Voldemort and Quirrell's anguished cries mingled as one.
That punch didn't just deal physical damage—it struck at their very soul.
Harry keenly sensed Voldemort's aura faltering, his magic ebbing and flowing weakly as he struggled to sustain himself.
Was this what Dumbledore had been waiting for?
Decisive as ever, Harry slapped his palm against Voldemort's slimy face on Quirrell's back. Gripping the greasy back of his head, he muttered, "Quirrell, you really should wash your hair—this is disgusting!"
Hisssss—
The searing sound of burning flesh echoed loudly.
Harry's scar flared in excruciating pain, and flashes of the fateful night returned to his mind.
The images became clearer.
A man willingly sacrificing himself to block a Killing Curse, a woman pleading desperately, her red hair disheveled like lifeless autumn willows.
He could hear Voldemort's breathing, that maniacal laughter, and the cold utterance of "Avada Kedavra."
Voldemort's screams echoed louder, his magic faltering beyond repair.
The black snakes slithered away, and the vines binding Harry's sword hand also unraveled.
Freed, Harry shoved his sword back into the Sorting Hat. Then, with both hands, he pressed them firmly against Voldemort's face.
His headache grew worse.
Voldemort's screams became even more agonized.
"Idiot! Fool!" Voldemort cursed. Suddenly, Harry felt the heat dissipate from his palms, and the pain in his scar ebbed away.
The spell had failed?
Harry raised his head.
A swirl of black mist rose from Quirrell's head, coalescing into a dark, grotesque face—the soul form of Voldemort himself!
Voldemort had abandoned Quirrell's body.
Harry shoved Quirrell aside and slammed his palm to the floor—a purple glow flared. It was the Yrden Sign.
"What have you done to me?" Voldemort's voice quivered in fear.
His soul felt sluggish and overly sensitive.
Harry swung a slap toward the specter. Hissss!
Voldemort let out an agonized shriek, the pain amplified exponentially.
Harry drew his silver sword to deliver the killing blow, but Voldemort's mist-like form escaped in the nick of time.
The dark soul chanted an incantation, speeding away as black smoke, vanishing into the depths of the room.
"Dumbledore, stop him!" Harry shouted.
But no one intervened.
He could only watch helplessly as the black mist seeped into the walls and disappeared.
The room was left with Quirrell, half-dead, Harry, and the lingering stench of dark magic.
Harry pulled out a vial of Dittany and smeared it on the back of Quirrell's head. He didn't know if it would work, but it was the only solution he could think of at the moment.
"Dumbledore, stop hiding!" Harry shouted louder. "Quirrell's dying!"
Moments later, a figure appeared beside the Mirror of Erised. The elderly wizard looked at Harry with a hint of surprise.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Why didn't you stop Voldemort?" Harry spat angrily, glaring at him.
Dumbledore shook his head. "In his current state, it's better to leave him as a fragmented soul. If we kill him now and he regenerates somewhere else, he might become stronger… That would be disastrous."
"Or you could try actually killing him for good," Harry retorted, applying another layer of Dittany to Quirrell's wounds.
Dumbledore shook his head again. "I cannot."
Harry arched a brow. "The greatest white wizard can't finish off a dark wizard who couldn't even beat me?"
"Did Snape fill your head with dung instead of logic?"
"The prophecy says only you can kill him," Dumbledore replied solemnly.
Harry frowned. "You really believe in prophecy?"
Dumbledore said nothing. He turned to glance at the Mirror of Erised, and for a fleeting moment, Harry caught a complex expression—nostalgia, regret, and melancholy.
He knew that look all too well.
Back at Kaer Morhen, Geralt had the same expression whenever he mentioned Triss.
"Seems like you and some seer had a thing?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, please spare me. Severus has already scolded me more than once, thinking I told you things I didn't. If you dig into my past too, I won't have anyone to take it out on."
Harry nodded knowingly. "So, she's alive, but you can't see her anymore for some reason?"
Dumbledore froze for a moment. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"
Harry pulled the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket, holding Gryffindor's sword in the other hand. "Let's talk about this instead."
"What are you doing?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.
Harry tossed the stone between his fingers. "You don't trust me, Dumbledore."
"I trust you implicitly," Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
"You're testing me—or should I say, judging me," Harry continued, stepping closer. "Saving Quirrell was just an excuse. You don't care whether he lives or dies. You haven't even looked at him since appearing."
"Even when I was treating Quirrell, your eyes stayed on me the whole time."
Dumbledore didn't step back; instead, he stepped forward. "He chose to align with Voldemort, didn't he?"
"You used that as an excuse to refuse my request." Harry ignored him and continued, "You wanted me to face Voldemort—not to see how the curse worked."
"You wanted to know what kind of person I am."
Harry paused, then threw the Philosopher's Stone at Dumbledore's head.
Just before it hit, the stone stopped mid-air, suspended.
"You wanted to know if I, too, would desire the Philosopher's Stone," Harry pressed the sword against Dumbledore's chest. "If I'm a kindly, trustworthy person, or secretly ambitious and ruthless."
Dumbledore smiled faintly, taking the red stone into his hand. "You're certainly not kind, and your tongue rivals Severus's sharpness."
"This habit of yours—thinking everyone else is an idiot—gets on my nerves," Harry sneered. "Did this whole plan start before I even enrolled?"
"What makes you think that?" Dumbledore's gaze grew deeper.
"Voldemort may be damaged, but I'm not stupid," Harry said coldly. "Everything was too convenient."
"If I hadn't noticed all these details and confronted you…"
"I might have just learned from Hagrid about the Gringotts robbery and the stone. Maybe, even if I didn't ask for my inheritance, you'd have handed me the Invisibility Cloak. Then you'd nudge me toward Fluffy, hinting that the Philosopher's Stone was there."
"Then I'd discover Quirrell's plot, try to warn you and McGonagall, only to be dissuaded—leaving me to believe only I could stop him."
"You're perceptive, but don't you think you're overthinking things?" Dumbledore smiled slightly.
Harry's expression didn't change. "Then explain this…"
"Why use Devil's Snare?"
"I've seen better magical plants in the Forbidden Forest."
"And why leave antidotes and clues on the table in the previous room?"
"Convincing Snape to set that up must've taken some effort."
"Don't tell me this was just a creative end-of-term exam?"
Dumbledore nodded. "You're smart and calm, but could you lower the sword? It's rather uncomfortable."
Harry sneered but didn't move.
"Let me explain," Dumbledore spread his hands. "You're the Boy Who Lived, the wizarding world's savior, and extraordinarily gifted…"
"I worried you might stray from the right path. After all, the last person I failed to understand brought great tragedy."
"Voldemort?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dumbledore nodded, about to say more when—
The black flames at the door dissipated.
A man in black robes stormed in, his gaze sweeping over the scene. He stopped, staring.
"Potter! And Dumbledore! What kind of farce is this?"
"Granger told me you were going to stop the Dark Lord—something about an agreement with Dumbledore!"
Harry replied, "I stopped him, but Dumbledore let him escape."
"Dumbledore!" Snape growled through clenched teeth, gripping his wand tighter. "Has your brain turned to syrup?"
"How could you let him into Hogwarts?"
Harry interjected, "He's been attached to Quirrell's head this whole time. Dumbledore didn't tell you?"
"Ah, I see," Snape sneered. "Potter, it seems our beloved headmaster sees me as nothing more than a reckless swordsman like you."
"Severus, let me explain
…" Dumbledore began, raising a hand.
Harry interrupted. "I think it's time Dumbledore learned a lesson."
"For once, you've had a sensible idea," Snape said coldly. "I'm relieved my efforts in teaching you haven't been entirely wasted."
Snape flicked his wand. "Sectumsempra!"
Harry lunged forward, pressing his sword to Dumbledore's chest.
Crash!
Dumbledore's form dissolved into flames. Harry's sword pierced nothing, and Snape's curse hit empty air.
Both attacks hurtled toward the Mirror of Erised.
"Wait, don't break the mirror," Dumbledore reappeared on the other side, waving his wand. The air filled with heavy tension; Harry and Snape froze.
Dumbledore stepped forward and tapped the mirror.
It vanished.
Another wave of his wand freed Harry and halted Snape's curse mid-flight.
The curse struck the wall, leaving a deep gouge.
"Now, let's continue," Dumbledore said with a serene smile.
Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Snape sheathed his wand.
Professor McGonagall rushed in, flustered, followed by a group of hopping chess pieces.
"Potter! Are you alright? Weasley told me…"
She entered and froze at the sight of Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, and the prone Quirrell.
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Powerstones?
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