Harry Potter: Chapter 17 - The Man With Two Faces (FINAL CHAPTER)
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Chapter 17
The Man With Two Faces
Harry is not alone in the room. There is someone there already - but it is not Snape. It is not Voldemort, either. It is Quirrell. “You!” cries Harry. Quirrell smiles. “Yes, Potter, it is me,” he answers. “I was wondering if you would get this far.” Quirrell does not stutter once. “But I thought… Snape!” Quirrell laughs a cold, sharp laugh. “Severus? Yes, Severus has been very useful to us. The perfect distraction. Next to him, who would ever suspect p-p-poor, stuttering P-p-professor Quirrell?”
Harry does not understand. “But Snape tried to kill me at the Quidditch game!” he cries. “No, no, no, you silly boy. I tried to kill you at the game, but your little friend, Miss Granger, accidentally knocked me over when she was running to set Snape on fire. She made me lose eye contact with you. If it weren’t for her, I would have knocked you off your broom. I would have been faster, but Snape was using a countercurse, trying to save you.”
“Snape was trying to save me?” Harry says. He still cannot believe it. “Of course he was,” answers Quirrell. “Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? It didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t have done anything with Dumbledore there. What a waste of time. After all, I’m going to kill you tonight.”
Suddenly, Quirrell snaps his fingers. Ropes appear out of thin air and wrap themselves around Harry’s hands and feet. Harry cannot move. The ropes are very tight. “You’re too much trouble to allow you to live, Potter.” Quirrell continues. “You ruined my plans on Halloween. I wasn’t sure if you knew about me and the Stone…”
“You let the troll in, didn’t you?” asks Harry, incredulous. “Of course I did. I sent it to kill you. But you and your little friends were stronger than I expected. And Snape already suspected me. That’s why he went to the third floor before me. But the three-headed dog couldn’t even bite his leg off correctly. You just wait there, Potter, while I finish what I started here.” Quirrell turns away from Harry and moves towards the far wall.
It is then that Harry realizes what is behind Quirrell. It is the Mirror of Erised! “This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell says. “Of course Dumbledore would think of something like this to protect the Stone. But I tricked him, and sent him away. He won’t be bothering us tonight…”
“But I saw you and Snape in the Forbidden Forest!” Harry says. He is trying to distract Quirrell, so he loses his concentration. “Yes, He tried to frighten me. Ha!” He laughs another cold laugh, “What a fool he was, to think he could stop me, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…” Quirrell continues to look into the Mirror. “I see the Stone. I’m presenting it to my master. But where is it?” he says in frustration.
Harry tries to loosen the ropes around his wrists, but they are too tight. Suddenly, Quirrell makes a strange sound. “Sometimes,” he says, holding his hand to his head, “it is difficult to follow my master’s instruction. He is a powerful wizard, and I am weak…” Quirrell’s face is suddenly full of pain. “Lord Voldemort has shown me the way. I was wrong. There is no good or evil, only power, and those who are too weak to find it.”
“I have served him faithfully. But I cannot always do what he asks. He does not forgive mistakes.” Quirrell’s face is full of pain. “When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was very displeased. He punished me. He decided he could not let me out of his sight.” Of course! Harry thinks. He remembers seeing Quirrell on Diagon Alley, when he visited Gringotts with Hagrid.
Quirrell cries out in pain. “I don’t understand… is the Stone inside the Mirror? Should I break it?” Quirrell is talking out loud, but it seems he is having a conversation with someone - not talking to himself. Then Harry has an idea. What I want more than anything in the world right now, he thinks, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it - I’ll be able to see where it is hidden!
Harry tries to move closer to the Mirror, without Quirrell noticing him. But the ropes are too tight. He cannot move. “What does the Mirror do?” he hears Quirrell say. “How does it work? Master, Help me!” And to Harry’s horror, a voice answers him. The voice comes from inside Quirrell himself. “Use the boy… Use the boy…”
Quirrell turns around quickly and looks at Harry. “Yes, Master!” cries Quirrell. “Potter, come here.” He claps his hands once and the ropes fall off of Harry’s hands and feet. Harry gets to his feet. “Come here and look in the Mirror and tell me what you see,” Quirrell commands Harry. I must lie, Harry thinks desperately. I must look and lie about what I see. It’s the only way.
Harry approaches the Mirror. He can smell the strange smell from Quirrell’s turban. Harry closes his eyes, steps in front of the Mirror, then opens them again. At first he sees his reflection. His face is pale and scared. Then a moment later, the reflection smiles at him. His reflection puts its hand into its pocket and pulls out a stone - a red stone, the color of blood. The reflection winks, then puts the stone back in its pocket.
The real Harry then feels something heavy in his own pocket. Somehow, incredibly, he now has the Stone! “Well?” asks Quirrell impatiently, “What do you see?” Harry looks for the courage he needs. “I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” he lies. “I’ve won the house cup for Gryffindor.” Quirrell curses under his breath, and pushes Harry out of the way. Harry moves away from the Mirror - he can feel the weight of the Stone in his pocket.
“He lies…He lies…” says the voice. “Let me speak to him… face-to-face…” Quirrell turns to Harry again, “But, Master, you’re not strong enough!” Quirrell says. “I have the strength… for this…” Harry is petrified! He cannot move a muscle. He watches as Quirrell turns again towards the Mirror, then he begins to unwrap his turban. Harry wants to scream, but he cannot make a sound.
The turban falls away, and where the back of Quirrell’s head is supposed to be, there is a face, the most terrible face Harry has ever seen. The face is as white as chalk. Its eyes are wide and red. Where its nose should be, there are only holes, like a snake’s nose. “Harry Potter…” it whispers. “Do you see what I have become?” Harry tries to step backwards and away, but his legs won’t move.
“I am a mere shadow and vapor of what I once was… I must share another’s body… but there have always been others who will let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has given me enough strength… you saw Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create my own body… Now, give me the Stone you have in your pocket.”
So he knows. Suddenly, Harry is able to move his legs. He falls backwards. “Do not be a fool!” yells the face. “Do not waste your life. Join me… or you will suffer the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…” “LIAR!” Harry shouts in anger and fear. “Ha, ha, ha…” the thing laughs. “I killed your father first… but your mother did not need to die… she was trying to protect you… Now, give me the Stone!”
“NEVER!”
Harry runs for the door, but Quirrell’s hand closes on Harry’s wrist. Immediately, Harry feels a terrible pain across the scar on his forehead. His head feels like it will split in two. Suddenly, Quirrell yells in pain and releases Harry’s arm. Quirrell falls to the floor in pain. He is looking at his fingers. They begin to blister.
“Get him! GET HIM!” yells Voldemort. Quirrell jumps up at Harry and pushes him to the ground. He lands on top of Harry and puts both hands around his neck, and begins to squeeze! Harry’s scar is almost blinding him with pain. But Quirrell begins to howl in agony! “Master! I cannot hold him! My hands! My hands!”
Quirrell is on top of Harry, holding him down with his weight. But he releases his hands from around his neck. He looks at his hands - they are red and smoking, as if they were burned in a fire. “Then kill him, you fool, and be done with it!” screeches Voldemort. Quirrell raises his hands to cast a mortal curse, but Harry reacts by instinct - he reaches up and grabs Quirrell’s face in his own hands.
Quirrell screams in agony, “AAARRRGH!” He rolls off of Harry. His face begins to blister, too. Harry understands - Quirrell cannot touch his skin without feeling terrible pain. He must keep holding Quirrell, to cause him pain and prevent him from casting a curse. Harry runs over to Quirrell and grabs his arm. He hangs on as tightly as he can. The pain in his own head is terrible.
Harry’s vision begins to blur - the pain in his head is agonizing. But he does not let go. He can hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks, and Voldemort’s yells of, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!” Harry hears other voices. He can see nothing. Maybe they are voices in his own head. Then he feels Quirrell’s arm pulled from his own hands. I have lost, Harry thinks. Then he falls into complete blackness.
In his delirium, Harry sees something gold flashing above him. It is the Snitch! He tries to catch it, but he cannot move his arms. He blinks, and opens his eyes completely. It is not the Snitch at all. It is a pair of glasses. He blinks again, and his vision becomes clear. He sees the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore looking at him. “Good afternoon, Harry,” says Dumbledore.
Harry stares at Dumbledore, then remembers, “The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, please, hurry you must…” “Calm down, dear boy. It’s ok. Quirrell does not have the Stone.” “Then, who does, sir? What happened?” Harry is desperate. “Relax, Harry, or Madam Pomfrey will kick me out.” Harry realizes at that moment that he is in the hospital wing, in a hospital bed.
Dumbledore patiently answers all of Harry’s questions. He has been in the hospital for three days. Quirrell does not have the Stone because Dumbledore arrived just in time to prevent him from getting it, and the battle almost killed Harry. The Stone has been destroyed - no one will ever be able to drink the Elixir of Life. And as for Voldemort, Dumbledore says, well, Voldemort has escaped.
He is still out there somewhere, maybe looking for another body to share. He was never truly alive, so he cannot be killed. He may return, says Dumbledore, but Harry has delayed that possibility for now. “But sir,” says Harry, “there are things that I want to know the truth about. Will you tell me?”
“If you ask me,” Dumbledore responds, “I cannot lie to you, Harry. But the truth can be a terrible thing.” Harry considers this for a moment, then continues, “Well, Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?” Dumbledore sighs very deeply, “My poor Harry, this question I cannot answer, not today. But when you are ready, you will know.”
Harry understands that he cannot win an argument with Dumbledore. So he asks another question, “Do you know who sent me the invisibility cloak?” “Ah, that question I can answer! Your father left the cloak with me, and I thought you might like it.” Dumbledore smiles. “The cloak is a useful thing… your father used it to sneak into the kitchen and steal food when he was here.”
“I have one more question,” says Harry. “Of course you do,” says Dumbledore, smiling even more, “what is it?” “How did I get the Stone?” asks Harry. “Well, Harry, that was one of my most brilliant ideas. Only someone who was true of heart could find the Stone. The Mirror knew that most people only wanted the Stone for its magical properties. But it saw the truth in you - you wanted the Stone only to prevent Voldemort from getting it.”
“Now, enough questions. You must rest. Your friends have been dying to see you, but Madam Pomfrey would not let them in. Rest now, Mr. Potter. You will need your energy to retell the story of your adventure.” Harry smiles and puts his head back on his pillow. He closes his eyes and is asleep almost instantly.
Madam Pomfrey finally lets Harry leave the next evening, after one more check-up. He arrives in the Great Hall just in time for the end-of-the-year celebration dinner. When Harry walks in, all the children stop talking and look at Harry. Then everyone starts talking all at the same time. Harry finds a seat next to Hermione and Ron at the Gryffindor table. The Great Hall is decorated with Slytherin colors and banners. It is their seventh victory in a row.
Dumbledore arrives a few moments later. “Another year has come and gone!” he says happily. “And what a year it has been. But before I release you on your summer vacations, the house cup here needs to be awarded to the winner. And here are the points: in fourth place, Gryffindor with three hundred and eight points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and sixty-eight.”
The Slytherin house erupts with clapping and cheering. Harry can see Malfoy jumping up and down, with Crabbe and Goyle smiling next to him. “Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” continues Dumbledore. “However, because of some recent events, I believe there might be a change in those numbers.” The whole room goes completely silent. All the Slytherin children lose their smiles.
“First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley…” Ron’s face turns purple with embarrassment. “…for the best game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.” The Gryffindor table cheers crazily! “Second – to Miss Hermione Granger…for bravery while helping an injured friend, and for deep knowledge of herbology under pressure, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”
“Third – to Mr. Harry Potter…” The room goes deadly quiet. “…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.” The noise is almost cataclysmic! Gryffindor now has four hundred and sixty-eight points - exactly the same as Slytherin. There is a tie for the house cup. If only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point…
Then, Dumbledore raises his hand for silence. “There are many kinds of courage,” continues Dumbledore, smiling. “And you must have tremendous courage to stand up to your enemies. But sometimes you need even more courage to stand up to your friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”
All the children from the Gryffindor table yell and cheer, and then run and jump on top of Neville! There is a giant pile of children, all hugging poor Neville at the bottom. “Which means,” Dumbledore yells loudly over all the noise, “we need to change the decoration.” He claps his hands and suddenly all the green Slytherin banners become scarlet and gold Gryffindor banners. The huge Slytherin serpent vanishes and a massive Gryffindor lion takes its place.
It was the best evening of Harry’s life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls… being with his friends and the people who cared for him was more than he could ever have asked for. He would never, ever forget this night.
