22 Interlude: Confrontation

"What pushed you to do it Quirinus?" a tired Dumbledore asked as he stood in the emptied room.

It had been less than an hour ago that Dumbledore arrived back to Hogwarts from his meeting with Cornelius. Less than five minutes since he discovered the lack of the stone in the third corridor.

"W-what do you m-mean h-headmaster?" Quirinus Quirrell asked with a particularly strong stutter, attempting to feign innocence, "I-I thought t-that I w-was s-summoned for a m-meeting…"

Yet, despite his innocent act, Dumbledore continued to look at him with sorrow on his face and his twinkling eyes dimmed. He already knew that it was a deception, he had suspicions ever since they failed to find the troll despite Quirrell swearing that there was one somewhere in the castle.

"I had given you a chance to come to me before Quirinus," he said quietly, but clearly, "when I discovered that you had tried to steal the stone on Halloween."

"W-what do you m-mea-" Quirrell tried to continue acting oblivious, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Was it fear?" Dumbledore asked sorrowfully, "were you so dissatisfied with my assurances of your safety that you chose to steal the philosophers stone? Did you think that the immortality from the stone would make you safer?"

It was a genuine question, borne of grief. Why had he failed? For what reason had Quirinus chosen to squander the second chance he had given him?

"H-headmaster, please! I had no choice," after a few moment of incoherent stuttering Quirrell finally spoke, falling to his knees in despair "I-I needed it! P-please I just d-didn't want to die! You have to understand…"

The final words were all but a whisper as the man began to sob and shudder. The sight was pitiful, that of a man who had fallen into despair.

It was enough to soften Dumbledore's heart as he, with a sigh walked over to the broken man.

"It pains me that you did not come to me to start with and, as much as I wish to, I cannot forgive you," Dumbledore, seeing that the Quirrell wasn't looking up, leaned down and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "however, that does not mean that I will not aid you. So tell me, Quirinus, wh-"

A feeling went down Dumbledore's spine. A familiar feeling.

The same feeling that he had experienced ever since he liberated his current wand from the hands of his once lover. The same feeling that occurred whenever he was in a duel with another wizard and a specific spell was about to be cast at him.

With a burst of movement that belied his old age he shot back from Quirrell, and no sooner had he done so that a sickly emerald bolt flashed past where he had been.

"Pathetic, decrepit old fool," Quirrell, who was now standing, hissed as he locked his familiar crimson eyes with Dumbledore's and for a second there was silence.

"Tom," Dumbledore stated, placid expression on his face even as he defended against the mental assault sent his way through the eye contact, the elder wand already in hand "am I correct in assuming Quirinus is no longer with us?"

"He betrayed you Dumbledore," he said in response, a cruel and twisted smirk on his face as he gestured towards his body, "he gave me his body willingly because you failed him. Just as you failed the Potter and the Longbottoms. Just as you will fail their children by letting them die by my hands."

Clenching his hand around his wand, Dumbledore betrayed not a single bit of his inner turmoil on his face, "It seems that death has made you delirious Tom, if you truly believe that I would allow you to harm my students."

"You speak as if you have a choice. For I, Lord Voldemort, shall return to life and you… shall die here," the way he stated it was as if it was a forgone conclusion.

Then, with unnatural sharp movement, he whipped his arm around, sending a whip of black fire tearing across the room. Scorch marks appeared where his spell had passed, searing the wooden walls and stone floor. Yet, just as it was about to tear into him, Dumbledore's wand raised in front of his face and then jerked downwards as some force flickered from the tip of his wand and burst the flames apart into mere embers.

Yet no sooner had the embers appeared that they were scattered as a cloying green wave of light burst through them at breakneck speed.

Only to be blocked as a stone lion rises from the floor to intercept it, bursting apart with a shockwave that sent stone fragments flying around the room. But that wasn't the end of it as more and more stone animals began to rise from the floor to rush towards Voldemort, only to be frozen still as the monstrous man engulfed the room in a freezing mist that obscured everything. Which didn't last long as a wave of Dumbledore's wand produced a gust of wind that removed the obscuring mist, revealing the Voldemort possessed form of Quirrell.

He looked wretched.

Blood leaked from his mouth, eyes glowing red even as blood stained the sclera, the ends of his ragged black cloak were burned through, and the parts of his skin that were exposed were flaking off. All combined, he looked like he was dying.

"You have lost Tom," even as he stated that Dumbledore kept his wand trained on Voldemort, "the body you have usurped is rejecting you."

"I am… immortal," his voice… was barely a whisper yet filled with hate.

"I know Tom," but Dumbledore merely brushed it off as he gave him a look of disappointment, "I know. Which is why I know that you shall come back from this."

"You…" for a moment Voldemort was speechless, as Dumbledore readjusted his grip on his wand and pointed it at his head, before an unhinged grin sprouted on his face, "to think! That the mighty Albus Dumbledore would finally sully his hands! No longer expounding about second chances! How the mighty have fallen!"

Dumbledore did not reply. After all what was there to say?

He had spent the years following Tom's defeat piecing together his past. He knew that Tom had gone beyond the point of no return long ago, before even becoming Voldemort. He knew about the atrocities Tom committed under his nose, how he tortured and killed someone as far back as his third year.

So, there was nothing for Dumbledore to say. Instead, he only asked a simple question, "would you turn back Tom? Would you repent for your mistakes and your past action?"

Voldemort sneered as he watched him, before opening his mouth, "you are a fool Dumbledore. מוות מביא הרס!"

Dumbledore's eyes suddenly widened as he felt like ice was shoved into his spine and without a moments hesitation he erected a shimmering shield that enveloped him… only for it to shatter as a blast of… something undefinable literally exploded out of the possessed man and slammed into him.

With a nauseating lurch Dumbledore found himself slamming into the wooden wall on the other side of the room, where he lay until Fawkes came in with a flash of flames and his tears fell on him.

---- Some time later ----

An air of solemnity hung heavy in the room as everyone in the office digested what they had been told.

"Are you sure that he didn't sneak the stone out Albus?" McGonagall was the first to ask.

"I am Minerva. Despite it being impossible to place tracking charms on the stone it still emanates a very distinct and noticeable power," Dumbledore shook his head, "no, it is still in the castle."

Again everyone digested that, before Snape spoke, "then perhaps… it is for the best that we… investigate the castle for any traps the dark lord may have left in the time he had spent here, instead of worrying for the stone that is still within the castle."

"You mean to say that we should ignore the incredibly potent magical artifact and leave it unguarded?" McGonagall gave a look that contained her sheer incredulity at the idea towards Snape, " do you know what you're s-"

"He is correct Minerva," Dumbledore cut her off gently before she could finish, "the students safety comes first."

"I understand that Albus, I do, but ignoring the stone is a mistake," despite that however, McGonagall still argued her point, "just because it isn't stollen yet doesn't mean it won't be stolen later. Especially since it doesn't have any defences right now, and who knows the next thief wi-"

"Minerva, please," the two word from Dumbledore were enough to silence her, as she looked into his tired eyes.

"…very well Albus. I will begin the search immediately, if you need me, I'll be in the Gryffindor common room," with that she left the room with a swish of her robes.

"I shall be in the Slytherins common room headmaster," next it was Snape who left.

"I will get to it as-"

"Actually, Fillius?" yet before Flitwick could leave, Dumbledore stopped him, "could you please send young mister Adams to me? I believe that, seeing as he has yet to mutate, he has successfully undergone a metamorphosis and so is entitled to know about it."

"What really?" there was disbelief in the question, but that quickly shifted into joy as Flitwick realised that his student would survive what he thought was a sure death sentence, "Of course! I'll send him to you right away Albus."

With that the diminutive professor was off, leaving Dumbledore alone and without a hint of the same joy that Flitwick felt.

It was, after all, difficult to feel joy when he had faced the last Hogwarts to successfully undergo a metamorphosis. When mister Adams seemed to possess such similarities in both looks and actions as a young Tom Riddle.