11. Sorrow

The day after he had told Dumbledore what he had seen, the dark professor had vanished. None could figure out his location. That, most of all, made Harry angry. It was a strange sensation to feel bubbling up inside of him.

"Harry, I'm sure that all the professors here in Hogwarts will find Quirrell in no time," Hermione said in reassurance. She and Ron had been in a state of disbelief after his retelling. Though, she had taken time away to scold him on his choice of reading seat. As usual, she was ignored.

Finished with the food he just stuffed in his mouth, Ron replied, "Dumbledore's the greatest wizard alive. Someone like Quirrell can't hide long."

"I hope you guys are right. I really do." There was nothing else to say or to do. While he agreed with his friends, his heart just wasn't in it. It took everything he had not to scream at the injustice of it all. The man who'd murdered his parents had lived.

It made his stomach drop.

The trio of friends continued their walk to Potions class. A feeling hit him in waves. There was something wrong, he didn't know what, but it was. Touching the door of the classroom, he hesitated.

Both of his friends looked at him with concerned eyes. Before either could question him, the door opened. No sooner did Harry walked into the door, did it shut.

Harry stumbled into the room. It was very much not the Potions classroom. It was in the style of the dungeons, but it lacked tables, chairs, windows, but it had the enchanting and alluring mirror in the middle of it all.

Harry heard steps behind him, and he rushed to get up and face towards it. To his surprise it was Professor Quirrell. "If it isn't the illustrious Boy-Who-Lived. You who thrived off my master's supposed demise! Come Potter, I have no time for your games!" Snarling, the irate ex-Professor yanked Harry by the scuff of his robes and dragged him to the front of the mirror.

"What do you see, boy? Tell me!"

Harry gazed at the mirror and marveled at the sight. The Pale Lady was hugging him from behind, her smooth, slender arms wrapped gently around his neck. An older version of him smiled contently. The Pale Lady's image winked playfully at him and held a stone within her grasp and placed it into his double's pocket. In the center of his pants pocket, he felt the heavy weight of the Sorcerer's Stone."

Looking at the madness of the Professor straight in the eyes, he spoke, "I see me being embraced. Gentle arms are resting around me. I am so happy."

Frustrated, Quirrell tossed him to the ground. Heavy breaths forced out of the man's teeth.

"Let me speak to the boy." It was a hoarse voice, filled with a cool malice that cut his ears. There was no empathy in the voice, not a single hint of doubt. Painfully slow, the wizard removed the turban around his head and turned his back towards Harry. Attached to the back of his head was the grotesque and pale face of the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, Voldemort.

Sickly eyes met the young Potter's, "Does this form please you Potter? See how I have suffered for your interference? I, who once held the world in my hands, reduced to this pathetic form! Have you relished your fame, boy!? So many years of work, destroyed, nullified, from a child."

Back straight, Harry huffed back, "I didn't ask for this Voldemort. You started this fight, just so you can hurt others."

"Do you think these wizards know what's best? They walk around like children with a shiny new toy, they lacked insight. There is so much to be done with magic and they're satisfied with the scraps of potential they can squander with."

The disfigured nostrils of the cruel dark wizard flared, "I would have shaped the magical world in my image. Perfection, power, prestige all of it was MINE. It was my age and you ruined it." There was only a hint of emotion in the man. It was close to the human emotion of sorrow.

His statements flared revulsion throughout Harry's little frame. It was too much malice, too much arrogance, more than any one being should have. "How dare you act like it was for the best for the wizarding world. My future was set in stone the moment you walked into it. I could've had a loving family and friends galore. But you ruined everything. My parents died never knowing what happened to me. All for your ego. Don't act like you're some savior, you're a monster. That form you have is nothing less than you deserve." His heart pounded loudly in his chest. Anger and misery warred within his heart. In front of him was the man solely responsible for the misery in his life.

Dark cold eyes looked down upon him and sneered, "So very brave, like your foolish parents. No matter, I no longer need you for the stone. I'm sure I'll find something of worth in that corpse of yours. Finish him, my follower."

Quirrell pulled out his wand from his robes and chanted, "Avada Kedavra", the sickly green of the killing curse raced towards him. Harry dropped to the ground to avoid the curse. Rolling he got up and raced to the end of the room. Digging into his robe, he pulled out the spell book.

"For the one left behind, I must go forth (Terabithia's Bridge)." A golden bridge shot from the ground and arced within the room, thus providing Harry some much needed cover from the assault of killing curses.

"You can't hide Potter. It's only us here. Come out and face me like a true wizard." His nemesis called from the back of his minion's head. Quirrell ran to Harry's locations and casted another killing curse.

Harry ran for the mirror, narrowly dodging the curse. Behind him, he heard the cry of 'Confringo'. Thinking quickly, Harry lunged into the depths of the mirror. When the spell reached the surface of the mirror, it bounced back and exploded directly in front of the traitorous Professor.

It knocked him well off his feet, and Harry felt relief for a moment. A light radiated from the book and he flipped to the page. Frantically, as Quirrell was getting to his feet, Harry chanted, "Never have I had such a strong fish nor one who acted so strangely (Brother of the Sea)!"

From within the pages of the book, a mighty swordfish made of water shot out. An aura of might surrounded it as the fish shot its pointed bill right through the shoulders of the dark follower. Without slowing or weakening, the conjuration continued to the end of the wall and slammed Quirrell upon it. With a painful groan, the man fell unconscious. From the back of his head, the hateful voice of Voldemort rang, "Get up your incompetent fool! I command it."

"I think you'll find that you've done quite enough, Tom." From a hole in the wall, Dumbledore appeared, just behind him was Professor Snape. Turning towards Harry, the headmaster spoke kindly, "My dear boy, I'm glad to find you in such good condition. Rare is it for one to survive an encounter with the Dark Lord. I daresay Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley will be most relieved."

With that said, Quirrell found himself suitably restrained by the likes of Dumbledore and Snape. Caught as he might be, it did little to soothe the boy. No matter what harm came to Voldemort, his parents would never know. They would never be there for him.

No matter how long, that would always hurt. It was a pain surpassed by any spell Voldemort could ever hope to cast.