Fighting Darkness

2.7

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood staring at the turbanless form of Quirrell. Instead of the back of the head like you'd expect, another face took its place.

"Voldemort." Harry whispered. That stupid snake like voice had haunted his dreams for years.

"Hermione! What's going on-"

The mirror in Hermiones hand suddenly imploded into hundreds of pieces, cutting up her palms with small shards of glass. Unfortunately, when she the mirror exploded, Hermiones immediate reaction had been to hold it ttight hoping to stop it from breaking. This resulted in four or five large pieces of glass going straight through her hand.

She screamed in pain clutching her hands to her chest. She couldn't ever remember being in this much pain. She just wanted it to stop. She just wanted to die to make it stop. Anything to make it to away.

Harry's anger increased tenfold as Hermione screamed in pain. She'd fallen to the ground trying to desperately stop the blood flow and remove the glass.

"Don't remove the glass Hermione! I know it hurts, but you'll bleed to death if you do!" Harry called, trying to run to her but found he couldn't move. "Damnit what is this?" Harry yelled, ramming his shoulder into the invisible box.

"A little trick I learned in the Bahamas." Qurriell sneered.

"Enough foreplay Quirrell. Let the Potter boy go.... Put him in front of the mirror. He must know how to get the stone." Voldemort hissed angrily. He could not have chosen a worse body host

Quirrell swopped forward and grabbed the collar of Harry's shirt as if the barrier wasn't even there and tugged him towards to mirror.

"Let him go!" Ron yelled, snapping out of his horror stuck stupor in seeing his best friend in the hands of the enemy. "You let him go!"

As Ron tired to scream again, nothing by strangled noises came out "AHRH" Ron exclaimed in shock. On the floor by his feet was a pink still moving tongue. HIS tongue. (A/N I'm writing this while on a road trip and so I stuck my fingers in mouth to see what to noise would sound like if I didn't have a tongue and my dad was like what the hell XD)

"Stop it!" Harry yelled, trying to tig away from the man's iron grip. "Stop you're hurting them!"

((Kinda gory details, please proceed with caution))

Ron's mouth was filling with blood from the srumpnwhere his tongue used to be. The hot red liquid streamed from his mouth and into his worn jeans and Weasley jumper. He tried to stop the blood flow with his hands but it was useless. He was going to die.

Hermione looked as if she'd gone into shock. She was staring blankly at her mutalated hands with a blank expression of interference. The pool of blood was gathering around prone form, her staining her white socks a shocking red.

Harry looked on horrified at his dying friends. He'd brought them here for his own selfish reasons. He should have fought against them more, told them to stay....

No, they weren't going to die. He was going to get them out if here if it was the last thing he did. And if very well might.

His brain began to work in overdrive and he struggled against Quirrell's grip. He pushed Harry roughly to the ground in front of a large fancy mirror with clawed feet and fancy words scrawled aat the top.

"What do you see?" Quirrell demanded with agitation. "What is it?"

Harry looked quizzically at the mirror but gasped when he saw not only was he in the mirror, but his friends too. They were happy and not covered in blood. They had their arms slung around his shoulders and they were laughing. Behind him his parents smiled at him proudly, waving happily at an unknown audience. Alice sat at his feet, leaning against his legs. She too was smiling. In her hand was... the stone! She winked and slipped it into his pocket.

Harry gasped as he felt something drop into the very same pocket Alice had just slipped the stone into.

"What is it that you see?" Quirrell demanded again.

"M-my parents and my friend's. My sister too. They're happy and safe... And you're dead!"

Not the best line Harry would later think, but at the moment, he thought he sounded pretty badass.

He lunged forward, his trusty knife in his hand already as he plunged it into the man's neck.

But he didn't stop there. He pulled it out again and stabbed Voldemorts face, black smoke instead of blood pouring from his face.

Harry stabbed every part of Quirrell/Voldemort he could reach. But why wasn't he dying? Deciding that no one can live without a head, he hacked away at the man's already blood covered neck with a new found strength. He had to save his friends.

But the man continued to struggle fiercely. But as soon as he the should be dead man grabbed onto Harry's face, he screamed in agony. His hands came away blistered and red as if he'd placed his hands on a hot stove.

When he pulled his hands away, he'd sracted the side of Harry's face with his nails ripping open three bloody wounds onto his face.

Ignoring the pain im his face, he contined to hack away, hoping to pry off Quirrels head.

Something sudeenly clicked in his brain from his conversation with the Flamels that he wish he'd remembered before. 'You're hands are your greatest weapons against Voldemort.' Penny has told him while holding his hands in hers.

He threw aside his knife and gripped the bleeding man's head with his bare hands.

Quirrell and Voldemort screamed in agony as Quirrell's face melted away revealing a blackend brain and chared bones.

Moving his hands from his face and onto Quirrell's chest where his heart should be. The skin there burned quickly revealing a red besting heart with what looked like a black tumor attached to the middle.

The tumour was ozzing a disgusting looking green puss and was covered in sores and Harry did not want to know what it was.

Harry looked away as he gripped the man's heart and pulled it from its place in his chest. The sound it made was beyond disgusting as he threw it to the side where it bounced several times before landing with a sickening squish. Harry barley noticed a ring fly from the heart and land just near a passed out Ron.

With a final growl from Voldemort's face, he pulled himself from the twitchy man's body. Quirrell immediately stopped moving and lay prone on the blood soaked ground.
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