell," said Voldemort from underneath the turban. "Just like we rehearsed. Harry Potter is absolutely going to be floored when he sees who was really behind it. Even if I cannot cast spells, I can at least dazzle him with my deceptive abilities!"

Quirrell, "Yes master!"

Harry finally came upon the last room, a stone chamber supported by tall columns. Harry could see the mirror ahead, but in front of that was the person who wanted the sorcerer's stone for his master.

"Why Harry Potter," said Quirrell evilly. "So you've arrived." then he noticed the stings all over Harry's face. "Good lord, what happened to you?"

Voldemort, angrily, "Quirrell!"

Quirrell, "Oh yes of course." he cleared his throat. "I suppose you're surprised to see me, aren't you Harry Potter?"

Harry, "No. I always knew you were behind everything...Snape."

It took a second for both Quirrell and Voldemort to process that Harry had said this.

Quirrell, "Um...I'm professor Quirrell. I've got the turban and everything."

Harry, "Very clever Snape, using some sort of magic to impersonate Quirrell, framing him for your crimes!"

Quirrell, "There's no magic that can impersonate people."

Voldemort, "Yes there is!"

Quirrell, "Yes there is...wait how does that help us convince him I'm Quirrell?"

Voldemort, "It doesn't!"

Quirrell, "But isn't that what we're doing!?"

Voldemort, "GAAAAAAH!"

Harry, "HAH! You did a poor job of mimicking Quirrell's turban Snape! His just corrects him, and doesn't argue with him that much!"

Quirrell added under his breath, "It doesn't in public."

Voldemort, "I heard that. Alright just...just have him look in the mirror. We're not getting the stone as we are. Maybe he can get it."

Harry, "And why would I do what you say? It's not like I'm just going to do what you tell me, Snape."

Voldemort, "I can't believe people think this child could defeat me. Quirrell, snap your fingers."

Quirrell, "Ropes or fire?"

Voldemort, "Fire. It's more dramatic that way."

So Quirrell snapped his fingers and flames danced around the room, cutting off Harry's escape. Harry found himself mightily confused.

Harry, "Wait...you can cast magic by snapping your fingers?"

Quirrell, "Well yes, but after using it once it will never be used or mentioned again."

Harry, "Like that spell you used at the Quidditch game? How many of those do you have?"

Quirrell, "Silence!"

Voldemort, "Hey Quirrell that wasn't half bad."

Quirrell, "Why thank you, master. I learned from the best."

Voldemort, "Ah! Sucking up! Now you're thinking like a proper minion! Alright now. Harry Potter, you'd better look in that mirror, or else."

So Harry, seeing no other alternative, looked in the mirror. Maybe if he focused hard enough he could make the sorcerer's stone the most desperate desire of his heart,

"I see my parents," said Harry. "And they…"

"No!" said Voldemort angrily. "You want the stone, right?! That's the entire reason you're here!"

"Well yeah," said Harry uncomfortable. "But I've only wanted the stone to protect it for a few weeks. I've wanted my parents for eleven years." Harry sniffled, "It's just not easy to change what you really want, you know Snape?"

Voldemort, "You still think we're...alright! Just...just show me to him Quirrell."

Quirrell, "Yes sir."

And Quirrell turned around, reaching up behind his head to undo the turban, Harry realized he'd never seen Quirrell take that thing off before. What was the back of this man's head going to look like? Would he be black haired? Blonde Haired? Brown haired? Harry just hoped the man wasn't red-haired, turning out to be a secret Weasley. That'd be pretty stupid.

And finally, the cloth fell away, revealing the spirit on the back of Quirrell's head. Where one would show the back of his skull, Quirrell's head showed a second face, and it was the face of Voldemort, grinning evilly.

Voldemort, "Harry Potter, at last we…"

Harry, "Whoa! Professor, don't panic, but you might want to go to the nurse's office and see Madam Pomfrey. You've got something really weird growing out the back of your head."

Voldemort, "Oh for goodness sake!"

Quirrell, "Wait, you think this is a magical growth? But I know what it actually is! Hooray! I know something someone else doesn't! That makes me feel smart!"

Voldemort, "You are not smart Quirrell!"

Quirrell made a sad face and said, "Aw man."

Voldemort, "Oh forget this, just pull out your wand and restrain the boy."

Quirrell, "Oh...I forgot my wand."

In the silence, you could almost feel the veins pulsing in Voldemort's borrowed flesh.

"Quirrell," said Voldemort. "We're here in the final chamber of a serious of death traps trying to steal a priceless magical artifact, our mortal enemy is after us, and the Hogwarts Headmaster, the most powerful wizard besides myself, could show up at any moment, and you can't even use the most important tool a wizard can carry?"

Quirrell, "Well I didn't use it in the book or the movie."

Voldemort sneering, "Why you...I'm going to...oh just..just...just strangle him! You can do that right?"

Quirrell, "Strangle him? But...but master I have very delicate hands."

Voldemort, "JUST DO IT!"

Quirrell, terrified for his life, lunged for Harry and got his hands around the boy's throat. Instantly Harry felt a burning sensation and Quirrell felt like his hands were completely on fire. When Quirrell's hands started looking like they were burnt, the skin turning dark and flaking away, he got really scared.

Quirrell, "Master, my hands!"

Voldemort, "Yes yes they're very delicate. Just keep strangling him."

Quirrell, "No master," Quirrell looked at the burns going up his arm. "They're...they're burning…"

Voldemort, "Oh put some lotion on them or something! Honestly, an eleven-year old's neck burning your skin. Of all the stupid..."

While they were having this conversation, Harry's eyes were rolled backward within his head as he started going unconscious.

Quirrell, "Master, please! I think that spell that Lily Potter cast on Harry..."

Voldemort, "I thought I told you never to mention that name! Honestly Quirrell, you are the most bumbling, incompetent, useless minion I've ever had! When I get a body of my own I'm going to…

why do I smell burning flesh?"

And right at that moment, Quirrell's burning flesh reached the face on the back of his head.

Voldemort, "Oh."

…

Dumbledore found the room with the mirror of Erised, with Harry lying unconscious and a pile of ash next to him. The spirit of Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Dumbledore, surveying the scene, found himself a bit nervous.

Dumbledore, "Maybe I should have gotten here a bit sooner."