The Dark Master's Puppet

"You knew about the Quidditch game, too?" Professor Quirrell looked surprised. "So you knew about all of it. Really though, since when? When did you know?"

Harry thought about it. When had Professor Quirrell's intentions become evident? When had he and Tom truly suspected the man? Well, it was pretty much from the beginning, wasn't it? "The Quidditch game was when it really clicked, I suppose...but really, I've suspected something was wrong since the first day of classes, sir. Why else would my scar hurt in your class but in no one else's?"

The professor nodded. "Indeed, indeed. Truly, I'm surprised no one else caught on. It really was suspicious, wasn't it?"

"Maybe they did catch on," Harry said, suddenly aware of the fact that the more time he spent chatting with his Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, the more likely it was that they'd get caught.

The professor laughed at his words, though. "Perhaps, Potter, perhaps. But they're not here now, are they?" He scowled. "Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

The man glared at the mirror. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this...but he's in London...I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

Oh, so that's why he chose tonight...that's why he wasn't worried about time. Makes sense.

"So," Harry began, not wanting the Professor to forget about his presence, "If Professor Snape was muttering the counter-curse, did he know about all this as well?" This would be a good time to sort out Professor Snape's allegiances. After all, Professor Snape not wanting him dead didn't guarantee his allegiance to either side.

"Yes," Professor Quirrell said idly, walking around the Mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along...tried to frighten me -"

Ah, so Professor Snape was trying to thwart him. Good to know. Apparently Tom was right in referring to the man as a traitor then.

"- as though he could, when I had the Dark Lord on my side..."

Harry didn't react to that, but was internally pleased. He already knew who Professor Quirrell was working for, but now proof was unfolding right in front of him, and soon he could proceed with his friend-making quest. Tom would be relieved.

Professor Quirrell came back out from behind the Mirror and stared hungrily into it. "I see the Stone...I'm presenting it to my master...but where is it?"

"Your master...is Lord Voldemort?" Harry tried to confirm.

He watched Professor Quirrell flinch at the name.

"Is he the one who asked you to steal the Stone?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too pushy.

Professor Quirrell stared at him for a long moment. "You know about that too?"

Harry nodded. "Like I said, it was the pain in my scar that gave you away. It didn't really leave much to the imagination."

The professor narrowed his eyes at him.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry said, feeling some sort of amused satisfaction when Professor Quirrell flinched again. "Where is he now?"

The professor froze, and Harry watched his eye glaze over slightly, growing distant.

"He is with me wherever I go," the man said quietly, the thin, quivering quality of his voice sending shivers down Harry's spine – there was something very eerie about those words, though he didn't know what it was. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it..."

Then he was definitely working for Voldemort 1.0.

"Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Professor Quirrell's voice had grown hoarse and strained, and he shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts -"

Harry's eyebrows went up. He'd tried to rob Gringotts? That was awfully...brave. Apparently Professor Quirrell had some Gryffindor in him.

"- he was most displeased. He punished me...decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..." the professor's voice trailed away.

Harry tilted his head to the side. Apparently, Voldemort 1.0 had little tolerance for mistakes, much like Tom. Still, something seemed...off...about Professor Quirrell's statement. There was something implicitly...horrible, terrifying about the Voldemort he spoke of – something in his voice made Harry's blood run cold.

"I'm very sorry you had to go through that sir..."

The man scoffed.

"...but if you wouldn't mind elaborating," Harry said cautiously, "I would appreciate it."

"Enough, Potter! You've distracted me enough!"

Harry grimaced. "I'm sorry if it came off like that, sir, but I need to -"

Professor Quirrell ignored him, and swore under his breath. "I don't understand … is the Stone inside the Mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry really had no idea at this point – where the Stone was, how to get it – he didn't care, either. Something was off about this whole thing, and he needed to get to the bottom of it before he made his move. "Pro -"

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!" the man exclaimed desperately into thin air.

And much to Harry's surprise, the thin air answered.

"Use the boy...Use the boy..." The voice was cold and high; thin, weak, and papery...yet terrifying, in a way.

Professor Quirrell rounded on Harry, eyes narrow and critical. "Yes - Potter - come here." He clapped his hands once and the ropes binding Harry fell off.

Harry slowly walked toward him, his movements cautious. He didn't understand what was going on. What was that voice? There wasn't anyone else there...was there?

"Come here," Professor Quirrell repeated. "Look in the Mirror and tell me what you see."

"Professor, I need to talk to you. It's about -"

"Shut up, Potter, and do as I say."

Harry sighed. Perhaps Quirrell would be more willing to talk after he got the Stone. So Harry steeled himself, closed his eyes, stepped in front of the Mirror, and opened them again, feeling more than a little apprehensive about what he was about to see. But instead of the frightening vision he'd witnessed back in December, he saw himself in the mirror this time, him and his green eyes – a proper reflection, pale and uneasy, no trace of Tom or anyone else present. In fact, this was the first time in a very, very long time that he could actually recall seeing himself in a mirror, not just his face as it was worn by his best friend. The serenity of being able to look at just himself, and no one else, pulled him in, and for a moment, he forgot where he was.

But when that moment passed, the reflection smiled at him. For a second, Harry thought it might be Tom after all, but then it put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a shimmering crimson stone. Then it winked and put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his actual pocket.

He froze, and did his best to remain still and silent. What incredible magic! What was that? Somehow, the mirror had acknowledged his presence, and manifested something in reality that had rested only in a false reflection a moment earlier. What sort of magic was that? Was it looking inside him? Somewhere in his thoughts and memories the same way it had done months prior? Or was it more like the incredible magic of the Room of Requirement, responding to some some need, some active desire his mind had created then and there?

"Well?" Quirrell said impatiently with a scowl, oblivious to Harry's awe at the magical contraption in front of them. "What do you see?"

....

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