This Farce Ends Now, Tom

Professor McGonagall rebuked him furiously. "Spare me the sophistry! Hand over the Philosopher's Stone! Now!"

Almost at the same time, Quirrell rasped, "Give me the Stone! The Dark Lord needs it!"

McGonagall and Quirrell's eyes instantly fixed on the right hand Caesar held tightly shut.

The deep-red jewel had become the eye of the storm.

Hermione's heart pounded wildly as she stood slightly in front of Caesar.

She could feel the increasingly unstable aura behind her, as well as Professor McGonagall's resolute determination and Quirrell's murderous greed before her.

Reason told her she should help Professor McGonagall reclaim the Philosopher's Stone. It was Hogwarts' most precious treasure, entrusted to them for safekeeping by Dumbledore.

But... from the corner of her eye, she could see Caesar's deathly pale face. She could feel his life force draining away as swiftly as sand through an hourglass.

The One-Winged Bird pendant against her chest, once cold and lifeless, now sent faint but sharp stabs of pain through her.

It was as though the connection between them was breaking apart, its last echoes carrying despair and farewell.

Caesar...

Just as Professor McGonagall decided to deal with the main threat first, her wand lit up again as she prepared to forcibly wrest the Philosopher's Stone from Caesar's hand.

And as Quirrell sneered, gathering Dark Magic to seize the Stone while he had the chance—

Hermione moved.

She cast neither an attack nor a defensive spell.

Brilliant silver light burst from her wand tip, as though she had torn apart the galaxy itself!

The light didn't shoot forward in a straight line. Instead, countless silver threads, fine as hairs yet unbreakably strong, erupted outward in a sphere centered on her.

These threads were not physical. They were the manifestation of highly concentrated magical power and some kind of protective will.

They didn't attack McGonagall or Quirrell directly. Instead, they wove themselves precisely and densely around Caesar, forming a constantly shifting, swirling Silver Cocoon Barrier.

At the same time, more threads moved as if alive, deftly wrapping around the Disarming Charm and Binding Charm McGonagall had cast at Caesar, as well as the several Dark Magic bolts Quirrell fired in a sneak attack.

When the silver threads touched the spells, there was no violent explosion. Instead, they made a strange hissing sound, like melting snow mingled with metal scraping against metal.

McGonagall's spells were weakened layer by layer, deflected, and ultimately vanished.

Quirrell's Dark Magic, meanwhile, was bound, unraveled, and absorbed by the threads, as though they had met their natural enemy.

"This is... a variant of the Ancient Guardian Spirit? Such powerful psychic magic..." Professor McGonagall stopped her next attack in astonishment, staring at Hermione in disbelief.

She recognized part of the magic's nature.

But the scale, precision, and power of Hermione's spell far exceeded the limits of a student—or even most adult wizards!

Hermione didn't answer. She maintained the enormous spell as her face visibly paled and the veins at her temples began to bulge. The effort was clearly taking a tremendous toll.

But she held her ground, her brown eyes fixed on McGonagall and Quirrell, silently declaring through her actions: Neither of you will get past me and hurt Caesar or take the Philosopher's Stone.

After a few brief probing attacks, Professor McGonagall was shocked to realize that she couldn't break through the strange silver defense in the short term without actually hurting Hermione!

Hermione's control over magic was so precise it seemed unbelievable. The barrier even had qualities that reflected and absorbed attacks, leaving McGonagall at a loss as to how to overcome it.

"Hermione Granger!" Professor McGonagall cried, her voice filled with anguish.

"Do you understand what you're doing? You're protecting a traitor, someone who could drag Hogwarts into the abyss!

"Give me the Philosopher's Stone. It's not too late to turn back! I don't want to see you fall into darkness!"

"Fall into darkness..."

Hermione turned the phrase over in her mind. Her pale face showed the faintest, almost tragic smile.

"Professor... if staying true to someone I trust, protecting someone who... even if he might be wrong, even if he might turn to the darkness, means everything to me... if that counts as falling into darkness..."

She didn't finish, but the resolve in her voice made Professor McGonagall's heart sink.

Meanwhile, with the Philosopher's Stone still beyond his reach, Voldemort's face on the back of Quirrell's head twisted with rage. His hoarse roar nearly burst Quirrell's eardrums.

"Useless! You're all useless! If you can't get it... then I'll take it myself!"

Quirrell's body suddenly convulsed violently, and he let out a scream that sounded nothing like a human voice.

The skin on the back of his head split open. A dense black mist, thick with all the malice and coldness in the world, surged out!

The mist swiftly gathered, no longer dependent on Quirrell's body, and formed a vague, distorted shadow in the air, without any fixed shape.

Only two points of crimson light remained, like eyes from the depths of hell, fixed on Caesar behind the silver barrier and the Philosopher's Stone in his hand!

Quirrell crumpled to the ground like a heap of rags, his life uncertain.

Voldemort had risked everything to project even more of his true will and power into the chamber!

Terrifying pressure instantly engulfed the entire stone chamber. The air seemed to freeze, and Hermione's silver barrier shuddered violently, humming as if it were about to collapse.

Just as all hope seemed lost—

"I think this farce ends now, Tom."

A calm, aged voice rang out, carrying an unquestionable authority.

The air at the entrance to the chamber rippled like water, and Albus Dumbledore appeared without a sound.

He wore a deep-blue dressing gown patterned like the night sky. His gaze behind his Half-moon Spectacles was sharp as an eagle's, and the Elder Wand rested casually in his hand, yet seemed to hold the power to quell a storm.

Severus Snape followed close behind like a silent shadow, his black robes billowing, his face its usual sallow and gloomy mask.

But his black eyes swiftly swept over the chamber. When they fell on Voldemort's shadow and the collapsed Quirrell, his pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

"Albus..." Seeing the headmaster, Professor McGonagall felt some of the tension leave her. But then she noticed Snape, and a flicker of doubt crossed her eyes.

Voldemort's shadow let out a shrill hiss. "Dumbledore! You've finally arrived! Too bad you're too late! The Philosopher's Stone will be mine!"

"Not necessarily, Tom."

Dumbledore slowly stepped forward. His eyes passed over Hermione and Caesar behind the barrier, and a deep understanding—and the faintest trace of regret—flashed across his face. Then his gaze settled on Voldemort's shadow.

"Severus?"

Snape stepped forward expressionlessly and raised his wand, pointing neither at Voldemort nor at Caesar, but at the shadow in the air.

In a cold, clear voice devoid of emotion, he quickly recited an extremely complex and obscure incantation.

As the incantation echoed through the chamber, the surrounding magic began to resonate at a particular frequency. The ancient runes on the walls and floor seemed to awaken, glowing faintly as they formed the shape of a field meant to bind and purify.

This clearly wasn't something they had improvised. It had all been planned in advance!

Voldemort's shadow roared in fury and disbelief. "Snape?! How dare you!"

"I was never loyal to you, Tom." Snape's voice remained cold. "I was only loyal to... a promise, and to preventing a worse outcome."

Hermione watched in shock as understanding suddenly struck her.

Dumbledore had known all along!

He knew Caesar might be involved, and that Voldemort coveted the Philosopher's Stone.

He might even have used all of this to turn the chamber into a trap—a trap baited with the Philosopher's Stone to lure more of Voldemort's power into the open and strike at it!

And Snape had always been a Double Agent. Now, at last, he had revealed his true allegiance!