The Girl Who Didn't Die

XV- The Final Showdown

Diana, who was now invisible, cautiously opened the door. And inside was not Professor Snape, not Voldemort, but Professor Quirrel.
"You?"Harry asked. "No, it can't be.
Professor Quirrel chuckled.

He's doing an excellent job at taking the attention off of me, as usual, Diana thought to herself. She stood a bit behind Harry, knowing that Quirrel would attack him.
"But Snape! He-he was-he was—"
Before Harry could continue, Quirrel interrupted. "Yes. He does seem the type, doesn't he?" he thought. "But next to him, who would have suspected p-p-poor,st-stuttering Professor Quirrel?" he asked in his old high-pitched and stuttering voice.
"But that day, during the Quidditch match. Snape tried to kill me," Harry persistently argued.
"No, dear boy. I tried to kill you! And trust me, if Snape's cloak hadn't caught on fire and broken my eye contact, I would have succeeded, even with Snape muttering his little countercurse," he hissed angrily.
"Snape was-Snape was trying to save me," Harry realized stupidly.
"I knew you were a danger to me right from the off," Quirrel announced. "Especially after Halloween."
"Th-then you let the troll in!" Harry cried.
"Very good, Potter, yes," he nodded. "Snape, unfortunately, wasn't fooled," he sighed. "While everyone was running about the dungeon, he went to the third floor to head me off. He, of course, never trusted me again."

He almost sounds sad, Diana thought bitterly. Harry's scar began to burn again, as Quirrel turned around. Oh no, Diana thought.
"He never left me alone. But he doesn't understand," Quirrel thought aloud. "I'm never alone. Never. No," he sighed. "What does this mirror do? I see what I desire, I see myself holding the Stone. But how do I get it?" he asked desperately.
"Use the boy," a raspy,cruel voice said out of nowhere.

Harry searched frantically for its source. Diana realized whose voice that may have been. Sh*t. Sh*t,sh*t, sh*t!
"Come here, Potter!" Quirrel yelled without warning, extending his hand. "Now!"

Harry walked toward the deranged man, very slowly. The tension in the air increased tenfold. He finally reached the mirror.
"Tell me, what do you see?" Quirrel asked more calmly.

Harry studied his reflection awhile. His eyes widened. My God, he is so obvious, Draco thought. The Stone, Diana realized. She saw him lightly pat his pocket. Mother f*cker, son of a b*tch! He's going to blow the whole goddamn thing!
"What is it, what do you see?!" Quirrel boomed.
"I-I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore. I've won the House Cup," Harry lied.

Diana almost sighed. He probably didn't even need to lie on that one. R.I.P. everybody.
"He lies," the voice rasped.

We're so dead, it's not even funny.
"Tell the truth! What do you see?!" Quirrel roared. The loudest yet.
"Let me speak to him," the voice insisted.
"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrel argued.

Definitely Voldemort.
"I have strength enough for this," he hissed.

Quirrel began unwrapped his huge purple turban. Ugh, he's under there?! Makes sense, though. Voldemort was killed after he attacked us. He must need a carrier to survive, judging by the state he must have been in. Quirrel finished unraveling the turban to reveal a scarred,ugly face on the back of his head. Disgusting.
"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort hissed. "We meet again."
"Voldemort," Harry realized.
"Yes. You see what I've become? You see what I must do to survive?"

Harry began squirming already. What a wuss.
"Live off another, like a mere parasite. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but it cannot give me a body of my own. But there is something that can. Something that, conveniently enough, lies in your pocket," announced Voldemort slyly.