The Main Event: Quirrell's End

The stone chess pieces remained motionless, as did Ron, who was riding a black stone horse.

His mind began to replay memories of the mysterious—no, Voldemort's memories.

According to his parents, he was born during a turbulent time when they were constantly on the run, escaping the pursuit of Death Eater. But he was too young then to remember.

By the time he could remember, the turmoil had ended, and his older brothers would never mention what happened back then. Sometimes, when George and Fred mentioned that name, they would get a scolding from their mother.

Father, Mother, and Aunt Muriel —the adults always looked terrified when they heard the name Voldemort. Aunt Muriel would also look around nervously, as if afraid someone would overhear.

Over time, he also began to feel that the name was some kind of vicious curse, as if uttering it would lead to death.

But now, sitting on the cold stone horse, waiting for Voldemort to arrive, he felt there was nothing to be afraid of.

Ron watched as wisps of black mist continued to dissipate, spreading across the entire chessboard and growing thicker and thicker.

Voldemort entered the room unhurriedly, gripping his wand with the first joint of his thumb and the second joint of his index finger, placing it slightly bent in front of him with an elegant and dignified posture.

He stood outside the chessboard, his gaze sweeping over the pieces.

As Ron rode on his horse, he could hear his heart pounding and then contracting, pumping blood into his stiff veins and muscles.

Thump!

Thump!

The Magic Power within my body was more abundant than ever before.

Voldemort slowly opened his mouth, as if talking to himself, "Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration is still so exquisite that even I cannot compare to her in the field of Transfiguration."

Ron remained seated on his horse, saying nothing.

These chess pieces were actually created by Professor McGonagall using Transfiguration. Unfortunately, I probably won't have the chance to learn that technique again.

Voldemort twisted his neck, his crimson eyes fixed on Ron, and said in a soft voice, "Oh, you poor fool, you've been abandoned by your friends. They left you here alone to die, didn't they?"

He was very enthusiastic about talking. Anyone who spends a few years in the forests of Albania, talking to snakes all day long, would become very talkative.

Ron remained silent.

"Come, join me, and I will bring you endless glory." Voldemort grinned.

The moment he stepped onto the chessboard, Ron gave his answer.

"Attack!"

In an instant, all the stone statues on the chessboard, except for the black knight on the far side, came to life, whether they were black or white pieces, queen or pawn, and all the pieces charged toward Voldemort.

"Foolish." Voldemort maintained his aloof demeanor, letting out a hoarse laugh.

He swung Quirrell's wand, smashing a stone statue with each swing, and marched unstoppably toward Ron.

The soldier brandished his twin swords, but they were shattered.

The bishop raised his scepter, which was then shattered.

The tank charged, but was destroyed.

In the end, Voldemort walked across the chessboard unharmed and stood in front of the Black Knight, the only surviving piece on the board.

Ron, mounted on his horse, looked down at the ugly face and shouted firmly, "Knight! Charge!"

The black stone warhorse raised its hooves high, about to stomp down.

Voldemort tapped the base of the chess piece with his wand, and countless tiny cracks began to spread from the base of the stone statue, gradually covering the entire statue.

That's really scary.

Ron grinned and said softly, "General."

Boom!

The statue exploded with a deafening roar, and Ron's body was thrown out, crashing into the wall before landing on the ground.

His body was covered in cuts from flying pebbles, and blood flowed down the ground. Blood seeped from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth, and his ears were ringing.

Various colors mingled before his eyes, but eventually all the colors faded, and he could see nothing clearly, only a dim and blurry scene.

Ron's hands trembled as he clawed at the ground, trying to prop himself up with his broken body, but he only collapsed again and again, his strength failing him. Water splashed in the pool of blood.

"Foolish Gryffindor." Voldemort watched this scene with a pleased smile. Without pausing, he walked into the next room.

The door was pushed open and then slammed shut.

Ron's eyes were unfocused, and his struggles gradually weakened until he had no strength left and lost consciousness.

Broken stones were scattered all over the chessboard, and the lights in the room went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Bright red flames ignited on Ron's shoulder, and Phoenix with intertwined gold and red feathers emerged from the flames.

Fawkes looked at the little man lying in a pool of blood, then affectionately pressed his face against Ron's, tears welling in his eyes.

The Phoenix Tears touched Ron's body, melting into his wounds, spreading out in concentric circles like water, each wound radiating a soft red light.

Some mysterious changes are taking place in the newly formed blood and muscles.

Fawkes raised his head and squeaked for a while toward an open space, as if accusing someone of being unreliable.

"Alright, hurry and bring Loren here. Harry and Hermione need his help," the aged voice rang out.

Fawkes was even angrier. After lecturing the old man for a while, flames rose from his body and he disappeared from the spot.

Dumbledore appeared, looking at the scattered rubble and blood, and gently shook his sleeve.

Some unseen force made Ron lean against the wall, cleaning the blood and dust off his body.

Dumbledore looked at Ron's red hair with gentle eyes, then fell into a kind of worry and muttered, "I wonder if Arthur and Molly will scold me."

The Hogwarts basement.

Loren hesitated outside Snape's office, wondering whether he should speak with Snape. This dilemma had been lingering for quite some time.

A flame suddenly appeared not far in front of him, its color a mix of gold and red.

Loren curiously leaned closer to observe the flames. With a "whoosh," the flames surged, engulfing him in the firelight, and he vanished from the spot in an instant.

The door to the Potions Master office burst open, Snape stared at the spot where Loren had just disappeared, his expression grim. "Dumbledore, what tricks are you playing!"

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione are trapped in despair.

At the end of the corridor, where they had jumped down, a large net of plant vines completely blocked the exit, shrouded in black mist.

Neither the gentle blue flames nor the blazing Fire Charm could open a path to survival.

The black mist in the room gradually thickened, not only on the vines overhead, but also permeating the corners of the corridor. All signs indicated that Voldemort was about to arrive.

"It's all my fault, it's all my fault..." Harry was consumed by self-blame.

He suddenly seemed to remember something, looked up at Hermione, and said, "Hand me over to Voldemort."

He said hopefully, "Hand me over to Voldemort, and you quickly go and inform Professor McGonagall. We still have hope until he is fully resurrected!"

Hermione listened to Harry's plan with a blank expression, then helped Harry to the corner and put him down. "What you said might make sense."

"But I am a Gryffindor."

The first-grade little Witch reached out and tucked her messy, frizzy hair behind her ear.

She gripped the wand, made of Vine Wood and with Dragon Nerve core, and stood in the middle of the corridor. She watched the black mist thicken, awaiting the arrival of the most powerful Dark Lord.

Although she was often teased for being a bookworm, no one at Hogwarts, from students to professors, could deny that she was always intelligent. Intelligent people, of course, know which choices are more advantageous and which are reasonable.

After the Halloween Night troll incident, everyone was saying that Hermione was quick-witted and cleverly used planks and fire to trap the troll. If there had been more planks, she could have dealt with the troll all by herself.

She saw Ron recklessly throw himself to his death, drawing the trolls' attention in an attempt to clear a path for them, and she saw Harry defy death to break through the trolls' defenses.

She was the only one hiding at the very back.

Afterwards, Hermione searched through every book in the Library related to trolls. She knew trolls were clumsy, that their nostrils and eyes were the weakest points, and that they had every single weakness.

But the clearer the details, the more vivid the scene from that night becomes.

She was afraid of the trolls, but she stood up against the Dark Lord, who was comparable to Dumbledore.

Hermione's mind raced through every spell she had learned and every key element of the duel: attacking, dodging, breathing, and rhythm.

Slow footsteps echoed in the empty corridor as Voldemort gradually came into their view.

Voldemort's mouth split open like a snake's jaws, as if a forked tongue might emerge at any moment. He was laughing, laughing at the Witch's overestimation of her abilities.

But he didn't speak; the Mudblood weren't worthy to speak to him.

Hermione asked herself and answered, "Gryffindor? Who isn't?"

Hermione tried to laugh, but couldn't, and eventually gave up the idea. She stood sideways, raised her arm, and pointed her wand directly at the other side, chanting, "[Petrificus Totalus]".

The tip of the wand glowed, and a beam of white Binding Charm light shot out.

Quirrell's body was extremely weak, having been drained of its soul and life by an evil spirit for a long time, but under the stimulation of the Unicorn Blood, its last bit of potential was squeezed out.

The one who wields this power is him, the most powerful dark wizard in centuries, Voldemort.

Voldemort's lips curled into a mocking smile, and he flicked his wand slightly.

An invisible shockwave shattered the light of the spell, its remaining force still hurtling towards the little Witch.

"[Protego]"

Hermione only had time to hastily conjure an Shield Charm in front of her before the transparent barrier shattered instantly, and her wand flew out of her hand.

A tremendous force struck the girl's frail body, sending her flying.

"Snort!"

Hermione groaned, her vision blurring. When she came to, her legs were trapped in the Devil's Snare above the corridor, her upper body dangling over the edge. Thanks to her earlier sideways stance, Hermione wasn't directly in the center of the shockwave and escaped fatal injury.

The Devil's Snare, tainted by the black mist, had long since lost its vitality. But even from these withered branches, Hermione couldn't break free. She closed her eyes, unable to bear watching the scene below.

Voldemort ignored the Witch on his head and walked straight toward Harry.

"Harry Potter, don't be so foolish as to seek your own death. I can give you a chance."

Voldemort stopped at a distance that prevented Harry from suddenly leaping up to attack, and looked at Harry from afar. "Serve me as your master and give me the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Don't even think about it!" Harry snapped, taking a deep breath and using one hand to push himself up against the wall.

"Ho-ho-ho!" Voldemort's laughter was hoarse and unpleasant, as if he were trying to empty the air from his lungs.

"Be brave, just like your parents."

"Then tell me, do you want to see your parents again?"

These words ignited the fury in Harry's eyes. He gritted his teeth and stared intently at Voldemort's ugly face, one hand hidden behind his back, his fingers gripping the wand so tightly that the skin turned white.

"If you and I join forces, I can bring them back to life, for a negligible price, which will be in your pocket."

Voldemort kept his distance, pacing back and forth. "Don't be fooled by Dumbledore. There is no good or evil in this world. There is only power and those who are powerless to seize it."

Harry swung his arm forcefully, anger and hatred surging into his Magic Power, unleashing the spell: "[Petrificus Totalus]".

The tip of the wand emitted a blazing, milky-white light, and a thick beam of light shot towards Voldemort.

"A foolish trick."

This sneak attack was nothing more than a trick to Voldemort. He casually raised his wand, creating a colorless barrier in front of him to block the beam of magical light.

A continuous stream of milky-white beams of light struck the colorless, transparent barrier, causing specks of energy to dissipate and shimmer with pure white light in the dimly lit corridor.

Harry's spells were far more powerful than those of his peers.

"Talented, just like I was back then."

Voldemort was very satisfied with the spell Harry had cast. He advised, "Don't be bound by Dumbledore's hypocrisy. Together, we can accomplish something truly extraordinary."

Harry was in excruciating pain; he felt as if someone was chiseling at his skull, striking the scar on his forehead.

"Delusion!" Harry shouted.

"Foolish!" Voldemort no longer held back and increased his Magic Power output.

The barrier transformed into a colorless and invisible force that collided with Harry's spell beam, sparks flying where they met.

Harry watched as the spell's light drew closer, the wind from the clashing Magic Power whipping against his face and disheveling his hair. The pain in his forehead and body tormented his nerves relentlessly; the pressure from the spell was mounting, and he was on the verge of collapse.

"I told you not to include me in your games." A mocking voice rang out.

"[Petrificus Totalus] "

Immediately afterwards, another beam of magical light appeared, merging with Harry's to temporarily withstand the impact.

"Loren!" Hermione cried out in surprise as she was being hoisted up, fighting back tears.

Harry turned around and watched with equal surprise as Loren slowly walked up to him from behind.

Loren was very puzzled. As soon as he came out, he saw the two of them exchanging beams, and Harry was about to lose.

Shouldn't the correct plot be that Harry rushes in, slaps Voldemort across the face, and obliterates him?

Dumbledore rewrite the script?

Without thinking too much, he went straight for it.

Voldemort was somewhat surprised by how Loren had appeared. He looked around, not finding any other adult wizards nearby, and a sinister smile spread across his ugly face. "Do you think you have a chance of winning?"

The life offered by the Unicorn was cursed, but anything involving life and death contained powerful Magic Power. As Voldemort finished speaking, the clash of Magic Power intensified once more, the point of impact, sparks flying, drawing closer to them.

Harry felt the Sorcerer's Stone in his pocket getting hot. Without thinking, he instinctively reached out his left hand and placed it on Loren's back.

A surge of Magic Power erupted from the Sorcerer's Stone, flowing like a tide through Harry's body and into Loren's.

The two felt a warm current envelop their bodies, and their blood, muscles, and bones were filled with a powerful vitality.

The pure white Rainbow Light of the spell grew even thicker, pressing down on Voldemort.

Harry had a feeling that if his body hadn't been unable to withstand it, the power of the Sorcerer's Stone could have been even greater.

"Damn it!" Voldemort was insane, squeezing every last bit of energy, Magic Power, flesh, life, and soul from his body.

"Master, I can't take it anymore." Quirrell's painful groans came from behind.

"Give me everything you have, and I will grant you eternal life!"

It's unclear whether Quirrell agreed or not, but Loren and Harry on the other side saw a plume of black smoke rise from behind Voldemort. Quirrell's voice disappeared.

The surrounding black mist gradually gathered, and Voldemort's colorless spell power turned pure black.

The slight advantage that Loren and Harry had just gained was instantly overturned as the point of intersection of the enchanted beams slowly approached them.

The surging energy, like lava of different colors, splashed onto the surrounding walls. White light struck the walls, shattering the bricks into fragments. Black light struck the walls, corroding the bricks and turning them into liquid.

Am I going to die?

As the spell drew closer, Harry mustered his strength and reached out to push Loren away.

Loren, standing to the side, didn't think much of it. He just felt that he had suffered a huge loss this time, and that he would probably be spending a week in the Hospital Wing.

As for whether he will die?

He still felt that Dumbledore old geezers were definitely somewhere watching over them, and wouldn't let them get into any danger.

Harry's hand, reaching out to Loren, touched something stiff, not like clothing. He looked down and saw the Sorting Hat had appeared between him and Loren, its hand resting on the Sorting Hat's brim.

Loren suddenly remembered something, and he flipped the Sorting Hat over with one hand, revealing the hilt of a sword inlaid with a red gemstone.

He reached out and took out the sword.

"Sword of Gryffindor?" Voldemort chuckled. "Are you going to throw it at me to kill me?"

The two were several meters apart, and Loren didn't know how to throw a sword from a hundred paces away, so throwing it was basically equivalent to giving up his weapon.

The curse was closing in, and danger was imminent.

Loren tossed the sword upwards, "Hermione!"

At this moment, dense black Magic Power and milky white Petrificus Totalus collided in the not-so-wide corridor, the Magic Power radiance illuminating the dim space. The dissipating energy easily ravaged the stone walls on both sides.

Hermione heard her name, looked up at the sword, her long eyelashes trembled slightly, and the whole world slowed down in her eyes, becoming quiet and dim.

Only the sword gleamed faintly. A ruby was set in the hilt, the blade was silver, and Godric Gryffindor was engraved below the hilt.

The sword is from a thousand years ago, and the person is from today.

But this person was just a first-year Witch, yet she dared to attack the most powerful dark wizard. "Brave and fearless, reckless and selfless," the sword, upholding the will passed down for thousands of years, acknowledged this Witch.

Hermione reached out, waiting for the hilt to fall into her hand, then gripped it tightly, and the sword instantly emitted a silvery-white glow.

She had read the history of Hogwarts, in that distant and ancient history, where a goblin-forged sword achieved immortal feats in the hands of Godric Gryffindor.

They killed so many that the Goblin Kingdom dared not covet the sword, and so that the evil wizards dared not invade Hogwarts, creating a safe haven for the young wizards to study without worry.

She had heard of this sword, but she didn't know its power or what magical effects it had.

Before receiving the sword, she didn't know what to do, but when she held the sword in her hand, all her confusion and helplessness disappeared, leaving only one thought.

This sword must have slain many people like Voldemort.

As she thought this, a strange power flowed through the sword into Hermione's body, like sunlight shining on her, and she could no longer feel the pain in her body.

Naturally, as if she were born with a sword, she twisted her wrist, causing the sharp blade of the sword to slice through the surrounding Devil's Snare. Only one leg remained trapped in the Devil's Snare, hanging her body from the ceiling.

The downward force of gravity made the feeling of sinking in her body negligible, and Hermione placed her other foot on the vine.

When she held the sword upright in front of her, a silvery light covered her pupils, as if the light of the sword was reflected in her eyes, or as if it was emanating from her eyes themselves.

With her legs bent, the girl leaped forward, sword in hand, and charged towards Voldemort.

"Cut!"

The silver-forged sword trembled slightly, shimmering with a silvery-white light, and flashed past without any obstruction.

Immediately following was a powerful, pure white spell from Loren and Harry, which sent Voldemort flying.

Quirrell's body flew through the air, then began to disintegrate diagonally from his neck to his waist. No blood flowed; it scattered on the ground like fine sand.

Hermione crouched on the ground, holding her sword horizontally beside her.

Seeing that the enemy had vanished, her tense nerves relaxed, she exhaled, and could no longer hold the sword. It fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

"Loren!" The little Witch stood up and Loren Loren, she had so much to say.

A black spirit emerged from Quirrell's remains, without a physical form, and like a ghost, it swept past Harry's body, passed through the Devil's Snare above, and disappeared.

Harry felt as if his skull had been pierced by a chisel; excruciating pain shot from his forehead throughout his body, and before he could even cry out, he collapsed on the spot.