I must lie
, he thought desperately
. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.
Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from
Quirrell’s turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.
He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled
at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the
Stone back in its pocket — and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket.
Somehow — incredibly —
he’d gotten the Stone.
“Well?” said Quirrell impatiently. “What do you see?”
Harry screwed up his courage.
“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” he invented. “I — I’ve won the house cup for
Gryffindor.”
Quirrell cursed again.
“Get out of the way,” he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer’s Stone against his leg.
Dare he make a break for it?
But he hadn’t walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn’t moving his
lips.
“He lies… He lies…”
“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouted. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?”
The high voice spoke again.
“Let me speak to him… face-to-face…”
“Master, you are not strong enough!”
“I have strength enough… for this…”
Harry felt as if Devil’s Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn’t move a muscle. Petrified,
he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The
turban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the
spot.
Harry would have screamed, but he couldn’t make a sound. Where there should have been a back
to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk
white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
“Harry Potter…” it whispered.
Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn’t move.
“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I
can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts
and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrell
drinking it for me in the forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a
body of my own… Now… why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”
So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry’s legs. He stumbled backward.
“Don’t be a fool,” snarled the face. “Better save your own life and join me… or you’ll meet the
same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…”
“LIAR!” Harry shouted suddenly.
Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was
now smiling.
“How touching…” it hissed. “I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I
killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died…
she was trying to protect you… Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in
vain.”
“NEVER!”
Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed “SEIZE HIM!” and the next
second, Harry felt Quirrell’s hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across
Harry’s scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his
might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened — he looked
around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his
fingers — they were blistering before his eyes.
“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean
off his feet landing on top of him, both hands around Harry’s neck — Harry’s scar was almost
blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.
“Master, I cannot hold him — my hands — my hands!”
And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared,
bewildered, at his own palms — Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.
“Then kill him, fool, and be done!” screeched Voldemort.
Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed
Quirrell’s face —
“AAAARGH!”
Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his
bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain — his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell,
keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.
Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell
screamed and tried to throw Harry off — the pain in Harry’s head was building — he couldn’t
see — he could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of, “KILL HIM!
KILL HIM!” and other voices, maybe in Harry’s own head, crying, “Harry! Harry!”
He felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness,
down… down… down…
Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were
too heavy.
He blinked. It wasn’t the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.
He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” said Dumbledore.
Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: “Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone!
Sir, quick —”
“Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times,” said Dumbledore. “Quirrell does not
have the Stone.”
“Then who does? Sir, I —”
“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”
Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was
lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked
like half the candy shop.
“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” said Dumbledore, beaming. “What happened down in
the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole
school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for
trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey,
however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.”
“How long have I been in here?”
“Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round,
they have been extremely worried.”
“But sir, the Stone —”
“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to
take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your
own, I must say.”
“You got there? You got Hermione’s owl?”
“We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me
that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off
you.”
“It was
you
.”
“I feared I might be too late.”
“You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer –”
“Not the Stone, boy, you — the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there,
I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” said Harry blankly. “But your friend — Nicolas Flamel —”
“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. “You
did
do the
thing properly, didn’t you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it’s all for the
best.”
“But that means he and his wife will die, won’t they?”
“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”
Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry’s face.
“To one as young as you, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is
like going to bed after a very,
very
long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but
the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much
money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all
— the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for
them.”
Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.
“Sir?” said Harry. “I’ve been thinking… sir — even if the Stone’s gone, Vol-, I mean, You-
Know-Who —”
“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases
fear of the thing itself.”
“Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t
gone, has he?”
“No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to
share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little
mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his
return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing
battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”
Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, “Sir, there are
some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…”
“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be
treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good
reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”
“Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing
me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”
Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.
“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one
day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear
this… when you are ready, you will know.”
And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.
“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?”
“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He
didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no
visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will
give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and
ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to
touch a person marked by something so good.”
Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time
to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, “And the invisibility
cloak — do you know who sent it to me?”
“Ah — your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Useful things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the
kitchens to steal food when he was here.”
“And there’s something else…”
“Fire away.”
“Quirrell said Snape —”
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