Beneath My Skin

Why does it feel like night today?
Something in here's not right today.
Why am I so uptight today?
Paranoia's all I got left
I don't know what stressed me first
Or how the pressure was fed
But I know just what it feels like
To have a voice in the back of my head

Professor Slatero Quirrell quickly rummaged through his things to prepare for the children who were coming into his classroom. He was entirely unprepared this morning. He had had a restless night and was extremely tired.

He caught the reflection of himself in the mirror across the room from him. His purple turban was somewhat askew. He fixed it quickly. He looked somewhat paler than usual this morning, the dark circles beneath his eyes considerably darker than they had been the day before. He rubbed his face with his hands, his long fingers catching at the end of his chin. He often wondered what life would have been like if he hadn’t have found—

"Hurry you reckless fool," a raspy voice whispered beneath his turban. "The children will be coming soon and we would not want them to suspect something, would we?" Quirrell felt his heartbeat increase as he shook his head and stammered a quiet and shaky, "No."

He quickly arranged his things and prepared to teach the first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the morning. He knew the children thought his class was somewhat of a joke—and most tended to make fun of him—but he was here to serve the purpose of his master. Not be the favorite teacher of all the little brats.

His mind slid silently to the times when he was a child himself at Hogwarts. Small—yet with a passion most children didn’t possess—he had been in Ravenclaw. He had a brilliant mind in school, and always did his work. He had received excellent grades, indeed. It was hard for him with the other students though. Teased by the majority of them for his size and for the fact that he lived with his grandmother. Of course, she had died after Seventh Year. Not that he cared.

After Hogwarts, he had become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He then decided to take 1990-1991 school year off and went to Albania to get first hand experience dealing with Dark creatures and Dark magic. He had then had a run in with vampires in the Black Forest. Then, there was a nasty event involving that hag. He grimaced and shook his head. Enough about her.

But he certainly did find his master when he was wandering around the world. To be exact, in the Black Forest. Voldemort convinced him about good and evil. That there was only power and those too weak to seek it. Quirrell had realized how true this actually was and wanted power more than anything. He had agreed to serve with Voldemort. He had been serving Voldemort faithfully ever since.



It's like a face that I hold inside
A face that awakes when I close my eyes
A face watches every time I lie
A face that laughs every time I fall

And watches everything

So I know that when it's time to sink or swim
That the face inside is hearing me
Right underneath my skin

"Here they come," the voice warned him. "Now remember, you’re a great stuttering fool. Now act like it." Quirrell nodded and got himself mentally ready to teach the first class of the morning.

* * * * *

As Quirrell was gathering his things up for the end of the day, he noticed a note lying on his desk. It was written in elegant handwriting, yet extremely dark. His eyes darted across his classroom, wondering if the person who had left the note was still around. Not seeing anyone, he picked it up with a shaky hand and read it.

Dear Slatero,

I want you to meet me in the Forbidden Forest tonight while everyone else is having dinner. I want to discuss something important with you. If you do not come, I have ways of making you pay.

Severus Snape



Severus. Of all the people to send him a note. Quirrell was very much aware that Severus was onto him. It seemed as if Severus knew that he was serving his master. His stomach did a flip.

"Why are you stalled?" the voice asked him urgently. Quirrell bit his lower lip, which was already torn to shreds. His cleared his throat and tried to shake the heavy feeling of dread that had suddenly settled in the pit of his stomach.

"It’s a note, Master. It’s from Severus Snape. He teaches—,"

"I know very well what he teaches! Now, I want you to read to me very carefully what he wants."

"The note simply says to meet him in the Forbidden Forest tonight while everyone else is having dinner. He says—it clearly states—that I should come."

"Then I want you to go."

"But—but Master. I have come to the conclusion that he is on to our plan. If I meet him, he will—,"

"I know! You will act like nothing is wrong. You will act completely oblivious to what he says. I have a theory about our dear Severus. I sometimes think, that if Harry Potter was, in fact, in danger, that Severus would save his life."

"That’s not very loyal of him, Master," Quirrell spit out.

"Yes, I know. And he shall pay in time. But the issue hear, is Harry Potter. We must get the Sorcerer’s Stone and destroy him."

"Yes, Master. It shall be done," Quirrell said solemnly. He gathered his things and prepared to meet Severus in the Forbidden Forest.

It's like I'm paranoid, looking over my back
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin

Quirrell nervously walked down the steps of the castle. Looking around, he saw no one and let out a brief sigh before continuing. He walked quickly toward the Forbidden Forest. The trees were thick and black and Quirrell noticed that he suddenly had the urge to just run back to the castle and hide himself. He found a nice clearing and stood there waiting, his heartbeat increasing every second he was there.

Suddenly, he heard quick footsteps a ways off. He readied himself. The footsteps got closer and closer and suddenly he heard them break into a run as they got closer.

Damn Severus, he thought in his head. Just damn him. Suddenly, he saw him. He was walking speedily towards him, his hood down over his eyes. He reached him and stopped. He lowered his hood and stared at him, his dark eyes like never-ending pits of misery. His mouth was poised in a frown, his black, shiny hair gleaming in the moonlight. Quirrell decided to have the first words.

"I d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet me here of all p-place, Severus," he said, adding the fake stuttering.

"Oh, I thought we’d keep this private," Severus said, his voice icy. "Students aren’t supposed to know about the Sorcerer’s Stone, after all."

Shit, Quirrell thought suddenly. Severus was looking at him with eyes that clearly stated he thought of him as a piece of shit that he had stepped in.

"B-but I d-d-don’t know what you’re t-t-talking about, Severus," he added innocently.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?" Severus spat.

Fluffy, Quirrell mused. Yes, I have, you filthy traitor.

"B-b-but Severus, I—,"

"You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Severus, taking a step toward him. Quirrell slightly backed up. Severus’ nose cast a shadow over some of his face and made him looking even more threatening. Quirrell moved his fingers nervously.

"I-I don’t know what you—,"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Severus’ voice was deep and threatening that Quirrell almost fainted right there. He was so much taller than himself and those eyes…those eyes are what he feared most of all.

An owl hooted loudly in the distance. Quirrell jumped, nearly pissing himself, but Severus stood still, unaffected. Quirrell panted slightly and tried to claim his grounds once more.

"I know what you’re trying to do with your little bit of hocus pocus. I’m waiting," he said, his lip curling.

"B-but I d-d-don’t—,"

"Very well," Snape cut him off. "We’ll have another chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie." He threw his cloak over his head once more and strode out of the clearing, his cloak billowing wildly behind him. Quirrell was petrified. He hadn’t expected Severus—or anyone, for that matter—to interfere with his master’s plan. Quirrell’s fear slowly turned to anger and he decided from then on, he would fear no one but his master. He slammed his hand against a nearby tree, then started off towards the castle.

I know I've got a face in me
Points out all my mistakes to me
You've got a face on the inside too
Your paranoia's probably worse
I don't know what set me off first
But I know what I can't stand
Everybody acts like the fact of the matter is
I can't add up to what you can

As the weeks wore on, Quirrell got skinnier and paler. He couldn’t hardly eat any of his food, his stomach was wound up so tight. He was failing his master and he knew it. Whenever he thought of the consequences that could follow, he felt like vomiting.

One particular afternoon, his master became very irritated. Quirrell was walking down the hall and suddenly, Voldemort spoke to him.

"Into that room. NOW," the voice warned. Quirrell’s stomach tightened but he went into the room, as he was told. It was dark inside with spider webs covering the walls. Quirrell looked around and wondered what was planned for him.

"I think it is time for you to be punished again, Slatero," the voice said with obvious pleasure. Quirrell felt the need to hurl. His heartbeat increased. He knew very well the punishment. He would not go through it again.

"No—no—not again—please," he moaned.

"If you do not fulfill my wishes than you shall be punished again! You are taking far too long to get the Stone for me! I grow weary of your fear and hosting this good for nothing body. I want the Stone and I want it very soon!"

Quirrell started to sob. His dark gray-blue eyes spilled over with tears that ran down his cheeks as he listen to his master threaten him. His hands shook.

No. Not punishment. Not again.

"Alright—alright—," he sobbed. He sniffed and settled himself. He wiped his eyes and nose. He hoped it didn’t look as if he had been crying. He let out a long, shaky sigh and wiped his eyes once more, to make sure all the tears had completely disappeared.

He walked out of the room and straightened his turban as he went. He saw the young Harry Potter standing there looking at him.

It’s all your fault, you fool! he mentally said to Harry Potter. Soon, you shall pay. Very, very soon.

He made sure he kept his eyes off Harry as he went by. He knew that if he looked him in the eyes, he would glare. He strode out of sight without a look behind him at the boy who caused him all this.

Everybody has a face that they hold inside
A face that awakes when I close my eyes
A face watches every time they lie
A face that laughs every time they fall
And watches everything
So you know that when it's time to sink or swim
That the face inside is watching you too
Right inside your skin

This was it. This was the day that he and his master had been waiting on. He sat down and thought over everything that he had done to prepare for this one perfect moment. He had tricked Hagrid into telling him how to get past Fluffy, he had fooled the whole staff and student body into thinking he was innocent—except, of course, Severus—which made him grin, he had found the Mirror of Erised—all these things he had done. He also recalled his mistakes. He had failed getting to the Stone sooner by setting that troll loose. He silently cursed himself for that. He had also failed to hurt Harry during that one Quidditch match. If only Severus wouldn’t have interfered! Oh, well. He knew in time that his master would punish those who were unworthy.

He had passed all the tasks necessary to get to where he was now. He had played the harp for that monstrous, slobbering beast, he had gotten past the Devil’s Snare, gotten that damn key which had been such a pain the ass, played the useless and pathetic chess game, deciphered which potions to take—damn Snape again—, and then found himself here. Right where Harry Potter would soon come.

In all of his planning, he had never expected Harry Potter, smart, young, strong, to suspect that Severus Snape was behind it all. It was an unsuspected plus. It left him time to do the things he needed to do without being suspected at all. He grinned widely. What a twist for the young Potter.

Suddenly, he saw the dark fiery entrance stir and he rose to his feet. He heard a whooshing noise and Harry Potter walked through the fire with a determined face. But when Harry saw Quirrell, his face fell into surprised look of dread.

"You!" Harry gasped. Quirrell couldn’t help it. He smiled the biggest he ever had in his life. It was a good feeling, to smile.

"Me," he said calmly. "I’d wondered if I’d be meeting you here, Potter."

"But—I thought—Snape—,"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed. It was a cold and sharp laugh. It felt so good to laugh, and to mean it. It left his chest with a good feeling. It made him smile more. Oh, if his childhood had been filled with such smiles and laughter.

"He does seem the type, doesn’t he?" he continued. "So useful to have him swooping around like an over-grown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Quirrell watched Harry take it all in. Quirrell could literally see the small gears of his mind working over time to sort through all this information.

"But Snape tried to kill me!" Harry shouted.

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you," he said with distaste. "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 you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you," he savored. He cherished these last two words because he knew how big a surprise it would cause Harry. Learning everything you thought was right, was wrong. Harry looked afraid now. Afraid little Potter.

"Snape was trying to…save me?" he asked, astonished.

"Of course," Quirrell said 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, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight."

He said all this softly and slowly, cherishing every minute. He had waited forever for this one moment. It was if time was slowing down. He felt it all through his vein with such power. He felt so powerful. The master had to be proud.

He snapped his fingers and ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry. Harry squirmed and Quirrell laughed heartily.

"You are too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone." Yes, he remembered that night very well. When he had failed against his master. That little edge of fear stabbed at him. He tried to push away the memories of that night. The punishment. The anger. The fear.

"You let the troll in?" he asked, his voice breaking a little. Quirrell grinned.

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there?" Yes, he had tricked the troll. He smiled to himself. That troll probably saw stars.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "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 quietly Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Quirrell whirled around and studied it, questions running through his mind. He and his master knew this was the key to their success, if only…

"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…"

"I saw you Snape in the forest—," Harry blurted out. Quirrell barely heard him through his own concentration.

"Yes," he said idly. He walked around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I’d hot. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…" But the truth was, even with Voldemort on his side, he had been afraid. Not knowing what exactly, he still had been so afraid.

He came back from behind the mirror and angrily stared at it. He felt his patience slipping away from him.

"I see the Stone…I’m presenting it to my master…but where is it?" Quirrell heard Harry trying to squirm out of the ropes behind him. He held back his urge to smile.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much," Harry said.

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell. "Heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead." Yes, Quirrell knew the turmoil Snape and James Potter had gone through. Quirrell had wondered often if this would lead Snape to be on his side…to help him with his master. But he was too caught up in his own business brewing potions and saving little boys to help his real master.

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you," Harry said. Quirrell’s heart tightened itself in fear. His felt his face falling. The smile once there was gone in an instant. This made him hate Harry even more. Taking away the only joy he had ever had.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "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?" Harry asked, his eyes growing wide. Quirrell grinned once again.

"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." Oh, how many times he had heard these words from his master. Quirrell felt so powerful now. He felt like he was needed. Like he belonged somewhere and was doing something right.

"Since then," he continued, "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 felt like a pulse of cold air had went through his body.

"He does 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 thought back to that day when he had first failed his master. How ashamed he had felt. How much pain Voldemort had given him for failing. He had vowed never to let himself go through that punishment again. He had been so stupid that day. Careless! He would not let his master down again.

Quirrell’s thoughts shifted back to the mirror.

How in the hell do I get the Stone? he thought urgently.

"Damn," he muttered. "I don’t understand…is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?" Quirrell muttered to himself quietly. He saw Harry fall in the mirror. He shook his head. He focused on what the mirror was really showing. He saw himself, handsome and tall, giving the Stone to his master, who was rewarding him.

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

"Use the boy…use the boy," Voldemort rasped. Quirrell nodded and whirled around to Harry.

"Yes—Potter—come here." He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry slowly got up. "Come here," he repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him. His took small steps which made Quirrell want to scream madly and shake him. He stepped up to the mirror. Quirrell moved closely behind him. He saw Harry close his eyes and open them again.

"Well?" Quirrell asked impatiently after a while. "What do you see?"

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he said quietly. "I—I’ve won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

"Shit!" Quirrell shouted. "Get out of the way," he said. He stared into the mirror again, seeing the same image over and over again.

"He lies…He lies," the voice rasped. Quirrell whirled around, his pupils getting huge. He grimaced, his teeth white and sharp.

"Potter, come back here!" he shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you see?"

"Let me speak to him…face-to-face…" Quirrell felt his heart in his throat. If Master spoke, he might not have enough strength to go on.

"Master, you are not strong enough."

"I have strength enough…for this." Quirrell sighed and began to unwrap his turban. The turban felt soft under his rough fingers. He let it drop to the floor. His head felt cool. It felt free. He turned around on the spot.

"Harry Potter…" Voldemort whispered. "See what I have become? 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…" Quirrell felt his heart swell with pride at being mentioned as faithful. He closed his eyes and listened.

"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?" Quirrell guessed that Harry wasn’t cooperating. He felt heat surge through the back of his head.

"Don’t be a fool," snarled Voldemort. "Better save your own life and join me…or you’ll meet the same end as your parents…They died begging for mercy…"

"Liar!" Harry shouted. Quirrell walked backwards to him. He did this so his master would be closer to the boy. To scare him. He knew the fear the master could provoke into the hearts of even the strongest men.

"How touching. I always value bravery…Yes, boy…your parents were brave…I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight…but your mother needn’t have died…she was trying to protect you…Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"Never!" he heard Harry shout. Quirrell’s eyes narrowed at the sound of this little boy defying his master. His…his…Quirrell couldn’t think of a word.

"Seize him!" he heard his master shout. Quirrell thought for a moment whether he should. Quirrell shook this feeling of…of emotion he had suddenly had and grabbed Harry’s wrist as he whirled around. Harry tried to pull away. Quirrell felt nothing at first, then came the pain. The pain of a thousand fires. His hand burned like he had just stuck it into a burning fire. His eyes watered in pain and all he could hear was his master shouting, "Seize him!"

Quirrell didn’t want to move. His hand was forming blisters all over. The pain. The pain was so intense.

"Seize him!" his master shouted again and Quirrell lunged, forgetting the pain, and knocked Harry right off his feet. Quirrell reached out his hands and enclosed them around Harry’s neck.

I’m going to choke you, you bastard. You are going to pay, he thought. Quirrell suddenly felt that pain again. The burning. The fire. His eyes watered and tears streaked down his face as the pain surged through his hands.

"Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands—my hands!" He let go off Harry and stared at his own hands, his wet eyes huge with pain and surprise. His hands were shiny. Burned. Raw. Red. He silently cried.

"Then kill him, fool and be done!" Voldemort shouted. Quirrell raised his hand. I’m going to do a deadly curse and be done with you! he thought. Suddenly, Harry reached up and grabbed his face. Quirrell shouted. The tears even hurt to come out and roll down. Quirrell screamed and tried to get Harry’s hands off his face, but it hurt too much. Every time he touched Harry, it burned him so badly.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Voldemort shouted relentlessly. Harry let go and Quirrell went over to the side of the room and cried in agony. Black slowly started to come to his eyes. All this pain…all this…misery over a small boy. He somewhat regretted all he had done when he could have used all the stuff he knew…all the knowledge to become something far greater than this. He felt the pain slowly take over his body and then he was numb. The black settling in. Quirrell died there. A nothing. A nobody. With some much knowledge…so much pain.

The sun goes down
I feel the light betray me…
The sun goes down
I feel the light betray me