CHAPTER 16: Two Faces

Quirrell.

"I should have known."

The man turned around slowly.

"All those times I've seen you, and in the forest! I should have guessed. When you tried to kill me at the Quidditch game. I should have known from the start." Harry shook his head and stepped almost indifferently down the stairs to where the turbaned man was standing before the mirror.

"So having any luck getting the stone for your master?" He asked coolly.

Quirrell was in obvious shock. Harry took advantage of the man's shock to tramps the rest of the stairs down to where the man stood, eyes wide in front of a familiar mirror.

Harry stepped up behind him. "That must be some mirror." Harry said pointing to the gold-laced mirror. "For you to be staring at it so long that is. Must be making you look a hell of a lot better than you really do for you to stand there so long and still have a full stomach."

Quirrell growled. "Just stand still and keep quiet. I need to figure out how this thing works. It's the key to finding the stone. Only that old goat Dumbeldore would think up someway to hid a stone in a mirror." He circled the mirror and glared at Harry who was leaning back nonchalantly, arms crossed over his chest, one leg crossed toe pointing down over his other, dragon hid cloak resting on his shoulders gently, fitting his form as if it were water woven into fabric.

"What does this confounded mirror do? Should I break it? I see myself holding the stone, but how do I get the blasted thing?! Help me Master!"

Harry dropped arms as a ripple of hot pain scorched across his forehead.

"Use the boy……Use the boy!" the eerie voice seemed to rise out of the stone and bounced off the walls around them.

"Come here Potter, if you think you're so smart, why don't you go ahead and get the stone?"

Harry took a few uneasy steps forward and looked into the mirror.

What I want most of all right now is to find the stone before Quirrell does.

Harry repeated the phrase over and over within his mind, trying to make him self believe it. He turned his face to the mirror and looked and just as it had on Christmas night, the mirror showed him the wreckage of the Dursleys household, older versions of all his friends standing in the rubble, his parents floating around behind them. But unlike the last time, he could see into the mirror itself.

Nestled between the clogs and wheels, Harry could see a jagged blood red stone, glimmering with some unknown light. He could see thick chains of green laced with tight ropes of blue holding the stone in place until released by the proper authority.

"What do you see boy?"

Harry winced and turned on the teacher.

"No of your business you pest!"

"Ah, but he is not the parasite. I am."

Harry blanched. The voice was back and reeking havoc on his senses, as well as on his head. His scar had light up again.

"Let me speak to him…face-to-face." Harry shuddered.

"Master you are not strong enough." Quirrell said his tone changing to one of compassion so quickly you would have though his previous malice was fake.

"I have strength enough for this."

Harry was slowly edging away, drawing his swords.

Quirrell turned his back to Harry and resolutely raised his hands to his turban and began to unwind it. Harry tightened his grip on his blades and fixed his stance, remembering at the last minute to lift his arms up higher and spread his legs wider. He tried not to look as the purple cloth fell from his head.

"Harry Potter…" Harry nearly retched. He'd never felt so sick in his life. The thing that protruded from his head was not human, not animal, not even vegetable. No it could only be described as…

"Lord Voldemort." Harry hissed, his blades seemed to glow with the heat that rolled off the small boy.

"See what I've become?" The faces said, voice cracking and flaking much as the face did. "A shadow of my previous self, unable to live without the aid of another." However creepy the voice, that note of distain was too propionate to be lost in the strained voice. "Unicorn's blood can only take you so far. We've met once before while faithful Quirrell was drinking the blood for me. You were interested then…"

Harry bit off a hiss.

"A mere slip of logic."

"No, Harry Potter. There was desire there, just as there was in front of the mirror."

Harry shifted his weight till it was pushed onto his back leg.

"You want to kill, I don't know who but the passion to kill burns within you and no matter how much you fight it, turning your urges on me, you will never be satisfied until you complete your desirer." Voldemort's hissing voice grew in power till it was rebounding across stonewalls.

Harry smirked.

"You're right. I do want to kill. And it's not only you that I want to kill. But I'm not strong enough as of yet." He lowered his fighting stances and casually walked up to the Professor/Dark Lord.

"There is no good and evil, only power and those to weak to use it." Harry said pressing a hand to the mirror. He could see the stone sitting in it's net of enchantments and spell work.

"I've never been one for dramatic theme music, but I feel this needs a little something." Harry laughed and suddenly the sounds of Dark Vader theme music filled the hall and Harry laughed manically.

"Master!" Quirrell, forgotten in the shadows of his Master's arrival on the scene, protested.

Voldemort however laughed.

"You have the power boy, the will and the know how to get the stone."

"And in turn you will teach me to kill him?"

"If that is what you so desire."

"Well, in that case."

Harry began pulling strings and cutting, changing, redirecting the wires around the stone until he had a clear path to the blood red stone.

"The power of everlasting life, eh?" Harry said, inches away from picking up the stone. "Why would anyone one want that?"

Suddenly, before Voldemort could see what he was going to do, Harry had summoned a dagger and cut the self-destruct wire that wound deep into the stone it's self.

"FOOL! Kill him! Kill him!"

Harry jumped away, casting a shielding charm. He returned to his fighting stance, swords in hand as Quirrell flew into the air and descended upon him. He stung a warning shot at Quirrell's arm, nicking deeply into the flesh and twisting, immobilizing it. He howled in pain but returned for more. Harry fended him off, lobbing off one of his arms in the end.

Quirrell kicked his swords aside and threw him to the ground.

"REDUCTO!" Harry cried just as Quirrell cast a wordless shield.

"Face it Harry Potter. You will never be a killer because you are scared of turning into me on your quest to kill me. BUT I CAN NEVER DIE!" Voldemort laughed loud and hard as Quirrell advanced on the teen.

The pain in Harry's scar was blinding now, his bad eye the only way he could see what Quirrell was doing. He managed to catch the creature's arm as he went to send a lethal blow to Harry's head with a block of marble that was lying nearby only seconds before.

Not expecting such defense to be so effective, Harry was surprised when Quirrell leapt off his attack crying out in animal lick agony. Harry saw that where he had touched Quirrell's arms, large blustering burns bubbled like grease, eating away at his skin.

"What is this magic!":

"Fool! Kill the boy!"

Harry leapt up and engulfed the man in a lethal bear hug. In seconds the man was nothing more than a pile of ashy robes. Collapsing back onto the ground Harry stared up at the giant columns. He was panting, the pain in his scar building and building as if preparing for some grand finale. He could feel his heart accelerating as the pain reached a final crescendo and ended with stars in his eyes, pain in his head and an explosions of fireworks and a blast of heat before his face.

The soft melody of darkness wrapped around him like a blanket and cradled him into the unconsciousness.