Inside lay the creature he had arranged—a massive mountain troll, larger than the one he had released on Halloween.
"God, it reeks!" Quirrell recoiled, covering his nose against the overwhelming stench of the troll. Even he, accustomed to the pungent aroma of garlic, found it intolerable.
Upon hearing the door open, the troll, bored from months of confinement, perked up with anticipation, expecting a visitor.
Despite the door swinging open, no one entered. Perplexed, the troll sniffed the air, detecting Quirrell's presence.
Approaching cautiously, the troll wore a puzzled expression, its curiosity piqued.
"Stay back!" Quirrell commanded, suppressing the urge to retch. With a swift flick of his wand, he cast a stunning spell, causing the troll's head to swell comically before it collapsed in a dazed heap.
A large, bloody lump protruded from its head, adding a bizarre touch to the scene.
Hastening through the room, Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief.
"What's the point of this foolish creature? Dumbledore must be losing his mind..." Quirrell muttered, a sense of unease creeping over him.
Was Dumbledore truly foolish? No, that couldn't be the case. Voldemort's fear of him attested to Dumbledore's formidable intellect.
So, what was Dumbledore's endgame in all of this?
Sprout's Devil's Web, Flitwick's Key Array, McGonagall's Magic Chess—Quirrell found them all rather straightforward.
"Also, I seem to have seen a broomstick in the key array..."
A sudden shudder ran through Quirrell, some doubts beginning to creep in. However, he was already committed and knew there was no turning back.
"I want to see what tricks he plays!" Determination gleamed in Quirrell's eyes as he advanced into the next room.
As he stepped forward, a purple flame erupted from the entrance behind him, and a black flame rose from the exit in front of the room.
"black flame?" Quirrell muttered, recalling tales of Grindelwald's attempt to destroy Paris with similar dark fire.
"What the hell is Dumbledore up to?" Quirrell wondered briefly, pushing the thought aside as he examined the contents of the room.
A long table adorned with seven bottles seized Quirrell's attention. "Snape's handiwork..." he muttered, reaching for the parchment resting on the table. A sense of unease stirred within him, intensifying with each passing moment.
If Dumbledore's true intent was to safeguard the Philosopher's Stone, why provide a clue? The black flames were notorious for reducing even the most esteemed wizards to ashes.
"Why offer a clue unless it's meant to allow passage?" Quirrell pondered aloud, his eyes darting over the cryptic instructions before swiftly deducing the solution.
A distinguished alumnus of Ravenclaw, Quirrell excelled in the art of logical deduction. Selecting the smallest bottle with resolve, he took a measured sip and confidently stepped into the engulfing black flames.
To his relief, no assault befell him.
"Just as I suspected!" Quirrell breathed, advancing into the final chamber, meticulously crafted by Dumbledore himself.
"Let's see... Huh?"
Quirrell stood dumbfounded in the empty room, his search yielding nothing. Unbeknownst to him, Dumbledore had concealed the Philosopher's Stone within the Mirror of Erised, now housed in a chamber within the castle—a chamber Harry visited regularly in secret.
"Master..." Quirrell began, but Voldemort's voice cut him off.
"Dumbledore... Hehehe..." Voldemort's laughter dripped with contempt as Quirrell recounted his futile quest. Voldemort's fury was palpable, his sense of betrayal by Dumbledore seething beneath the surface.
"No wonder he allowed that imbecile Hagrid to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, no wonder he constructed these meaningless obstacles! He was toying with me!" Voldemort's voice thundered with rage.
Quirrell trembled in fear as Voldemort continued, his tone chillingly calculating, "I suspect Dumbledore orchestrated this trap deliberately to ensnare the vermin scurrying through the castle. Fortunately, you had imbibed the invisibility potion..."
Voldemort's voice trailed off, leaving an air of uncertainty before he spoke again, "Return."
Forced to retrace his steps, Quirrell drank the potion from the round bottle, allowing him to pass through the previously impassable purple flames.
Navigating through the labyrinthine rooms, Quirrell found himself back at fluffy's side. He reached for the music box, realizing he had missed something earlier—a note tucked inside.
Having been focused on the challenges, he hadn't noticed it before.
Casting a glance at the slumbering Fluffy, Quirrell unfolded the note. It bore a message, "If you find nothing, try looking into the mirror - Saruman."
"Looking into the mirror? What could it mean? Did Saruman anticipate that I wouldn't locate the Philosopher's Stone?" Quirrell pondered, his mind wrestling with the mysterious directive.
Considering the note, he contemplated the possibility of special mirrors within Hogwarts. "It couldn't be in the bathroom..." he mused, trying to determine which bathroom to raide.
.....
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