The next couple of weeks were unpleasant to the Hogwarts students, but especially so for four first years in particular. Mother Nature seemed to have tried combating the dark, frightening nightmares for Lucy, but the sweltering hot weather only made everything seem so much worse.
She took her exams, feeling like she was trying to work in an oven. She was slightly surprised to see that her final exams were painless, and she'd finished in half the time they gave her. Then again, she had a special sort of tutor.
Quirrell called their lessons off shortly after Lucy served her detention in the forest. She wondered if Voldemort told Quirrell to do so, but from the journal entry she read, she felt like he'd done so out of his own volition. She didn't care; the further away she was from that man, the better. He was easy enough to handle before she found out he was trying to bring the murderer of her best friend's parents back to power.
She had just taken her History of Magic exam when Professor Quirrell caught her right outside the door. Her fellow Hufflepuffs gave her questioning looks, and Megan and Wayne stopped by the door to wait with Lucy.
"Go on," she urged him, glancing back at Quirrell. The man did not look very patient at the moment— she could swear he was reaching toward his wand. Wayne's eyes narrowed at her, so she lowered her voice, taking on a hint of a threatening tone. "Wayne, I said leave," she said harshly.
Megan looked hurt, and a little angry. "When you decide to stop being such a git, you can come apologize to us," she snapped. She grabbed Wayne's arm and pulled him away.
Wayne didn't look angry at her. Lucy wished he was, because the alarmed look he shot her way was somehow worse than Megan's biting words.
Still, she made a show of rolling her eyes and turning to face Professor Quirrell. "Alright, Professor?" she asked calmly.
"It's time," he said, unable to keep a grin off his face. Her heart dropped in her chest. In theory, she knew it was coming, but knowing something and then it actually happening were two completely different things. "We've got to put a few things in order, and then we can begin. I will send a letter to Dumbledore's office; you're going to wait to make sure it's arrived. If he's gone, you'll meet me at the trap door at precisely ten o'clock. I don't think I'll need to warn you to bring your wand."
Lucy nodded sharply. Maybe it was the hot weather, but her temper was feeling a bit short today. "Understood. I'll see you then, Professor." With that, she turned and hurried away.
She waited at the entrance to the school, sitting at a window ledge. To anyone passing her, she looked like she was lounging and enjoying the summer's view, but she knew better. She was watching each passing figure carefully out of the corner of her eye.
She knew it was too much to hope that her friends would leave her alone today. It was hardly their fault that they were so nice and concerned, but with the current events, it was better if they stayed angry at her.
Susan and Hannah passed her first on the way outside. They shot her dirty looks, which she forced herself to roll her eyes exaggeratedly at. Ernie and Justin followed closely behind but they either didn't notice or didn't care that Lucy wasn't joining them. It was only when Anthony, Cedric, and Daisy rounded the corner that Lucy knew she couldn't get away with staying silent.
Anthony walked up to her, concern written clear across his features. Even when she glared at him, he didn't flinch away. "Hey, Luce, what's going on?"
"Nothing," she replied, glancing out the window. She resisted the urge to sigh in relief when she saw an owl carrying a blue letter toward Dumbledore's tower. Mission accomplished. Surely, if Dumbledore received a suspicious letter, it would tip him off about Quirrell and they would end this once and for all...
"Nothing?" Cedric repeated skeptically. "Megan's been ranting our ears off for ages. What'd you do?"
She flinched a little, and Anthony turned around to smack Cedric upside the head. "Get out of here, Diggory, you're not helping," he glared.
"'M just saying!" Cedric defended. "Thought you two were best friends or something." Anthony smacked him again. "Will you quit that?!"
"Locke, mind taking this imbecile for a walk?" Anthony said with a roll of his eyes. Daisy nodded, taking the still grumbling Cedric by the arm and leading him outside. Anthony shook his head and turned his gaze back to Lucy. "Megan's not really mad."
Lucy shot him a 'really' sort of look.
"Okay, she's a little mad," he amended, "but mostly concerned. You've been acting really strange, you know? You used to be so excited at the beginning of the year. Now it's like, when you're with us, you're not really with us. I just want to make sure you're all right."
Staring at Anthony's concerned face, she couldn't help but feel a huge rush of guilt go through her. She wanted to hug him and tell him everything, how she was sorry for lying all the time and disappearing, but she couldn't. Not yet. She forced a half-smile onto her face. "I'm all right, Anthony. Just want a little time to myself once and awhile, that's all."
Anthony wasn't convinced. He sat on the edge of the windowsill, nudging her over. He rested a hand on her knee and said, in an ever so soft voice, "Lucy... has Quirrell been upsetting you?"
Lucy thought that her blood had literally frozen in that moment. Out of all the things she thought he would say, that was not it. Anthony had nailed the hammer on the head.
"What?" she said faintly. Her face had to have paled. "No, what are you—"
"I'm not saying he's physically hurting you, Lucy," Anthony said hastily, feeling her pull away from him. "But if he's holding you behind class to bully you—"
"Anthony, you are so far off that we're not even in the same country," Lucy stressed. "I'll admit that I've been getting some extra help in charms, but he's not being mean to me—"
"So he's being nice to you? At least once a week without fail, all he's doing is having a friendly required detention chat with his student?" Anthony's voice was harsher now, not with Lucy but with the thought of Quirrell. "It's fine to make friends with professors, Lucy, but he shouldn't force you to talk with him—"
"It's not like that!" Lucy said, then she winced at how bad she was making this all sound. She didn't blame her friend at all; he was perfectly correct on the account that she was in a dangerous situation. "Anthony, I promise, tomorrow I'll tell you everything, but I have everything control control. I swear. Now I really have to go."
He opened his mouth to retort, but Lucy had already darted away. Luckily he didn't follow her; she didn't think she had the willpower to lie to him a second time.
Lucy arrived at the Cerberus's door a little before ten o'clock. She hoped Snape would show up soon, because she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do if she was left alone... Wait for Quirrell, she guessed. Technically Quirrell said at precisely ten o'clock, but she figured he was just adding that for dramatic effect. Sure enough at a quarter to ten, he showed up, holding a harp in his hands.
She couldn't help but let out a low whistle. "Wow, Professor, didn't know we were having a party tonight."
He shot her a dry look. "Don't be foolish, Rochester. This is for the Cerberus. We can't hardly expect to get past it while its awake, now can we?"
She grinned at him and didn't bother replying. Quirrell seemed to be in high spirits tonight, so she didn't want to push her luck. She watched as he opened the forbidden door and couldn't help but wince at the sudden onslaught of snarling they heard. He was unaffected, and he stepped into the chamber, cool as could be. She wished Hermione could see how 'poor stuttering Quirrell' really acted.
She stayed quiet as Quirrell started strumming the harp. At the first note, the dogs' heads began to droop, but the soft lullaby Quirrell played quickened the process. She didn't recognize the tune, but the six notes played over and over again were quite soothing. If she was a Cerberus, she certainly would have fallen asleep as well.
The dog fell asleep in a matter of minutes. Quirrell gently set the harp down on the floor and then pulled out his wand. He pointed it at the dog and said, "Stupefy." At Lucy's quizzical look, he explained, "You can never be too cautious. Now go open the trap door."
Sure, he can only be cautious when it involves him. Lucy stepped over the Cerberus and pulled on the ring embedded in the floor. She didn't worry too much about the dog waking up since Quirrell had stunned the damn thing.
"Uh, professor, there's no ladder," Lucy pointed out. She couldn't see anything except the black abyss below her.
"We'll have to drop," Quirrell said, unaffected. He pointed his wand at the pair of them and muttered a spell she couldn't quite hear. "That should slow our fall enough to react accordingly. You go first."
Lucy didn't bother arguing. She supposed that she had signed up to be his meat shield in the first place. She sat with her legs hanging into the pit, then pushed herself down into it. True to Quirrell's words, she slowly levitated down, Quirrell floating right beside her.
"Lumos," Quirrell said. His wand lit up, but it wasn't quite enough to see below them. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Lucy, use your sparks."
It was only after Lucy ignited her yellow sparks that she realized who must've told Quirrell she was using them in the forest. As they fell slowly, watching the blackness below them, she decided to bring it up. Her chances of dying in here were pretty high anyway. "So did he tell you about my sparks?" She asked, casual as can be.
Quirrell's gaze momentarily flickered to her, confused. "Who?"
"Voldemort," she said, like it was obvious. He flinched at the name but didn't look particularly scared. "I saw him in the woods. The centaurs told me it was him."
"Oh, well, yes." He looked back down at the darkness below them. "I suppose since we've gotten this far, you have a right to know. We're retrieving the Philosopher's Stone for the Dark Lord."
She knew that already, but hearing the 'we' in that statement made her feel weird. Although Snape gave her permission to spy, it didn't negate from the fact that she was in a way helping Lord Voldemort rise. "Oh," was all she could think to say.
"Don't tell me you're a blood traitor," Quirrell rolled his eyes.
Now would be a rather annoying time to die. "How can I be a blood traitor if I don't know what my blood is?" She countered. "I'm not complaining. Anything is better than Wool's. Who knows, maybe Voldemort's a cool guy."
The look Quirrell gave her when she said that could only be described as pained. She could see him mouthing 'cool guy' to himself before shaking his head. Luckily for both of them, they finally caught a glimpse of what was below them. It was a huge, green planet, it's tendrils laying limply.
"Here we go," he said, dimming his light.
"That's Devil's Snare, isn't it?" Lucy asked. She examined it warily; that had been one of the nastier plants she'd been forced to learn about.
"Ten points to Hufflepuff," Quirrell said with a hint of amusement. "Flipendo," he said and a red flame shot out at the plants. They quickly cleared out of the way and allowed the pair to land on the solid ground. Lucy stumbled a little but was quickly steadied by her old pal Quirrell. They didn't waste any time heading away from the plants, down a stone passageway.
"Assuming you're not going to be a professor after this," Lucy began. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Can you take away a billion points from Hufflepuff? Imagine the chaos, professor."
Quirrell stared at her blankly before a hint of a smile pulled at his features. "You have the strangest ideas, Rochester. Very well— I take a billion points from Hufflepuff for helping the Dark Lord return to power."
Lucy fist pumped the air. God, Anthony was going to be so pleased. They continued on until they reached a brightly lit chamber. She hardly had time to let her eyes adjust before Quirrell said at once, "Immobulus!" And hundreds of jeweled keys suddenly froze in place. Lucy blinked, and he turned to look at her. "Grab a broom and get the key," he ordered.
Lucy nodded and mounted one of the brooms. As soon as she kicked off, however, the keys unfroze, and they darted away from her. She heard Quirrell curse to himself. "Flitwick is smarter than I gave him credit for," he muttered. He looked at Lucy, a little frustrated. "Well, you're looking for a big silver key. It will be slightly bigger than the others."
Apart from flying Madame Hooch's brooms, she hadn't had the chance to actually get something before. She flew right at the swarm of keys, into the center of it. Her eyes were naturally sharp, and she moved precisely in the way she wanted to. She had a pattern to it— she'd go toward one mass of keys and force them to turn around, so she'd be able to see them all clearly. She caught the key within five minutes.
Lucy tossed the key to Quirrell then landed on the ground. She pushed her tussled hair out of her face and followed him closely behind as he put the key through the lock. They stepped forward into another huge chamber, but this one had black and white tiles on the floor. Her gaze traveled up to the ginormous chess pieces.
"Oh, hell, is this why you had me play chess for so long?" Lucy half-whined. "What were the professors thinking when they made this? Might has well have put the stone inside a moat of lava."
"Don't be ridiculous," Quirrell said. "Lava is much to hard to get."
She pulled a face at his back as he headed over to a black bishop and stood in its place. He then instructed Lucy to take the place of a black knight. Sighing, she did as he said. Truthfully she didn't know very much about chess— nor did she want to. But Quirrell was just fine at it.
"Professor, what happens when one of our pieces—" Lucy began but stopped as soon as she saw one of the white pieces knock out a black piece, then dragged them off the bored. She felt her their clench with fear. "Oh."
"Just do as I say," Quirrell said, not taking his eyes off the pieces. "If you get injured, I do know a few healing spells."
That didn't negate from the fact that she could get injured. With the way he phrased it, she should've have been surprised that she would end up hurt. She didn't realize that he was sending her closer and closer to the White Queen until she was standing right in front of the tall, imposing piece.
"I was trying to avoid this, Lucy, but it's the only way," Quirrell said, and he sounded genuinely remorseful. It didn't help much; she felt like her heart might burst out of her chest. Sure, she knew all this was dangerous, but knowing she was about to be hurt was a completely different thing than imagining it. It took all she had not to turn tail and run.
"Am I about to get pummeled by a game piece, Professor?" She asked. She barely managed to keep her knees from trembling.
"I'll revive you shortly after," was all he could think to say in return.
He took a step to the left, leaving Lucy open to the Queen. The White Queen moved right in front of her, then raised her hand up in the air. Lucy bit her lip and turned so that her left side was the only thing facing the Queen. Hopefully that would minimize the damage, or maybe make it hurt less... The Queen her hand down and the last thing Lucy could hear was a resounding crack!
She woke up maybe a few minutes later to Quirrell standing over her, wand in hand. He must've cast a spell to wake her up. Her temple was throbbing, and she was fairly certain the left side of her face was swollen. She barely registered his hand gripping her shoulder, hauling her to her feet.
"One more chamber, Rochester," he said tersely, giving her a cautious look all the while. "You'll last that long, won't you?"
She managed a nod, but felt nauseous at the motion. Quirrell looked away from her and muttered, "Concussion... damn."
"Professor, that kind of sucked," Lucy groaned. She was honestly surprised that Quirrell hadn't left her behind. In fact, the man looked concerned for her.
"I know, I wish it could have been avoided." She supposed that was the closest to an apology the man would give her. He kept a hand clamped on her shoulder as they left the chamber.
They entered a room where a revolting smell hit her nostrils. She looked down to see a huge troll of all things laying on the ground, knocked out. Looking at the size of it, she had a hard time believing her friends managed to take one of these out all by their lonesome. Props to them, she guessed. "I did that just before I woke you up," Quirrell explained. "Didn't suppose you were up to a troll fight."
"This is the second troll fight I've missed, you know," Lucy sighed. Maybe if she hadn't been knocked out by a chess piece, she might have wanted to do such a thing. "Any chance you'll let a third one into the school?"
"I'm afraid I'll be unemployed, after this. You'll have to look elsewhere," Quirrell said. "No matter. The Dark Lord will give you an army of trolls."
She wrinkled her nose at the thought of that many smells at once. "Thanks, Professor, but somehow I think I'll survive without it."
They stepped into the next room, where they were met with a simple wooden table with seven vials and a roll of paper on it. Quirrell reached the paper and picked it up, reading it over a few times. He then sighed and rolled his eyes, picking up the vial on the end of it. "This has all been disappointing, really," he half complained. "A simple plant, a game of Quidditch and chess, a riddle... I'm the only competent one who thought to bring a troll! If I'd have known how easy this would be, I'd have struck months ago."
"Is that why you had us prepare so much?" Lucy asked, giving the doorway of flames ahead of them a curious look. She had to admit, these trials weren't very hard for a grown wizard like Quirrell. In fact, she thought she might be able to do it with her Gryffindor friends with the same amount of ease.
"I knew the vague principles of each Professor's chamber. I overestimated them all," Quirrell said dryly. "No matter. Let's get this over with, Rochester. Between the two of us, getting the Stone shouldn't be hard."
He took a drink out of the vial and handed it to Lucy. On the off chance her friends might follow her, she took the smallest drink she could in hopes that there'd be enough left for them. It was a bit gross drinking out of the same thing as Quirrell but she could get past it.
They headed through the dark flames guarding the doorway. It was the oddest sensation, Lucy thought. The flames weren't hot, but she could feel them tickling her skin. It almost made her want to laugh. Once they reached the final chamber, she felt the same measure of disappointment as Quirrell did. There was no magnificent chalice containing the Philosopher's Stone, nor was there even a dragon guarding it. All she saw was the stupid Mirror of Erised in the middle of the room.
"Ugh, not that dumb thing," she complained.
Quirrell strode right in front of the mirror, waiting for something to happen. He rapped on it a few times, shook it, heck even whispered to it, but still nothing. He growled in frustration. "Lucy! You try it," he ordered, stepping away from it.
She didn't know what he hoped would happen, but she stepped in front of the mirror like he told her to. And it was the oddest thing. She no longer saw the conjured up version of her parents, even though deep in her bones she would always want a family. She saw her friends. She stood right beside Harry, his arm slung across her shoulders and he laughed at something. Ron was next to Harry, and Hermione next to Ron. Anthony stood behind her and ruffled her hair while Daisy rolled her eyes at him and Cedric laughed. She saw Megan and Wayne on the other side of her, and most importantly, she saw herself in the middle, smiling. Happy.
She was breathless for a few seconds. "Uh... not the Stone, Professor," she said apologetically. She stepped out of the way so he could take his place again.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there watching him try to get at the Stone. At one point, her legs became too tired and the throbbing in her head grew too great, and she sat down criss-crossed, staring at the professor. She rested her head atop her knuckles, balanced on her knees. Quirrell was growing more and more frustrated with the mirror and she thought he might break it, when a familiar face stumbled through the flames.
Lucy beamed once she saw none other than Harry Potter enter, ready to save the day.
The look on his face when he saw Quirrell, not Snape, wasn't nearly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Maybe if Hermione was there... But the betrayed look on Harry's face when he found out he was wrong wasn't something she wanted to see ever again.
"You!" He gasped. His eyes fell onto Lucy, and he took in her bruised complexion. It was only natural for him to assume it was the professor's doing. His jaw set in anger as he looked back at Quirrell.
"Me," Quirrell said calmly, as if he hadn't been shaking the mirror a few seconds before Harry walked in. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."
"But I thought— Snape—" Harry stammered.
"Severus?" Quirrell laughed coldly. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
"Me," Lucy raised her hand.
Quirrell shot her an unamused look before looking back at Harry.
"But Snape tried to kill me," Harry insisted. She really wanted to tell him that arguing about whether or not someone was the perpetrator, when that someone had admitted to the crime in fro of them, was an unwise move. She also knew that Quirrell wouldn't appreciate her quips at the moment.
"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."
"Snape was trying to save me?" Harry said incredulously. He looked at Lucy again, almost aghast at how wrong he'd been. He looked like he wanted to apologize to her that very second. She gave him what she hoped what a reassuring smile.
"Of course," Quirrell smiled. The man really did like to monologue. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really . . . he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."
Well, Lucy wasn't expecting that. Not so suddenly, anyway.
With a snap of Quirrell's fingers, ropes appeared out of thin air and wrapped around not only Harry, but herself. She shot Quirrell an aghast look, to which he looked almost regretful. "Master says you sympathize with the boy too much," he then smiled. "No matter. That can be corrected. You've earned it."
He jerked his wrist over to Harry, and she slid across the floor so that they were sitting back-to-back. She couldn't be too surprised, but she was still angry. If she was a better spy she might have distanced herself from Harry, but the naive part of her enjoyed his company too much to forfeit it.
"Now, wait quietly, you two. I need to examine this interesting mirror. This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. Ah, yes, he was back to tapping it, like that had worked the first hundred times. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."
She felt fairly confident that Quirrell wouldn't manage to unearth the Mirror's secrets, but Harry was less so. He exchanged a worried look with her before he blurted out, "I saw you and Snape in the forest—"
"Yes," Quirrell said, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side. . . ."
Snape did a little more than suspect. If she hadn't thought Quirrell was watching her closely today, she would have told the Potions Master all about their plans tonight. But it had been too risky. To be fair, Snape warned her to keep away if things got too dicey, so he couldn't be too mad at her.
She could feel Harry wriggling, trying to get out of the ropes. "But Snape always seemed to hate me so much," he said to cover up what he was doing.
"Oh, he does," Quirrell agreed, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."
Her eye twitched. So Snape was such a git to Harry because of his dead father? At least she gave him reasons to hate her. This piece of information diminished some of the respect she had for the man. He was helping her, so she would always have a little respect, but if he kept treating Harry like this, that was sure to go away too.
"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you. . . ." Harry pointed out.
"Yeah, you didn't look so good," Lucy agreed. She remembered his strange journal entry. Could he have been talking about Voldemort?
Quirrell's cool exterior cracked somewhat, and she could see fear flicker across his face. Part of her felt bad for the man, even though she knew she shouldn't. "Sometimes..." he managed. "I find it hard to follow my Master's instructions— he is a great wizard and I am weak—"
"Come on, Professor, I'm sure you both have your good qualities," Lucy said encouragingly.
Harry, however, was horrified at this bit of information. "You mean he was there in the classroom with you?"
"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it. . . . Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me . . . decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me. . . ."
Oh, fuck. Lucy didn't like where this was going. Suddenly it all started to make sense. The turban, the weird episodes where he became a different person entirely, the journal entry, how he knew about her sparks— god, was Voldemort inside Quirrell? All this time, she'd been in close quarters, teasing, ribbing at none other than Lord Freaking Voldemort? Oh god. She called Voldemort a 'shady garlic man'. To his face. She wanted to die.
"Professor, you have not only dropped a bomb on me, you have declared nuclear warfare," Lucy said, stunned.
"I'm so glad everything's out in the open," Quirrell said sarcastically. He looked back to the mirror and cursed under his breath. "I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
"That's bad luck, Professor."
"With the Stone, I'll live long enough to withstand it," Quirrell dismissed. His tone grew frustrated. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"
To each of the first year's respective horrors, a voice actually answered him. It was high and raspy, and it sounded like more of a hiss than anything. "Use the boy... use the boy..."
Quirrell rounded on Harry. "Yes— Potter— come here." He clapped his hands, and the ropes fell off of him. Lucy's were sadly still in tact which she found very rude. "Come here. Look into the Mirror, and tell me what you see."
Harry stood in front of the mirror, and Quirrell stood uncomfortably close behind him. Lucy narrowed her eyes the professor once she saw the fearful, desperate look on Harry's face. He was being so brave, so selfless, all she wanted to do was go over there and shield him from Quirrell. She could handle him all year, but she never wanted her friends to have to help the bad guy.
"Well?" Quirrell said impatiently. "What do you see?"
"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. I— I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor." It was a lie, and a bad one, at that. But Quirrell, caught up in the moment, didn't notice.
"Get out of the way," he hissed.
Harry moved aside and immediately went over to Lucy, untying her as quickly as he could. She was still dizzy both from her concussion and from the loss of blood flow to her arms and legs. Harry had to help her stand up, and he grabbed her hand, holding it tightly as they stared down Quirrell.
"He lies... he lies..." the voice— Voldemort's voice— hissed out.
"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you see?"
"Let me speak to him..." Voldemort said. "Face-to-face..."
Lucy's eyes widened. Oh, god, please no... She squeezed Harry's hand tighter.
"Master, you are not strong enough!" Quirrell insisted.
"I have strength enough... for this..."
They were both frozen in place as Quirrell reached up to unwrap his turban. He was bald underneath, and Lucy could see how aged he really looked. Slowly, he turned around.
Lucy felt like vomiting. This was quite possibly the most nauseating thing she'd ever seen, and she had just stepped over a troll. Right there, in the back of Quirrell's head, was a chalk-white face. It had glaring red eyes and two slits for the nose, just like a snake. She felt disgusted, both for seeing it and for imagining Professor Quirrell having to live with this thing on him, sucking the life out of him day after day, deluding and terrorizing him.
"Harry Potter..." Voldemort whispered. "See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor . . . I have form only when I can share another's body . . . but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds. . . . Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks . . . you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest . . . and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own. . . . Now . . . why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"
That did it. Harry stumbled backwards, dragging Lucy with him.
"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled. "Better save your own life and join me . . . or you'll meet the same end as your parents. . . . They died begging me for mercy. . . ."
"LIAR!" Harry shouted furiously. He stepped in front of Lucy now, all the while inching the pair of them backward. Quirrell started walking backward too so that Voldemort was always facing them.
"How touching . . ." Voldemort hissed. "I always value bravery. . . . Yes, boy, your parents were brave. . . . I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight . . . but your mother needn't have died . . . she was trying to protect you. . . . Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."
"NEVER!"
Harry made a mad dash for the door. Voldemort screamed, "SEIZE HIM!" And a second later, Lucy saw Quirrell grab Harry's wrist. Harry reflexively let go of Lucy, and she watched in horror as the pair of them screamed out in agony. Quirrell released Harry a second later, holding his hand which was now blistering away.
"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort shouted again. Quirrell lunged and tackled Harry, holding both hands around his neck.
"Master, I cannot hold him– my hands– my hands!" Quirrell howled.
"Then kill him, fool, and be done!"
Now this, Lucy could not stand for. She ran toward the pair, just as Harry reached up to put his hands on Quirrell's face. The professor let out the most horrible scream and rolled off of Harry, clutching his poor face. Harry wasn't done; he reached toward Quirrell and grabbed onto his wand arm, and Lucy saw the pair of them yell out in agony, all the while Voldemort screamed, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"
A moment later, they both collapsed. Quirrell lay whimpering while Harry was out cold. She watched, horrified, as a vapor rose from Quirrell's body and darted out of the chamber.
All she could think to do was run over to Harry and pull him away from Quirrell's convulsing form. She couldn't pull her eyes away as the man sobbed, the stench of burning flesh filling the air until his cries faded. Then, he stopped breathing. She held Harry closer to her chest, feeling her eyes well up with tears. Tears over what, she wasn't sure... maybe the man Quirrell could have been, before Voldemort took over... maybe what might've happened if she had his class as a normal student, and he taught her as a normal professor. All the things he shouldn't know, they all came from Voldemort. And now Quirrell was dead, laying a few feet away from her.
Dumbledore burst into the chamber a few minutes later. His bright blue eyes found her and Harry immediately, and he paused at the scene. Lucy, holding Harry in her arms, tears streaming down her face as a dead man lay a few feet away from them.
"Let's you and I take Harry to the hospital wing," Dumbledore said quietly. He flicked his wand, and Harry levitated onto a conjured up stretcher. The stretcher floated ahead of them, and she and Dumbledore walked after it.
She paused at the doorway and looked back at Quirrell. "You're not just going to leave him there, are you?" She sniffled.
Dumbledore gave her a pitying look. "He'll have a proper burial. Later, Lucy. For now, we must leave."
She nodded and walked with him, sniffling along the way. "Voldemort sucks," she said softly.
Dumbledore, though solemn, couldn't help but have a twinkle in his eye at that. "You'd be correct in that, Ms. Rochester. Voldemort certainly sucks."