The Plot Went Off the Rails After All

When Gavin arrived at the door of the room, the small bottle on the table was already empty.

He stood in the doorway, looking at the empty bottle, then at the still-burning black flame in front of him.

The flames silently licked the air, casting long and short shadows throughout the stone chamber.

His mind went blank for a moment.

Then he looked down at himself, then looked up at the fire, then looked down at the small bottle on the table with only a ring of dried black marks at the bottom.

"No, I haven't gotten on the bus yet."

There was no one in the room; Harry had already gone over.

When Gavin arrived, he saw Ron at the chessboard. After checking that he was alright, he continued onward. The first few levels seemed to have lost their Magic and were no longer effective, so he easily made his way through.

Then, he bumped into Hermione in the hallway—she was rushing out to look for someone.

Gavin only had time to stop for one step to make sure Hermione was alright before continuing to run forward. Hermione called out something behind him, but it was swallowed up by the echo in the stone corridor.

Now he stood in the room Snape had designed, staring at the table, then bending down to look at the bottom of the bottle, as if trying to squeeze another drop of Potions from the glass with his eyes.

No.

Snape was always very stingy with Potions, preparing each one with the minimum logical dosage, as if leaving even a little bit would damage his stock.

Gavin straightened up and looked at the Black Fire.

Waiting for Harry to come out? The thought only flashed through my mind for half a second.

His mind automatically filled in the next frame of the image—it wasn't Harry walking out from the other side of the flames, it was Quirrell, Quirrell was clutching the Philosopher's Stone, and the noseless face on the back of his head was smiling.

A chill rose up my back and climbed up my spine.

He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the chill back into his stomach.

"Stay calm, there must be another way."

He walked around and saw various bottles on the table—full, but all filled with Poisonous Potion.

The ground was made of hard stone slabs, which made no hollow sound when knocked on. One side of the door was filled with Black Fire, and the other side with Violet Flames. There was still more than half of the Potions left through the Violet Flames, enough for him to make a dignified retreat.

Gavin ran his fingers over every inch of the table edge; there were no Hidden Compartments, no spare bottles, no hidden pockets.

He pressed down on every single brick seam in the stone wall; none were loose, and there was no sense of any mechanism.

Time ticked by, and his palms began to sweat. He wiped them on his robe and watched the two flames, Black Fire and Violet Flame, burning quietly, one going in and the other out.

Snape designed the room to be so clean—so clean that there was no other way but to follow the rules.

He stared blankly at the Black Fire, which burned quietly, the tip of the Black Fire flickering slightly.

He suddenly thought of something.

This fire--

It seems like he started burning it after he came in, right?

He stood there, recalling the scene when he first entered. After he came in, two flames lit up the previously dark room, blocking his path forward or backward.

Magical flames need fuel, Snape couldn't possibly be burning an inexhaustible, eternal fire here—the budget probably wouldn't allow it, and it's outside the scope of the Potions Class professor's authority.

If the fire is triggered by him stepping into the room, is there a condition to stop it?

Gavin first cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, but the Flame Door didn't react. He then slowly entered a state of Tortoise-Breathing, but it still didn't work. He continued to frown and think.

After a while, his gaze shifted to the bottle of purple potion, which was still more than half full. It was a retreat Potions, and he had another idea.

He rummaged through the Dragon Hide Bag for a while, and finally took out a toad, the same toad he had bought for drug testing at the start of the school year.

"Survive, and I'll add two more worms to your diet every day."

The toad stared wide-eyed and croaked, but it was unclear whether it understood.

Without hesitation, Gavin poured a mouthful of purple Potions into the toad, then tossed it out of the purple Flame Door, remaining in a state of Tortoise-Breathing throughout.

Instantly, the flames on both doors went out.

Gavin looked down at his hand, then at the Black Fire that was no longer there.

He grinned.

"Sir, you still need to practice your design skills."

After saying that, he stepped through the door where the black flames were no longer visible from this side.

When he regained his footing, the first thing he saw was a huge mirror— the Mirror of Erised, standing quietly in the center of the room, its surface reflecting the flickering firelight around him.

Then came Harry, who was staggering backward, one hand gripping his robe pocket tightly, his face as pale as if he had just been pulled out of ice water.

A figure draped in Black Robes stood before him, his back to Gavin. Beneath the turban covering the back of his head, a noseless, snake-like face was visible.

"Why don't you hand over the Philosopher's Stone from your pocket, Potter?" The voice was deep and smooth, like a snake rubbing its scales as it laughed.

At that moment, the sound of two footsteps came from behind.

Harry and Voldemort both looked toward the doorway.

Gavin emerged from the doorway, still glowing with Black Fire. He first glanced at Quirrell —or rather, at the back of Quirrell's head—and then at Harry.

Harry was alive, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Finally caught up."

The two people in the room—or rather, the two and a half people—were stunned for a moment; no one had expected a fourth person to appear in this place.

Voldemort spoke first, a hint of surprise flashing in his red eyes. "There's still one."

Harry finally snapped out of his daze, his eyes widening in shock. "Gavin?!"

"Hmm." Gavin raised his Wand, pointing it at Quirrell's back of the head, his arm outstretched, the tip of the wand and the noseless face separated only by air and a terrified boy.

"Let him go, Voldemort."

Voldemort laughed, a laugh that came from the back of Quirrell's head, thin and sharp, like metal scraping against stone.

"Interesting, it's been a long time since anyone pointed Wand at me like that."

Before Harry could even feel relieved, he suddenly pointed at Gavin's lower body, his face changing drastically. "Gavin, you... your robes!"

Gavin lowered his head.

A cluster of black flames had somehow appeared on the hem of his robe, spreading upwards at a visible speed. The flames had already licked past his knees, crawling up the outside of his thighs, leaving a charred trail on his robe with dark red embers at the edges.

He paused for a moment, then said, "Oh, it probably brushed against my skin when I went through the doorway."

Then he started patting the flame, trying to knock it away.

He kept patting it with his hands, his sleeves, and with his other hand, he tried to extinguish the unburned parts of his robe. The Black Fire didn't go out after a couple of pats—in fact, they spread even faster along the folds of the robe.

The flames gradually spread to his waist, chest, and shoulders, and Gavin's expression finally changed.

How do we put out this fire?

He turned to Harry.

"Harry, do me a favor—"

"I--"

Hurry up!

Harry took a step forward.

But the Black Fire had already engulfed Gavin's shoulders, turning him into a pillar of fire standing in the doorway. Black flames simultaneously erupted from every inch of his clothing, distorting and Transfiguration the air. Gavin's Wand was still raised, his posture unchanged, his mouth still open—then he froze for half a second, letting out a distorted scream.

"Someone help me— Harry —save me—ahhh!"

Before the last syllable even finished, he collapsed to the ground.

The Black Fire surged upwards briefly as it fell, then quickly receded, the flames retreating from its limbs back to its torso, then shrinking into a thin layer of black embers that covered the shape that no longer resembled a human.

Only a charred, curled-up body remained on the ground, its hand still outstretched, fingers curled, before finally falling silent. The Black Fire had completely died down, and a wisp of smoke rose from its charred robe, dissipating into the cold air of the stone chamber.

Harry was stunned.

He stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide open as if about to burst, the afterimage of what had just happened still reflected in his pupils, his hand still outstretched in mid-air—he had almost reached Gavin's robe, just a hair's breadth away.

Voldemort paused for a moment, then he laughed, louder and more awful than before, each laugh sounding like a piece of cloth being torn apart.

Has Hogwarts stooped so low as to admit students like this?

Those red eyes narrowed on the back of Quirrell's head, a pleasant, sticky malice in their voice, "It's alright, I'll clean up all this trash when I get back."

Harry stared at the black mass at the doorway. He also saw Gavin's charred hand—the hand that had just been pointing its Wand at Voldemort, now shrunken into a tiny ball, its five fingers curled in its palm.

Seeing this, his face turned deathly pale.

Voldemort moved forward a little. "See that, Potter? This is what happens when you defy me. Now, give me the Philosopher's Stone."

"Don't even think about it!"

Harry abruptly shifted his gaze from the charred mass to the still-burning black flame behind him.

He rushed towards the door amidst the flames; at that moment, only one solution could be thought of.

Since Gavin was burned to death, and since Voldemort couldn't get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone, he could at least do one thing—let the fire burn him and the Philosopher's Stone together, which was better than falling into Voldemort's hands.

Before he even touched the fire, his foot tightened as a rope wrapped around his ankle, pulling him to the ground. His shoulder slammed against the stone slab, the sound of bones hitting stone making a dull thud.

Harry felt stars popping out of his head, and the smell of Dust that had accumulated in the cracks of the stone slabs for hundreds of years filled his nostrils. He didn't give up. He used his still-functioning forearm to support himself on the ground, his fingers gripping the cracks in the stone slabs, and crawled forward little by little.

"Grab him!" Voldemort screamed, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

Quirrell took a step forward, then stopped.

He hesitated for a second, just a very brief moment, but in that instant, he remembered a few things—the smell of the twins' Dungbomb exploding around the corner of the corridor, the burning sensation of the colored powder on the teacup handle lingering on his fingertips for three whole days, and the Gavin gave him when he was teasing him in the office, a look that wasn't the look a normal first-year student would give a professor.

He's been through enough trouble these past two months that he's developed a conditioned reflex—not to touch anything that appears near suspicious individuals.

"What are you dawdling for, you piece of trash!" Voldemort roared at the back of Quirrell's head, the sound so loud it made Quirrell's skull vibrate.

Quirrell didn't reach out with his hands. Instead, he raised his Wand and summoned a rope. The rope twisted in the air and precisely wrapped around Harry's hands, then yanked them apart sharply.

Harry was pinned to the ground, arms outstretched, like a specimen nailed to a board, his fingers still trying to pry at something, but he couldn't touch anything.

Quirrell didn't touch him; from beginning to end, he didn't touch Harry's skin with a single finger.

At this moment, a slight difference emerged between reality and the original work.

"..."

From a charred humanoid figure.

Voldemort was laughing, a triumphant, cruel laugh, a laugh tinged with the anticipation of victory, "Don't waste your time, die like your parents—or—"

"Confringo!"

A beam of Red Light shot out from the tip of Quirrell's cane, which was pointing at Harry, and flew straight toward Harry.

The Spell —missed Harry.

Just before the Spell was uttered, the floorboards suddenly lurched upwards, as if pushed up from the ground by a hand. The entire stone slab flipped up, carrying Harry and him half a meter towards the door.

The Blasting Curse grazed the spot where he had just been lying, creating a crater the size of a washbasin in the stone wall behind him, sending debris flying everywhere.

Quirrell looked up abruptly, sweeping his Wand around, the tip grazing every shadow, every pillar, every wall, but he found no one else.

Then he heard a sound.

The sound coming from the doorway was a very faint, light crack, like the first crack of an eggshell breaking open under pressure.

He turned his head.

The charred, black human figure curled up by the doorway stirred.

First, there was the shoulder; the charred shell split open at the shoulder blade, the crack widening to reveal a layer of robe fabric underneath that was still fairly normal in color.

Then came the head. The black shell on the head split open in the middle of the forehead and fell off to both sides, revealing the hair underneath—a little messy from the heat, but it was definitely hair.

Then came the whole person. The charred outer shell peeled off piece by piece, falling to the ground and crumbling into black powder. The person inside shook their shoulders, stood up, and raised their hand to pat off a piece of charred shell that hadn't yet fallen off above their left ear.

Gavin Gu.

His hair was disheveled, and his face was smeared with black ash. He looked like someone who had just walked out of a fire scene, but was completely unharmed.

Harry lay on the ground, his hands bound, looking up at the scene.

His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, as if he had at least five questions he wanted to ask at the same time.

Gavin didn't look at him. He flicked a piece of charred crust off his shoulder, looked at Quirrell and the face on the back of his head, and sighed.

"As expected, it still collapsed."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, like a hunter who, upon discovering his prey has deviated from its intended course, begins to reassess the situation.

"Human Transfiguration?"

"Oh, no, it's just a simple Transfiguration of scraps of cloth combined with Fire-Making Spell."

Are you playing me for a fool?

"I didn't want to either." Gavin clapped his hands, brushing the black ash from between his fingers, his tone as if explaining an experimental result he himself wasn't entirely satisfied with. "But I'm only a freshman; I don't have many choices to begin with."

Harry's voice came from the ground, hoarse, urgent, and trembling with lingering fear. "Gavin —are you alright? That Black Fire— "

"Oh, that." Gavin glanced down at the scorch mark on the hem of his robe. "A byproduct of researching Fire-Making Spells, flame color change and temperature control."

He tilted his head toward Harry. "I can tell you about it next time."

"Kid." Voldemort's voice drew everyone's attention back. His red eyes were fixed on Gavin, a morbid curiosity burning in his pupils. "You definitely have something going on."

"Thank you, Lord Dark Lord." Gavin nodded, "But even if you praise me now, I won't take your side."

There was a moment of silence. Voldemort didn't respond immediately. His red eyes were fixed on Gavin, as if he were reading a book—a book with dense, difficult-to-read text.

Suddenly, Voldemort's somewhat annoyed voice rang out. "What exactly are you?"

Gavin blinked.

"Legilimency?"

Voldemort's gaze paused slightly.

"Isn't your starting move a bit outdated, Lord Voldemort?" Gavin looked at the noseless face, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Has Quirrell forgotten the result last time?"

Quirrell shuddered violently at these words, then calmed down for a moment before starting to tremble again. His shoulders hunched, and his fingers instinctively tightened around his Wand —then he realized he was shaking and desperately tried to straighten his shoulders, trying to appear as Quirrell who wasn't frightened by the words.

"A boring little trick!" Voldemort's voice rose, tinged with a sharp, offended rage. "Quirrell, kill him!"

Quirrell turned around, raised his hand, and Blasting Curse in one fluid motion, faster than any Spell he had demonstrated in class.

Gavin crouched down.

He had already bent his knees the instant Quirrell raised his Wand.

The Blasting Curse grazed past his head and exploded into a pile of rubble on the stone wall behind him.

As he crouched down, he casually slammed his Wand on the ground—the smooth stone slab seemed to awaken from this action, suddenly arching upwards and unfolding in mid-air into a thick Earthen Wall, positioned between him and Quirrell, simultaneously protecting Harry.

The Earthen Wall continued to grow, and fragments of stone slabs climbed up the edge of the wall, piecing together to completely block out the view on Quirrell's side.

"Close your eyes, Harry." Gavin crouched behind the Earthen Wall, turning his head to speak to Harry while reaching into his robe pocket for something.

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why--"

"Obedient."

Harry gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and turned his face toward the ground, his eyelashes pressed against the Dust on the stone slab.

Quirrell walked towards the Earthen Wall, his steps slow and firm.

He stopped three steps in front of the Earthen Wall and raised his hand to release a Blasting Curse.

Debris flew everywhere, blasting a shallow crater in the Earthen Wall, but the wall didn't collapse. He fired another shot, turning the shallow crater into a fist-deep one, but it still didn't collapse.

Gavin had clearly poured a considerable amount of Magic into this earthen Earthen Wall.

"Come out," Quirrell's voice came from outside the wall, unhurried. "You won't last long."

There was no reply from inside the wall.

Then something flew out in front of him, black, about the size of a fist, and flew off in an arc to the other side.

Without thinking, Quirrell followed the shadowy figure with Wand and cast Spell. With a "bang," the object exploded in mid-air, shattering into several pieces of glass.

It was an empty Potions.

When Quirrell realized this, he knew things were going badly.

But Gavin had already stepped forward, standing to the side of the Earthen Wall, wearing a pair of solid black glasses and holding Wand in his hand.

"Look me in the eye, you brat."

Then his Wand lit up.

"Lumos."

The light exploded directly in front of Quirrell, just a few meters away, at an unobstructed, direct viewing distance, within his dilated pupils—it exploded.

The white, scorching light pierced his eyes, as if someone had torn off an entire midday sun and slapped it onto his retina.

Before Quirrell could even close his eyes, a sharp pain shot straight from his eyeballs to the back of his head, like two red-hot nails piercing his pupils at the same time.

His hands involuntarily covered his eyes, his knees buckled, and he squatted down, letting out a roar that was somewhere between a scream and a howl.

"Ah—my eyes!"

Voldemort roared at the back of his head, his voice completely distorted, from a sinister grin to a hysterical scream, "Useless trash! Get up! Now!"

"Expelliarmus."

Gavin's second Spell struck Quirrell's hand, which was covering his eyes—or more precisely, struck the Wand he was still clutching.

The Wand flew from Quirrell's hand, spun in the air, and was caught by Gavin's outstretched left hand.

"All done." He said, kneeling down in front of Harry to untie his ropes, his voice carrying a long-lost sense of relief. "You can open your eyes now."

As soon as Harry opened his eyes, he saw two Wands in front of him—one Gavin's and one Quirrell's, placed on either side of him.

Gavin's face was right in front of him, his sunglasses off, and a streak of black ash still smeared on his forehead.

"... You won?" Harry's voice was still dazed, his eyes involuntarily glancing behind Gavin.

"More or less."

Then he heard Voldemort's voice, still yelling, "Kill him!"

Quirrell stood up unsteadily, his eyes still red, with two dark marks around his eyes from the bright light, and tears mixed with a clear secretion streaming down his face.

He couldn't see clearly, but he was an adult, heavier than two children combined. He only needed to take a few steps forward and use his hands—not magic—to take care of the two people in front of him.

Harry tensed up immediately. "He's coming."

Gavin replied dismissively, "I saw it."

"Then what should we do?"

"It's alright." Gavin was still untying the last knot, not even looking up. "We've already won half the battle."

Why half?

"Because my partner has nothing to do with me."

Harry didn't understand.

Quirrell took another step forward, now only two steps away from the two of them. He stretched out his hand, fingers spread, pressing his five fingers towards them.

"Gavin," Harry's voice was taut like a fully drawn bowstring, "He really came."

"Um."

"And you--"

"I'm out of Magic." Gavin threw away the last rope, dusted off his hands, and said calmly, as if saying, "The Pumpkin Juice is finished." "That Disarming Charm was my last Ripple."

Harry was completely stunned. He turned his head sharply, nearly bumping into Gavin's. "What?!"

"Really." Gavin shrugged, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "Right now, I'm even weaker than you."

That Earthen Wall — Earthen Wall strong enough to withstand two Blasting Curse from an adult wizard—plus that enhanced Lumos bright enough to temporarily blind someone, had completely drained his Magic. He probably had enough Magic left to light a cigarette, but Quirrell clearly wasn't going to offer him one.

"And you just said we were almost won?!"

"Because I got the strongest weapon."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Where?"

"You."

"Huh?" Harry pointed at his nose, making such a big movement that he almost poked himself.

"You've been upgraded, Harry." Gavin grabbed his arm and yanked him toward Quirrell. "Go for it."

"Huh? Me, fighting Quirrell? And Voldemort?!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

"That's right."

Quirrell was less than a meter away from him, Harry could see the blurry, tearful face, the expression changing from pain to anger.

He could smell Quirrell's scent, a mixture of sweat and old robes, and he could hear Voldemort still hissing at the back of that head, his voice sounding as if it were coming through a layer of water.

"Gavin, are you crazy?!"

"If you don't go soon, he'll be here."

"Can--"

"No buts." Gavin took a breath, then dropped the bombshell, "Voldemort is your enemy."

A surge of rage instantly ignited in his unfocused green eyes. His fingers, which had been trembling just seconds before, clenched into fists. Then, with a shout, he lunged at Quirrell.

He punched Quirrell in the chest with a completely unskilled move, tripping over a crack in the stone slab. The force was probably enough to knock down an upperclassman.

Quirrell raised his hand and easily grasped Harry's wrist.

"Foolish little --"

He stopped, his expression shifting from mockery to confusion, and then from confusion to fear.

The whole process took only a second, and then he screamed—not the muffled roar he'd heard when hit by the Flash Charm, but a real, piercing, out-of-control scream, like a beast whose tail had been stepped on.

He abruptly removed his hand from Harry, his swollen eyes staring in disbelief at his own palm.

On his palm, the spot that had touched Ripper was visibly blistering, the flesh turning inside out, and a burnt smell filled the air, mingling with the original Dust smell of the stone chamber.

Harry paused, looked down at his hands, then looked up at Quirrell's smoking palm, completely bewildered.

Then the scar on his forehead suddenly burst open with a sharp pain. He covered his forehead, gritted his teeth, and his knees trembled, but he did not back down.

Gavin leaned against the Earthen Wall, watching this scene unfold.

He breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing from the defensive stance he had been in, and he leaned to one side, the back of his head gently bumping against the Earthen Wall.

"Finally back on track."