The voice continued speaking, sounding rather nonchalant and lazy.
"Quirinus, tell me, what kind of person can retrieve the Philosopher's Stone hidden within this mirror that reflects one's deepest desires?"
Quirinus Quirrell smiled. "Someone who wants to find it, but not use it."
The voice sneered. "So, how laughable. For me, a master of Legilimency and Occlumency, temporarily altering my mindset is equally simple."
"Albus Dumbledore! He probably wants to catch me. Pretending to be tricked away, sneaking around behind us. Only appearing when I am at my most triumphant."
Quirrell played along. "But your curse isn't that simple. If he doesn't act, the deaths of the giant spiders will further fuel the curse. By then, everyone will fall into an infant-like slumber. Even if he breaks it... your contingency—the Curse of Undeath—will make the remaining vessels even stronger as more are completely destroyed. Between the school's safety and your potential resurrection, he will naturally choose the former. But by then, after he deals with the curse, he won't have the energy to stop us from leaving the castle."
"Oh, Quirinus, I remember you once thought about hinting at my existence to Dumbledore."
"I was too foolish. I never had a choice from the start. In the eyes of the great Dumbledore, as long as there's a chance to subdue you, sacrificing an insignificant Quirrell is nothing to pity, is it?"
"A wise choice. Though it's a pity, I thought Severus would show up. Dumbledore assigned him to deal with you." Before Quirrell could answer, he added, "Alright, shut up. I'm starting."
Voldemort's scarlet eyes went vacant for a moment.
In the mirror, the image of him sitting in the Headmaster's office, with Bellatrix, Snape, and others dressed as professors, and Dumbledore's head suspended in mid-air, suddenly shattered.
Instantly, only he remained.
On the grounds, Basil, listening to all this, didn't speak up to stop the professors' defensive fortifications from destroying the curse's vessels—the Acromantulas.
He simply secretly strengthened those few magical plants that were performing brilliantly, allowing the vessels to be controlled rather than destroyed.
As for Snape, mentioned by Voldemort... right now, he was sweating profusely, his greasy hair plastered together, chest heaving, trembling as he climbed the stairs from the third to the fourth floor.
He had been walking on these stairs for over ten minutes.
Every time he reached the last step, he was transported back to the beginning.
He didn't know what magic this was; after trying multiple counter-curses, nothing worked.
It was like he was stuck in a loop.
This was also Basil's doing, constantly shifting the space in front of Snape, making the reality of reaching the fourth floor forever unattainable for him.
Giving Voldemort time to posture and talk with Quirrell.
After all, it was impossible for Voldemort to get the Philosopher's Stone.
That stone was currently sitting safely in the Granger family vault at Gringotts.
Basil waved his hand, and the grass on the ground grew long and gathered together, automatically weaving into a green hanging chair.
Then he sat on it.
The people around him didn't find this strange.
With Dumbledore personally taking action, in their view, the complete resolution of the incident was only a matter of time.
Fred and George, who also remained on the grounds, were bored enough to play finger-counting games.
Percy, who had angrily talked back to the professor earlier inside the castle, was now staring blankly at the enchanted ceiling.
They were just a bit bored now, and slightly regretful.
Regretful that the Dark Wizard chose to cause trouble in the Forbidden Forest instead of the castle.
Otherwise, they could have witnessed with their own eyes, for the first time in a century, the magic of the wizard universally recognized as the greatest and most powerful—Albus Dumbledore.
Only the professors, guarding the entrance and exit of the Great Hall, were tense.
Preventing the Dark Wizard from launching an attack in the castle while Dumbledore dealt with the curse in the Forbidden Forest.
But actually, Basil wasn't bored.
On the contrary, if he didn't have to worry about people around him thinking he was crazy...
His grin would have reached his ears.
Time rewinds to one minute ago.
Voldemort saw himself in the mirror.
The version of himself inside was handsome, youthful, gentle, and possessed a charm that could captivate a thousand-year-old female ghost.
He saw his reflection look at his current self with disgust, looking him up and down, but then, a moment later, come to a realization.
His reflection reached into its pocket, pulled out a blood-red stone, winked, and put the stone back in its pocket—and just then, he really felt something heavy drop into his own pocket.
Quirrell shouted, "The Philosopher's Stone! It's in my pocket!"
"I know! Fool!" Voldemort scolded. "I can sense it!"
Then he "lowered" his head, and hands belonging to Quirrell reached for the pocket in a very awkward manner.
However, what he didn't notice was that his younger self in the mirror didn't disappear but raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green light struck the "lowered" head of Voldemort.
Quirrell, whose head was tilted back, saw everything, but under Voldemort's control, his body could only let out a panicked scream.
Quirrell's expression froze; the body lost its life.
However, the body didn't fall. The back of the head, where Voldemort resided, instantly collapsed into black smoke and then reformed.
Crack, crack, crack!
The head twisted 180 degrees; the back of the head became the face of this body.
Then, the entire body, seemingly losing resistance, flew backward in a rapid glide, sticking to the corner of the ceiling like a giant spider.
These actions took Voldemort less than a second.
"You have three minutes left—before the body collapses."
A gentle, clear voice rang out in the room. The handsome youth stepped out of the mirror, calm and unhurried.
"It's you!" Voldemort was shocked. "You got the Philosopher's Stone! You're working with Dumbledore!"
He instantly guessed the authenticity of the Stone in his pocket.
But reached the wrong conclusion.
"No, Dumbledore doesn't know of my existence." The black-haired youth wore a smile, twirling his wand in his slender fingers.
"Is this the confidence that allowed you to dare abandon your identity as a Horcrux and become independent? Immortality gained through the Philosopher's Stone?" Voldemort turned into black mist and landed back on the ground.
He knew he couldn't defeat his younger self on his own.
He knew his own level back then.
"Perhaps." Riddle raised an eyebrow nonchalantly.
Voldemort took this as an admission. He continued to maintain the magic distorting the magnetic field.
He didn't want anyone else to know about the ensuing conversation.
"Dumbledore still lost. Lost to me. Just seventeen-year-old me could steal the Philosopher's Stone right under his nose. And... Lucius, he died too easily."
"Speak, why have you appeared? Possessing Horcruxes, I am not someone you can control. You want to absorb other Horcruxes? You want to be complete?"
"You don't know the identities or locations of the other Horcruxes. Except—"
"Where is the diadem? Have you already absorbed it?!!"