The Gryffindor common room was empty. The fireplace cast a faint glow on the armchairs and walls covered in red and gold. Harry, Hermione, and Ron gathered by the window.
"If Dumbledore isn't here..." Harry murmured, staring into the fire, "then the Stone is unprotected."
"Not exactly," Hermione corrected, holding a thick book to her chest. "There are still the teachers' spells. But if someone tries to steal it tonight... no one will stop them."
Ron rubbed his hands nervously.
"I can't believe we're going to do this," he said quietly.
"We can't leave it to others," Harry said firmly.
Hermione looked down, her face tense, but finally nodded.
"Then it will be tonight. We'll go together."
The three made a silent pact. In their eyes was only the resolve of those who know there may be no turning back.
Night enveloped the castle in a strange silence. The corridors were empty, the torches crackling too loudly. Harry led the way, the invisibility cloak hanging over the three of them. Their footsteps echoed softly against the floor.
The third floor awaited them. The door was locked, but that was no obstacle for Hermione, who quickly cast Alohomora to open the lock.
Inside, they were greeted by a roar. Fluffy, the three-headed dog, raised his snouts in anger, but soon his heavy eyes fell at the sound of a reed flute that Hermione pulled out with trembling hands.
"Hurry," Ron whispered, watching as the heads began to slowly lower.
Without a second thought, the three of them slid toward the trapdoor beneath the monster's paws. Harry was the first to drop down, followed by Ron and then Hermione.
They fell into a sticky, suffocating tangle. The Devil's Snare vines immediately closed around their bodies. Hermione struggled, but the more they moved, the tighter the vines squeezed.
"Don't move!" she cried, her voice breaking. "The more you struggle, the faster it catches you!"
Harry and Ron stood still. Hermione closed her eyes, recalling the pages of a book.
"Fire!" she exclaimed. "We need fire!"
With a nervous flick of her wand, she conjured small flames that devoured the vines, freeing them. Air rushed back into their lungs with a painful jolt.
"I'll never trust a plant again," Ron muttered, coughing as he sat up.
The next room glowed with the beating of hundreds of wings. Dozens of enchanted keys flew at full speed, like a swarm of insects. At the back, a closed door awaited.
Harry ran to the broomsticks lined up against the wall.
"Only one key fits," he said, mounting his own. "The one with the damaged wings!"
The three rose into the air and began chasing the keys. Harry fixed his gaze on a silver key with a twisted wing. He lunged after it, dodging the blows of the other keys that attacked him like blades. With a final push, he reached out and grabbed it, barely avoiding it hitting him in the face.
Ron and Hermione covered him as he inserted the key into the lock. The mechanism gave way with a click.
The door opened onto a huge torch-lit room, in the center of which stood a chessboard with gigantic stone pieces. The air was thick with an imposing, ancient magical aura.
Ron swallowed hard.
"Seriously... but maybe yes."
With a smile, he stepped forward.
"We have to play."
The stone pieces stared at them, like soldiers awaiting orders. Ron took command of a knight, Hermione took her place on the rook, and Harry took the bishop's place.
The game began. Each move echoed throughout the room. When a piece was defeated, it was violently smashed. Hermione shuddered as she watched an enemy knight being smashed to pieces.
The confrontation dragged on, each move more dangerous than the last. Finally, Ron fixed his gaze on the board and spoke in a grave voice.
"Harry... Hermione... to win, I have to sacrifice myself."
"No!" protested Hermione.
"It's the only way," Ron said calmly, which was surprising coming from him. "You have to continue."
The knight he was riding moved forward, challenging the enemy queen. The piece struck him with devastating force, and Ron was thrown to the floor, unconscious.
"Ron!" Hermione cried, but Harry held her arm.
"We don't have time. He knew that."
With heavy hearts, they made their final move. The enemy king fell to his knees and collapsed heavily to the ground. The door opened.
The last chamber greeted them with an unsettling sight: black flames blocked the only way forward. On a stone table, jars lined up and a scroll with a riddle awaited them.
Hermione read it quickly, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of a logical challenge.
"It seems to be a riddle that requires... logic," she whispered.
She carefully chose the correct vials.
"This one will allow you to move forward, Harry. The other one is for going back. I'll go back and take Ron to a safe place. You must continue."
Harry looked at her with gratitude and sadness, but did not argue. He took the vial, drank it, and felt an icy coldness run through his veins.
The black flames parted before him, leaving a narrow path. With steady steps, he entered the darkness.
The echo of his footsteps was his only companion in the absolute silence. Harry gripped his wand, knowing that the real battle awaited him on the other side.
The door closed behind him with a dull thud. What awaited him... was not at all what he had imagined.
The final chamber was large, gloomy, and icy. In the center, a tall, ornate mirror stood like a forgotten guardian. Its surface reflected pale reflections of the flames burning on the walls.
Harry moved forward cautiously, his wand trembling in his hand. His footsteps echoed too loudly in that room.
Suddenly, a broken voice emerged from the darkness.
"How brave... Potter."
A hunched figure emerged from the shadows. Harry opened his eyes in disbelief.
"P-Professor Quirrell?"
What he saw froze him. It wasn't the somewhat proud man who taught classes. His skin was pale with green tones, almost translucent, as if his flesh were rotting while he was still alive. His cheeks were sunken, his lips dry and cracked. Every movement seemed to take great effort, as if his bones were creaking under the weight of his own body.
Quirrell smiled, a grotesque grimace.
"Surprised... eh?"
Harry raised his wand, but his breathing became agitated. The professor looked more like a living corpse than a human being.
"Why...?" Harry stammered.
The answer came as a hiss that made his skin crawl. It wasn't Quirrell's somewhat dry voice, but something darker, which seemed to come from every corner of the chamber.
"There never was a Professor Quirrell."
Harry took a step back. The words of that voice enveloped him, attacking his mind like poison.
"Are you... Voldemort?"
A dry laugh echoed, broken but full of pride.
"Yes. I am Lord Voldemort. This shell is just a vessel... a puppet I use because my true body was taken from me. I need the Stone," his sunken eyes gleamed with greed, "so I can finally be reborn."
Harry gripped his wand, his heart pounding.
"I won't let you have it."
Quirrell's withered face tensed, a dead smile crossing his face, revealing yellowed teeth.
"You're just a child, Potter. You can't stop me. The Stone will be mine... and with it, I will regain my form and my true power."
The air grew colder. The mirror behind Voldemort reflected not only Quirrell's cadaverous figure, but also a shadow, one that held a secret that both of them craved.
Harry swallowed hard, sensing that the real confrontation had just begun.
The silence in the chamber was broken by an angry shout. Voldemort stared at the mirror, panting inside Quirrell's cracked body.
"The Stone... it's here. I can feel it."
Harry looked at his own reflection in the Mirror of Erised. In it, he saw himself holding the Stone and putting it in his pocket. Looking down, he realized with a slight shudder that the Stone was really there, hidden in his robe.
Quirrell's sunken eyes glowed when he noticed it. Voldemort hissed, desperate.
"Give it to me, Potter! Give it to me!"
The man raised his wand, but his arm would not respond, unable to hold the spell. The flesh of the body he inhabited no longer obeyed him. Voldemort growled, frustration shattering what little remained of his sanity.
Harry did not wait. With a cry, he lunged at him. The effect was immediate. Upon touching him, Quirrell's skin began to burn like dry ash. The body convulsed, the flesh cracked, and an inhuman scream echoed through the chamber.
"No!" Voldemort shouted in rage and pain. "I am Lord Voldemort! I will not fall to a child again!"
But it was too late. Every inch of Quirrell's body turned to dust, drifting away into the air as if it had never existed. Within seconds, the shell collapsed into a gray cloud, disappearing completely.
A wind swept through the room. A dark shadow, filled with magic, emerged from the remains. Voldemort, reduced once again to a specter, rose above Harry.
His voice boomed like thunder, filled with hatred.
"Don't think you've won, Potter! One day I will kill you! I swear it!"
The specter lunged at him with fury, piercing his body in a whirlwind. Harry felt the air leave him, his chest compress, the cold of death itself pierce him. Then, with a heart-rending roar, the specter lunged toward the chamber's exit and escaped, piercing the castle walls at great speed.
Silence returned. The dust of what had been Quirrell slowly settled on the floor of the room. Harry, trembling, collapsed to his knees, gasping in the loneliness of the chamber.
He had faced it and survived... at least for now.
The dust from what was once Quirrell still floated in the air when a silhouette crossed the entrance to the chamber. His steps were calm, calculated, as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment.
Aurelian advanced calmly, his eyes shining in the light of the slowly dying flames. He saw Harry stagger, gasping for breath, still reeling from his clash with Voldemort.
"Too weak," Aurelian whispered to himself.
He raised his wand with a precise gesture. A silent spell struck the boy on the forehead. Harry barely managed to open his eyes before collapsing unconscious on the floor.
Aurelian bent down calmly, checked the boy's robe, and found the Philosopher's Stone. It glowed in his hand like a strong red color, vivid, pulsing with ancient power.
A quiet smile spread across his face.
"Everything went as it should. They paved the way, I reap the rewards."
He carefully tucked the Stone away, sealing the pocket of his robe with a protective spell. Then, with the same calmness with which he had arrived, he walked away from the chamber, leaving Harry behind, unconscious and without the object that symbolized his victory.
The white light in the infirmary blinded him when he opened his eyes. Harry sat up slowly, his body still trembling, and the faint smell of potions confirmed where he was.
A calm voice greeted him.
"I see you're awake, Harry."
At his side, sitting with the composure of someone who watches patiently, was Albus Dumbledore. His brown hair and thick beard accentuated his features, his eyes watching him with great intensity, his mere presence filling the room silently. He was a Archmage at the height of his power.
"Professor..." Harry murmured, his throat dry.
Dumbledore looked at him gently.
"Don't worry. It's all over now... for now. But I need to ask you something, Harry." He leaned toward him. "Do you know what happened to the Stone?"
Harry blinked, confused. He reached into the pocket of his robe.
"I... I had it with me. I saw it in the mirror, when I touched it, it was in my pocket. But then... when Quirrell" his voice trembled "When he attacked me and I... I think I fell... before I passed out, but I'm sure it was still with me."
The silence lingered. Dumbledore said nothing immediately.
"Then I just hope Voldemort didn't manage to get it before he fled."
Harry nodded weakly, though doubt gnawed at him. If he didn't have it, where was it?
Dumbledore rose, his robe flowing with a solemn movement.
"Rest, Harry. You have done more than anyone expected. The rest..." His eyes narrowed, calculating his next steps. "We will resolve in due course."
The young man closed his eyes once more, overcome by exhaustion. The infirmary fell silent, except for the crackling of the candles.
Dumbledore watched him for a moment longer, silently. The Stone was lost, and Voldemort's specter had escaped... no one knew what would happen next.
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