The Fall of Dumbledore: The White King

No More!

For weeks, Harry, Draco, Pansy and Blaise took turns shadowing Professor Quirrell's every movement. They tailed him discreetly through the corridors, hung back in the shadows after classes, and monitored his comings and goings with suspicious vigilance.

At first, Quirrell did nothing out of the ordinary. He taught his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with the same nervous stuttering and twitching turban as always. But Harry couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that it was all an act, a facade concealing something more sinister.

Then one night, after curfew, Blaise spotted Quirrell slipping out of the castle onto the grounds. He quickly alerted the others, and they threw on dressing gowns and hurried to follow the possessed professor's trail. Quirrell seemed to be heading into the Forbidden Forest, towards a gnarled and ancient-looking willow tree on its outskirts.

"W-We shouldn't be out here," Pansy whispered fearfully, jumping at every snapping twig. "Especially not in the Forest after dark!"

But Harry was undeterred, his heart pounding with a strange mixture of dread and determination. If his instincts were right, this could be their chance to uncover Quirrell's true villainous nature.

They hung back in the shadows, watching in horror as Quirrell appeared to be...conversing with someone. Or something. His stuttering voice took on a harsher, more menacing tone, as though he were arguing fiercely with another entity.

Harry felt a shockwave of realization as a searing pain lanced through his scar. It was Voldemort, possessing Quirrell, having some kind of heated disagreement within his host body!

Suddenly, Quirrell whipped around, and extended, as if sensing the concealed observers. "Who's there?!" he barked, his voice now high and cold, unmistakably that of the Dark Lord. "Show yourselves!"

Harry had no choice. He stepped out into the clearing defiantly, Draco, Pansy and Blaise following hesitantly behind. Quirrell's face contorted into a chilling smile as he recognized Harry, his turban slipping to reveal a horrific second face, inscribed on the back of his skull like a twisted growth.

"Harry Potter," rasped a high, cruel voice that could belong to no one but Lord Voldemort himself. "How utterly convenient."

"You're him!" Harry cried, his wand shaking in his hand. "The Dark Lord...possessing Quirrell!"

"Very clever, boy," hissed Voldemort's disembodied voice. "Though I wouldn't expect your childish mind to fully comprehend the intricate magic required for such an existence. Now...give me the Stone!"

Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. How could Voldemort know he had the Sorcerer's Stone?

But before he could respond, Voldemort struck with blinding speed and intensity. Quirrell aimed his wand and a jet of green light erupted forth with a resounding BANG! Only Harry's Seeker reflexes allowed him to dive out of the way in time.

The battle was joined in earnest, bolts of light and magic ricocheting wildly from Quirrell's wand as Voldemort shrieked in rage. Harry scrambled for cover, Draco and the others following his lead, deflecting curses and hexes with shaky counterspells.

Then, in a burst of vicious accuracy, Harry's Disarming Charm hit its mark. Quirrell's wand went spinning off into the darkness, leaving him powerless. With a hate-filled scream of "You'll pay for that, Potter!" he launched himself bodily at the young Slytherin, vice-like hands closing around Harry's throat!

There was a deafening explosion, smoke and debris raining down as the possessed professor and Harry grappled and wrestled in the underbrush. Harry felt a strange, scalding sensation wherever Quirrell made contact with his skin, as though his very touch was toxic.

With a tremendous effort, he broke free just as Quirrell collapsed, howling in agony. To Harry's horror, the Defense teacher's body began cracking and disintegrating, spilling ashes and emitting an unearthly wail. There was a rushing sound and a wrenching force seemed to be leaving Quirrell as his body crumbled into mere dust and bone fragments.

All that remained was a twisted mask of a face, screaming soundlessly. Then it was over, the smoldering remains scattering in the breeze. Voldemort's soul, or whatever dark force was animating Quirrell, had fled in the chaos. But the Sorcerer's Stone was nowhere to be found...

Harry awoke the next morning in the hospital wing, dazed and disoriented. Pansy, Draco and Blaise were by his bedside, white-faced and solemn.

"What happened?" he croaked out, head pounding.

"You don't remember?" Draco said in a hushed voice. "Quirrell, he...and you...there was this explosion of light and smoke..."

"We thought you were dead, Harry," Pansy added shakily. "When the dust cleared, Quirrell was just...gone. And the Stone had vanished too."

Harry bolted upright, panic flooding him. "The Stone? But how...where could it have gone?"

"We don't know," Blaise admitted. "We looked everywhere in the Forest clearing, but it was like it just...disappeared."

Sinking back onto his pillows, Harry tried to make sense of the maelstrom of thoughts whirling in his aching head. Quirrell was dead, the physical form possessed by Voldemort destroyed. But the Dark Lord's spirit force still remained...along with the Sorcerer's Stone, inexplicably lost.

It would not bode well if the Stone fell into the wrong hands before Harry could return it to its rightful owner, Nicholas Flamel. But he was utterly stumped as to where the artifact could have vanished. For now, he would have to keep silent on the entire disturbing ordeal with Quirrell. The story could wait until the Stone was safely recovered.

Little did Harry know, the lost Sorcerer's Stone was already nestled deep in the folds of his school trunk, magically drawn into his possession once more as its true safeguard from the Dark Lord's desires. The quest was not over - it had only just begun.