"Look upon it, Potter! Now!" Quirrell yelled.
"Never, you bastard," Harry cried. He was picked up and slammed into a wall.
"Crucio."
The chamber was again filled with Harry's screams as the Cruciatus Curse burned, flooding his nervous system with agony. He writhed on the floor until Quirrell lifted the spell. Coughs wracked his body, and Harry watched in horror as he vomited up blood.
"Ready to help yet, Potter?" Quirrell taunted. Harry rolled onto his stomach, and remained silent. He knew he had to hold on. It wasn't bravery, it was necessity. The odds were stacked against him. Surely Dumbledore had some way of knowing that the defenses of the Stone had been breached…
"Enough, servant…let me speak with him, face-to-face…" the snake-like voice hissed.
"Master, you are not strong enough – " AHH!"
"Do not doubt me, Quirrell. Turn around, and let me see the boy."
Slowly, Harrry watched Quirrell turn around so that the back of his head was facing him. The man began to unwrap his turban. Harrry's confusion turned to horror as a face was revealed jutting out of the back of Quirrell's head.
It was chalk white, with a flat nose and glowing red slits for eyes. His features were locked in an expression of malice. As he glared at Harry, his scar exploded in pain, and he collapsed back to the floor, hands clutching his forehead. Sticking out of the back of Quirrell's skull was none other than the murderer of his parents, Lord Voldemort.
Quirrell began walking slowly backwards, advancing on Harry, who was backpedaling with his arms and legs.
"Harrry…Potter," Voldemort hissed, "see what I have become…so weak that I must share the form of another…"
Harry could only whimper in pain. The events of the past few hours were catching up to him, and the eleven-year old could only take so much.
Voldemort laughed. "As a baby, you defeated me…somehow. Today, I stand before you and you cower in my presence. You beg for mercy just like your parents. How disgusting for a Slytherin…"
"LIAR!" Harry screamed, finding strength he didn't know he had. "My father died standing up to you! My mother tricked you into killing her first, so that I was protected!"
Voldemort gave what could best be described as a scowl. "Indeed…but this time you have no mother to save you. No one to die for you…"
Harry fought through the pain and managed to muster a glare at Voldemort.
"You could join me, you know," Voldemort said. "You are a powerful wizard, Harry."
"I'd never join you," he spat angrily. "Not after what you did to my parents…to Daphne! I despise you!"
Voldemort laughed, and Harry's scar burned. "Such courage...and hatredin a young man…but there is a darkness within you, a burgeoning power. We could be great together, Harry…We could bring back your parents…We have the power…"
Harry froze. For an instant, the possibility of seeing his parents again entered his mind. As it did so, he saw images of them standing in the fire behind Voldemort, beckoning to him. He felt his body begin to move as he was enraptured by his beautiful mother calling to him…
And then he broke away. Words spoken by Daphne long ago. "No spell can resurrect the dead, Harry. Only the darkest of magic can reanimate bodies, but they are little more than puppets. I'm here for you, Harry, and I always will be…
Chapter 14: The Color of Blood
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