Quirinius Quirrell had always been the sort of person who stayed in the library late, the kind of person who turned in his homework early, the kind of person who stayed home at night with a stack of books. rather than go out with friends.

These characteristics had earned him very few friends at Hogwarts or, indeed, anywhere. He had been mocked, ridiculed and generally made fun of from the time he was eleven to the present.

So, he had announced his year-long trip around the world, an endeavor that he hoped would grant him a little more respect. After tales of encounters with dragons, Inferi and Dark wizards, everyone would think that Quirinius Quirrell was a man who was not to be trifled with.

And here he was in a dark Albanian forest, sitting on a large rock with his head in his hands.

Albania had been his next stop after Romania, where he had gotten into an unfortunate bar fight and nearly been killed by a burly wizard with a hawthorn club. In Albania, he wanted to rest.

But he had immediately encountered a small village of inept witches and wizards, people who could hardly scrub a pot with magic. To them, Quirrell was a wizard of prodigious talent just because he could make fireworks shoot from the tip of his wand.

The unfortunate corollary to such admiration, was that they begged him to track down and kill the vampire that lived in the dark forest, a creature who came every so often to their village and took three or four of them to eat.

Feeling cocky and brave, Quirrell had accepted the offer and marched into the forest without a clue as to what he was going to do. He had no idea how to find the vampire, much less kill it.

Thus, he found himself sitting on a stone in the pitch-darkness, alarmingly close to tears.

The blackness was all-encompassing. Quirrell couldn’t even see the huge trees that surrounded him. All was lost in darkness.

“Lumos,� he whispered.

The thin jet of light broke the darkness and Quirrell’s spirit rose minutely. At least he could see where he was. Vampires could see in the dark anyway, so it didn’t matter. If the creature turned up, he would be dead, for he had not the slightest idea how to fight it. All of his book-learning was seeping from his brain.

Which way had he come? Quirrell waved the light around, looking for something familiar. Nothing. All the trees looked the same, every shrub the exact duplicate of a second and third.

He vaguely recalled walking in a northerly direction but who knew in what direction he had turned since then? He might be two miles from the village or he might be twenty.

A crack made him look up sharply. Something in the trees. Perhaps it was the vampire come to drain him.

Quirrell pointed his wandlight around, but could see nothing human-sized. It must have been the wind or a small animal.

He got up off the rock and walked in a circle for no particular reason. Just doing something felt constructive.

A large, looming shape caught his eye and he walked towards it.

A great jutting monolith of granite was sticking up through the moss like a huge canine tooth. It had been partially hidden by a tree before, which was probably why he hadn’t noticed it until now.

It was about the size of a large cabin. Quirrell walked around it several times, looking for the mouth of a small cave, which would at least provide shelter.

He found a narrow crack in the rock about as wide as a man’s chest. He shone his light into the crack, which widened into a small passageway.

For a fleeting second he wondered if this was the vampire’s lair, but that was impossible. The creature would have smelled him and made itself known.

Another twig snapped and Quirrell jumped.

He squeezed himself into the crack and edged into the wider passage. The rock closed over his head and he was forced to stoop.

The wandlight revealed that he was now standing in a small, one-room cave. It was almost as large around as the lump of granite had been outside and the roof of the cave was nearly seven feet high, making it easy for Quirrell to stand upright.

The floor of the cave was smooth and so were the walls. It seemed like the perfect resting spot, but something about it unsettled Quirrell. He felt watched by something very great and very terrible.

When the voice came he nearly passed out.

I see you, Quirinius Quirrell.

The voice was icy cold and sharp as a knife. It was inside his head and emanating from the walls of the cave at the same time.

The first man to come to me in so long….and you are pathetic, said the voice, its tone austere and disgusted. You are weak, Quirinius Quirrell….but you do not have to be.

It had to be a ghost or a spirit of some kind. Quirrell had to be careful not to anger it, but it probably wasn’t dangerous.

“I’ll leave,� said Quirrell loudly, his voice shaking almost as much as he was. “I’ll leave you in peace.�

That’s hardly what I want, said the voice. It was now a little gentler. ….or what you want. The creature waiting out there is too much for you.

As if on cue, Quirrell heard a vicious snarl from outside the cave. The vampire had found him at last; his situation now begged the question: was the greater danger in here or out there?

I know what you desire, Quirrell….and I know what you need, said the spirit of the cave. You’re foolish and pathetic, but you want glory….you want power….and I have it.

A swirl of grayish mist was coming into being in the center of the cave. Quirrell was backed against the far wall. He had never been so terrified in his life, never.

There was another snarl from outside. The vampire was still searching for a way in.

Always last….almost least…. always despised, crooned the voice. Quirrell thought he saw a face in the pulsating mist. Never have you been great, Quirrell. Never have you been feared. You don’t know how wonderful it is to be feared.

As unsettling as the voice was, there was something about it Quirrell was beginning to like, something comforting; the voice was telling the truth. Perhaps the voice could give him what he wanted, what he needed.

A shape was coming into being, a vaguely human shape with a torso, arms and a featureless head. The legs and bottom half were missing, like a child’s drawing of a genie.

I can make your most secret desires come true….I can help you acquire anything you want….immortality, pleasure, wealth, strength, power….all of these at your fingertips. I will help you defeat the vampire. Your life will be spared.

“How can I pay you?� asked Quirrell, his lips barely moving. “How can I help you?�

You can give me your body….you can let me into your mind, where I will strengthen you beyond your wildest dreams, said the spirit.

Its features were now clearer. The nose, eyes and mouth were now visible. The skull-like face was grinning and it was floating closer and closer to Quirrell, its malformed hand stretched towards him.

“I….I…. don’t know,� whispered Quirrell.

Yes….yes you do. You can agree….and live….or you can refuse….and die.

Quirrell trembled at this. Some deep-seated part of him was whispering This is evil. This is wrong. Better to die than to help this creature.

Quirrell was afraid of this monstrous thing, but he was more afraid of death, of the coldness that would come as the vampire bit into his neck. Could saving his own life be an evil act? No, of course not. And what of the tantalizing offers of power? Those could alter his entire existence. (It will take more than it gives, whispered the voice deep inside him, which was now becoming quiet and low).

They will bow before you…. whispered the cave spirit

At that moment, the deal was struck on two levels. Quirrell’s logical mind knew that he could not defeat the vampire on his own. He needed the help this spirit would give him. He knew, too, in some deep, primal place, that his soul had been seeking this union for a very long time.

“I will do it,� he said.

There were two simultaneous snarls of triumph, one from the spirit and one from the victorious vampire, who had finally found the fissure.

The spirit drifted forward and Quirrell felt something horribly cold and intrusive forcing itself into his mouth, into his nostrils and into his ears. He screamed with fear as the spirit slithered into him.

And then he was new….strong, powerful, confident. He was all that he had not been.

He could feel the thing in his head, could feel the slightly annoying weight of a second mind, but mostly he felt elated.

The vampire burst into the cave. It was a man-sized, but muscled creature, bone-white and naked. Its cruel mouth was permanently stained with blood. It snarled, showing its long white teeth.

Quirrell didn’t hesitate. He lifted his wand and said an unfamiliar word.

An immense burst of red energy struck the vampire and slammed it against the wall of the cave with incredible force.

Very good, said the spirit (who, Quirrell now knew, was Lord Voldemort. The knowledge—which would have been shocking thirty seconds ago—was now simply a fact).

The vampire leaped up, screeching with pain and frustration. Quirrell lifted his wand again and a jet of light struck the vampire.

It doubled over, making retching sounds. It was clearly in great pain. Voldemort chuckled a little.

But it was coming again. Quirrell slashed his wand in an unfamiliar motion and shouted a spell which he did not know.

The vampire disintegrated into ashes with a great flash of white light and there was silence in the cave.

You’ve done very well, said Voldemort, his wicked glee barely suppressed. But you have barely scraped the surface of what you—we—can do.

“What now, Master?� asked Quirrell. He felt eager to be given instructions. “What do we want me to do?�

Have you ever heard of the Sorcerer’s Stone, Quirrell? asked Voldemort.