Viktor began to descend silently into the final chamber. Below, he saw Harry and Hermione, who were standing face to face with Quirrell.
— Wait, shouldn't Hermione stay with Ron according to the canon? Why is she here too? — a thought flashed through Viktor's mind. He sighed in annoyance and whispered: — It seems the training made her too brave. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. — He shook his head. While he was pondering, Hermione and Harry attempted to flee, but a wall of scorching flame ignited and grew before them, cutting off their escape.
Viktor snapped out of his thoughts, dispelled the Disillusionment Charm, clapped his cheeks, and said loudly:
— Well, here's my cue! I should have brought the speaker to make an entrance with epic music.
Although he said it was time, his legs wouldn't move. Something inside him didn't want to go in. His heart began to beat faster, and his breathing quickened. He was afraid. But he wasn't afraid of Quirrell, or of death. He was afraid of losing, of being weaker. Viktor knew perfectly well that he wasn't the strongest in this world yet—there was Dumbledore, there was Voldemort, Grindelwald. But if he lost to a common second-rate villain, it would shatter his mentality, his inner core.
While he was fighting this familiar feeling of panic, a small copy of himself, who was clearly very displeased with him, appeared right in front of him, enveloped in flames. The little Viktor pointed at him, then at the room beyond the wall of flame, motioning for him to move. Viktor immediately calmed down, but frowned with annoyance and said:
— Don't tell me what to do, I would have figured it out myself!
The little Viktor stared at him, clearly not believing his words. He motioned for him to move again, but this time, he demonstrated more specifically what he needed to do with his gestures. The gestures were not entirely decent, especially the way he moved his hips and hands. 👉👌
Viktor raised an eyebrow and said with a smirk:
— Yes, yes, go and fuck him... You know, a child shouldn't be showing that.
To which the little Viktor just smirked.
— And you know, what you're showing looks more like being gay, — Viktor added.
The little Viktor gave him a look of disapproval and shook his head in displeasure.
— What? Don't look at me like that. I have nothing against gay people; I'm just straight, and that doesn't work for me.
Then the little Viktor showed him a statuette of Themis with a sword and scales in her hands.
— Are you trying to say you'll sue me with that? Ha, how? If only I can see you! — Viktor laughed. The little Viktor looked at the statuette in his hands and threw it away in annoyance, then turned and vanished.
— Fine, enough dilly-dallying. — He pulled up his hood, which cast his face in shadow, and resolutely stepped into the wall of flame, which didn't burn him at all.
— You?! — Harry exhaled, his eyes wide with shock when he saw Quirrell's face.
— But... but Snape! — Hermione began, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Quirrell turned around, and a malevolent, unnatural grin appeared on his face.
— Yes, appearances can be deceiving! Who would suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell with him around? — His voice now sounded firm, without a hint of a stutter, which made it even more chilling.
— But that day, at the Quidditch match, Snape was trying to kill me, — Harry retorted.
— No, he was trying to save you, — Quirrell countered, his eyes flashing. — It was I who wanted to kill you, and if his robe hadn't caught on fire, I would have succeeded.
Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Harry clenched his fists.
— The Philosopher's Stone! Where is it?! — Harry demanded, his voice trembling, but he held his ground.
Quirrell chuckled, his gaze shifting to the Mirror of Erised.
— The Stone is here, in the mirror. But I cannot get it. My master... he is too weak to simply take it. He can only show me where it is. And for that, I need you, Harry Potter.
At this moment, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. They realized that Quirrell couldn't get the Stone and tried to escape. But Quirrell raised his hand, and a circle of bright, orange flame instantly flared and enclosed Harry and Hermione, serving as an insurmountable barrier. They were trapped. Fear pierced them, but their resolve was also strengthened.
— We'll never help you! — Hermione cried, pulling out her wand.
— Silence, mudblood! — Quirrell hissed, his eyes flashing red. — You, Potter, come to me NOW.
Harry slowly began to walk forward.
— Don't! — Hermione tried to stop him, but he didn't listen and slowly approached the mirror.
— Tell me what you see, — Quirrell asked when Harry reached the mirror.
Harry, looking into the mirror, saw himself putting the red stone into his pocket. Feeling his pants, he realized the Stone was indeed there.
— What's in there? What do you see? — Quirrell asked impatiently, his voice trembling with anticipation.
Harry, frightened, began to lie:
— I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. He's congratulating me on winning the Quidditch Cup.
— He is lying! Let me speak to him! — a raspy, weakened voice rang out from behind Quirrell.
— Master, you are not strong enough, — Quirrell said worriedly.
— I have enough strength for this!
Quirrell began to slowly untie his turban until a horrifying, twisted face appeared, which sent shivers down Harry and Hermione's spines.
— Harry Potter! We meet again!
— Voldemort! — Harry exclaimed in surprise.
— Yes, you see what I've been reduced to, — Voldemort's voice was full of contempt. — Living as a parasite, drinking unicorn blood to survive, but it just won't let me die. And what you have in your pocket will help resurrect me completely. Give me the Stone!
— NEVER! — Harry shouted, backing away.
Hermione, acting as Viktor had taught her in the fight club, waited for Quirrell to be distracted and tried to launch a surprise attack.
— Incendio! — she cried, pointing her spell at Quirrell.
With a slight wave of his hand, Quirrell redirected Hermione's spell to the side and knocked the wand from her hand.
— You have very brave friends, willing to do anything for you, — he hissed with a sneer. — Let's see what you're willing to do for them. What will you choose: the Philosopher's Stone or your friend?
Panic appeared in Harry's eyes. Quirrell, wanting to show the seriousness of the situation, sent the Cruciatus Curse at Hermione, but right at the moment of impact, a magical shield appeared in front of her.
— Girls, having fun without me? Wait, I think I've seen this before! — a loud voice boomed. Viktor, walking through the flames, dramatically threw back his hood, revealing his face. — History is repeating itself, Quirrell... Bleegh! — All the seriousness vanished as Viktor, without finishing, bent over and tried not to throw up. — God, I'm sorry, but that's just disgusting. Can you cover up that monstrosity? I don't know, put on a hat or tie the turban back! — Viktor calmed down, taking a deep breath. — Okay, I'm composed, we can continue. I was saying, history... NO, I can't, I won't say anything until you cover up that abomination on your head!
Quirrell, unable to bear the humiliation, hissed viciously:
— You again! — He pointed his wand at him, saying: — Avada Kedavra!
Viktor easily leaned to the side, dodging the green beam, and smiled:
— Shall we dance?