Truth

Hermione, who had passed through the purple flames, was about to head for the room where Ron was when she suddenly realized that the room's foul stench had vanished.

Lowering the sleeve she had been using to cover her nose and mouth, she noticed that there was now another person in the room.

"Professor Greengrass?" The young witch looked utterly astonished. "How did you get here...?"

"That is what I should be asking you, Miss Granger." Sagreles smiled.

"Er, sorry, Professor. We shouldn't have acted on our own. I'll tell you everything exactly as it happened, but the situation is urgent right now. Harry is in danger. We have to go first—"

"Calm down, Miss Granger..." He interrupted her, speaking unhurriedly. "Since I am standing here now, it means the situation is still under my control."

Hearing that, the young witch recalled Sagreles's formidable strength from before and gradually calmed down.

Seeing this, Sagreles nodded. He pointed at Ron, who had been placed on the floor. "Wake him up. Mr. Weasley will surely resent us if he misses the most exciting part of the truth."

Ignoring Ron, who had just begun to stir awake, Sagreles cast Impervious, instantly enveloping all three of them. Then he calmly led the two young wizards through the doorway of flames.

On the other side, the instant the potion slid down his throat, Harry felt a strange lightness spread through his entire body. He stepped toward the wall of black fire, and the flames parted to either side like obedient servants.

The scene before him gradually came into focus—the Mirror of Erised stood in the center of a circular stone chamber, its surface glimmering with an eerie silver light. And standing before it was neither Snape, as he had expected, nor Voldemort.

It was Quirrell.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who was always timid and shrinking at the staff table, stood with his back to Harry now, his posture straight and upright.

When Quirrell turned around, Harry could not stop himself from taking a step back—the face that had twitched all year was terrifyingly calm now, with an unhurried smile at the corners of his mouth.

"Potter," Quirrell said in a low, hoarse voice, like a venomous snake slithering across the ground. "I was wondering whether you would come."

"You... you aren't..."

"Not stuttering?" Quirrell chuckled, and the sound reminded Harry of a frozen lake on a winter night.

"How... why isn't it Snape?" Harry's voice caught in his throat. His scar suddenly flared with agony, as though a red-hot brand had been pressed to his forehead.

"Snape? Ha, speaking of which, I really have Snape to thank. With him wandering around the school..." He paced elegantly, spinning his wand between his fingers. "Who would suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?"

Harry's mind raced as fragments of memory suddenly formed a horrifying picture. "But wasn't he trying to kill me? During Quidditch?"

"Kill you? Hah, he was saving you!" Quirrell's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If Snape had not been countering my curse, you would have fallen and been smashed to pieces. And that damned Greengrass—"

His voice suddenly twisted, and a savage expression flashed across his face. "He ruined my carefully arranged plan!"

Harry felt the world spinning. Snape had been protecting him all along? That Potions professor who was always picking on him? That realization was even harder to accept than Quirrell's betrayal.

"But it does not matter." Quirrell suddenly snapped his fingers, and ropes shot from the floor like snakes, binding Harry tightly. "Tonight, the Dark Lord will finally obtain what he desires."

"I cannot let you remain alive any longer, Potter. I wanted to do this back in the Forbidden Forest, but that damned woman nearly killed me. If I had not run fast enough, I might have turned to ashes on the spot. This is all your fault, but it does not matter. No one can save you this time, Harry Potter. This time, no one can save you!"

"But before that, Potter, you will have to wait quietly for a while, because I need to take a good look at this interesting mirror."

"That figure in the Forbidden Forest was you?" Harry's eyes widened. "You were drinking Unicorn blood?"

"Yes, that is right..." Quirrell stared brightly at the mirror without turning around. "Can you imagine it? For decades before this, I never knew those beasts' blood possessed such powerful magic. It is a pity that bastard Greengrass has been going into the Forbidden Forest so often lately. Otherwise, my magic would certainly be far greater than this..."

"But aren't you afraid of the curse? Drinking Unicorn blood will curse you..." Harry summoned the courage to speak again.

"A curse?" Quirrell glanced back at him carelessly. "What are you talking about, Potter? Are you trying to use lies to stop me from studying this mirror?"

After saying that, he ignored Harry and began circling the mirror, muttering nonstop. "I see the Philosopher's Stone. I see myself offering it to my master in exchange for generous rewards. Does this mirror have the power of prophecy? Can it show what is about to happen?"

Quirrell muttered anxiously to himself.

"That is the Mirror of Desire!" Harry seized the chance to speak, trying to stall for time and draw Quirrell's attention.

Sure enough, his words worked. Quirrell turned to look at him.

"You know this mirror?" Quirrell asked expressionlessly. "Tell me, Potter. Tell me its secret."

Harry looked frightened, and he truly was terrified. "If I tell you, can you spare me this once? Professor Quirrell, I do not want to die..."

The young wizard did his best to pretend that he was afraid of death. He was already prepared to use every possible means to deal with the other man.

"Oh, Potter..." Quirrell laughed. "Are you begging me for mercy? The famous Savior?"

"I never wanted to be any kind of Savior!" Harry shouted. "I just want to be... just an ordinary person."

"I understand, I understand, Potter..." Quirrell slowly approached him, wearing a false smile. "My master will certainly agree to your request. He is very strict with me, but he will surely be merciful toward you... Of course, that requires you to tell me everything you know."

Quirrell tried hard to make his voice gentle, while Harry continued weaving lies in his mind.

"This is the Mirror of Erised!" Harry said hesitantly. "People can see the desires in their hearts through it, but what it shows is false..."

"You mean... the Philosopher's Stone is not here?" The smile vanished from Quirrell's face, replaced by a dark expression.

"Of course it is not," Harry said more and more smoothly. Several convincing little lies suddenly sprang into his mind. "Professor Dumbledore has always carried the Philosopher's Stone on him. I have seen it. It is in a little cloth pouch..."

Quirrell's expression grew uglier and uglier, and Harry hurried to placate him. "But I can try to get it..."

The boy put on a proud expression. "Dumbledore favors me greatly, you know. Perhaps that is the only use of being called the Savior..."

"But why would you do that?"

"Consider it payment for sparing my life!" Harry answered excitedly.

"I see..." Quirrell nodded as if he understood. He bent down and slowly brought his face close to the young wizard's. "But Potter... if that is the case, why was this mirror placed here?"

A mocking expression appeared on his face, as though he had seen through every one of Harry's lies. "Why would that old fox Dumbledore protect a worthless mirror behind so many defenses?"

"It is a trap!" Harry hurriedly replied. "Professor Greengrass told him to do it. Their purpose was to mislead anyone coveting the Philosopher's Stone. This itself is a trap..." Harry felt that he was performing beyond his limits today. He could make up any lie with ease.

"What did you say?" Quirrell's eyes widened at once. He looked around in panic and shouted, "Master, we have been deceived. This is a trap..."

Just as Harry was at a loss, a low, hoarse voice suddenly came from within Quirrell's body, instantly turning his limbs cold.

"That boy is deceiving you, fool!"

Harry felt as though he had fallen into an ice cellar, but the voice did not stop.

"The Philosopher's Stone is in the mirror. If you cannot obtain it, use that boy. He can help you get the Philosopher's Stone..."

Quirrell turned his head toward Harry again, his face now so dark it seemed ready to drip water.

"Very well, Potter..." He suppressed the rage in his heart and waved a hand, releasing the ropes binding Harry. "You should not have lied to me, though I do not blame you... Now, come here."

Quirrell pointed to the spot before the mirror. "Come here. Look into the mirror, then tell me what you see."

Harry did not know how he managed to walk to the mirror. That voice continued echoing in his mind. For a moment, he even thought it had merely been a hallucination.

I still have to lie. No matter what I see, I must lie! Harry kept warning himself.

He finally stood before the mirror. When he raised his head to look into it, he thought he would see his family again, but he quickly realized he was wrong.

His reflection was deathly pale, the scar on his forehead particularly vicious under the dim light. Then suddenly, the figure in the mirror gave him a mysterious smile—a smile Harry himself would never make.

The "Harry" in the mirror reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a blood-red gem. The Philosopher's Stone glimmered with a demonic light in the illusory mirror world, like a drop of congealed blood. The reflection gave him a mischievous wink, then stuffed the gem back into its pocket—

Thud.

Harry shuddered violently. His robe pocket suddenly sagged heavily downward, and through the fabric, he could feel something warm. It was no illusion—the Philosopher's Stone had simply appeared in his pocket out of thin air!

Harry tried his best not to show any reaction, because Quirrell stood directly behind him. He could even feel the man's breath against the back of his head.

Quirrell seemed to notice something strange and abruptly turned toward the mirror. "What are you looking at? What did you see?"

He shouted sharply, his voice full of unease.

Harry resisted the urge to touch his pocket and forced his expression to remain frightened. His reflection had returned to its original panicked appearance, as though nothing had happened.

Yet through his loose wizarding robes, he could clearly feel the subtle warmth radiating from the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, as if he were carrying a tiny heart.

"I saw a huge crowd surrounding me," Harry said without hesitation as he looked at his pale reflection in the mirror. "And I became Gryffindor's prefect. Oh, not just that—I became Head Boy too..."

Quirrell began to grow impatient, but Harry continued talking. "I won the House Cup for Gryffindor, and I joined the national Quidditch team!"

"Shut up. Get out of here..." Quirrell shoved Harry aside and stepped in front of the mirror himself.

"Lies! That boy is still lying..."

The hoarse, low voice sounded again, but this time Harry saw clearly that Quirrell's mouth had not moved at all.

"Potter, get back here!" Quirrell immediately shouted. "Tell the truth. What exactly did you see? Do not try to lie again. Before the master, all your lies are futile!"

"Quirinus, let me speak with him. Let me speak to him—face-to-face..." the voice said. "After all, he seems... to be a child who likes to lie..."

"But Master, your strength has not yet recovered..."

"I still have enough strength for this..." The voice seemed angered by Quirrell's doubt. "Do not make me repeat myself, Quirinus."

"Yes, Master—yes." Quirrell hurriedly lowered his head in panic. He reached up and untied the turban wrapped around his head, revealing the smooth, bald scalp beneath it.

Then Harry saw Quirrell turn around, presenting the back of his head to him.

For a moment, Harry remembered the nightmare that often plagued him. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted to turn and run, but he could not move a step.

Because where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face. Harry had never seen a face so hideous and terrifying. Its skin was bone-white, its eyes blood-red, and beneath them were two long, snake-like nostrils.

"Harry Potter..." the face whispered. "We meet again at last."

Harry felt unsteady on his feet. He stumbled backward and collapsed onto the steps.

"Look what you have done to me..." the face said softly. "I even lost my own body, wandering the forest like a lonely ghost... I could survive only by relying on snakes and rats..."

Harry could not speak, but the face continued talking.

"But it does not matter. Great and merciful Voldemort can give you a chance—as long as you are willing to hand the Philosopher's Stone in your pocket over to me, then of course I can spare your life..."

So Voldemort knew everything. A storm raged in Harry's heart. He did not know Voldemort could use Legilimency. He had thought Voldemort could truly discern lies.

Then what was there left to fear? Harry suddenly felt relieved. Had he not already prepared himself for this before entering this room? Or rather, eleven years ago, he should have died at this man's hands.

With that thought, Harry forced himself to control his trembling legs and stood up with all his strength.

"Do not be foolish, child... Do not be like your parents, thinking you can resist me..." Voldemort said viciously. "Did you not say so just now? You said you were willing to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore for me in exchange for my forgiveness—for your life. Now I will give you that chance. Just give me the Philosopher's Stone..."

"No chance!"

Harry suddenly shouted firmly. At the same time, he spun around and rushed toward the wooden door burning with black flames.

"You cannot escape!"

Quirrell backed toward him, closing in, while Voldemort stared at him without blinking. A cruel grin appeared once more on that evil face.

Ropes that appeared from nowhere bound Harry's legs again, making him lose his balance at once and crash heavily to the floor.

Voldemort's voice was like a poisonous snake crawling over dry bones, every word carrying a chill that seeped into Harry's marrow. "Courage... what a fascinating quality..."

His rotting face twisted on the back of Quirrell's head. "Just like your father... refusing to yield even in death..."

Harry felt the ropes bite deeply into his flesh, but what hurt more were the memories suddenly tearing open—details he had never known, now spoken by his enemy.

"Did you know? Your father did not even have his wand at the time... Such a heroic resistance..." Voldemort hissed, his voice filled with sick delight. "My Killing Curse blasted him from one end of the room to the other... But until death, he stood at the staircase, trying to buy time for your mother..."

An image Harry had never seen suddenly appeared before his eyes: a black-haired man with glasses struck by green light, flying down the corridor like a broken puppet.

"And your mother..." Voldemort paused. "She could have lived... I gave her a choice... But she insisted on using her body to shield your cradle..."

The snake-like face twisted. "What a foolish choice... Avada Kedavra!"

Harry's heart skipped a beat, but no green light flashed before his eyes. There was only Voldemort's mocking smile.

Voldemort continued speaking as he moved forward. "Ah... I should have done this eleven years ago, Potter... And I did do it then... Yet you left me like this... Now eleven years have passed. Eleven whole years... This time, do you think you can escape disaster as you did before?"

Harry panted heavily, forcing down the grief in his heart. Struggling, he pulled the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket and hurled it into the flames with all his strength.

"How dare you!"

Voldemort's face suddenly became savage. He stretched out a hand and cast a Summoning Charm at the Philosopher's Stone in midair, but the red stone was snatched away by a Raven that appeared out of nowhere.