Never in his life had Harry imagined there could be someone he would hate more—a thousand times more—than ten Professor Snapes and a hundred Malfoys combined. If only he could still move, he would have smashed that bastard's face with his fists until he no longer had the strength to swing.
But unfortunately, he was under a Petrification Curse. His entire body was frozen, unable to move a single inch except for his eyes. All he could do was watch and listen—to the conversation that made him tremble with revulsion.
"Oh?"
Quirrell was clearly startled by this sudden turn of events. "You are… Baron Shafiq?"
"Yes, Professor Quirrell—Professor Dark Lord."
Baron spoke softly, his tone refined and elegant. "At Ken's request, I have brought you this great gift, so that you may personally kill the one responsible for your loss of a body, and bear witness to your glorious return."
"Ken sent you?"
Quirrell suddenly turned around and untied his turban, revealing a sight that made every pore on Harry's body shudder in horror.
Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was another face.
Harry had never seen anything so grotesque and terrifying. That face was as white as chalk, its scarlet eyes glowing with light, and beneath them were two narrow, snake-like slits for nostrils.
The lips of that face moved as it spoke softly, examining Baron with interest—without sparing Harry even a glance.
"Yes, Professor."
Baron's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly, yet the smile on his face did not fade. "By consulting various records and piecing together clues, Ken deduced that what you needed was Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. To assist you, he went to great lengths—approaching Hagrid and extracting the weakness of the three-headed dog—only to discover that you were already one step ahead of him…"
"So he decided to present you with an additional surprise. And within this school, what could possibly be more suitable than Harry Potter?"
"He entered the passage ahead of time, scouted the traps, and once he confirmed that they posed no real threat to you, he scattered clues for Potter to find. He made Potter believe he was the Boy Who Lived, that only he could stop you from obtaining the Stone—then, under my guidance, Potter passed through the obstacles without resistance, charging forward like a foolish Erumpent, head down, straight to your doorstep…"
"…!"
Harry's eyes nearly split open. A surge of rage was trapped in his throat, making it feel as though it would tear apart—but in his fury, he could no longer even feel the pain.
"Hahahahaha…"
Voldemort let out a shrill, grating laugh, mingled with Quirrell's low chuckle. "Interesting. Truly interesting. To think he would deliver such a gift to me…"
"Where is he now?"
Baron met those crimson eyes directly and smiled. "He's a little afraid to come see you at the moment. After all, he investigated the Philosopher's Stone in secret, without your permission, and took matters entirely into his own hands. He fears displeasing you…"
"Hahaha… Displease me? How could I possibly be displeased? With this single contribution alone, he surpasses all of my Death Eaters…"
"Remove Potter's magic, Baron. I want to speak with him."
"At once, Professor."
Baron conjured several ropes, binding Harry tightly, then flicked his wand and lifted the Petrification Curse.
"Baron Shafiq! You—!"
"Listen to me, Harry Potter."
Voldemort's soft, whispering voice seemed to carry an unnatural power. Just as Harry was about to unleash every vicious insult he knew, not a single sound came out. His thoughts blurred, Baron's hateful face fading away—leaving only those scarlet eyes behind.
"Look at what I have become. Nothing but shadow and vapor… I can only possess form by sharing another's body. Only unicorn blood restores a fragment of my strength. You saw Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forbidden Forest that night…"
"Quirrell…"
Harry repeated the name dazedly. After a long moment, he looked up in disbelief. "From the very beginning—aside from Snape—Ken, Baron, and Quirrell… they were all your followers?!"
"Snape? Hmph. He knows nothing of my existence, nor of my plans. To justify himself to Dumbledore, he even did everything he could to stop Quirrell from obtaining the Stone. When Quirrell tried to throw you to your death, Snape was the one chanting counter-curses to protect you…"
"Snape was protecting me?! But—"
"That's enough, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. No more questions."
Voldemort cut him off impatiently, a strange smile in his voice. "I will give you a chance to live. Do you want it?"
"Do you want me to hand over the Philosopher's Stone and Dumbledore's secrets? Keep dreaming!"
Harry's face was deathly pale, his voice trembling—but he still forced himself to shout in defiance.
"No, no. I know you would never do that… I only ask that you step before this mirror and tell me what you see within it. Fulfill this simple request, and merciful Voldemort might spare your life…"
"Baron, move him to the mirror."
"Yes, Professor."
Baron bowed respectfully, then waved his wand, floating the bound and helpless Harry to the mirror.
Why does he want me to do this?
Harry stared at his reflection, his mind racing. He wouldn't do anything meaningless—and he definitely won't spare me… Could it be that the Stone is hidden in the mirror, and he can't retrieve it himself?
I can't tell the truth. I have to deceive him…
Then Harry saw it.
The reflection of himself wore a smile that absolutely did not belong on his own face. The reflection reached into its pocket, pulled out a brilliant scarlet stone, blinked—and slipped it back inside.
At that very moment, Harry felt something heavy drop into his own pocket.
I… I got the Philosopher's Stone? It's in my pocket?!
Perfect. Voldemort didn't see it. I fooled him—
"Well then, just as I expected. You retrieved the Philosopher's Stone—it's in your pocket."
Voldemort chuckled softly as Harry froze, his face turning paper-white. "Ken truly did me a great service. What he delivered to me wasn't merely Harry Potter, but a key—one capable of unlocking the barrier Dumbledore placed upon the Stone… Hahahaha…"
No.
Harry shook his head in terror. He had become Voldemort's key.
No… this isn't how it's supposed to be…
It's too late…
"Quirrell. Give me the body."
Harry vaguely heard Voldemort say this. Then Quirrell turned around with a savage grin and raised his wand at him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, waiting in despair.
Nothing happened.
"Hm?"
Voldemort, controlling Quirrell's body, examined the wand and his hands in confusion. "Has my power not yet recovered…? I can't even cast a Killing Curse?"
He raised the wand again—but was interrupted by another voice, trembling slightly.
"P-Professor?"
"What is it, Baron?"
Voldemort asked gently. He was in an excellent mood. After all, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone were already in his grasp—he had countless ways to deal with them.
"M-May I become one of your Death Eaters?" Baron forced down his excitement. "The Shafiq family has long revered you, but circumstances prevented us from joining you. Now, more than ten years have passed, and your resurrection is at hand. All obstacles are gone. I—I wish to be the first…"
"Haha. How could I refuse a loyal servant who has just rendered great service? Come, Baron."
Thump.
Harry could hardly comprehend such shamelessness.
He watched as Baron dropped to his knees and shuffled forward on them, spreading his arms, unable to hide his excitement. "May I… may I embrace you, Professor… Master?"
"Of course."
Voldemort said warmly, accepting the embrace—and pulling back Baron's sleeve at the same time.
"I did it…"
Baron clutched Quirrell's body tightly, his murmurs filled with disbelief and ecstasy. "I did it! I really did it!!"
"Of course you did, my Death Ea—AAAAAAAH!!!"
Voldemort suddenly let out a piercing, agonized scream. Quirrell's body went limp, trembling uncontrollably.
"What did you do?!"
(End of Chapter)