Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 34: The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

Harry stood there in a state of stunned amazement for several seconds, finally saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I should have known no one could be that pathetic without faking it."

Professor Quirrell spun around, obviously not expecting anyone to have followed him.

"Mr. Riddle," he said, very slowly. Harry didn't miss the fact that his stutter was gone. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Professor."

"I highly doubt you're here to steal the Stone, but there must be something special about you, since you managed to get past all the obstacles."

"And there must be more to you than meets the eye as well, considering you seem to want the Stone so bad. You're not the stuttering idiot you present yourself to be."

"And you are not the innocent little boy you present yourself to be. Dumbledore watches you constantly, McGonagall always looks at you like you're some vicious animal, and Flitwick can't talk to you without practically trembling himself out of his seat. What's so bad about you, Riddle, that you have everyone so much on edge?"

Harry shrugged. "They have a bit of a problem with my father."

"And who would your father be, boy?"

"I'll give you a hint," he said, baring his teeth in a vicious smile. "Everyone is so afraid of him, they won't even speak his name."

Quirrell chortled. "Voldemort actually managed to reproduce?"

Harry frowned at the nonchalant reply, but forced out, "He did. Amazing, isn't it?" He glanced around the room, zeroing in on the Mirror of Erised, which, for some reason, seemed to have been moved from the abandoned classroom to this chamber. He tore his gaze away from the huge mirror and back to Quirrell.

"So, you were the one who let that troll in on Halloween?"

"I can't claim to have a way with trolls, but I have practice with them. You must have seen what I did to the one in that chamber back there. But while everyone else was running around looking for it, that great walking bat, Snape, who was already suspicious of me - Merlin knows why - went right to the third floor corridor to head me off." Quirrell scowled. "He didn't even know what was bloody hidden under the trapdoor. Dumbledore may present himself as a tottering old fool, boy, but you'd do good to remember that he most definitely is not. He doesn't trust Snape any farther than he could throw him."

"Severus can't help being intelligent, Quirinus. Maybe you should have been more subtle." He smiled mockingly, but his heartbeat was rapidly speeding up and his skin starting to produce sweat. It was one thing to think about facing down someone who could very well be dangerous, but it was a completely different thing to actually do it. There was something terribly wrong with Quirrell, and it had nothing to do with greed for gold or immortality. There was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on . . .

Quirrell scowled but didn't reply. He just darted his gaze towards the mirror and then back to Harry. "The Mirror of Erised. It's the key to getting the Stone, I know it is." He clicked his tongue. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but the manipulative old bastard is in London . . . I'll be long gone by the time he gets back . . ."

"So you want the Stone," Harry continued. "Do you want to be . . . rich? Immortal?" He tilted his head slightly. "Well, I guess that everyone would want that, but . . . something just seems wrong about this, Quirrell. Off. Odd."

"And why would that be?"

"The centaur. He said something about someone who'd been trying to come back to life for almost fifty years . . . And while you might be a dunderheaded nitwit, you really don't look dead." At least, he hoped it he wasn't dead. He didn't think zombies could talk, but he could very well be a vampire, what with how pale he was.