THE MAN
WITH TWO FACES
“Get out of the way,” he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the
Sorcerer’s Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?
But he hadn’t walked five paces before a high voice spoke,
though Quirrell wasn’t moving his lips.
“He lies . . . He lies . . .”
“Potter, 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. . . .”
Harry 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 tur-
ban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it.
Then he turned slowly on the spot.
Harry would have screamed, but he couldn’t make a sound.
Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was
a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white
with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
“Harry Potter . . .” it whispered.
Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn’t move.
“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and va-
por . . . 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 for-
est . . . and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a
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