Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1)

by J.K. Rowling

Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face,

It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nost...

“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapor . . . I have form only when I can share another’s body . . .

Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks . . .

and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own. . . .

So he knew.

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

“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 . . .

Voldemort screamed “SEIZE HIM!” and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell’s hand close on his wrist.

he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers — they were blistering

Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry’s neck

Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms — Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face —

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off —

and other voices, maybe in Harry’s own head, crying, “Harry! Harry!”

felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down . . . down . . . down . . .

He blinked. It wasn’t the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: “Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, quick —”

“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

“What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows.

Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.”

“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.”

“We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you —”

“I feared I might be too late.” “You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer —”

As for the Stone, it has been destroyed.”

“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. “You did do the thing properly, didn’t you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it’s all for the best.”

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”

“To one as young as you, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all —

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . .

he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies.

delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems...

“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.

I shall not, of course, lie.”

Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”

“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day . . . put it...

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love.

to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.

sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

“And the Invisibility Cloak — do you know who sent it to me?”

“Useful things . . . your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

“Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy.

“He saved his life.” “What?” “Yes . . .”

Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace. . . .”

“How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?”

It was one of my more brilliant ideas,