Chapter Two:

Finding Quirrel turned out to be easier said than done. After Harry had defeated Voldemort in his first year at Hogwarts, he had practically vanished from the surface of the earth. Nobody had heard from him ever since, for all they knew, he was dead.

Research led them nowhere. Hermione snuck into a local library disguised as a muggle, she looked through every newspaper of the last seven years, but nothing. She read all of her books, she read about possession and mind-control, but none of the information seemed to relate to their cause or could give them any clue as to what had happened to Quirrell or where he was right now. One night, Hermione sat in front of the tent, her frowning face lit only by the glow of the nearly dead fire they kept for grilling mushrooms and to keep themselves warm at night, reading a passage of a wizard who had specialized in mind-control and his tries to possess a squirrell. Harry sat down beside her.

"How's it going?", he asked, trying to sound casual. Everything ticked Hermione off lately. "Well, Harry, how do you think it's going, huh?" Crap. "What do you want to hear right now? That our research leads nowhere? That Quirrell's probably dead or even if he is alive, he's hiding somewhere we'll never find him, because we don't have any freaking clue where to look? That even if we do find him- which borders on the impossible, because we probably don't have the teeniest-tiniest chance of doing so- he probably won't have the slightest idea what we could be searching for and all of this will have been for nothing, is that what you want to hear? Because if so, you're in luck." She threw the book on the ground and buried her face in her hands. "This is pointless."

Harry didn't know what to say. He just hoped she wouldn't start to cry.

Instead she looked up, her face hardened with the look of a warrior ready to fight. "You know what?", she said, "it doesn't matter. It was a stupid plan anyway. We'll just have to find the last Horcrux by ourselves."

Harry didn't dare to tell her he didn't think they stood a chance, now that their last hope was gone. He didn't even like to think this himself.

Even though Hermione had practically given up on the idea altogether, the thought of Ex-Professor Quirrell didn't leave Harry's mind. Hermione was right, he was the only person Voldemort had ever been close to- and maybe not only in the physical sense. What if there had been some kind of connection between them? What if Quirrell had been able to read his thoughts? They had shared one body, who knew if they had also shared one mind?

One week later something happened that made them all forget about Quirrell and the last Horcrux. They were listening to the radio, as a familiar voice said gravely: "Bad news, people. Justin Finch-Fletchley, seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been found dead this morning. It appears he has been killed by Death-Eaters."

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, shocked. "Justin..", Hermione mumbled. "He was half-blood", Ron said. Harry shook his head. "I don't believe this. Who does he think he is? Just killing people like that? With his stupid, fucking Death-Eaters just thinking he's better than everyone else?" He was panting now and Hermione and Ron were staring at him like he was crazy, Hermione almost laughing nervously. "Harry...", she began, but he interrupted her. "You know what, we've been taking his shit way too long! We're going to destroy him. What do you say?" They just kept staring at him. "Voldemort is going down."

"Harry, no!" Hermione and Ron yelled in unison, but it was too late. The words had already escaped his lips. They heard shooting around the tent and without looking they knew their spells had been taken down. "Hello Cuties", Fenrir Greyback said.