XIV. I Definitely Get My Looks from My Mother

Harry and I were greeted by a dark, gloomy corridor; the light from the flames barely stretched beyond our feet. We stayed silent as we wandered down it with caution, our footsteps echoing off of the marble floor. Eventually, we reached a turn where the light reappeared, blinding us. We hesitated, afraid to see what lay beyond the corner.

"You stay here," Harry whispered to me. "Only come out if I need help, okay?"

"What?" I whispered back. "Just because I'm a girl—"

"God, now is not the time to topple the patriarchy," he sighed. "It's like a second in a wizard's duel. You're there to take my place if I die."

"I didn't come all this way for you to go get yourself killed—"

"Don't worry about me." Harry put his hands on my shoulders. "And don't do anything stupid. I don't want you getting hurt." He turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

It took everything I had to restrain myself from going with Harry. I hated standing by while someone else does all the work. Besides, I wanted to stop Voldemort as much as he did—perhaps even more. But I figured I was much more help if I was alive, and I had the element of surprise on my side.

I hid behind the wall, wand at the ready. Harry's footsteps were close, but they suddenly disappeared. I peeked around the corner just enough to see him stopped dead in his tracks.

"You!" Harry shouted. "Wait—you?" His accusatory voice turned to confusion.

"Me," an unfamiliar voice said. It certainly didn't sound like Snape, but it wasn't the voice that had spoken to me in the forest, either. "I was wondering if we'd be meeting here tonight, Potter. And I see you brought a friend." I froze, shrinking against the wall.

"I didn't—"

The voice cut him off with a laugh. "Now, we both know that's not true," it said. "Why don't we have her join us?"

Well, there goes that plan.

Next thing I knew, an invisible force flung me out into the open. My wand flew out of my hand, and I ended up face-down on the cold, hard tile. I stretched my hand out, reaching for my wand, but something pulled it away from me.

"You won't be needing that today, dear," the voice said with a cackle. "You two are very loud whisperers."

The laugh alone filled me with rage to make me jump to my feet. What use was I to Harry without a wand? "Give it back, you—Wait, you?"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Quirrell was standing in front of us, a smirk on his face and my wand in his hand. And he hadn't stuttered once.

Marble steps led down to where he stood, and a magnificent mirror with an embellished frame towered behind him. The Mirror of Erised.

"Yes, me," Quirrell said flatly, putting my wand in the pocket of his robes. "We've established this."

I took a step backwards. "But… Snape…"

"Ah, yes, Severus can be intimidating," Quirrell chuckled, advancing towards Harry and me. "Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell?"

I refused to believe it. What could Quirrell possibly want with the Stone?

"Now, Silverwood, why don't you sit back and enjoy the show?" With a swish and flick of Quirrell's wand, I was thrown against the wall behind me. Ropes curled around my body and binded me to the wall. I struggled to free myself, but they wouldn't budge.

"Let me go, you sick, twisted—"

"Silencio." Quirrell, pointed his wand at me, and I felt my throat tighten. I couldn't speak.

"Professor, what are you doing?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Let her go, this isn't you—"

Quirrell smiled. "Good, that's what I wanted you to think."

"But if it's been you all along," Harry paused, processing the events playing out before his eyes, "why did Snape try to kill me at that Quidditch game?"

"Snape didn't try to kill you." He chuckled. "I tried to kill you."

Harry and I stared at him in disbelief.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for Granger," Quirrell sneered. "Flitwick was spraying water all over Snape to douse that cursed fire, and got some on me, too. So, I was forced to break my eye contact with you. But I could've done it earlier, if Snape wasn't muttering the countercurse to my jinx."

Harry stared at him in confusion. "Snape was trying to save me? Snape?"

"Yes," Quirrell said plainly. "Why else do you think he wanted to referee your next match? To keep me from trying again. He did make himself quite unpopular with the teachers, that's true. And what a waste it was, when I'm going to kill you tonight." He snapped his fingers and ropes emerged from the floor, binding Harry's ankles to the ground. More ropes appeared to secure his arms to his side.

I would've stabbed Quirrell right then and there if I could. Harry couldn't die. Not on my watch.

I struggled some more with the ropes, but it was no use. "Don't worry, dear," Quirrell said, his voice dripping with honey. "He doesn't have to be the only one to go tonight."

Merlin, he was going to kill me, too. And there was nothing I could do about it. I lay back against the wall, helpless.

"Don't you dare touch her," Harry shouted, pulling against his own ropes.

"We'll see about that," Quirrell mused. "But you, Potter, you're too nosy to live. You could've caught me looking at the defenses against the Stone, scurrying around on Halloween like that."

"You let the troll in?"

"Of course. I have a gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber. Unfortunately, Snape suspected me and went straight to the third floor to stop me. So not only did that troll fail to beat you to death, that dog didn't bite off Snape's leg properly. Now, be quiet, Potter, and let me examine this mirror."

Quirrell turned towards the Mirror of Erised, staring hungrily into it. That meant he was distracted. I tried to think of an escape plan, but I couldn't do anything if I was bound to the wall. If only I had something I could use to cut the ropes…

The pocket knife! How could I be so stupid? Harry could cut himself free, then me! I just needed some way to tell him my plan, which would be hard without a voice.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest," Harry said, his eyes focused on Quirrell. I tried to mouthing his name, hoping my voice might magically return. I had to get that knife.

"Oh, Severus was on to me by then," Quirrell said without paying Harry the slightest attention. "He was trying to frighten me into letting slip how far I'd gotten, but how could he, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…"

Was that what Snape tried to do to me, that day in his office? Did he think I was working with Quirrell to get the Stone for Voldemort? Was he trying to scare me away from it? "We both know what sides we're on," he'd said, but apparently, neither of us knew at all.

But he still deserves to get bitten by a venomous snake.

Quirrell was preoccupied with the mirror, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to turn around and look at me. I tried kicking the wall to make some noise, but to no avail.

"But you were sobbing in that empty classroom," Harry said. "I thought Snape was threatening you." He was doing a fantastic job of stalling Quirrell. If only he could be that fantastic at helping me.

Harry's statement grabbed Quirrell's attention. A fearful expression fell on his face, like he was having a flashback to something unbearable.

"Sometimes, I find it hard to follow my master's instructions," he trembled. "He is powerful and I am weak…"

Did that mean Voldemort was there with him? In Hogwarts, the safest place on Earth?

For once, Harry and I were thinking alike. "You mean he was there in the classroom?" he asked.

"My master is with me wherever I go," Quirrell explained. "Once I failed to retrieve the Stone from Gringotts, he decided he'd have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Does he mean Voldemort's been here at Hogwarts this whole time? I shuddered at the thought.

Quirrell became distracted with the mirror again, so I decided to try and free myself while I had the chance. I slid my right hand up the restraints binding my arms to my side, causing the skin on my arm to peel and bleed. I found a weak point and stuck my hand out between the ropes and fought with them, trying to ignore the painful blisters on my arm. But no matter how hard I pulled, the restraints wouldn't give.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, chilling voice filled the room. "The boy… Use the boy…" This time, it was the voice that had spoken to me in the Forbidden Forest.

"Of course," Quirrell said. With another snap of his fingers, the ropes around Harry fell to the ground. "Potter, come here." His voice was commanding and merciless—how was this man once our shy, stuttering professor?

Harry obeyed and walked towards the mirror.

"Look into the mirror and tell me what you see," Quirrell ordered.

"I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice barely audible across the room. "I've won the house cup."

He's lying, I thought. He sees his family.

Quirrell muttered something and pushed Harry out of the way.

Finally, Harry turned around and began walking away from Quirrell, trying to make an escape. I caught his eye and mouthed, "the knife," motioning with my free hand for him to throw it to me.

He replied with a baffled look.

"The pocket knife," I silently repeated, making a slashing motion in the air. He nodded in understanding and reached into the pocket of his robes, but was interrupted by the shrill voice.

"He lies…"

"Potter!" Quirrell snapped, turning around. "Get back here, tell me what you see!" Harry sent me an apologetic glance.

The voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him…" A shiver ran down my spine.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this…"

Strangely, Quirrell began unwrapping his turban. The layers of cloth slowly revealed a more horrifying sight than I could've ever imagined.

A face was attached to the back of Quirrell's head. Not just any face, no—a distorted, chalk-white face with red, snake-like eyes and slits for nostrils. A face that you would only see in nightmares, too horrifying to describe. Voldemort.

I have to say, I don't see the resemblance.

"Harry Potter…" Voldemort mused. "Ah, and I see my daughter came to join us as well."

I glared at him, trying to hide my fear. There was no way I was related to this thing.

"See what I have become, Potter?" Voldemort continued. "I have form only when I share another's body… of course, Quirrell has been so faithful to let me into his soul… Unicorn blood has strengthened me these past few weeks… but now that I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to restore my body…"

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "So when Fred and George were hitting the back of Quirrell's head with snowballs, they were really hitting you?"

"Yes, that was very annoying. Now, why don't you hand me that Stone in your pocket, Potter?"

It was then I noticed the jagged lump in Harry's pocket—how did he get his hands on it?

Harry stumbled backwards, making Voldemort snarl.

"Don't be a fool," he said. "Better to save yourself and join me than meet the same end as your parents…"

"NEVER!" Harry shouted. He began running towards me—about time—but Quirrell caught him by the wrist. Suddenly, they were both screaming from pain, and Quirrell ended up on the floor, curled into a fetal position. His hands were covered in blisters and burns—all from Harry's touch.

Harry noticed that neither Voldemort nor Quirrell could see him, and he pulled the pocket knife from his robes and threw it into my freed hand. Somehow, despite my athletic inability, I caught it and began to slash through the ropes. My hand trembled as Harry and Quirrell continued to fight each other with Voldemort shouting, making me slip and cut a gash in my side. I winced in pain as the wound bled through my shirt, but continued on. Once the ropes around my legs and ankles were severed, I was free. It was hard to regain my balance, but once the blood flow returned to my legs, I was ready to run to Harry's rescue.

Quirrell seized Harry by the throat and pushed him to the ground. The former was still shrieking in agony, while his victim let out choked cries. I ran towards them, holding my side to stop the bleeding, and followed my instincts Hermione spoke of so fondly: I kicked Quirrell in the stomach, forcing him to release Harry and stumble backwards.

But I was too late. Harry had already collapsed on the steps.

Quirrell prepared to lunge at me, but he was stopped.

"No, kill the boy, Quirrell…" Voldemort ordered. "I'll deal with her later… kill the boy…"

Quirrell turned his gaze back to Harry and pulled his wand from his robes. I had to think of something, fast. Then, it hit me: If Harry's touch alone could burn Quirrell's skin, what could his blood do?

I cut Harry's hand open with the pocket knife. Before Quirrell could cast a deadly curse, I raised the knife, which was dripping with Harry's blood, and threw it at Quirrell's chest. I felt my throat loosen up as his hand turned to dust and crumbled to the ground. Voldemort let out a high-pitched scream as he was ripped from Quirrell's body, which soon became nothing more than a pile of ashes.

"You okay, Harry?" I said with my newfound voice, nudging him with my foot. I bent down next to him and checked his wrist for a pulse, letting out a sigh of relief once I discovered he was alive. My attention turned back to the heap of dust on the ground, and the shock settled in: I had killed someone.

I was becoming my father.

"Committed our first murder, have we?" a cold voice said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, you'll learn with time."

I looked up to see Voldemort standing in front of me. This time, he had a full body, but was reduced to a three-dimensional silhouette. A white glow surrounded him, outlining his grotesque facial features. The figure appeared to be a cross between a body and a ghost.

I stood up, still holding my hand to my cut. "I'm not a killer."

"Oh, but you will be," Voldemort said, a smirk forming on his lips. "Once you join me, of course."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," I said. "I have my whole life ahead of me and I'd rather not spend it with the likes of you."

He laughed. "You think I'll let you live if you don't? How adorable."

"Oh, no," I mocked, "the guy who was defeated by a mediocre one-year-old is going to try and fail to kill me again."

"Yes, I was too weak to finish you off before," Voldemort said, "but next time, I won't be letting you off so easy…"

I scoffed. "Easy? That's the most pain I've ever been in, and the wretched godparents you gave me Cruciate me whenever they feel like it." The Cruciatus Curse, or the Torture Curse, was one of Lucius's favorite spells.

"Well, it's not my fault you're so hateable."

"I wonder where I get it from," I muttered. "And speaking of hatred, did Quirrell ever mention to you why he despised me so much?"

"Well, you got into Gryffindor, which was the exact opposite of what you were supposed to do, so I told him to make you as miserable as possible."

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm brave," I retorted. "What would Your Majesty prefer that I do?"

"You could start by shutting up."

"Sorry, that's not an option."

"Well, then, let me ask you a question," Voldemort said, raising one of his thin eyebrows. "Why did you change your name?"

"Because Sadina makes me sound like an eighty-year old woman from the nineteenth century who spends her spare time knitting sweaters for her thirty-six cats," I replied plainly.

"So you legally shortened it by a syllable?"

"Yeah," I replied. "That's how stupid it is. Besides, I'll do anything to disassociate myself from you, especially changing an awful name you gave me."

"You can't escape your heritage, Sadie," Voldemort laughed. "You should cherish it, in fact. I strived to be like my ancestors when I was your age; why don't you do the same?"

"I will never be like you."

I expected this to provoke him, but he kept his cool and smiled. "I see you've inherited my stubbornness." He began advancing towards me, almost floating across the tile. I wanted to back away, but I forced myself to stand my ground.

Don't be scared, I told myself. He's not human. He can't touch you.

"You have my wit, too," he continued. "And we both consider Hogwarts the closest thing to a home. And apparently, we've both had awful childhoods."

"At least I didn't inherit your looks."

A glare appeared on his face as he lifted my chin, and scarily enough, his hand didn't pass through me. "Ah yes, you're the spitting image of your mother…" He smirked. "But in reality, you're just like me."

"Go fuck yourself." I flipped him off, looking him dead in the eye.

Voldemort gasped loudly enough to wake up the whole castle. "Nobody tells the Dark Lord to go fuck himself!"

"Oh, what are you going to do, ground me?" I jeered with a fake frown. "Send me to bed without dinner?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of murder." My eyes widened as he floated over to Quirrell's remains, picking up the pocket knife that lay upon the ashes. His emotionless smile never faded as he walked towards me at an agonizingly slow pace, twirling the pocket knife in his hands and taunting me with every step. I tried to run, but ropes rose up from floor, binding my ankles to the ground. My feet struggled to pull free, but it was useless. I was going to die.

Why couldn't I keep mouth shut?

He finally came close enough that the knife was touching my chest. "Any last words?"

I glared at him, my breathing heavy. "Chinga tu madre." Might as well go out with a bang.

Voldemort simply laughed and pulled the knife back. I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold metal to penetrate my skin, but someone spoke before it had the chance.

"Stay away from my students, Voldemort."