Chapter Forty-Seven: The Truth Behind
A flicker of reluctance passed through Harry's mind. He had been tricked. Quirrell had deceived him, and George had been right—he had been too careless, too arrogant. This could have led to disaster.
"But at the Quidditch match, Snape was trying to kill me," Harry asked, trying to understand where he had gone wrong. He wanted to uncover more of the truth, even if it led to a dead end.
"No, no, you are completely mistaken. At the Quidditch pitch, it was I who aimed to strike you—it was I who wanted to kill you. But if someone helped you, I could sense someone resisting my gaze. That power was strong. And Snape—he was countering my spells. He didn't want me to kill you. You were lucky."
Quirrell spoke without a trace of emotion, as if today's failure didn't matter to him.
"Why would Snape want to save me?" Harry's expression shifted. Compared to the Snape who tried to kill him, the very idea that Snape would want to save him seemed unbelievable. How could it be possible?
"Unbelievable, indeed," Quirrell said coldly.
"Do you think he's capable of acting as referee for your second match? Afraid I'd target you again? Ridiculous. With Dumbledore present, I wouldn't take any action. All his efforts were superfluous. If I really wanted to act, his little tricks would have been useless."
"He's like a lonely little clown. Everyone hates him, thinks he's deliberately stopping Gryffindor from winning—but those actions were meaningless, a complete waste of time. Tonight… is the perfect opportunity. Time, you won't have another chance." Quirrell locked eyes with Harry. "Now is the perfect meeting."
Snap! He snapped his fingers. In an instant, ropes appeared from nowhere, binding Harry tightly.
"You're far too self-assured, Potter. You're just a child trespassing into the adult world. You think you can expose the secrets of this world, but what about your reliance? Your abilities? Everything in this court depends on you. Tricks?" Quirrell looked down at Harry writhing on the floor, and a faint trace of pity flashed in his eyes.
The look in Quirrell's eyes annoyed Harry. He wanted to resist, but the ropes weighed heavily on him. Unlike his previous brave adventure, where he had the support of his friends, here, facing the true conspiracy alone, he didn't even have the strength to fight back. He couldn't help but mock himself. Is this my fate? To reveal the truth I've told everyone?
"Quiet, Potter. I want to have a proper look at this interesting mirror." Quirrell turned away, ignoring Harry.
Only then did Harry notice what stood behind Quirrell—the Mirror of Erised, which he had seen several times in the storeroom.
"This is the key to the Philosopher's Stone. It's inside the mirror." Quirrell stared at the mirror, pacing along its frame. He touched it, tapped it, muttering under his breath. "Dumbledore took the key to the Stone. It's hidden here, while he's still in London. By the time he returns, I'll have flown away with the Stone."
Harry couldn't think of a way to save himself, but he also didn't want to wait until Quirrell found the Stone and freed himself to kill Harry. He tried to lead Quirrell into speaking, to stall time, to prevent him from getting the Stone.
"I followed Snape, and I saw you meet in the Forbidden Forest," Harry said bluntly.
"I underestimated you," Quirrell said, but his tone remained unchanged. He looked back at the mirror. "I didn't expect Snape to follow you. He wanted to know how far my plans had progressed. He stared at me, trying to scare me. How could he scare me? I have Voldemort backing me."
Quirrell circled the mirror, greedily trying to unravel its secrets.
Harry struggled desperately, but the ropes only tightened. He wanted to prevent Quirrell from discovering the mirror's secret.
"But Snape hates me fiercely."
"Yes, of course he hates you. Did you not know that he and your father were always enemies at Hogwarts? They were never in the same world, yet he truly didn't want you to die." Quirrell's voice sounded casual, though the Stone was right before him, and he was helpless as to how to access it.
"But a few days ago, I heard you crying in the classroom. Was Snape threatening you?" Harry began piecing together the situation bit by bit.
A flicker of fear crossed Quirrell's face. "Sometimes… it's difficult to carry out the instructions given by my master. He is a great wizard, but my own power is too weak."
"In other words, you were with your master in the classroom that day?" Harry asked, confused. Who was Quirrell's master?
"Wherever I go, he is with me," Quirrell said, unnaturally calm.
"I met him while traveling the world. Back then, I was a naive young man, with a foolishly simplistic idea of good and evil. My master, Voldemort, pointed out my mistakes. Reading 'UU Reading' (www.uukanshu.com) made me realize there is no absolute right or wrong in this world."
"Only power, and the mediocre masses. Since then, I have remained loyal to him, though I have disappointed him several times. He is very strict with me."
Quirrell suddenly trembled. "He doesn't forgive mistakes easily. Failing to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts enraged him. He punished me, and kept me under strict watch. I…"
His voice trailed off. Harry recalled the scene in Diagon Alley. How could he have forgotten such a vital clue? He had met Quirrell that day, even shook hands at the Leaky Cauldron.
Quirrell muttered curses under his breath. The mirror's secret frustrated him, and he could not find a way to retrieve the Stone.
Quirrell's helplessness gave Harry a small thrill. It was better if Quirrell never found the Stone. Even if Harry's own survival was unlikely, it would still be a victory if Voldemort failed.
"But where is the Philosopher's Stone? Do you intend to break the mirror?" Harry's mind raced. Or, if I just focus on the Stone, can I see its location in the mirror? No… that's it. If Quirrell never thought of it—or already found it long ago—then it's real.
Quirrell continued peering into the mirror, muttering under his breath.
"Where is it? The secret of this mirror… help me, my master." Harry heard a terrible voice reply, seeming to emerge from Quirrell himself.
"Bring the boy in… let him come."
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