The Boy Who Watches

Finally, he saw a light ahead. He stepped out of the gloomy corridor and found himself in the last room. Itachi immediately froze when he saw what was happening. In the center of the room stood a huge Mirror, and near it stood Professor Quirrell and Harry Potter. Itachi felt a chill run down his spine. 

- But Snape tried to kill me!

- No, no, no, no. I was trying to kill you. 

 A few more seconds and I would have thrown you off the broom. I would have done it sooner if Snape hadn't muttered his counterspells to me. He was saving you, you see.

- Saving me?

 Well, of course he was," Strawns confirmed indifferently.

 - What a great waste of time and energy! I'm going to kill you now anyway. Strawns snapped his fingers. Ropes were woven out of thin air and wrapped tightly around Harry.

Itachi, trying not to miss a word, continued to listen to Quirrell's conversation. He heard the professor, sighing irritably, speak again. 

"That damned stone is in here somewhere! - Quirrell growled, his voice full of anger and impatience. - 'Dumbledore and his riddles are just disgusting! I don't know why he made it so complicated!" Itachi frowned, realizing that Quirrell was talking about the Philosopher's Stone. So he was almost there.

Suddenly, to Itachi's surprise, a second voice came out of nowhere, harsh and ominous.

 "Harry Potter," the unknown man hissed like a snake.

 - "I want to talk to you." Itachi froze for a moment, trying to realize who it was speaking. The voice was completely unfamiliar to him, but he sensed something sinister and frightening about it.

 The tension in the room was building with every passing second. Itachi, watching what was happening, felt his heart beating harder and harder. He saw Quirrell, as if he had lost control of himself, begin to tremble and frantically pull the turban off his head. And then, Itachi saw something that sent a chill running through his body.

 On the back of Quirrell's head, instead of hair and skin, was a horrible face, pale, snake-like, with slits instead of nostrils and red eyes full of madness. It was the same face Itachi had seen in the Forbidden Forest when he had first encountered that very teacher! 

It was Voldemort.

Voldemort leaned against the back of Quirrell's head and looked at Harry, and an inhuman fire flashed in his eyes. 

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, his voice full of hatred and malice. - I have waited so long for this meeting." Itachi felt a shiver run through his body.

"That weakling Quirrell," Voldemort began, looking at the professor with disdain, "so foolishly allowed me to gain a new body. Now he is my pathetic receptacle." - Voldemort turned to Harry, and there was something like regret in his voice.

 "Not long ago, after our last encounter with you, I realized that I could not return to my former body. I was only a shadow, a ghost. I clung to life as hard as I could until I found this.... this coward who was weak enough to succumb to my influence. Now I'm forced to share my existence with this wretch. It's humiliating, but for now it's the only thing I can afford." 

"So, Harry," he hissed, "what do you see in that mirror? What was so important that you discerned there that made you stand in front of it for so long?" Voldemort tilted his head like a snake preparing to lunge. 

"Tell me what you see, and perhaps I won't hurt you too much."

Harry, frightened and confused, didn't answer right away. He shifted his gaze from Quirrell to Voldemort, trying to figure out what was going on. He couldn't believe this was all really happening. Finally, gathering his wits, he said: 

"I see... I see myself holding the faculty cup."

Voldemort froze for a moment, clearly not expecting this turn of events.

 "The Faculty Cup?" - he hissed, a look of bewilderment and suspicion on his face. 

"What kind of nonsense are you talking about, boy?"

Harry continued, trying to speak as confidently as possible. 

"Yes. I see him glittering like gold. And all my friends are around him and they're cheering and smiling." He hoped that Voldemort would be puzzled by such a vision, and that it would give him a chance.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side, like a snake contemplating its prey. He clearly didn't understand how the faculty goblet could be connected to the Philosopher's Stone. 

"Are you saying that in that mirror you see only your foolish dreams?" - he hissed, contempt evident in his voice. 

"Are you trying to trick me, Potter? Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe that nonsense?"

Quirrell, like a marionette, stood motionless, awaiting orders. He shifted his gaze from Harry to Voldemort, not realizing what was happening. Voldemort, sensing he was being tricked, began to lose patience. 

"Enough of these games," he hissed, "you're not telling the truth! You have the stone, I know it!"

Voldemort, his face contorted with anger, squinted his eyes, piercing Harry with a look of his snake eyes. 

"Stop lying, Potter! - he hissed. - I can feel it! I can feel the stone burning in your pocket!" His voice was full of rage and the room became unbearably hot. 

"Quirrell! Kill him!"

Quirrell moved forward like a marionette, his hand reaching for Harry. He was ready to do his master's bidding, but as his fingers touched Harry's skin, Quirrell let out an agonized scream. Fire, as if out of nowhere, erupted on his hands, eating the skin down to the flesh. Quirrell jerked his hands away, yelping in pain, and looked at his burned palms in horror.

At the same instant, Harry shrieked with a sharp headache. His brain felt like it had been pierced by a thousand needles. He clutched his temples with his hands and fell to his knees, unable to bear the agony. His eyes were burning and his ears were ringing. He understood nothing.

Voldemort, fueled by anger and powerlessness, hissed out

"Quirrell! You are good for nothing! Use the spell! Kill him, now!" He was willing to do anything to gain possession of the Philosopher's Stone. Quirrell, shuddering in pain and obeying his master, raised his wand, his hand trembling.

It was at this moment, when Quirrell was ready to cast a deadly spell, that Itachi decided to act. He could no longer remain in the shadows, watching what was happening. He sprang from his hiding place with lightning speed and delivered a crushing knee strike to Quirrell's torso. The blow was so hard that Quirrell flew aside, crashing into the stone wall. His body shuddered in pain and his wand fell out of his hand.

Itachi quickly looked back at Harry. He could see that the boy was still suffering from a headache and was completely unable to help himself right now. Itachi realized that he was running out of time. He needed to deal with Voldemort quickly, before he had time to come to his senses, or push Quirrell to do something new. He clenched his fists, preparing for battle. He knew it would not be an easy battle, but he was determined to protect Harry and prevent Voldemort from getting hold of the Philosopher's Stone.

Quirrell, recovering from the crushing blow, struggled to his feet, pressing his hand to his bruised side. His eyes, full of pain and rage, darted to his attacker, and he froze, recognizing him as Itachi. 

"You... you!" - Quirrell wheezed, his voice full of hatred and amazement.

Itachi, keeping his eyes on Quirrell and Voldemort, replied calmly and confidently. 

"Yes, that's me." 

Voldemort, whose snake-like face was frozen in an expression of calculating brooding, studied Itachi carefully. He realized that Quirrell, battered and frightened, was completely useless in the current situation. Fury gave way to cunning, and Voldemort's voice took on a flattering note.

" I am impressed. Your skills... they are not often seen. I see potential in you that surpasses most. You are no ordinary wizard, you are more than that."

He paused, watching Itachi's reaction, trying to read his mind. 

"Why would you waste your time and energy defending these useless weaklings? - Voldemort continued, a touch of irony in his voice. 

Dumbledore and his minions are but an obstacle on the path to greatness. You see how weak and naive they are."

Voldemort took another step forward, and his voice became velvety and seductive, like a promise of sin. 

"I suggest you stay out of my way. Step aside, and I will forget your interference. What's more, I'm offering you something more."

He tilted his head, and his red eyes seemed to glow even brighter. 

"I offer you a place among my followers. Become one of my cronies, and you will gain powers you dare not dream of. You will not just be a mage - you will be a ruler. Title, power, unlimited possibilities, it will all be in your hands. Imagine the world we could create together. We will be feared and respected. You will be one of the chosen."

Voldemort spoke slowly and persuasively, as if hypnotizing Itachi. He was trying to hurt his pride, to bribe his lust for power and win him over to his side. He thought the offer was so tempting that Itachi wouldn't be able to refuse him. He was sure that the man in front of him was a man who could appreciate true power, and that he would not pass up such an opportunity. He waited for an answer.

Itachi thought for a moment, as if considering Voldemort's offer from every angle

"No," he said, his voice sounding calm and steady, but at the same time there was an unassailable confidence in it.

 "I will not join you. Your methods are vile, and your power is but a sham."

Voldemort's face contorted, an expression of uncontrollable rage creeping across it. Like a snake whose lair had been disturbed, he hissed, his voice shaking with rage.

 "How dare you, boy! You will regret those words! You will regret refusing my offer!"

Voldemort clenched his fists, barely restraining himself from unleashing his full might on Itachi.

 "You think you're special? - he hissed, his voice becoming even more sinister," You think you can stand up to me? You're wrong! Once I'm done with you, I'll show you what true power means. I will personally make sure that you suffer."

Then, his voice grew even colder, a threat in it that sent a chill running down Itachi's spine. 

"You first," Voldemort whispered, his eyes like two red coals burning with hatred, "and then I will find your friends. I will make them beg for mercy, and they will realize the mistake they made in siding with you. I will make them see you suffer, and they will know what it means to fear me."

But Voldemort didn't stop there; it was as if he relished the opportunity to instill terror in Itachi. 

"And then," he continued, his voice turning into an icy whisper, "I will go to your parents. And they, too, will know the pain you have caused me. They will beg for death, and it will be my eternal damnation to them." Voldemort fell silent, letting his words penetrate Itachi's mind, hoping that he would be frightened and retreat. But all he saw in Itachi's eyes was calmness and determination. This infuriated him even more.

Itachi took a fighting stance and pushed all extraneous thoughts away, concentrating fully on the upcoming battle. His mind was like a lake, reflecting every movement of his opponent, every detail of his surroundings. He remembered the moment when Quirrell's hands had touched Harry, and the pain had pierced the professor's body, leaving burns on his skin. 

A faint, barely perceptible, grateful smile touched his lips. He realized that the magic surrounding Harry served as a shield of sorts, protecting him from evil. And that was probably the only reason why his plan hadn't failed miserably.

He looked at Quirrell carefully. His hands were not hands now, but charred debris, exuding a faint but palpable heat. He realized that in such a state, Quirrell would be unable to not only hold his wand, but even think normally. It made him practically useless in the coming battle, depriving Voldemort of his footing and the body with which he could conjure.

Itachi's gaze then slid to Harry. The boy was unconscious, his body shuddering with a massive headache. He was out of action, posing no threat or support. This meant that the battle now would become a one-on-one battle, a clash of his skill against Voldemort's might.

Itachi analyzed the situation and concluded that his chances of victory were great. Voldemort, though powerful, could not fully utilize his magic right now. He was chained to Quirrell's body, which was in a disgusting state. This created a unique opportunity for Itachi that he couldn't pass up. 

It was at that moment that Itachi drew his wand. His hand moved smoothly but clearly, like a skilled swordsman raising his blade. He took his time, giving himself time to focus, feeling the power flowing through his veins, ready to unleash at any moment. He was ready for battle, and his resolve was unwavering. 

Voldemort, watching Itachi take up a fighting stance, was wary for a moment. He sensed the confidence emanating from the boy, and it made him feel slightly uneasy. He realized that he was extremely vulnerable at the moment. His body was chained to Quirrell's burned and mangled body, making his wizarding abilities extremely limited. He could not move as he would have liked, and his strength was overwhelmed by the weakness of his receptacle.

Voldemort realized that in direct confrontation he was unlikely to be able to overpower even this "lowlife," as he called Itachi to himself. He was too weakened, and his magic was essentially trapped in Quirrell's damaged body. So he decided to resort to the wandless magic he had mastered to perfection during his years of dark reign. It was his only chance, his last trump card.

Voldemort concentrated, gathering all of his remaining power. He began to weave a spell, concentrating his will and anger, preparing to unleash his full power on Itachi. He already imagined the boy squirming in pain, but at the very moment he was ready to strike, Itachi attacked first.

The boy was too fast. Voldemort had not expected such a swift attack. The space between them was extremely small, and dodging the first attack was impossible. Itachi, like lightning, unleashed a barrage of spells at him, each one hitting its target. Voldemort didn't even have time to form a defense spell, let alone strike back.

Voldemort realized that he had made a mistake by underestimating his opponent. He had been overconfident, and now that overconfidence could cost him his life. 

Quirrell, though severely weakened, still managed to dodge several of Itachi's blows. But they were only brief, desperate attempts, and each such maneuver exhausted him more and more. At first it felt like a beating, merciless and useless to Voldemort, but he didn't give up. A plan matured in his mind, desperate and risky, but the only one that could succeed in such a cramped space.

Voldemort, dodging Itachi's attacks, began to slowly but methodically circle him, taking advantage of the limited space. The room they were fighting in was small, making Voldemort's maneuvers a kaleidoscope of evasions and swift movements. Itachi, for his part, tried to hold the initiative and strike preemptively, but Voldemort, like a predator waiting for the moment, backed away, not engaging in a direct confrontation. Every move, every evasion was carefully thought out, calculated to use the space against Itachi.

When Itachi launched another spell aimed at Voldemort, he ducked without thinking, and the impact of the spell bounced off the wall behind which the mirror hung. The sound of the blow and the crack of shattering glass echoed in the narrow room. That moment was decisive. Voldemort realized that his plan was working.

Voldemort, like a cunning spider weaving its web, carefully covered the reflective surface of the mirror with his body from Itachi's view. He moved methodically, diverting the young wizard's attention to himself while forcing him to concentrate on the fight. He was well aware that in open combat, in his current state, he was doomed to defeat. His only chance was to use psychological subterfuge, and the mirror was the perfect tool for him.

His plan was based on a knowledge of human nature - on curiosity and a thirst, at times, to see his deepest dreams. The Mirror of Einaledge, which was rumored to reveal the deepest desires of the soul, was the perfect bait. Voldemort was counting on the fact that at some point, while fighting and maneuvering, Itachi would give in to temptation and look into the mirror. He assumed that what he saw would cause him to freeze for a moment, immersed in his reverie.

In that moment of hesitation, with Itachi's gaze fixed on his reflection and his mind immersed in a world of illusion, Voldemort planned to strike. He foresaw that as soon as the next spell fired by Itachi bounced off the mirror, the illusion would immediately shatter. Itachi, abruptly returned from the dream world to reality, would be disoriented, he would lose his concentration and balance, even if only for a fraction of a second.

It was that split second, that hesitation, that was enough for Voldemort to attack him. He planned to use his remaining strength to lunge at Itachi, trying to knock the wand out of his hands and send it as far away as possible, thus depriving the young wizard of his main weapon. He realized that without the wand, Itachi would become virtually defenseless, and then Voldemort could either kill him.

Voldemort's plan worked perfectly. Itachi, fighting and maneuvering, did give in to curiosity and cast a fleeting glance at the mirror. He saw his deepest desires there, and froze for a moment, immersed in his reverie. In the same instant, as intended, his spell bounced off the mirror surface, shattering it into tiny shards.

Itachi, torn from his fantasy, was disoriented for a moment, and that was enough for Voldemort. With inhuman strength, he attacked with lightning speed, snatched the wand from his hand and immediately threw it far back, out of reach. He then pressed his entire body against Itachi's lean body, toppling him to the floor. Voldemort now lay on top of him, pinning the young wizard to the ground, and began to strangle him, clutching his neck with his slender fingers.

Itachi fought back desperately, clawing and trying to throw Voldemort's heavy body off of him, but his attempts were futile. Voldemort was too strong, and his grip was getting tighter by the second. Itachi began to turn blue, and his breathing became more and more intermittent.

At that moment, struggling for every breath of air, Itachi's hand fumbled for Harry's body nearby. Instantly, a thought flashed through Itachi's mind. Gathering his last bit of strength, he grabbed Harry's hand and pulled it toward Quirrell's face with a tremendous effort. He knew Harry's touch hurt, and he hoped it would give him a chance to break free of Voldemort's dead grip.

Yes, Harry's touch had worked. Voldemort, whose face was almost right up to the boy's arm, cried out in piercing, burning pain. His grip loosened, and he reflexively let go of Itachi, recoiling from Harry as if from red-hot metal. That mistake, caused by the pain, proved fatal to him.

Itachi, having gained his freedom, immediately seized the moment. Gathering the rest of his strength, he raised his leg sharply and delivered a crushing blow to Quirrell's face. The blow was so hard that Quirrell, off balance, collapsed to the floor, hitting the back of his head on the stone surface.

Without wasting a second, Itachi, realizing that he couldn't let Voldemort come to his senses, immediately pounced on him. He pinned Voldemort to the ground, keeping him immobilized. First, he used Harry's hand again, putting it to Quirrell's mangled face, causing Voldemort excruciating pain, making him scream and squirm. Then, without giving him a chance to regain consciousness, Itachi began striking Quirrell's burned face with his fists.

He struck again and again, not paying attention to how his hands were covered in bruises and abrasions. Itachi realized that now was his chance to end this once and for all, and he wasn't going to let it go.

Voldemort, in the moment of realizing that he had lost, that this boy had broken him, went into an indescribable rage. He realized that defeat was imminent, and that he could no longer remain in this tortured, suffering body. With a desperate scream, full of anger and powerlessness, he began to release himself from Quirrell's body. The black haze swirled around him like a snake, gathering into a dark, shimmering ball, and then, with a sharp pop, it burst from the professor's body and soared upward toward the ceiling.

He, like a ghost, quickly moved to the other side of the room, and then vanished into thin air. At the last moment, his voice echoed in Itachi's mind, full of hatred and a promise of revenge. "You'll pay for this yet, boy! - Voldemort hissed, his voice echoing in the empty room. 

 "I will never forget this humiliation! I will return, and you will suffer as no one has ever suffered before!"

Itachi, noticing the black haze with Voldemort's body rising towards the ceiling, tried to attack him, but his body betrayed him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, and his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, gasping and spitting blood. His eyes began to blur and he could barely make out his surroundings. He realized that he had missed the moment, that his body was weaker and more vulnerable than ever. And, of course, he realized that Voldemort had flown away.

Itachi, through the shroud of pain, realized that he had failed. He had failed to kill Voldemort, he had only delayed his return. That thought weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had failed in his mission, he had allowed evil to break free. Gathering the last of his strength, Itachi, with difficulty, began groping Harry's body, trying to find the Philosopher's Stone. His fingers trembled and his breathing was ragged, but he didn't give up. Finally, he fumbled for a cold, hard object - the stone. His heart filled with a faint sense of relief. At least it was salvageable, he had accomplished at least some part of his mission.

Then, he shifted his gaze uneasily to Quirrell. What he saw was horrible. The professor's face was turned into a bloody mess, disfigured beyond recognition. It was obvious that he was dead, and that this was the end of his worthless life. Itachi felt his strength finally leaving him, but he tried to hold on, realizing that he had to somehow get out of this place and report what had happened. But it wasn't that important anymore, because now his body needed urgent medical attention.

Itachi, barely containing the pain, quickly checked on Harry. He made sure that the boy was breathing, though unconscious, and that he was generally alive. That reassured him a little, but time was woefully short. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible before anyone came and saw him, much less his connection to this place. He knew he didn't need to be seen here. 

He walked, leaning against the walls and trying not to stumble. He realized that every second counted, and that he needed to get to a safe place where he could catch his breath and tend to his wounds. He struggled through the corridors and stairs, his breathing heavy and intermittent, but he didn't give up. 

Itachi barely made it to the exit of the dungeons. He looked around, making sure no one was around, and slipped outside into the silence of the night.

Itachi, exhausted from the battle and his wounds, dragged his feet with difficulty through the endless corridors of Hogwarts, heading for the eighth floor. Each step felt like a heavy burden, his muscles burning, and the wounds he had received in the battle with Voldemort throbbed with infernal pain. His head was buzzing and dizzy, and his vision was blurring with each passing second. He realized that his condition would not allow him to simply walk past the Picture Lady guarding the entrance to Slytherin's sitting room. Any attempt to explain his current appearance would sound implausible and raise a host of uncomfortable questions that he had neither the energy nor the desire to answer. It was simply unrealistic to pass unnoticed into the dormitory.

But the way to the eighth floor, where he hoped to find the saving room, was also fraught with danger. He could run into Filch at any moment, the vigilant and suspicious housekeeper, who wouldn't mind reporting him to Professor McGonagall for wandering the corridors at such a late hour. And the professor herself could have shown up at any moment, her keen eye certain to notice his unhealthy appearance. Nor could he forget about the ghosts of Hogwarts, who were known to like wandering around the castle in search of entertainment. In his current state, he risked running into their taunts and questioning, which he simply couldn't handle. Besides, he realized that in such a state he might not make it to the Room of Requirement, having exhausted himself in the endless corridors and passing out halfway there.

His strength was rapidly draining away from him. His legs felt as if they were filled with lead, and his body felt unsteady and woozy. He could no longer control his movements, and his breathing became intermittent and heavy. Itachi felt his body lose its balance and he began to fall down towards the cold stone floor. The battle with Voldemort had drained him of all his juices, the unabsorbed medication he had to take immediately after the fight, and the debilitating hunger since he hadn't eaten anything since morning, and the overuse of transfiguration had only exacerbated his condition, pushing him to his limits.

But before he could touch the hard floor, he felt someone's soft hands pick him up. The hands were warm and gentle, and for a moment Itachi felt relieved. Before he could be surprised or frightened, the world around him began to blur and darken. The sounds faded and his consciousness left him, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely at the mercy of fate and whoever had caught him.