"Snape's magic," Harry said. "What should we do?"
As soon as the four of them stepped over the threshold, a wall of purple flames shot up behind them, sealing the entrance. At the same time, black flames flared up at the door ahead. They were trapped between the two firewalls.
"Look!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing a scroll of parchment placed beside the bottles. Augustus stood behind her, reading along as she began:
Danger lies ahead, safety lies behind. Among us are two that can help you. Drink from them—one will guide you forward, the other will return you to where you began. Two contain nettle wine. Three are killers, lying in wait. Choose carefully, unless you wish to remain here forever. Here are four clues to help you decide:
The poison hides to the left of the nettle wine.
The bottles at either end hold nothing of use. If you wish to go forward, avoid them both.
The bottles vary in size—there is no death in the largest or the smallest.
The second on the left and the second on the right may look different, but their contents are identical.
"How interesting. This seems to involve Muggle-style logical reasoning," Augustus commented, intrigued.
Hermione exhaled deeply, a smile breaking across her face. Harry was astonished—he couldn't imagine smiling under these circumstances.
"Yes," Hermione said, "this isn't magic—it's logic. A puzzle. Most wizards don't have the skills for logical deduction. They'd be trapped here forever."
"It seems Miss Granger is particularly adept at this," Augustus remarked, glancing at Hermione, who was now absorbed in studying the clues. "In that case, we'll leave this challenge to you."
"Just give me a minute—one minute should be enough," Hermione muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the bottles as she re-read the parchment. She pointed at the bottles and murmured to herself. Finally, she clapped her hands in triumph.
"Got it," she said. "This smallest bottle will let us pass through the black flames to reach the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry looked at the unassuming small bottle. "There's barely enough for one," he said.
"Which bottle gets you through the purple flames and back?" Augustus asked.
Hermione pointed to the round bottle on the far right.
"Then here's the plan: Hermione, Ron, you both drink from the bottle that lets you return, cross the purple flames, and go back to the dormitories. Wait there for news. Harry will drink the one for moving forward, and I'll accompany him through the black flames directly," Augustus proposed.
Hermione and Ron nodded. No matter what lay ahead, as long as Harry was with Augustus, they were certain he'd be safe.
"Be careful, both of you," Hermione said, glancing at them one last time before lifting the round bottle and taking a large gulp. She shivered as the liquid took effect. Ron followed suit, drinking his share.
"Good luck—be careful—"
"Go!"
The two turned and passed through the purple flames.
Harry took a deep breath, grabbed the smallest bottle, and faced the black flames. "Here I go," he said, draining the bottle in one swig.
The liquid felt like ice, spreading through his body in an instant. As he stepped forward, black flames licked at his body, but he felt nothing. For a moment, his vision was filled with darkness. Then, he emerged on the other side into the final room.
Augustus cast a Vanishing Spell, his body gradually fading into the air until he became invisible. Walking through the black flames, they brushed harmlessly against his robes, as though they were docile pets.
Inside the room, Augustus scanned the area. At the center stood not Snape—nor even Voldemort.
It was Quirrell.
"You!" Harry gasped, his voice shaking.
Quirrell smiled, his face now devoid of its usual nervous twitch. "Yes, it's me," he said calmly. "I was wondering if I'd meet you here, Potter."
"So it was you all along. Of course—who would suspect the stuttering, timid Quirrell of being the mastermind behind the theft of the Philosopher's Stone? Your act was convincing, even fooling Dumbledore," Harry said, adjusting his glasses with surprising composure.
"Exactly. Everyone sees me as the fragile, pitiable Quirrell. People sympathized with me, trusted me. Who would think that I'd be after the Philosopher's Stone? Amusing, isn't it? Reality is often harsher than appearances. Beneath the surface lies the unbelievable truth. To play the weakling for so long and finally reveal the truth—it's exhilarating."
Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes shot through the air, binding Harry tightly.
"You meddle too much, Potter. I can't let you live any longer. On Halloween night, you roamed the school. I knew then you saw me checking the Stone's defenses."
"You let the troll in?"
"Of course. Trolls are my specialty—you've seen how I dealt with the one in the previous room, haven't you? Unfortunately, while everyone was busy dealing with the troll, Snape—who already suspected me—rushed to the fourth floor to stop me. And not only did my troll fail to kill you, Potter, but that three-headed dog didn't even maim Snape!"
"Well, Potter, stay quiet now. I need to examine this intriguing mirror."
Only then did Harry notice what stood behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.
"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping its frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with such a thing. But he's far away in London now. By the time he returns, I'll be long gone."
From the shadows, Augustus observed the mirror, his eyes narrowing with a hint of profound intrigue. The Mirror of Erised—a nexus of dreams and subconscious desires. In a sense, it represented the collective unconscious, the culmination of unspoken truths and aspirations. Augustus thought of its potential as a catastrophic artifact, capable of rivaling even Pandora's Box if used maliciously.
"Well, well," Augustus mused silently, his lips curling into a faint smile. "This journey is turning out to be far more rewarding than I anticipated."
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