The Three Brothers: The Cure

The Dark Lord

4th June 1992

"You?!"

Quirinus Quirrell.

Harry had set out tonight, hoping to stop Snape from getting his hands on the Philosopher's Stone. As they had dealt with each of the challenges and neared closer to this final chamber, Harry had prepared himself for a confrontation with the potions master; ask him why he was working for Voldemort.

But the man standing in front of Harry wasn't Severus Snape. It was the meek, stuttering, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Quirinus Quirrell, wearing his usual purple turban and an unusual sadistic smile on his face.

"Flipendo!"

Harry barely recognised Mark's voice shouting the incantation for the Knockback Jinx as his mind tried to make sense of the implications of this discovery. The bluish streak of the spell flew past him towards Quirrell, who sidestepped it in an instant, moving much faster than Harry had ever seen him do. Moments later, he snapped his fingers and ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping themselves around the five of them. They all tumbled onto the floor like bowling pins, with Neville tripping himself on Hermione and knocking his head on the stone wall beside him.

"Well, well, Potter," Quirrell began, his face twisted in a sadistic smirk, "you brought along your nosy friends. I was wondering if you might show up tonight, you know. But to bring your friends down here to die —"

A cold trickle ran down Harry's spine as Quirrell let his sentence hang, but Harry still found himself unable to fathom Quirrell's presence here. His confusion must have shown on his face because Quirrell looked at him strangely.

"Surprised to see me then?"

"I—I thought—Snape —"

"Severus?" Quirrell asked in a crisp, amused tone with no hint of his usual stutter. "Yes, he does seem the suspicious type, doesn't he? So useful to have him draw attention away."

"But—but Snape was jinxing Harry's broom," Hermione interjected, and Harry could sense fear in her voice. "Unless—unless it was you," she finally whispered, all the parts of the puzzle finally fitting together.

"Indeed, Miss Granger," Quirrell chuckled. "You knocked me over on the way to set fire to Snape's cloak, who incidentally had been trying to save Potter using the counter-curse," he paused, his hands clasped behind his back. Looking at Hermione, he gave her a sneer. "It's a shame really, that a bright witch like you is a Mudblood."

"Don't you dare call her that!" Ron snarled, struggling even more against his ropes. Harry found his throat dry, unable to form even a single word as the gravity of the situation settled in like lead.

"Ah, the loyal Weasley. I admit, I wasn't expecting much from a pathetic little blood traitor like you. But I was impressed with the way you managed to subdue the troll on Halloween. Excellent use of the Levitation Charm, by the way." He paused before adding mockingly, "Five points to Gryffindor."

"You let the troll in?" Harry asked, still not fully believing Quirrell.

"Of course. I have a particular gift with trolls. You must have seen the one on your way here. A spell of my own making—a variation of the Imperious curse, designed to act on trolls." Stopping to look at a pocket watch, Quirrell continued, "I would like nothing more to do than go over my plan with you Potter, but sadly I do not have much time. Now, wait quietly. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

He turned around and Harry's gaze followed Quirrell's, and he realised what was standing at the back of the room.

"The Mirror of Erised," Hermione muttered in awe.