A Little Twist of the Knife

Harry pushed open the last door.

She clutched her wand tightly in her hand, having rehearsed countless times how she would deal with Professor Quirrell. But the moment the sight behind the door met her eyes, her blood froze.

Tom Riddle, you madman!

Her throat tightened, trapping even the curse between her teeth.

Professor Quirrell was still wrapped in that ridiculous purple turban, but coiled behind him was the Basilisk: a creature Harry had barely known in her previous life, but which could be called a nightmare in this one.

After Voldemort took over the Basilisk's body, he gained the ability to change its size at will. Now it was even larger than she remembered, its scales gleaming an eerie green in the dim firelight, its golden, vertical pupils fixed on her.

The Voldemort who had come to this world with her had gone looking for this world's Voldemort.

The realization, expected and only natural as it was, exploded in her mind. She had had a premonition of it the last time she was in the Forbidden Forest, when the giant snake had suddenly appeared and carried off Quirrell, whom she had struck with a Petrification Spell.

But her period had hit immediately afterward, and she had made so many changes to the course of the future that Harry had never even thought to tell Dumbledore about it.

Harry's legs reacted before her brain did.

She spun around and dashed for the door.

Two Voldemorts! One possessing the back of Quirrell's head! One reborn as a Basilisk! How was she supposed to fight that?

She had barely taken two steps when a chilling slithering sound came from behind her. The Basilisk was astonishingly fast. Its enormous body stretched across the doorway in an instant, completely cutting off her escape. Harry stumbled to a halt, pointing her wand straight at its eyes.

The Basilisk slowly lowered its head and brought it close to her face. Harry could smell the rotten, rank odor of its breath.

"Why are you running so fast?" the Basilisk hissed with an unsettling note of amusement. "That's not like a Gryffindor student."

Harry's fingertips trembled, but her voice was unusually calm. "Keep your prejudices to yourself. Gryffindors have courage, not recklessness!"

Professor Quirrell followed, and the Voldemort on the back of his head gave a sharp, cold laugh. "Harry Potter, what a surprise. When this snake said you would come to stop me, I thought he was lying. I didn't expect him to be telling the truth. So, Potter, tell me: he says he's me, from another world and back from the future. Is that true or false?"

Harry's mind raced.

Basilisk Voldemort couldn't hurt her. They both knew that.

The other Voldemort couldn't kill her either.

The only one who could harm her now was Professor Quirrell.

But damn it, the Basilisk knew that too!

She had to take a gamble.

"It's true." Harry slowly lowered her wand, forcing herself to look straight into those snake eyes. "He didn't lie to you. Everything he said was true."

The Basilisk's golden eyes narrowed slightly, and the face on the back of Quirrell's head twisted.

Having fought Voldemort for so many years, Harry knew from personal experience just how suspicious he was.

If she told Voldemort that no, he was just an ordinary Basilisk, then this Voldemort would certainly believe that Basilisk Voldemort was telling the truth, that he really was his future self. But if she told Voldemort that yes, he was him from the future, Voldemort would be certain to grow suspicious.

As for Voldemort believing what he said...

That virtually impossible assumption could be set aside entirely. Rather than believe Voldemort would trust him, she might as well believe the sun would rise in the west, Snape would be kind to every student, and Malfoy would become a model student.

The face embedded in the back of Quirrell's head twisted into a chilling smile, its deathly pale skin gleaming waxily in the dim candlelight. Voldemort spoke slowly, his voice as though forced up from an abyss. "Quirrell, what do you think?"

Quirrell, his stuttering disguise now completely gone, spoke in a steady, chilling voice. "Master, Harry Potter's words... cannot be trusted." His gaze clung to Harry like a poisonous snake. "She's too cunning."

Voldemort chuckled in satisfaction, the sound like fingernails scraping glass, sending a chill down her spine. "I think so too."

Harry's fingertips tingled slightly, but she didn't move, only stared fixedly at Voldemort's face. "I'm telling the truth. Believe it or not."

Even Basilisk Voldemort had to admit that Harry had given an excellent answer.

If not for their opposing positions, and the fact that he himself was the target of Harry's trap, he would have applauded her.

What a perfect statement! A perfect performance!

Any more eagerness, or any less certainty, would have made him suspicious. Her reaction was just right!

Basilisk Voldemort gave a low, hissing chuckle, his massive body slithering slowly, the sound of his scales scraping against the floor setting her teeth on edge. "Voldemort." His voice carried a strange sort of pleasure. "You shouldn't direct your suspicions at me."

Voldemort paid his words no mind. A proud Slytherin only ever trusted himself above all others.

Basilisk Voldemort's golden, vertical pupils flashed dangerously. He lowered his head slightly, as if looking down at a child who didn't know any better. "Whether you believe it or not," he hissed, "I am you."

Harry's breathing almost stopped.

Voldemort hated nothing more than having someone question his authority, and he hated anyone claiming to know him better than he knew himself.

And now, a Basilisk was brazenly telling him, "I am you."

The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched, his already inhuman face twisting further. He slowly turned toward Basilisk Voldemort, his voice as soft as the flick of a viper's tongue. "I don't believe you."

That settled it!

Harry quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

Leaving the future aside, for now at least, the two Voldemorts would not be joining forces.

Even though Basilisk Voldemort had saved Voldemort's life before.

Basilisk Voldemort's vertical pupils contracted slightly, as though he had heard something utterly ridiculous. He wasn't angry. Instead, he laughed softly, his hoarse Parseltongue carrying an unmistakable note of pleasure.

Basilisk Voldemort was not displeased by Voldemort's distrust. Instead, he chuckled, pleasure flashing in his snake eyes. "In that case..." His tail gently slapped the floor. "I'll be leaving."

Harry quietly tightened her grip on her wand.

She couldn't believe the cunning Basilisk would give up so easily.

Only when his enormous body had vanished completely into the darkness at the end of the corridor was she finally certain that he had really left.

What on earth was he planning?

But she had no time to think about that now. Only she and Voldemort remained in the room—or, more precisely, the hideous face attached to the back of Quirrell's head.

"Stand in front of the mirror." Quirrell pressed his wand against her back, his voice cold. "Tell me what you see."

Harry took a deep breath and turned toward the familiar Mirror of Erised. Seeing it for the first time since her rebirth, she had thought Lily and James Potter would still be in it.

Just as in her previous life, when she had stood alone before the mirror, longing for an embrace from the parents she could never have.

But this time, the image in the mirror made her breath catch.

So many people?

The mirror was crowded with people. Her parents stood at the very front, smiling and reaching out to her; and standing beside them was... herself?

No, it was Harry Potter from her previous life, his black hair messy and his glasses crooked, grinning at her. Dumbledore stood to one side, his blue eyes twinkling kindly behind his Half-moon Spectacles. Snape still wore a stern expression, but his gaze was less sharp. The Weasley family crowded together on the other side, Ron standing in the very center of the mirror with an arm around "Harry's" shoulders. Hermione was waving, and Fred and George were setting off fireworks in the background...

Her throat tightened, and her eyes grew hot in an instant.

"I don't see anything." She forcibly swallowed a sob, her strained voice trembling.

Voldemort's voice sounded in her ear, like a poisonous snake crawling over the back of her neck. "Imagine yourself holding the Philosopher's Stone. Now, look again."

Harry stared fixedly at the mirror.

The Dumbledore in the mirror suddenly gave a playful wink, pulled a bright red stone from his pocket, and slipped it into "Harry's" hand. The "Harry" in the mirror flashed her a brilliant smile and gave her a thumbs-up.

Her pocket suddenly grew heavy.

"I, I still don't see any-"

"Liar!" Voldemort shrieked, cutting her off.

Harry hesitated no longer. The moment Quirrell turned around, she pressed her hand hard against his face!

"Ah!!!"

Quirrell's skin rapidly corroded as though doused in strong acid, his screams nearly piercing her eardrums. Harry staggered back, watching as his body twisted in agony, charred, and finally crumbled into a pile of ashes scattered across the floor.

Go!

She couldn't stay. Basilisk Voldemort might return at any moment. She spun and rushed toward the door, but at the last moment, she couldn't help looking back at the mirror.

Everyone in the mirror was making gestures of encouragement to her, their smiles as bright as lights that would never go out.

Harry bit her lower lip and charged into the dark corridor without looking back.