C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N
THE MAN
WITH TWO FACES
I
t was Quirrell.
“You!” gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn’t twitching at all.
“Me,” he said calmly. “I wondered whether I’d be meeting you
here, Potter.”
“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 over-
grown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering
P-Professor Quirrell?”
Harry couldn’t take it in. This couldn’t be true, it couldn’t.
“But Snape tried to kill me!”
“No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger acci-
de ntally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that
Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another
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