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Chapter 18: Evil Among Us.

After stepping through the fire, Harry saw himself standing face to face with Professor Quirrell.

"Welcome to the party, Mr. Potter," said Quirrell in a calm voice completely devoid of stuttering. "So glad you could join us."

"What party would that be, Quirrell?" said Harry; not looking all too surprised Quirrell was the one who Voldemort was taking up residence in. In retrospect, Quirrel did stutter a bit too much to be credible.

"Why the party for the rebirth of my master, the great and powerful Dark Lord, of course!" cried Quirrell in a manic voice. "Why don't you slip into something a little more a little more fitting for the celebration?"

Quirrell pulled out his wand, before doing a jerking motion with it and Harry felt cords being wrapped around him from chest to his feet. They were so tight that Harry could barely move or even stand.

"I must say, it’ll be tragic that your life will only be alive for a few more moments," said Quirrell with a tone of mocking regret. "Once I get my hands on the Philosopher's Stone, the Elixir of Life will restore the Dark Lord back to his true form and then he will pick up where he left off on that Halloween Night. You remember the night don't you Potter? The night he killed your parents."

"Also the night I cast him as a body when I was a mere infant," said Harry through gritted teeth. "If I did that to the so called greatest Dark Lord to ever live then, what do you think I will do to you once I get free?"

Quirrell looked at Harry, his expression suddenly turning cold.

"I’ll never find that out Potter, because you’ll not live for much longer," said Quirrell. "If the Dark Lord didn’t want to kill you himself, I would do it myself for that little remark."

"Give it your best shot, you stuttering sycophant," hissed Harry. "That is, unless you are nothing but a gutless coward."

Quirrell raised his wand but a third voice had joined the conversation.

"Ignore him, Quirrell," hissed a voice appeared to come from underneath Quirrell's turban. "Focus on the Stone, I will finish him soon enough."

"But my Lord..." muttered Quirrell before the voice interrupted him.

"Do it, Quirrell," hissed the voice dangerously. "Focus on the task at hand."

Harry struggled against the ropes, attempting to somehow free himself from him and even attempted to call upon his fire mystic abilities but he could not figure out how to turn them on manually. In the room with the Devil's Snare, the abilities just occurred spontaneously and it was frustrating Harry as to how it happened.

Quirrell seemed focus on a mirror of some sort in front of him. He strained to concentrate but Harry felt pleased to see, none of his efforts were working.

"Trust Dumbledore to think of something this complex," said Quirrell underneath his breath. "Now what do I do Master. Is the Stone inside? Should I break the mirror? What course of action do you recommend?"

A moment's silence as Harry nearly got his arm free, before being stopped by a hissing noise, that caused the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck to stand up.

"Use the boy," hissed the voice.

"Yes, of course," said Quirrell before clapping his hands and the ropes falling off of Harry. "Come here Potter."

Harry stepped forward and he could sense something was bound inside the mirror. He had a funny feeling it was the Philosopher's Stone inside the mirror. He needed to get his hands on it before Quirrell did.

"Look into the mirror Potter," demanded Quirrell.

Harry stepped in front of the mirror, seeing his own reflection. His reflection winked, before pulling a blood-red object out of his pocket. Then, the duplicate placed the object back into his pocket and Harry felt something in his physical self's pocket. Incredibly, Harry had received the Stone.

"So what do you see, Potter?" demanded Quirrell, looking at Harry with a piecing glaze which Harry had a sinking feeling was not entirely his own.

"I see myself standing over your worthless Dark Lord, having defeated him like I did when I was a baby," said Harry boldly, in what he hoped to be a convincing manner.

Quirrell's face contorted with fury before going blank and emotionless, as if something foreign trained it that way.

"He lies, he lies," hissed the mysterious voice Harry heard earlier. Harry attempted to make a strategic retreat, but Quirrell flicked his wand and four walls of flames shot up. Harry was surrounded, no easy way out.

"Tell me, Potter, what did you really see?" demanded Quirrell, looking absolutely mad, taking a step forward.

"Let me speak to him, face to face," hissed the voice.

"Master, you are not strong enough," argued Quirrell with the voice.

"I have strength enough for this," said the voice. "Do it, now."

Quirrell reached up, turning his back to Harry before unraveling the purple turban, which lay upon his head. Harry's eyes went wide and his scar starting stinging again. There was a face on the back of Quirrell's head, with slits for eyes and looking positively demonic.

"Harry Potter, it has been over ten years, but we meet again at last," said spirit on the back of Quirrell's head.

"Voldemort," hissed Harry.

"Yes, very good Harry," said Voldemort in a cold voice. "See what has become of me, mere shadow and vapor but now, once I take the Elixir of Life, I will be whole once again. My greatness will once again be known and feared throughout the land. So why don't you be a good little boy and give me that Stone in your pocket."

Voldemort knew and Harry took a step back but he fell back, paralyzed at the sight of the evil standing before him.

"Don't be a fool, Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort. "Your parents were brave yes and I must admit they gave me a fight before going down. Especially your mother, she was a particularly interesting case, all the times she stumbled into my stew, she became quite bothersome. She would have been a great follower, her creativity and power was matched by only a select few but she is no longer a problem for me after what was done. The fate that was bestowed on her was perhaps the most gruesome in history."

"You killed her and my father, you bastard," screamed Harry, finding his voice.

Voldemort looked at Harry with an amused expression.

"Actually referring to me in that term would be quite correct," said Voldemort. "It is quite an interesting story about why that would be correct but you will not live long enough to hear it."

Harry felt he needed a plan, right away. Quirrell raised his wand but Harry dived behind the mirror, using it as a shield.

"Reducto!" cried Quirrell, causing a section of the mirror to shatter into pieces. Harry ran out from behind the mirror.

"Give Quirrell the Stone, Potter," hissed Voldemort. "And I might make your death a little less painful."

Harry had an idea formed into his head, eyeing the back of Quirrell's head where Voldemort's spirit laid, completely exposed and vulnerable.

"Give it to me, Potter," hissed Voldemort.

Reaching for his double-edged sword, Harry was going to give it to Voldemort all right. Voldemort would get it right between his demonic, spectral eyes, with a sharp blade that is.

"Okay, Voldemort, I'll give it to you," said Harry before whipping out his double-edge sword and expertly tossing it point first right towards the back of Quirrell's head.

The blade impaled right into the back of Quirrell's head. Voldemort shrieked in agony and attempted to will Quirrell towards Harry to get to him. Blood was spurting through the back of Quirrell's head and Quirrell was starting to fade from the world. Voldemort forced Quirrell to raise his wand and Voldemort attempted to possess Quirrell's body completely for one last-ditch effort as it slowly crumbled into dust.

"Avada..." started Quirrell/Voldemort but he never finished as Quirrell's body crumbled into dust, with nothing but Quirrell's robes and Harry's double-edged sword laying in the pile, as smoke rose into the air from the remain.

Harry looked at what was once Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Walking over before reaching down to pick up a sword, a spectral wave of mist shot out of the robes, knocking Harry onto his back.

"You have not seen the last of me, Potter," hissed Voldemort. "I shall return!”

Voldemort's spirit vanished through the wall, into thin air and then to parts unknown. Sighing, Harry reached up to pick up his double-edged sword.

"Somehow, I don't doubt you will try, Voldemort," said Harry quietly although Voldemort was long gone.

Harry walked forward, surveying the scene before taking the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket. Harry did a double take and he could not sense anything magical at all about the Stone. Looking closely over the Stone, Harry discovered something, which angered him greatly.

The object, which caused Harry to come down here to risk his life and more importantly the lives of his friends, was nothing but a fake glass duplicate of the real Philosopher's Stone. Questions were raised in Harry's mind, why would someone go to the trouble of putting a glass duplicate of a highly powerful magical object and trick a dangerous dark wizard into going after it, putting hundreds of students in danger. More importantly, if this object was a fake, where exactly was the real Philosopher's Stone?

Angered at the way he was played for a fool, risking his own neck and his friends lives getting risked as well, to keep Voldemort from stealing an object which was in reality a duplicate, Harry threw the fake Philosopher's Stone against the wall. The Stone shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. Harry focused his attention now on finding a way out of the area where the fake Stone was hidden. Moving forward, Harry saw a door behind the mirror. Opening it, Harry looked around. He was right back to where he started, where the Devil's Snare once was. The door shut behind Harry. It seemed the obstacles went full circle at the end. The door locked behind Harry.

Sighing, Harry prepared for the long, steep climb back to the room where Fluffy was. The day had been long and Harry hoped he would not run into anything else.

Just as Harry left, Dumbledore had made it into the final room, raising his wand into the air, preparing to be the savior. However the sight that greeted Dumbledore caused him to stop in his tracks. No one was there, the Mirror of Erised was broken, and the decoy he had placed in the mirror had been shattered. He also saw a set of robes covered in a pile of dust, the remains of Quirrell.

Dumbledore looked around, looking for if Harry was around. Dumbledore sensed nothing was the matter and doubted the boy would have survived without his guidance. The boy had appeared have been killed by Lord Voldemort.

With a calculating expression on his face, Dumbledore felt he would have to step up the timetable for his plans. He had the real Stone, he would feed his so called friend Flamel a line about how he destroyed it for the greater good, and as soon as he could get the artifact from the Ministry of Magic, his plans could be set into full motion. He would be the most feared entity of all time and no one would know it until he had enslaved all time.

An evil grin spread upon Dumbledore's face as he pulled out the portkey leading to his office. Breakfast was in a couple of hours; he would have an announcement about Harry Potter's tragic demise at that time.

It was breakfast a couple of hours ago. Hermione was very worried, Harry still had not returned yet. Hermione joined Daphne and Theodore at the Slytherin Table but as Harry was not here, Malfoy had the courage to say something.

"Oh no, we’ve let this go on long enough," said Malfoy in a pompous voice with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, looking menacing, with their arms folded. "We’ll not allow trash at the table any longer. Mudblood away from the table or we’ll be forced to rough her up.”

"You would not dare pull this if Harry was here," said Daphne looking angry about the language Malfoy used.

"What are you going do, you blood traitor?" taunted Malfoy. "I am Draco Malfoy, heir of the greatest Wizarding family that ever lived. My word is law around the Slytherin Table and Potter's misfit friends will no longer run the show."

Crabbe and Goyle roughly grabbed Hermione by the arms and started to drag her away from the table.

"Let go of me," said Hermione, as she attempted to get away. "You have no right to touch me."

"Potter's not here," said Malfoy looking smug. "I run the show now and in fact, Potter won't be coming back. I overheard Dumbledore talking to McGonagall that Potter had a little accident down in the third floor corridor."

Hermione managed to get away from Crabbe and Goyle.

"You're lying!" cried Hermione; looking rather upset at the possibility Harry may in fact be dead.

"Am I Granger?" asked Malfoy rhetorically. "Even to the densest Mudblood, it should be obvious what happened. The Dark Lord got Potter in the end, he went the same way of Potter's mongrel parents. He will rise again and all the Mudbloods and Blood Traitors will be the next to go. Starting with you, I’ll have my father make sure of it."

Neville Longbottom had walked over, astounded by his own bravery, at the sounds of the confrontation. He heard Malfoy's words and he could not believe it. Harry helped him out of a tight spot a couple of times throughout the year.

"Hear that Longbottom," said Malfoy, noticing Neville. "The misfit Slytherin got his just desserts. There will be no one to stick up for you and for you to hide behind when the Slytherins tell you how it is from now on."

"N-no, Malfoy," said Neville. "You're lying, there is no way You-Know-Who could have gotten Harry."

"He did, just listen to Dumbledore when he makes his speech," said Malfoy looking smug with glee. "I hope it hurt when the Dark Lord put Potter down."

The uncomfortable standoff with Neville, Hermione, Theodore, and Daphne on one side, and Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle on the other end but Dumbledore had finally arrived, looking solemn. Hermione turned to Dumbledore. She feared he would confirm the worst.

"Students of Hogwarts, I come before you today with a very unfortunate and tragic announcement," said Dumbledore. "One of our own has perished last night, in an attempt to stop Lord Voldemort, who had possessed our own Professor Quirrell to gain a physical form, from acquiring a very powerful magical object which would have returned him to his full power. Fortunately Voldemort did not acquire this object thanks to the brave efforts of one of our students. This young wizard sacrificed his life for the greater good, to save all of us and as a result, delayed Voldemort from returning to power. I would ask for a moment of silence for the memory of Harry Potter."

"No," whispered Hermione, her worst fears coming true. Neville, Daphne, and Theodore looked speechless, not knowing what to say. At the Gryffindor Table, the Weasley Twins looked serious for once and even Ron looked on in numb shock.

Malfoy of course looked positively gleeful. Hermione had to fight with every fiber of her being not to smack Malfoy across the face. The look on Snape's face was the most interesting of all. Snape gave Dumbledore a brief look, which looked as if Snape blamed the events of the death of one of his Slytherins completely on Dumbledore before going back to his usual mask of no emotion.

The silence was broken when the doors to the Great Hall burst open. Everyone looked up and they gasped. Harry Potter was walking into the Great Hall, looking tired and a little battered, but rather pleased about something all at the same time. Harry looked at the shocked faces of everyone. Malfoy looked like Christmas had been cancelled when Harry walked into the Great Hall.

"What a night!" said Harry walking over to the Slytherin Table. "Fighting Voldemort, preventing him from acquiring a powerful magical artifact, and then defeating him yet again, although I must admit, I barely got out of there alive. So how’s it going everyone, I’m starving!”

Everyone looked at Harry wordlessly, as if they could not believe he was there.

"What's the matter, you all look like someone died?" asked Harry mildly before turning to Malfoy who looked absolutely surly. "And judging by the disappointed expression on your face, Malfoy, you thought it was me."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, attempting to figure out why the boy survived without his help. Dumbledore could not even imagine the thought of someone being more powerful or craftier then he was. Harry had to be the luckiest person alive, because he could not have defeated Voldemort on his own without Dumbledore's guidance without luck, or so the Hogwarts Headmaster thought.

"Mr. Potter, you're alive, I must say, I wonder how you managed it," said Dumbledore, staring at Harry and giving Harry the feeling he was being x-rayed.

Harry could see what the old man was playing at, he was attempting to figure out why Harry survived tonight but Harry was not going to give him the chance. Plus, the Boy-Who-Lived had a feeling Dumbledore manipulated the previous night's events and Harry felt he should give Dumbledore a taste of his old medicine by manipulating the Headmaster in the direction of a conclusion which is different from the truth.

"Well Professor, I don't know, it's just one of those things where it was a stroke of luck," said Harry in a steady tone of voice. "Voldemort's own hesitation was his downfall and in the struggle to keep the Stone out of his hands, it was destroyed and I somehow managed to finish Quirrell, which indirectly caused Voldemort to flee and I somehow managed to get away with my life, although it was far from easy."

Dumbledore looked at Harry and Harry could see his words confirmed a theory of Dumbledore's. The old man appeared to underestimate Harry, and Harry privately felt it would be his most costly mistake. Not mentioning he knew the Stone in the mirror was a fake was also a carefully calculated ruse on Harry's part.

Hermione walked over to Harry; looking relieved at the fact her friend was alive. Harry sat down right across from Daphne and Theodore. Hermione joined him and Daphne leaned over towards Harry, so no one but her, Harry, Theodore, and Hermione could here her.

"So, Harry, what really happened with you and You-Know-Who," said Daphne in a low voice.

"Yeah, that's what I want to know, because Dumbledore was sure you were dead," whispered Theodore.

Harry looked around but he saw Malfoy trying to listen in on his private conversation.

"Later," hissed Harry under his breath. "I will tell you the full detailed story later, away from prying ears, who no doubt want to bring information that can be used against me back to his father."

"Fair enough," said Hermione in a low voice.

Harry began to eat his Breakfast. He had survived Lord Voldemort again, so he could count it as perhaps one of his greatest successes. The danger had passed for the moment and Harry felt satisfied at his work. Perhaps the greatest feeling of all was Dumbledore did not suspect Harry distorted the truth. Then, tomorrow would bring another triumph, as the Quidditch Cup Final between Hufflepuff and Slytherin would take place for the whole school to see. Harry hoped for victory because he had a feeling Marcus Flint would not be very pleasant to be around if the Slytherin team lost tomorrow’s match.