The next room had a table with seven differently shaped bottles. They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.
Quirrell picked up a piece of paper and read off of it. He muttered to himself before stepping forward and drinking from the smallest bottle. The man walked through the flames and the door on the other side.
"Drink Potter." He demanded.
Damn.
He took the last swallow from the small bottle, feeling ice rush through his veins. He stepped through the flames, then through the door.
"I thought Professor Snape would try to steal it. My friends told me he's the reason I fell from my broom. I assume it was you instead." Harry said out loud. He registered the first signs of panic but the curse on his mind swept such concerns away. Why should he worry when he was obeying his mast-
Harry nearly bit his tongue off as the thought almost crossed his mind. This man was not his master. Harry felt the lash of the man's whip against his mind for such noncompliant thoughts but Harry did not cry out.
He would not.
Anger sparked in Harry's chest and he felt a brush of cool air against him. The pain of the curse was little compared to the howling icy anger that Harry felt deep inside. The lashes died down to a whimpering irritation as Harry drew his magic into his mind.
He steeped himself in his frosty anger and he bided his time.
The man flicked his hand dismissively. "He was muttering the counter-curse to my own spell. A waste of effort, given that I shall kill you tonight. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you were practicing the mind arts, though. In time you may even break free of this spell."
"That was you, the first day in Defense." Harry had never placed the cause of the breach. "Your disguise worked. I didn't know where that came from. Did you let the troll in as well?"
"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls, you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there?"
It had actually been fairly impressive.
"Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off - and not only did my troll fail to maul you to death-"
What, you expect me to apologize?
"-that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly." That was another question answered.
"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this fascinating mirror." It was only then, that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.
Harry fell silent rather than risk Quirrell noticing that Harry was not tormented by the curse.
"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "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..." The man walked around the mirror and Harry watched him. The man seemed to think that he would be able to dispatch Harry at his leisure.
He's underestimating me.
It was good, though the man could probably kill him at a moment's notice. Harry didn't trust his shield to hold up against whatever Quirrell did to that troll.
Besides. Harry couldn't speak or risk his resistance being discovered and he was incapable of silent casting.
Even these thoughts now were risking the irritation, he felt it crawl around the base of his neck, sitting at the top of his spine, coiled like a serpent ready to strike. It was listening close to his thoughts.
It bit at him but he ignored it.
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?"
A master then? It seemed Quirrell's will was not his own.
That makes two of us.
Harry seethed.
"But I thought Snape hated me?" Harry said. It seemed that Quirrell's question counted as an invitation to speak.
"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other, but he never wanted you dead."
"I don't understand..." the man muttered. "Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"
Harry thought furiously.
It was hardly a fair contest. The man had greater magical knowledge and experience. He would likely discover the answer to the test first and he already had Harry under his thumb to a certain degree. Harry had no idea how far his new leash ran. How much give did he have? It seemed foolish to think that the imperius curse's effect couldn't be escalated further.
"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!" And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.
"Use the boy... Use the boy..."
Harry heard out loud and in his mind. The voice… it was like the noise that steel would make if it was alive then burned to death, yet soft. Like steel wool on copper.
Quirrell turned sharply towards Harry.
"Potter, come here."
Harry was compelled to stand in front of the mirror. He once again saw himself as a powerful wizard. The man was even greater now. This wizard had mastered Alchemy and held a red stone in his left hand. He was still regal, imperial and grand.
The man in the mirror laughed at Harry, imprisoned beneath the imperious curse. The man was his own emperor, he himself an entire empire.
"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"
"Myself, but stronger. I'm wiser and more powerful."
Quirrell cursed.
"You lie," he seethed, drawing his wand. Harry summoned a weak shield the man shattered with ease, and he flew to the ground, gasping.
"The boy… doesn't lie." The eerie voice made Quirrell freeze.