Where Did the Troll Go? What Did You See in the Mirror of Erised?

"Knock knock knock--"

Deep within the room before Quirrell, the large shadow seemed to suddenly gain weight.

Accompanied by heavy footsteps, a strange creature emerged from the darkness in the corner.

It resembles a human, with incredibly long arms and legs, and its arms almost reaching the ground.

Its body was like a moving fortress, almost touching the ceiling, which was seven or eight meters high.

Its bluish-gray skin was covered by thick ice armor, with a dark blue hue peeking through the cracked patterns.

The twisted ice crystal horns on its head gleamed in the dim light, while its blood-red eyes stared intently at Quirrell.

Quirrell's wand began to twitch.

"No, that's impossible..."

He whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with shock and fear.

Most Troll are around four meters tall. The one Quirrell placed in the level is slightly larger, but definitely not more than five meters.

The creature before them was far larger than Troll, and even compared to the much stronger and taller pure-blooded Giant, it was in no way inferior.

Furthermore, the Troll cannot use any magic; it fights solely by its abnormal brute strength.

But the strange creature before them was covered in hideous ice armor, and as it moved, thick frost spread around it.

Quirrell couldn't understand where the Troll he had prepared had gone, so he tried to trigger the methods he had arranged in advance.

"Puff."

A wisp of smoke rose from the back of the tall creature's head, making a soft hissing sound.

"This..."

Quirrell's pupils contracted; this feedback confirmed that the creature before him was indeed the Troll he had placed in the level!

How come the curse's power has become so weak!

Someone has altered my Dark Magic?

Although he wasn't seriously injured, this seemed to have angered the creature.

With a series of cracking Padfoot. In just a few strides, it closed in on Quirrell.

The ice quickly condensed in his large hand, forming a thick spiked club in the blink of an eye.

Quirrell instinctively prepared to back away.

Bang!

The door behind me closed automatically.

"!"

Quirrell had no choice but to lunge to the side.

The dark blue spiked club, carrying a chilling aura, slammed down heavily, grazing Quirrell's headscarf.

A deafening roar echoed through the room.

Quirrell was just about to create some distance and use magic to kill the strange creature from afar.

A sharp pain suddenly came from my back and the back of my thighs.

It turned out that a large patch of icy spikes had burst out from where the spiked club collided with the ground, and two of them happened to pierce Quirrell's back and right leg.

"Waste!"

Voldemort's voice, colder than ice, echoed in Quirrell's mind.

Quirrell then felt as if he had lost control of his body.

Quirrell looked like he had suddenly lost a lot of weight, as if a portion of his flesh had vanished into thin air.

A mad and sinister burst of magic.

"The magic is here, let's finish this quickly..."

Voldemort's voice gradually faded; he wanted to save his power for the final hurdle, unaware of what tricks that cunning old fox Dumbledore had in store.

"Thanks to you, Hermione, for recognizing the Devil's Snare in time!"

Harry wiped his sweat and said with relief.

"Professor Sprout specifically reviewed this in the Herbology a while ago."

Hermione flicked the flame off the tip of her staff, extinguishing it.

"Alright, let's hurry up and move forward."

Upon entering the next room, I pushed open the door and saw countless jewel-like, dazzling birds fluttering about.

"Phew, that scared me to death! I thought it was Fire Dragon or a ghost, but it was just a bird."

Ron patted his chest and said irritably.

No, those aren't birds!

"It's a key!"

Harry gasped in surprise, while simultaneously scanning the other corners of the room.

Several Flying Broomstick were soon discovered.

Ron checked the door lock and guessed:

"The key is quite large, probably silver, maybe like a doorknob?"

The three immediately mounted their brooms, and led by Harry, the youngest Seeker of the century, they finally managed to corner and intercept the large key with sky-blue wings.

"Got it!"

Harry landed directly in front of the door with the key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.

"Snap!"

The door opened with a click.

"It's not that difficult. Just keep pushing, and we'll be fine!"

Quirrell staggered to the last room.

He lost his left arm again, and his right leg was also torn and bleeding, making him very stiff to move.

"Cough cough cough..."

Achoo!

Coughing and sneezing sounds kept coming from Quirrell's mouth.

"Who dared to mess with my Troll?!"

Quirrell nearly collapsed to his knees, muttering in bewilderment and resentment.

Don't dwell on your current suffering; hope is just around the corner...

Voldemort's voice held a hint of surprise and excitement.

"Quick, get to that mirror..."

Quirrell looked up and saw a mirror in the center of the room.

Limping forward, Quirrell carefully examined the ornate mirror before him.

It's very high, almost reaching the ceiling.

The frames are a luxurious gold, with claw-shaped feet at the bottom for support.

Noticing a line of letters at the top, Quirrell shook his head, squinted to clear his vision slightly.

"Eris, Stella..."

Suddenly, Quirrell noticed some changes in his reflection in the mirror.

His once emaciated body became upright and strong, and his pale face gained a rosy glow.

The long scarf on her head had also disappeared, replaced by thick, flowing black hair.

A dark, misty phantom detached from above his head and flew away rapidly.

Then, Quirrell in the mirror had a book in his hand, and the scene changed to a quiet study with soft lighting and the occasional sound of turning pages.

Seeing this scene, Quirrell stared blankly, unconsciously reaching out his remaining right hand, wanting to touch the mirror.

A tear, for no apparent reason, slid down the corner of my eye.

"Quirinus, what did you see?"

A chilling voice echoed in his mind, causing Quirrell to shudder and instantly snap back to reality.

Yes, he is still disabled, and an evil soul still resides in his mind; he has not yet been freed.

"Master, Lord, I... I saw it..."

"I saw myself acquire the Sorcerer's Stone, and I offered it to you. I, under your protection, became, became the Minister for Magic!"

Quirrell didn't reveal what he actually saw; instead, he described a scene that Voldemort would definitely like.

"Oh, very good."

Where is the Sorcerer's Stone?

Voldemort's cold voice stung Quirrell's nerves.

Cold sweat dripped from Quirrell's forehead as he suppressed coughs and sneezes, too afraid to answer.

Voldemort didn't pay any attention; instead, he began to ponder this challenge.

The Sorcerer's Stone must be in that mirror.

But how do we remove it?

You can see it, but you can't touch it...

I don't know how much time passed.

The room door was suddenly kicked open!

"I will definitely protect the Sorcerer's Stone and stop you..."

Harry, his clothes dusty, burst in, his face radiating righteous indignation as he looked at...

"Professor Quirrell?"

Why are you here?