Hermione, being the dutiful girl she was, wasted no time in going directly to Professor Quirrell's office that same afternoon and knocking on his heavy oak door.
'Excuse me, sir,' she said nervously once he had let her inside. 'I have something I need to discuss with you.'
'W-what is it, M-m-miss Granger?' he asked kindly.
'It's about Aries Black,' she said. 'I think he's up to something.'
'W-what m-makes you s-say that?'
Hermione chewed her lower lip. 'I overheard him and Malfoy talking the other night. They Apparated into Gryffindor Tower.'
'No one can Ap-p-parate inside Hogwarts, M-miss Granger,' Quirrell corrected her. 'L-least of all t-two f-first-years.'
'I know, sir, but I saw them appear out of nowhere,' Hermione insisted.
'Th-that is strange. Have y-you any idea how they m-managed it?' the Defence master asked.
Hermione nodded. 'Yes, sir. They were talking, and Black commented that he had all sorts of powers because he was the Heir of Slytherin and the next Dark Lord.'
Quirrell's expression, which had been one of that sort of polite boredom with which an elderly relative might listen to a small child's fantastic story, abruptly shifted to one of intense interest.
'What else did he say?' he asked eagerly.
'Nothing, sir,' Hermione said. 'But I think he might be after the thing that's hidden in the third-floor corridor.'
Quirrell smiled indulgently, but his eyes flickered with concern. 'What makes you think that there is anything hidden in the corridor?'
The Muggleborn girl raised an eyebrow. 'It's not that hard to figure out, Professor. I don't know what it is exactly, but I don't want Black to steal it.'
'You're a very bright girl, Miss Granger,' he said. 'Ten points to Gryffindor. I shall investigate this matter thoroughly. If you hear anything else suspicious, please inform me.'
'Of course, sir,' Hermione said, and left the room. She was so pleased at being taken seriously that she completely failed to notice that, for the last part of their conversation, Quirrell had forgotten to stutter.
...
After Harry and Draco had captured the Stone, neither boy gave it much more thought. The heist had been the main thing for both cousins, and though Harry had thought a good deal about what the Stone could do in the future, he had no pressing need to explore its powers as of yet. Draco handed it over to Harry without complaint, and Harry only stroked it fondly for a few minutes before merrily stuffing it in a sock and hiding it at the bottom of his trunk. Between their lessons and other activities, they almost forgot about the Stone altogether.
One day, on his way up from Potions, Harry accidentally bumped into Hermione Granger, knocking her books out of her arms and scattering them all over the stone floor.
'I'm so sorry, Granger,' Harry said, and Summoned all her books into a neat stack before handing them back to her.
'Thanks,' the Muggleborn girl mumbled.
Harry decided to take advantage of the opportunity to put into practice some of the things Daphne had suggested.
'By the way, Granger,' he said, 'we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry about that. I know it must be difficult for you coming into a new world where you don't understand how everything works. I should have offered to help you out.'
Granger looked at him suspiciously. 'What are you playing at, Black?'
'Nothing,' Harry said innocently. 'I just realised we'd got off to a bad start and thought I'd try to make amends.'
Granger narrowed her eyes. 'Are you trying to set me up for some prank, or is this something even worse?'
'What do you take me for, Granger?' Harry asked in confusion.
'I know what you and Malfoy are planning, and I don't intend to let you get away with it,' the bushy-haired girl replied defiantly. Harry threw up his hands and backed away.
'Fine,' he said. 'Have it your way. I shan't bother you again.'
He headed for the stairwell and left the suspicious girl behind him.
.....
The week after they had stolen the Stone, Harry was making his getaway from a revenge prank he had played on Percy Weasley when he ran directly into Professor Quirrell.
'Excuse me, sir,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't see you.'
'That's q-quite all right, M-mister B-black,' Quirrell said. He pulled Harry aside into an empty classroom. 'I have heard th-that you and your c-cousin have a b-bit of interest in the Ph-philosopher's Stone.'
Harry was surprised, but did not allow it to show on his face.
'I don't know what you mean, Professor,' he said. 'I've read about it, of course, but so far as I know, very few have ever successfully made it. The only existing Stone, I think, belongs to Nicolas Flamel.'
Quirrell narrowed his eyes, and Harry suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his forehead. Then came a sudden hissing noise, but Quirrell's lips did not move. It sounded as though the noise were coming from the back of the professor's head.
'We have heard other things too,' the strange voice hissed in Parseltongue. 'We have heard that you claim to be the Heir of Slytherin. How can that be, when the true Heir is none other than Lord Voldemort?'
Part of Harry wanted very much to answer, but something told him that would be foolish. He kept quiet.
'Can he even understand me?' the voice droned on. 'What sort of Heir is he to Salazar Slytherin if he cannot speak the ancient language of the serpents?'
'If I may ask, sir,' Harry addressed Quirrell, ignoring the strange voice, 'where did you hear that I was interested in the Philosopher's Stone?'
'Miss Granger told me,' Quirrell said. 'She said you were planning to steal it.'
How could she have known? Harry wondered. He thought quickly, and then spoke. 'Granger must have misunderstood, sir,' he said. 'She was in the library when I was talking with my cousin Draco about the forbidden corridor on the third floor. We were wondering whether it might have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets Slytherin supposedly left behind, the one only his true Heir can open. I said that I'd like to sneak inside.' He furrowed his brow. 'But that wouldn't have anything to do with the Philosopher's Stone, would it, sir? So far as I know, I've never even brought that up.' He forcibly brightened his expression. 'Might there be a Philosopher's Stone inside Slytherin's Chamber, sir?'
Quirrell chuckled. 'Wh-what a f-fanciful idea, Mr Black. That w-will be all.'
Harry turned around to leave.
'Wait,' the strange voice hissed, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks before he could realise just what a terrible mistake that was.
'You do speak the language of the serpents, don't you?' the voice continued to hiss. 'Turn around when your betters are speaking to you, boy.'
Harry laughed, but he did turn around to face Quirrell. 'You are hardly my better,' he hissed. 'I am Slytherin's True Heir, descended in faithful descent from two pureblood lines that stretch back to the days of Merlin. Who are you?'
Quirrell turned around slowly and removed his turban, revealing a hideous face on the back of his head. The face's eyes glowed red, and it had no nose, only snake-like slits.
'I am Lord Voldemort,' the voice hissed. 'And I am the True Heir of Slytherin.'
Harry wrinkled his nose. He thought the face was the most disgusting thing he ever saw. He snorted.
'If you are really Slytherin's Heir, then why do you use a pseudonym?' he asked. 'If you were a decent pureblood you wouldn't feel compelled to go by that ridiculous name. "Lord Slytherin" would sound much more impressive.' He smirked. 'As would "Lord Black".' He paused. 'My great-grandfather always suspected you were some witch's bastard. Who was your dad, some filthy Muggle?'
Voldemort roared in rage, and Harry knew he had guessed exactly right.
'You're a half-blood, aren't you?' he taunted. 'What irony! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a half-blood!'
'KILL HIM!' Voldemort roared in English, and Quirrell turned around, his wand drawn. Harry raised his own wand, and they began to duel. Harry used all the Dark curses he knew, and some which he thought he didn't, but Quirrell was an accomplished duellist. With Voldemort helping his opponent, even Harry's Parseltongue abilities didn't seem to give him an edge. With mounting terror, Harry realised that there was no way he could win. He was duelling to kill, and even so he could only barely manage to hold off Quirrell's attacks.
In one horrible instant, Quirrell's Cutting Curse got through, and Harry collapsed to the floor, bleeding profusely. Lord Voldemort cackled.
'You were lying about your ability to speak Parseltongue,' he said in a high voice. 'Were you lying about the Stone too? Are you looking for a way to break through Dumbledore's defences? Tell me what you know!'
Harry lay on the stone floor, his heart thumping violently within his chest, and something cold and hard pressing into it from the outside. The Portkey, he thought. He was still wearing it. He let out a low, strangled hiss, and vanished, leaving Quirrell and Voldemort behind.
He suddenly appeared on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room, covered in blood. Harry could dimly hear the shrieks and cries of his Housemates through a thick haze.
'Great Merlin!' Fred shouted. 'Aries!' The twins ran to Harry's side.
'Who did this?' George demanded.
'Quirrell,' Harry whispered. 'He's been possessed by the Dark Lord.' Then he passed out.
Dean Thomas ran off to get Madam Pomfrey, whilst Lee Jordan went to fetch Professor McGonagall. Fred and George sat by Harry, and not even Percy dared say anything to them about it. In all the hustle and bustle, no one noticed Hermione Granger slip up the stairs to her dormitory, a horrified expression on her face, and copious tears streaming down her cheeks.
.....
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