Voldemort and Quirrell's wails rang out together.
That punch had hurt more than just the body. It had wounded the soul, too.
Harry keenly sensed Voldemort's presence growing faint. His magic flickered, barely holding on.
Was this what Dumbledore had been hoping for?
Harry didn't hesitate. He slapped Voldemort across the face, gripping the greasy back of his head. "You need to wash your hair, Quirrell. You're absolutely disgusting!"
Ssshh—
The sizzle of searing flesh lingered in the air.
His scar began to throb fiercely, and the scene from that night resurfaced in his mind.
It was clearer now.
A man had met his death willingly, shielding someone from a Killing Curse. A woman had pleaded desperately, her red hair in disarray, like the withered willow branches of late autumn—miserable, helpless, and lifeless.
He could hear Voldemort breathing, hear his wild laughter, and then a voice cry, "Avada Kedavra."
Voldemort wailed, no longer able to sustain his magic.
The black snake vanished, and the vines binding the hand Harry held his sword with disappeared as well.
His other hand was free. He shoved the sword back into the Sorting Hat, then covered Voldemort's entire face with both hands.
His head hurt more and more.
Voldemort's cries grew louder and louder.
"Fool! Idiot!" he cursed. Suddenly, Harry felt the warmth fading from his palms, and the pain in his scar slowly subsided.
Had the spell worn off?
He looked up.
A stream of black smoke poured from the back of Quirrell's head, gathering into a dense cloud that bore Voldemort's twisted, monstrous face.
A spirit!
Voldemort had abandoned Quirrell's body.
Harry shoved Quirrell aside and slapped the floor. Violet light glimmered around him—the Yrden Sign.
Voldemort panicked. "What did you do to me?"
He could feel his spirit growing sluggish, and more sensitive, too.
Harry slapped him. Ssshh—the reaction was even stronger, and Voldemort howled in greater agony. But all it did was hurt him.
Harry drew his silver sword and swung to strike, but it cut through empty air.
Voldemort chanted a spell, and the black smoke darted away, reaching the far end of the room in the blink of an eye—
"Dumbledore, stop him!" Harry shouted.
But no one moved.
All he could do was watch the smoke seep into the wall and vanish.
In the room remained the half-dead Quirrell, Harry, and the lingering aura of dark magic.
Harry took out the Dittany and rubbed it onto the back of Quirrell's head. He didn't know if it would help, but it was the only thing he could do right now.
"Dumbledore, are you still not coming out?" Harry raised his voice. "Quirrell's dying!"
A moment later.
The figure of an old wizard appeared beside the mirror. He looked at Harry, surprised. "How did you know I was here?"
"Why didn't you stop Voldemort?" Harry spat and glared at him.
Dumbledore shook his head. "He's in a terrible state right now. It's better to let him remain as a fragment of a soul. If we kill him and he comes back to life somewhere else, stronger than he is now... that would be disastrous."
"You could try to kill him for good." Harry rubbed another layer of Dittany onto the back of Quirrell's head.
Dumbledore shook his head again. "No. I can't."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "The greatest white wizard admits he can't kill a dark wizard who couldn't even beat me?"
"Did Professor Snape put the Bezoar in your head instead of mine?"
"The Prophecy says only you can kill him," Dumbledore replied earnestly.
Harry frowned. "Are you really that superstitious about Prophecies?"
Dumbledore said nothing. He turned to look at the Mirror of Erised, and Harry caught a glimpse of a complex expression: remembrance, emotion, and loss.
He knew that expression all too well.
Geralt had worn the same look when he talked about Triss at Kaer Morhen.
"Looks like you have a past with some Seer," Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
Dumbledore looked helpless. "Harry, give me a break."
"Severus has come to yell at me more than once because of your sharp instincts. He thinks I told you all those things."
"If you dig up my past, too, I won't have anyone as good as me to vent to."
Harry nodded. "So she's still alive, but for some reason you can't see each other anymore."
Dumbledore's expression stiffened. "Let's change the subject."
Harry pulled the Sorcerer's Stone from his pocket and raised the Sword of Gryffindor in his other hand, pointing it at Dumbledore. "Then let's settle our score."
"What are you doing?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.
Harry toyed with the Sorcerer's Stone. "You don't trust me, Dumbledore."
"I've always trusted you," Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
"You were testing me. Or, rather, putting me to the test." Harry stepped closer to Dumbledore. "Saving Quirrell was just an excuse. You don't care whether he lives or dies. From then until now, you haven't even looked at him once."
"Even while I was applying medicine to Quirrell, you kept your eyes on me."
Dumbledore didn't back away. He even took a step closer to Harry. "He chose Voldemort of his own accord, didn't he?"
"You used that as an excuse to turn down my request." Harry ignored him and continued at his own pace. "You wanted me to face Voldemort—not so much to see how that spell worked..."
"As to find out what kind of person I am?"
Harry paused, then suddenly tossed the Sorcerer's Stone at Dumbledore's head.
It stopped abruptly just before reaching him, hovering in front of his head.
"You wanted to know if I'd covet the Sorcerer's Stone, too." Harry pressed the tip of his sword against Dumbledore's chest. "Whether I was just pretending to be kind while secretly plotting something wicked."
Dumbledore shook his head with a smile and took the red stone into his palm. "You're not kind at all. Your mouth is every bit as sharp as Severus's."
"I really hate this feeling," Harry said with a sneer. "Seems you're very used to treating people like fools."
"You started setting this up when I was about to enroll?"
Dumbledore's gaze was profound. "Why do you say that?"
"Voldemort might have been badly hurt and turned into an idiot, but I haven't." Harry shook his head. "Everything fell into place too neatly."
"If I hadn't noticed all those things and brought them up with you..."
"Maybe I would have found out from Hagrid that the vault had been robbed, and learned about the Sorcerer's Stone."
"Maybe even if I hadn't asked you for my parents' inheritance, you'd have given me the Invisibility Cloak, then arranged for me to end up in Fluffy's room and hinted that the Sorcerer's Stone was hidden there?"
"Then you'd have let me discover that Quirrell wanted to steal the Stone. I'd go to you and Professor McGonagall, and you'd both give me all kinds of reasons to drop it—leaving me with the impression that I was the only one who could stop Quirrell."
"You're very perceptive, but aren't you overthinking it?" Dumbledore smiled faintly.
Harry's expression remained blank. "Then can you explain..."
"Why was it Devil's Snare?"
"I don't believe Professor Sprout couldn't get her hands on Dragon Claw Vine or Hemp Thorn Tree. I've seen them in the Forbidden Forest."
"And why were the antidote and the clue left on a table in the previous room?"
"Persuading Professor Snape to do something like this must have taken a lot of effort."
"It wasn't just me. Hermione, Ron, or any other talented first-year could have passed these tests. Was it some kind of extraordinary end-of-year exam?"
Dumbledore nodded. "You're clever and level-headed, but could you move the sword away first? It's rather uncomfortable."
Harry sneered and didn't move.
"I think I can explain." Dumbledore spread his hands. "After all, you're the Boy Who Lived, the wizarding world's Chosen One, and very talented..."
"I was worried you might go astray. The last person whose true nature I failed to see caused a terrible disaster."
"Voldemort?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dumbledore nodded and was about to say something more.
The black flames at the entrance died away.
A man in black robes hurried in. He took in the scene and froze, stopping in the doorway. "Potter!"
"And Dumbledore!"
"What in Merlin's name are you up to?"
"Miss Granger told me you were going to stop the Dark Lord, and that you had an agreement with Dumbledore!"
"I tried to stop him, but Dumbledore didn't step in, so he got away," Harry replied.
"Dumbledore!" Snape hissed, forcing the words through clenched teeth. He tightened his grip on his wand. "Has your brain turned to treacle?"
"How could you let him get into Hogwarts?"
Harry reminded him, "He was possessing the back of Quirrell's head the whole time. Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"
"Ah, yes." Snape sneered. "Potter, it seems our dear Headmaster Dumbledore thinks I'm just like you—a reckless wizard who only knows how to wave a sword."
"Oh, Severus, hear me out..." Dumbledore waved a hand.
Harry cut him off. "I think we need to teach Headmaster Dumbledore a lesson."
"At last, you've made a reasonably sensible suggestion," Snape said coldly. "I'm relieved that my efforts to educate you have finally had some effect."
He flicked his wand. "Sectumsempra!"
Harry drove forward, thrusting the sword hard against Dumbledore's chest.
With a crash—
Dumbledore's figure burst into flames and vanished. Harry's sword passed right through it, striking nothing, and Snape's spell missed as well.
Both attacks hurtled toward the Mirror of Erised.
"Oh, wait. That mirror mustn't be destroyed." Dumbledore appeared on the other side of it and waved his wand. The air seemed to fill with sand, and Harry froze, unable to move. Snape's spell stalled, too.
Dumbledore walked over and patted the Mirror of Erised.
The mirror vanished into thin air.
He waved his wand again.
Harry could move once more. He stumbled to a stop, and the spell struck the wall, leaving a deep gash.
"All right, let's continue." Dumbledore smiled warmly at the two of them.
Harry clicked his tongue.
Snape lowered his wand.
Professor McGonagall arrived in a panic, followed by a group of animated chess pieces. "Potter, are you all right? Mr. Weasley told me..."
She entered the room.
Seeing Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, and Quirrell lying on the floor, she looked bewildered.
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