Was there a Philosopher's Stone ahead?
When had Dumbledore added another new challenge?
Was this still Hogwarts??
Quirrell's mind was flooded with question marks.
He had a vague suspicion about his rapidly deteriorating situation, but his instincts screamed denial.
No, it couldn't be...
He'd already fled through the trapdoor; that wicked little painter couldn't possibly still be pursuing him, could he?!
"Go get the Philosopher's Stone... Hurry!"
His master's urgent command echoed in his mind.
Quirrell scrambled to his feet, glanced inside the black gate, and swallowed hard.
He cast a Shield Charm on himself, gritted his teeth, and stepped through.
It should be fine—this challenge ought to be as straightforward as the ones before...
Tap, tap...
Footsteps echoed off the empty walls.
The stone surfaces were damp and sticky, streaked with mottled yellowish-brown stains that made him wonder what exactly had caused them.
Quirrell suppressed his revulsion, taking in the grand, ancient decor around him, and felt a bit more at ease.
No danger here...
After all, how could Hogwarts be as sinister as that kid?
With that thought, Quirrell rounded a corner—and a flash of silver caught his eye.
Bang!
"Ah!"
Quirrell shuddered in terror, staring wide-eyed at the suit of animated armor that had suddenly lunged from behind the bend!
Its sharp longsword slashed against his magical barrier; if he hadn't cast the Shield Charm earlier, he'd have been sliced in two!
"Bombarda!"
Boom!
The spell erupted, blasting the armor into fragments that scattered across the floor.
"Huff, huff..."
Quirrell's eyes bulged, still reeling from the shock.
How had it jumped out from behind the wall like that? Was it just a coincidence?
Would something as mindless as animated armor even know how to ambush someone?
Just wait a minute.
By the time Quirrell dodged the fifth surprise attack, he was ready to curse everything!
Who was the genius that hid the guards behind the walls?!
Was this really that devious?!
"Bombarda—Ah!"
As Quirrell prepared to handle the guard in front, he was smashed against the wall by a hammer swung by another that had circled around from behind!
The terrain was a spiral staircase, with assaults coming from both directions, leaving him no room to evade!
Damn it! Was there no one left in the world who designed these things with a shred of humanity?!
"Damn it! Bombarda! Bombarda!"
Quirrell fired spells in desperation, reducing the guards to rubble.
He panted heavily, drenched in sweat, his body smeared with grime.
The agony he'd endured in just ten minutes surpassed everything from the previous challenges combined!
There was an open area ahead!
Quirrell eyed the archway with a surge of hope.
It had to be nearly over—just get past the stairs... But then.
As he stepped through the archway, the scene unfolding before him froze the smile on his face.
Ahead lay a single-log bridge, barely wide enough for one person.
Above it, three massive swinging blades oscillated at different rhythms.
Below stretched a bottomless, pitch-black abyss.
The blades clashed with a chilling metallic clank.
Quirrell: "You motherf**ker—"
His hopes shattered, and Quirrell broke down completely.
He roared and cursed, stamping his feet in frustration, clawing at his face!
He almost wished he could just leap into the void and end this endless torment.
"Hurry... Don't dawdle..."
Lord Voldemort's prodding came at the worst possible moment.
"...Yes, yes, Master."
Quirrell gasped, his face ashen, struggling to compose himself.
He stared at the crossing with its swinging blades, knowing those heavy giants could shatter his defenses with ease.
One hit, and he'd be cleaved in half.
"It's fine—just time it right and dash across. It's not that hard..."
With that in mind.
Quirrell drew a deep breath and cautiously stepped onto the log bridge.
He inched forward toward the blades, waited for them to swing past, then lunged ahead—Whoosh!
A sharp arrow flew from the side!
It struck his barrier with a clang, instantly cracking it!
"Huh?!"
Quirrell panicked, lost his balance, and tumbled onto the bridge.
The next instant.
"Ahhh—!!"
A agonized wail reverberated through the entire space!
The blade sliced right through his weakened defense, carving mercilessly across his back!
Blood sprayed in a vivid arc.
A deep gash, exposing bone, now stretched across his entire back!
"Ah, ahhh..."
Quirrell clawed his way forward, not out of sheer willpower.
But because if he didn't move, the blade would swing back and strike again!
Yet the ordeal was only beginning.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Two more arrows shot from either side of the bridge, striking Quirrell precisely where his barrier had failed!
Fresh blood spurted twice over.
"Gah!"
Quirrell arched his neck, veins throbbing, his face contorted as if he were being shoved from behind by some invisible force.
In his peripheral vision, he spotted two guards lurking in the shadows, one on each side, aiming their bows at him.
—"Protego!"
Between swearing and survival, Quirrell chose the latter.
Clang, clang!
The arrows bounced off the new barrier.
Seizing the moment, Quirrell hastily cast a healing spell on himself.
Using hands and knees, he scrambled across the log bridge.
Have you ever fought tooth and nail for something?
Quirrell was doing just that now.
When he cleared the final blade, he was nearly delirious with joy, charging ahead without caution.
Then, with a thud, he slammed into something cold and unyielding.
In that moment.
The last thread of Quirrell's sanity snapped.
"Ha, haha..."
He laughed, shaking with madness, slowly lifting his head.
His eyes met those of the animated armor stationed at the bridge's end.
Animated Armor: Hello.
"Listen, ah ah ah ah!!!"
After Quirrell endured a gauntlet of heart-pounding perils—like a swampy cesspit, a corridor with tumbling boulders, walls firing arrows from both sides, and guards dropping from the ceiling—he finally reached the summit of this ancient city.
By then.
His robes dangled like tattered rags, his body a canvas of blood and bruises, etched with fresh scars, without a single inch of unmarked skin.
Even his nose had been smashed inward by a rock.
Only the enchanted turban clung stubbornly to his head.
"Huff, huff, huff..."
Quirrell stood atop the tower, inhaling air that carried an odd sulfurous tang, his eyes bloodshot.
Find the designer of this ancient city and rip them to shreds.
That was the sole conviction keeping Quirrell going.
A message, mirroring the one at the entrance, materialized on the ground:
"Congratulations! You have successfully reached the second-to-last challenge!"
"This is your reward."
A wooden box emitted a whimpering roar, like that of a beast cub.
Quirrell peered inside and spotted a small, dark dragon.
"...Hehe."
He suddenly smirked, raising his wand toward the young dragon, his eyes gleaming with deranged, twisted spite.
He yearned to torture it; its screams would be the sweetest prize. But then.
The sky darkened abruptly.
A colossal shadow descended, bringing a stench of sulfur and rust.
Quirrell slowly, slowly, slowly looked up.
He locked eyes with an adult dragon, its pupils narrowed to slits.
Its scales were as black as midnight, with erect bony spines—it was a Norwegian Ridgeback.
And somehow, Quirrell knew instinctively.
This was the same enraged female dragon that had inexplicably mauled him that night in the Forbidden Forest.
Crack.
His resolve shattered in an instant.
Quirrell began trembling uncontrollably.
A grotesque, clownish grin twisted his features; he could scarcely grip his wand.
"No... This is a misunderstanding. I didn't mean to harm the cub... No, no...!!!"
An earth-shaking roar, laced with sweeping dragonfire, thundered across the Ancient City of Saen.
Meanwhile.
In the Ravenclaw common room.
Ethan lounged comfortably on the plush sofa.
He glanced up from his unfinished dragon painting, gazing toward the trapdoor as if sensing something.
His cobalt-blue eyes gleamed in the firelight.
"It's almost time for me to make my entrance..."
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