An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

Harry's Dæmon

Harry knew Quirrell would be waiting inside, of course he did. But to see him standing there, to finally face the task of beating him to the Stone, was something else entirely. Not only that, but Quirrell didn't seem his usual, bumbling self. There was a strength and confidence to his stride, a cool sharpness to his voice as he muttered to himself, trying to work out how the Mirror worked.

"Do I break it?" he was saying. "Is the Stone inside the glass? I see myself presenting it to my Master ... but how to get it."

For a few moments, Quirrell didn't realise that Harry was there. That was until he turned to examine the back of the Mirror ... and Harry let out a shriek of horror.

For there, in the back of Quirrell's head, was the most terrifying face Harry had ever seen. Chalk white, with slits for nostrils and angry red eyes, this wasn't the face of Thomas Riddle that Harry had seen in Oxford ... this was the shadowy spectre of whatever it was that Lord Voldemort could pass for a soul.

"Bring the boy!" Voldemort hissed, his voice like icy vapour.

Quirrell snapped around, then immediately snapped his fingers and - in a breathtaking display of wandless magic - Harry found himself bound in tight ropes. Harry had never seen that before, and it brought the reality of the depth of this challenge slamming home to him.

"Potter!" Quirrell cried. "How nice of you to join us. Come here."

Another wave of his hand and Harry had floated across the Chamber, to hover in front of the Mirror.

"Of all the people," Harry spat. "I didn't think it'd be you! I ruled you out. Too weak and stuttery. But it was all an act!"

"I played my role well," Quirrell sneered in that sharp new tone of his. "You suspected Severus, I presume. So useful to have a cartoon villain swooping around the castle like a human bat. Covered my intentions nicely. Apart from with Dumbledore ... that old fool suspected me all along."

"That's because Dumbledore is a great wizard," Harry taunted. He wanted to distract Quirrell, keep his attention away from the Mirror. "I hear he's the only wizard that you are afraid of, Tom Riddle."

Quirrell gasped and clutched at his heart. "Do not dare to use my Master's foul Muggle name! I should kill you for it!"

"Do nothing, faithful Quirrell!" Voldemort ordered from the back of his head. "We need the boy alive ... for now."

"How does this work then?" Harry asked conversationally, waving his head towards the symbiosis facing him. He felt oddly calm. He knew Hermione would be on her way back soon with help, he just had to keep Quirrell talking. "One body, two souls. Must be a little crowded in there."

"Crowded!" Quirrell hooted in derision. "My Master blesses me by sharing my body. I drink unicorn blood to sustain him, and he shares his power with me. I am lucky to be so chosen."

"Megalomaniacs and psychotic dictators don't tend to share power," Harry quirked lightly. "You might want to check the small print on that arrangement, Professor."

"Silence! Foolish child!" Quirrell snapped angrily. "Now, look into this Mirror ... and tell me what you see."

Quirrell snapped his fingers and Harry rotated on the spot to stare into the glass. He was dying to know where Quirrell's wand was, and how he was doing magic without it, but then an image started to rise in the Mirror. It was a shapeless mass of swirly grey clouds to start with, but there was something starting to form in the amorphous silvery mist the longer Harry looked.

"Speak, Potter!"

Lie, Harry, lie!

Hermione's voice echoed in Harry's mind. Or was it Papageno? Harry was struggling to tell them apart just now. Either way, it was sage advice and Harry had to follow it.