The man walked into the room and closed the door behind him. He was a plain looking man in feature, nondescript even. His biggest trait was his clothing, specifically a purple turban. When he entered the room, he looked earnest and painfully awkward, with wider eyes that flitted about. As soon as the door closed behind him, he changed. His eyes narrowed and became calculating, more focused.
He waved his wand several times and waited once the spells were cast, listening and watching. Satisfied with the results, he removed his turban and set it on his desk. With another wave of his wand, a mirror came gliding towards him, settling on the desk.
He stared at his image in the mirror for a long moment before he blinked a few times. His image changed. His eyes became red, his features sharpened, his skin paled ever so slightly. "Master," Quirinus Quirrell greeted. When he spoke, the image did not. It was no longer only his reflection.
"Quirinus," Voldemort said. The voice was spectral, possessing an eerie spectral quality to it that hissed ever so slightly. The voice left the mirror, spoken with lips similar to Voldemort's and Quirrell's. To Quirrell's ears, it sounded like Voldemort was in the room with him. Not just in a spectral way, but physically as well. "What news?"
"I have no idea where the Stone is," Quirrell admitted. He knew the price of failure yet he also knew that Voldemort did not want someone to prevaricate, not now. "The rumor that the Stone has been put in some test or something was only a rumor."
Voldemort's face twisted and Quirrell felt his own face do the same unbidden. "I had hoped the old fool had grown more foolish in his years. Tell me you have more news than empty words."
"Yes Master. Dumbledore intends on returning the Stone to its creator." Quirrell smiled. "In person. He will be coming to the school near the end of the term."
"Ahhhh, that is good news." Voldemort's smile was cold and hungry. "And you have a plan to obtain the Stone?"
"Yes Master. I will be using my skills in that regard."
"Good. Once you obtain the Stone, things will be much easier, and you will be duly rewarded for your service."
Quirrell inclined his head. "Thank you, Master."
"You have something else to say? Speak," Voldemort commanded.
The man hesitated for a brief moment. "Something did happen today. I accidentally brushed Potter with my arm and I felt incredible pain." He pulled back the sleeve on his arm, showing a long reddish patch of skin.
Voldemort looked at the wound with interest. "How did the boy react?"
"He had no lasting marks like I do, but he seemed to have felt pain as well. I managed to waylay any questions and direct attention elsewhere. But I do not know what could have caused this."
"Nor do I," Voldemort admitted quietly.
"There is something else," Quirrell said. "The contact felt strange, aside from the pain and burning of course. There's something oddly familiar buried amid the other sensation."
"Familiar? What does that mean?"
"I do not know Master. Which is why I wished to speak to you and your vast knowledge."
"Your flattery is unnecessary," Voldemort said with a small sneer. "Can you heal the wound?" The image watched as Quirrell was able to heal the skin so that it appeared normal. "Curious." Voldemort's image frowned and thought and as it did, it started to flicker, looking more like Quirrell's.
The image grimaced and after a look of deep concentration, it looked like Voldemort once more. Quirrell hissed in pain as he felt his muscles and skin move without his command. "My magic wanes more easily now. We must get the Stone to strengthen your body and my spirit. I will ruminate over this mystery. Continue your planning and do not fail me."
"No Master," Quirrell intoned. He took a deep breath as his head started to ache and pound, feeling like it was stretching. When he opened his eyes, the mirror showed his image as it should be, reflecting things perfectly with brown eyes. He looked at himself, lost in thought.
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