Passing through the flames was an odd feeling. They didn't put off heat but he still felt the flames licking at his clothes and exposed skin, almost like he was walking through feathers blown in the wind. When the final room was revealed, he couldn't help but feel slightly underwhelmed.

After going through all that, a plain room is just boring.

The room was square with plain sconces on the walls for light. The center of the room was recessed into the floor a couple of steps like a stage where everyone would sit around the edges. In the center of the room was Quirrell and a familiar mirror.

Quirrell hadn't seen him enter but the sound of his footsteps echoed through the room. Harry watched as the man turned, a burning hatred in his eyes.

"I wondered if you'd make an appearance, boy."

Gone was Quirrell's usual stuttering. While he wasn't very tall in the first place, the Quirrell in front of him stood straight, exuding arrogance and anger. His imposing image framed by the Mirror of Erised.

"Well, I couldn't let you get away with something as nefarious as this, could I?"

Harry's tone was casual and relaxed but his mind was racing. He suddenly felt out of his depth. Here he was, a Hogwarts first year going head to head with a fully trained wizard with at least a mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"You should have kept your nose out of this. Maybe you would have been able to live another few weeks or so."

Harry shrugged and took a step forward.

"What are you, a Bond villain? Are you going to suspend me over a shark tank and monologue?"

Quirrell looked confused for a moment before his eyes flicked to the side, as if he was listening to someone speak.

In a flash, Quirrell's wand snapped up faster than Harry could react. Before he knew it, he was completely immobilized by ropes. He lost his balance and fell to the side, falling down the steps into the center of the room. Quirrell smirked.

"For all the world talks about The Boy Who Lived, you are quite disappointing."

Harry snarled and struggled against the ropes, his panic rising as his efforts did nothing.

The professor turned back to the mirror and began mumbling to himself, ignoring Harry.

"How does this mirror work? Do I need to break it? Is it a spell? I can see myself with the stone in hand but how do I make it real?"

Harry, still working to escape, froze in confusion and instinctual terror as another voice whispered through the room. It was soft but with each word seemed to leech the color from the world around him.

"Use the boy…"

Harry looked up to see Quirrell turn and stalk forward. With a wave of his wand, the ropes around Harry disappeared. He tried to stand and draw his wand but a spell tore through the air and slammed into him, the wand flying into Quirrell's other hand.

Harry gasped as he hit the ground, the air knocked out of him. He was still trying to catch his breath when he felt Quirrell's hand grip the back of his shirt and begin dragging him toward the mirror.

"Look into the mirror, boy! Tell me what you see!"

Harry struggled against the older man, reaching up to grab his wrist. Just as he was about to make a grab at Quirrell's arm, a flash of light shot from the man's wand and hit him in the shoulder.

Harry screamed as he felt his left upper arm shatter.

"Do not struggle against me. You are nothing but a sheet of parchment in the tempest that is my power."

Harry felt tears cloud his vision, the pain in his arm worse than any he'd felt before. He struggled to breathe without hyperventilating as Quirrell kicked him in the side, pushing him in front of the mirror.

"Now tell me… WHAT DO YOU SEE!"

Harry looked into the mirror for the first time since the night he'd spoken to Dumbledore. At first, all he saw was his reflection, but after a moment, the room behind his reflection faded, replaced by his parents.

He tried not to cry as he saw them standing behind him. His father had an angry look on his face and looked like he might try to force his way out of the mirror and attack Quirrell himself. Harry's mother, however, had a profoundly sad look on her face. He could see her struggle with watching him in so much pain.

Suddenly he felt his left arm erupt into pain again as Quirrell gripped his shattered arm.

"Do not think you can stall for time, Potter. Dumbledore is away and can't save you this time."

"Th-this time?" Harry asked, the pain in his arm threatening to send him into unconsciousness.

"If he hadn't been able to stop your fall from the Quidditch stands, my job would be much easier."

Harry grimaced against the pain. Fear of what this man could do to him rising.

It was then he saw his mother in the mirror, a sad smile on her face as she held something up. A dark red stone gleamed in her hand. He watched as she lowered it into his pocket.

His eyes almost widened at the feeling of something dropping into his pocket but he was quickly able to cover it with a very real grimace from the pain in his arm.

Unfortunately, he must have reacted in some way because Quirrell's grip on his arm tightened and he screamed again.

"WHAT DO YOU SEE!"

"I s-see Pr-Professor Dumbledore handing me the house cup."

"YOU LIE!"

Harry felt himself be launched backwards, skidding along the ground before crashing into the steps. The pain in his arm blinded him but he forced himself to sit up. His voice was filled with defiance when he spoke.

"You'll never get the stone."

Quirrell roared and raised his wand before the other voice sliced through the air.

"Let me speak to the boy."

Quirrell's rage evaporated and he spoke again, his tone soft and submissive.

"But Master, your strength isn-"

"I have strength enough for this," the other voice interrupted.

Harry watched, confusion mixing in with the pain searing through his body. Quirrell began to unravel his turban, slowly revealing a horror Harry was wholly unprepared for.

"Look at what you have done to me, Potter."

Harry stared in terror as a monsterous face spoke from the back of Quirrell's head.

"After that night so many years ago, I've been as a wraith, flitting in and out of consciousness. Neither dead, nor alive."

Harry couldn't speak as Voldemort addressed him. No matter how much he'd been told how brutal the war with Voldemort had been, the subject had been mostly academic for him. Now, in front of him stood a monster from nightmares. A murderer who laid waste to the wizarding world and killed Harry's parents.

In that moment, Harry felt an anger unlike any he'd felt before. It exploded from his chest and dulled the pain in his arm. He struggled to his feet.

"You picked one ugly bastard to hitch a ride with."

"Your words are hollow, Potter. I can feel your fear radiating off you. Not to worry. You'll be with your parents soon."

Harry took a step forward, his anger the only thing keeping him upright.

"That's the part you don't get," he said, his slow steps echoing throughout the room. "My parents are always with me."

With that he leaped at Quirrell, his right arm swinging through the air in a sloppy punch. Before his hand connected, he was blasted back again. He hit the ground and heard something hard land next to him.

"THE STONE! GET IT!"

Voldemort's voice hissed out and Quirrell turned. He waved his wand to summon it but Harry had already grabbed it. Holding on with all his might, Harry kept hold of it, preventing it from flying into Quirrell's outstretched hand.

"The longer you resist, the more painful this will be."

Harry struggled to get to his feet again but the pain in his arm was too much. He stuck the stone in his pocket and tried to stand.

"Take me to the boy. I think it's time to finish this once and for all."

Harry sat up, holding his arm. His fear had returned but something else was building behind it. It seemed to spark inside him, a speck of light in the darkness he felt.

"You're parents were a thorn in my side for years. I commend them for putting up a fight but in the end, they were but insects to be exterminated."

The spark grew with every word Voldemort spoke. Harry couldn't tell what it was but it ran through his veins like lightning.

"The world may know you now as The Boy Who Lived," Voldemort's voice was heavy with disdain as he spoke the title. "After tonight, you won't even be a footnote in my grand history."

Harry looked up into the eyes of Quirrell. The energy in his body slammed against his skin, struggling to escape.

"End it." The hissed words rang in Harry's ears. Quirrell lifted his wand.

Harry lifted his head and whispered.

"No."

Harry let go.

Harry's body lurched and golden light blasted from his chest, throwing Quirrell across the room and crashing into the Mirror of Erised.

Harry's pain was still there but it was a candle in a hurricane. He felt his power buffeting the room, whipping the broken glass from the mirror into a deadly cloud. Quirrell was cowering on the ground, Voldemort's voice hissing into the wind. Harry couldn't hear what he said but it sounded angry.

He walked forward, the magic in his veins forcing him into action. He felt that if he stopped, the magic would tear its way out of him.

Quirrell tried to raise his wand and cast a spell but the glass swirling around Harry sliced into his exposed skin. The thousands of cuts bit into his arm, slowly tearing the skin from his flesh. His hand failed him and the wand tumbled from his fingertips, lost to the wind.

The professor held his arm, cradling it, the pain etched on his face. But beyond that was a fear. Harry could feel Voldemort's anger trying to fight against Harry's own power. He felt echoes of Voldemort's previous strength, but it had become shadow and smoke, barely able to keep a form after years as a wraith.

"YOU WILL NEVER BE RID OF ME, POTTER! NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO OR HOW POWERFUL YOU GET, I WILL LIVE ON! I WILL CRUSH YOU BENEATH MY MIGHT AND YOU WILL BE NOTHING BUT A MEMORY!"

Quirrell lurched forward as if not in control of his body. His uninjured hand snapped out, grabbing Harry's arm. Harry felt a stab of pain but it was forgotten as Quirrell pulled his hand back, screaming.

Harry watched as the man stumbled back, falling onto the ground, clutching his hand as it seemed to dissolve into dust, swept away by the wind.

"What is this?" Voldemort's voice called out, pain lacing every word.

Harry looked down at his one good arm and back up at Quirrell. Whatever Harry had done, it was accelerating. Quirrell's arm was gone below the elbow, continuing unabated toward his shoulder.

Harry stepped forward again, his good arm outstretched. Quirrell backed away in panic, Voldemort's voice screaming into the storm of Harry's magic. With a final lunge, Harry's hand covered Quirrell's face. The man screamed, his skin and flesh flaking away. Harry felt another burst of magic welling up inside of him. With a thought, he forced it through his arm and into the face of his would be murderer.

Golden light erupted from Harry's hand. Quirrell's and Voldemort's screams silenced in a moment. The force of the blast launched Harry across the room.

He braced for the pain of hitting the floor yet again, only for him to feel something slow him down, gently placing him on the floor. He tried to sit up but a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. A voice called his name but he passed out before he could answer.