jharad17 - Better Be Slytherin!

"Never had one to begin with," Quirrell said with a chuckle. "But who would suspect poor, s-stuttering P-professor Quirrell of trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Well, me for one. And my friends." And Professor Snape, he thought unhappily.

"You see, you miserable oaf," cried another voice, this one more sibilant, high and weak sounding, seeming to come from Professor Quirrell, except that the man did not move his lips. "You could not even throw off the suspicions of a child !" It was Voldemort's voice, he knew it. But how?

"Show yourself!" Harry called.

"Why, Harry Potter," the voice crooned. Harry craned his neck to see where it was coming from. "Such a forceful little boy. I shall enjoy killing you tonight."

Put up your left hand, the Baron thought, so we can have a shield ready.

"So you've said," Harry taunted as he casually followed the Baron's instructions. He moved slowly forwards, too, to be in better range for throwing spells. "But so far . . . nada."

"A fact that shall be remedied shortly. Kill him!"

"But, Master, the Stone!" Quirrell complained.

"We shall retrieve it once he is dead."

"But I cannot figure out how ," Quirrell whined, and Harry wondered how on earth Professor Snape ever got along with this loser.

Apparently Voldemort was thinking along the same lines. "Shut up, you loathsome, disgusting worm. I cannot bear to be saddled with you a moment longer. Turn around and let me see the boy."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough . . . for this . . ."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "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....

"I had hoped," the face continued, its tone almost cozening, "when I learned you had come to Slytherin, that you might aid me in my quest to correct all that is wrong, all that is hurting the Wizarding world. I want you to stop this ridiculous fight, and help me retrieve the Stone. Better to save your own life and join me, else you'll come to the same end as your parents.... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward toward him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it 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 help me find the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain. Such deaths are unavoidable in times of war, Potter. You must realize this."

"Unavoidable? You tracked them down and killed them. You tried to kill me, too. I was just a baby!"

"An unfortunate turn of events, yess."

Quirrell was only steps away from Harry now, and Harry stared into the misshapen face of his worst enemy. Unfortunate? Unavoidable? Who is he trying to kid?

You, of course, thought the Bloody Baron softly.

Well, it's not working.

Good , and once again, Harry could feel the Baron smile.

In that moment, a spell leapt toward Harry from Quirrell's wand. Almost instantly, a thought of Protego from the Baron and a twitch of Harry's wand created a blockade. The Professor's spell skittered off into a wall where it exploded, blasting off chips and shards of stone.

"I thought you wanted to be friends!" Harry cried. "Friends don't blast friends to smithereens!"

"What need has Lord Voldemort for friends , you impudent little boy?" the Dark Lord inquired while casting another spell.

Harry countered it again and zipped off an Expelliarmus , which Quirrell/mort dodged.

"No wonder your minions despise you." The Baron cast a non-verbal spell that Harry only caught the last part of in his mind even as a bright yellow light sped toward Quirrell.

"They fear me and my power!" Quirrell/mort snapped up a shield that absorbed the yellow light instead of reflecting it. "They know I am the most powerful Dark Lord who has ever lived!"

"You call that living?" Harry asked and laughed as he cast another spell.

Movement out of the corner of his eye briefly caught his attention before the Baron physically forced him to look away. But he had seen a dark, shadowy figure creeping around behind Quirrell/mort, as if it would attack the Professor from behind. That was fine with Harry. Unless . . . unless it was someone after the Stone? Like Snape? The height was right, the walk . . .

Cease speculating, Harry Potter. I am telling you this for the last time. You must trust me. Professor Snape is not attempting to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. The ghost's internal voice was so adamant that Harry was stunned for the space of a few heartbeats, leaving the Baron in complete control of his body. Rather than keep his control and fire off spells as rapidly as possible, however, he gave the reins back to Harry as soon as he could retake them.

That, more than anything else, made Harry believe him. Thanks , Harry thought, and tried to push whatever Snape was doing from his mind, even if the man was getting closer to the mirror and possibly the Stone.

Let me help, the Baron thought, and he put up a partial blockade to the worrying thoughts, leaving Harry's mind clear and focused on the fight. " Petrificus Totalis !" Harry shouted, then, " Protego! " as another spell headed for him. He sidestepped a second spell and cast another one silently.

The dark figure had stopped moving, now almost completely behind Quirrell/mort, which meant he was in Quirrell's line of sight. Just as Quirrell was saying, "My Lord, behind you--" the dark figure cast a spell. Dark red light sped towards Quirrell/mort and he tried to dodge it but doing so placed him in the path of Harry's spell.

A frantic, " Protego ," saved him, though not completely. A measure of the Stunner had gotten through, making him wobbly on his feet. A look of pure rage crossed the twisted face in the back of Quirrell's head and the creature screeched, a hate-filled cry that pierced the air like an arrow.

"Seize him, seize him!" Voldemort's high voice shrieked. Quirrell's body lunged -- backwards -- toward Harry.

Not expecting the physical attack, Harry stumbled back as Quirrell/mort reached him. He held up his hands as Quirrell grabbed his wrist. A splinter of pain went through Harry's head, as if splitting his scar in two. He and Quirrell both gave a cry, and Harry struggled as hard as he could to get out of the man's grasp. Quirrell let go, surprisingly, and cradled his hand, which appeared to be blistered and red.

When Voldemort cried for Quirrell to seize him again, Harry tried to shove the man away, pushing at Quirrell's face when Quirrell grabbed his neck. Quirrell's skin roiled beneath his hands, writhing and churning as blisters formed, grew large and burst in gobs of pus. The hands tightened around his throat, and there was a sudden lurching sensation, as if he were falling down, down into a pit . . . something tore loose inside him, like losing a limb. The Baron! He was gone, wrenched away, and the immediate backlash of pain threatened to whirl Harry away, too. He clenched his teeth and his hands as his chest burst open like a cherry . . . oh, Merlin it hurt so bad . . . and the blood poured out of him . . . and Harry's own neck sizzled and burned, as did the flesh beneath his hands. Quirrell/mort was on fire everywhere his skin touched Harry's. The smell of burnt meat threatened to make Harry vomit.