Harry leapt away, or tried to, at least. A tugging sensation on his robes dragged him forward, causing him to stumble towards Quirrell, who lashed out and grabbed him by the scruff of his uniform.
"Let go of him!" Neville shouted, leaping at the demented professor, but was knocked aside with a snarl and flash of magical energy.
However, Neville had gotten close enough to grab ahold of a loose piece of Quirrell's turban, and the whole thing unraveled as he was sent flying.
Gasps and screams rang out as the First-Years all beheld what was underneath the garlic scented wrappings. Harry gagged a bit as well as the smell hit him, and wondered what it was his friends were seeing that was causing them to shriek like that.
Instead of wondering, however, he reached out and grabbed onto Quirrell's hands and tried to pry the teacher off of him. Only for Quirrell's flesh to explode into white-hot flames at Harry's touch.
Screaming in pain, the teacher dropped both the mirror and Harry, and staggered back. For some reason, Harry could have sworn he heard two voices crying out from Quirrell, but that was ridiculous… right?
'And why did I see myself in the mirror holding a red stone that I slipped into my pocket?' Harry couldn't help but wonder. It had been a mere glance, but it had happened when he caught sight of the mirror when it fell from Quirrell's spell.
"You- what have you done to me?!" Quirrell screeched, before drawing his wand and casting a cutting curse onto his own limb to stop the fire from spreading. It worked. Sort of. The mystical flames didn't go any further as the arm dropped to the ground, and even those soon sputtered and died out, leaving a burnt-out husk on the floor.
Quirrell turned his wand onto Harry, a snarl on his lips, but the Boy Who Lived had reacted just as fast, and already gotten his wand out as soon as he'd been released from his clutches.
"LUMOS!" Harry shouted, blasting an overpowered Light charm right in his professor's face.
Blinded, the man screeched in agony and clawed at his eyes, only for a voice to shout out, "Turn around, idiot!"
Quirrell obeyed, and turned his back to Harry, revealing the twisted, ugly face melted onto the back of the professor's head. Black tar-like goo dribbled from the anger-filled eyes and fang-filled mouth, and the nose was just a pair of slits, while the ears were tiny little holes in the side of his head.
"Oh," Harry muttered, feeling ill. No wonder his friends had screamed when they'd seen it. Shakily, he raised his wand, feverishly trying to think of a spell to do something – ANYTHING! – to save himself from this abomination.
"Harry Potter," the face hissed out.
"Voldemort," Harry replied, realizing just who he was looking at.
'And now the pain in my scar makes sense,' he thought weakly.
"Your Mudblood mother isn't here to save you now," the remnant hissed out.
In response, Harry spat at him. To everyone's shock, the glob of spit sizzled and melted Voldemort's flesh as if it were acid.
"Kill the boy! KILL HIM!" the face on the back of Quirrell's head howled furiously, and his host obeyed, starting to turn around, but Harry had a crazy idea.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, and the Mirror of Erised jerked and rose off the ground. Then it came flying towards the freaky fusion of professor and Dark Lord.
Quirrell raised his wand to try and zap it with a spell, but whatever it was he'd tried to use on it bounced off, hitting a suit of armor nearby instead.
Then the mirror slammed into the professor, which sent him flying into Harry, whose hands accidentally brushed up against the sides of the professor's neck.
Quirrell and Voldemort screamed once more in unison as the flames consumed him hungrily, and in Harry's opinion, vindictively.
On a mad whim, Harry decided to help the flames along, and grabbed onto the sides of his professor's head. Or, heads, rather.
Harry stared into Voldemort's red eyes. No words needed to be said. Every drop of hate and loathing he felt towards the man who'd murdered parents was poured into him through their locked gaze, and the Dark Lord sneered as if amused.
And then Voldemort's eyes exploded as cleansing white fire burst from his sockets and devoured them, the rest of his face melting away under the heat.
A moment later there was a banshee-like shriek, and a cloud of black smoke in the form of a deformed skull erupted out of Quirrell's mouth before shooting off down the corridor away from the group.
All that was left behind was a charred pile of ash in Quirrell's robes, and after staring at it for a few seconds in disbelief, Harry slowly pushed it aside and stood back up, unable to tear his gaze away from the remains of the possessed professor.
Something had to be said. Something needed to be done to reassure his friends who were staring at him and the pile of ash with mixed emotions. Mostly shock. But there was a lot of awe and fear as well, the latter directed at what was left of Voldemort's host.
After thinking it over, Harry knew what he had to say.
"I've heard of having eyes in the back of one's head, but this is just ridiculous," Harry muttered, causing a groan to come from his friends at the one liner.
"Really, Harry?" Ron uttered.
Before anything else could be said, more footsteps rang out, and Dumbledore appeared down one end of the corridor while McGonagall and the rest of the faculty were at the other, all of them stopping short as they saw the ashen remnants of Quirrell in front of Harry.
"Can someone please explain what is going on, and what happened here?" Dumbledore asked after a moment of scanning the area.
Harry shrugged and brushed a bit of Voldemort off of his robes. "Magic," he replied blithely.
The fact that Neville broke out into gasps of laughter which were soon echoed by the rest of the First-Years had the old man blink in befuddlement.
"I see," he said slowly, before shaking his head. He must be getting old. He just didn't understand the humor of children these days.
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