It was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Johnny.

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I thought I'd be meeting Potter here, Grindelwald."

"Wha-?"

"So Dumbledore still hasn't told you off your true heritage," Quirrell grinned. "Yes, you are of the Purest Blood. Jakob Grindelwald and Evelyn Potter."

"Potter?"

"Yes," Quirrell. "The Boy Who Lived, his Aunt is your mother. She was beautiful, second smartest in the year behind the Mudblood Evans-"

"Harry's mother?"

"Yes," Quirrell laughed at the sheer confusion on Johnny's face. "If you don't believe me, feel free to ask Dumbledore if you make it out of here. The Grandson of the Great Gellert Grindelwald, prepared to die. And for some powerful Stone."

"But I thought -- Snape--"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Johnny couldn't take it all in.

"But Snape tried to kill Harry!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill Potter. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with Potter. Another few seconds and I'd have gotten him off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save him."

"Snape was trying to save him?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee the next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular... and what a waste of time, and tonight I'm going to kill his favourite student. You."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Johnny.

"You're too nosy to live, Grindelwald. And on Halloween, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? 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 beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quiet, Grindelwald. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Johnny realised what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"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..."

All Johnny could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"Harry saw you and Snape in the forest -- " he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell 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 -- as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side..."

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?"

Johnny struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate Harry so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father and Harry's, didn't you know? Jakob and James loathed him. But he never wanted him dead."

"But he heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was threatening you..."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions -- he is a great wizard and I am weak--"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Johnny gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "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... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Johnny's mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it -- which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realising what I'm up to?

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Johnny's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy... Use the boy..."

Quirrell rounded on Johnny.

"Yes -- Grindelwald-- come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Johnny fell off. Johnny got slowly to his feet.

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

Johnny walked toward him.

I must lie, he thought desperately . I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Johnny breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket -- and as it did so, Johnny felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Johnny screwed up his courage.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I -- I've won the house cup for Slytherin."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Johnny moved aside, he felt the Stone against his leg.

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies... He lies..."

"Grindelwald, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Johnny felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

"Fuck me," Johnny gasped. "You're one ugly bastard."

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Johnny had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Johnathan Fleamont Gellert Grindelwald..." it whispered.

"That's a mouthful," Johnny said, trying to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Johnny's legs. He stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your Aunt and Uncle... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Johnny shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your Aunt and Uncle were brave... I killed your Uncle first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your Aunt  needn't have died... she was trying to protect Potter... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Johnny sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Johnny felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Johnny's head; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened -- he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Johnny clean off his feet landing on top of him, both hands around Johnny's neck.

"Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Johnny to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Johnny could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Johnny, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Johnny knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain -- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Johnny jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Johnny off -- the pain in Johnny's head was building -- he couldn't see -- he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

"Hasta la vista, baby," was Johnny's last words before he blacked out.