Ancient Magic Revealed

Harry and Ron were dumbstruck as they watched Hermione breeze through everything as though she were back home.

"Hurry up, stop dawdling." Hermione looked at the two slowpokes, growing impatient. "Old Voldy's waiting up ahead. Let's get this over with and go back to bed. I'm sleepy."

She strode onto the enormous Wizard's Chess board ahead, jumped onto a stone knight, and began issuing orders.

In this game, extra people were a debuff.

Fortunately, she had already examined fourteen million possible outcomes and found the one path to victory. (Not really.)

"D5!"

"E6!"

"C3!"

"Checkmate!"

As the pieces moved, the opposing king was hacked to pieces with a single blow, and the door ahead opened.

Great, no potions aptitude test. No thinking required!

After she finished the chess game at light speed, both boys stared at Hermione as though she were a monster.

Harry snapped out of it, grabbed Ron, and started to charge ahead.

"Stupefy!"

A flash of light streaked past, and Ron collapsed unconscious.

Seeing Hermione holding up her wand, Harry paled in shock. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"There's definitely going to be a fight in a minute. He's too weak and would only get in the way, so I'm taking him back first."

With that, she cast Mobilicorpus and disappeared down the way they had come, taking Ron with her.

Harry stared blankly at Hermione's retreating back, then suddenly realized something was wrong.

Hang on, I'm not much stronger than him! Aren't I in danger too?

And you're the best fighter here! Aren't you coming?!

But it was too late for regrets. Harry could only grit his teeth and keep going.

At the very end of the passage lay a secret chamber.

An enormous mirror stood in the center of the room: the Mirror of Erised.

If passing the previous trials was like removing the Philosopher's Stone's wrapping paper, this trial revealed that the wrapping concealed an incredibly sturdy safe!

Quirrell slowly turned around in front of the mirror.

As for why he had been standing there without moving...

Simple. He was stuck.

"It's you!" Harry exclaimed in disbelief.

He had always thought Snape was the one trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone. He had never expected it to be Quirrell!

Faced with a reality that contradicted his expectations, Harry struggled to accept it.

Prejudice really is a mountain in people's hearts... Hermione mused, standing invisible by the doorway.

At the sight of Harry's shocked expression, Quirrell followed the time-honored villain tradition and began explaining his evil plan.

Once he finished, he forced Harry to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone.

Dumbledore had enchanted the mirror so that only someone who wanted to find the Philosopher's Stone, but not use it, could actually retrieve it.

Harry instinctively felt his bulging pocket. The only way he could think of to distract Quirrell was... small talk.

Endless small talk.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you, an-an-and you?"

"I'm fine too."

After several exchanges like this, Quirrell finally realized that their conversation was doing nothing to help him obtain the Philosopher's Stone, aside from strengthening their teacher-student bond.

The little rascal Harry simply wouldn't budge. He either flatly refused to talk or made things up, bringing the situation to a stalemate.

Faced with his subordinate's remarkably touching efficiency, Old Voldy finally decided to make an appearance himself.

Quirrell turned around and unwound the turban on his head.

A moment later, another face slowly emerged from the back of Quirrell's head.

The nightmare of the Wizarding World, the guiding light of pure-blood supremacists, an obsessive collector, the charming and adorable villain-Voldemort made his dazzling entrance.

Harry met his gaze, felt a stab of pain in the scar on his forehead, and promptly fainted.

As Harry lay unconscious, an eerie voice came from the back of Quirrell's head.

"The Philosopher's Stone is in the boy's pocket. Go and take it."

It was a raspy voice, utterly unlike Quirrell's.

Just as Quirrell reached out, a voice sounded from the doorway.

"Looks like you've recovered nicely, Professor Quirrell."

Hermione walked in with a cheerful smile.

"You!"

Quirrell recognized her immediately.

She was the first-year girl who had injured him with a strange weapon in the Forbidden Forest!

And a Quidditch lunatic, too!

If he hadn't drunk enough unicorn blood back then, and if not for his master's unfathomable methods, he would probably have died on the spot!

At the thought, intense hatred filled Quirrell's eyes.

"You're asking to die!" Quirrell raised his wand to attack.

"Stand down, Quirinus!"

Voldemort's voice rang out. Quirrell shuddered, pain twisting his face. Clearly, his master had punished him by some means.

Looking at Hermione, Voldemort said slowly, "Little girl, you're very talented. Why not follow me? Whatever your dreams may be, I can certainly help you achieve them."

His voice carried a hint of seductive persuasion.

"All right, all right. Look at the state you're in. Worry about yourself first." Hermione waved a hand. "Besides, I want the Philosopher's Stone. Are you willing to let me have it?"

Voldemort's gaze darkened.

"Quirinus, kill her and take the Philosopher's Stone!" When his attempt at persuasion failed, Voldemort acted immediately, without hesitation.

"Confringo!"

Boom!

Quirrell aimed his wand at Hermione, but her Shield Charm blocked the attack.

Feeling the strength of the Blasting Curse, Hermione shook her head.

It was just as she had expected. With Voldemort parasitizing him, draining most of his magic and vitality to stay alive, Quirrell was now weaker than even the upper-year students at Hogwarts.

"If that's all you've got, you won't be leaving here today."

That single sentence instantly enraged Voldemort.

He had terrorized the Wizarding World for so many years, and now a twelve-year-old girl was looking down on him?

The next moment, Quirrell's face twisted, and he let out a scream of agony.

"Master, no, don't! I've been loyal to you... Aaaaaah!"

After one final scream, Quirrell fell utterly silent.

Voldemort's face slowly shifted from the back of his head to the front, covering Quirrell's original features.

Holy crap, he actually has a nose!

"Is that how you treat your loyal servants?" Hermione asked, tilting her head.

"It is his honor to give his life for me," Voldemort said coldly.

He had little choice. Who knew how this girl had achieved such a level of magic at her age? From their brief exchange, he could already tell that Quirrell, in his current condition, was no match for her.

Yet if he missed his chance tonight, he might never get another opportunity to obtain the Philosopher's Stone.

His only option was to sacrifice Quirrell, draining what little life and magic he had left to temporarily restore himself to the level of an ordinary wizard.

Voldemort extended his wand. "Now, I will give you one more chance. Swear loyalty to me, or else..."

"Confringo!"

Without another word, Hermione hurled a Blasting Curse at him.

When the explosion cleared, Quirrell stood where he had been, wrapped in the protection of a Shield Charm, completely unscathed.

Hermione knew that Voldemort was different from Quirrell. He wouldn't be so easy to deal with.

Although she was confident she could stall until he gave out first, or simply grab the Philosopher's Stone and flee back to Marvel...

Even a unicorn was worth five hundred points. How much would a Dark Lord be worth, even with only half a soul left?

There was no reason to turn down experience delivered right to her doorstep.

Voldemort wasted no more words.

He flicked his wand lightly, without even speaking an incantation.

A dark red beam struck Hermione's Shield Charm. With a sharp crack, the transparent barrier fractured into a spiderweb of cracks like glass, then shattered.

The residual force drove her two steps backward, her soles scraping a mark across the flagstones.

Hermione raised her brows slightly.

Old Voldy really lived up to his reputation. Even with this wreck of a body, one Nonverbal Spell could pierce a level-two Shield Charm.

Ten Quirrells couldn't have managed that.

"Did you think," Voldemort said, slowly stepping forward, amusement in his raspy voice, "that knowing a few upper-year spells qualified you to stand before me?"

"That attack just now was Quirinus's level."

"Now you face me."

Hermione said nothing and flicked her wand.

"Cruciatus Curse!"

A faint red light struck Voldemort in the chest.

His body swayed, his face took on the look of someone with a toothache, and then... his nose started bleeding.

Silence filled the chamber for two seconds.

It was a little awkward.

She had meant to try using the Cruciatus Curse to immobilize him briefly, but this was all it did.

She had only just acquired it. Her proficiency was too low, and so was her magic.

"The Cruciatus Curse?" Voldemort wiped away the blood and burst into shrill laughter. "That's your trump card?"

"Let me show you what a real Unforgivable Curse looks like."

He raised his wand high, an eerie green light glowing at its tip.

Hermione lowered her wand and glanced at Harry lying nearby.

Yep, just the right distance.

"Avada..." Voldemort raised his wand, opening with his classic basic attack.

"Leviosa!"

Hermione beat him to it.

She actually used a Levitation Charm to tug on Harry's clothes and fling his entire body at Voldemort!

"This is my real trump card!"

"Harry impact!"

Keep a Harry for a thousand days, use him for one moment. Harry, go!

Voldemort was about to push him away when, a moment later, a burning sensation seared deep into his bones!

"Ah... ah... what is this? What is this?!"

For an instant, he seemed to relive the moment when his Killing Curse had rebounded and struck him.

"No!!!"

Amid his agonized howls, the body began turning to ash, starting from the places Harry had touched.

A wisp of mist burst from the ashes as Voldemort once again demonstrated his astonishing talent for escape.

Before leaving, he even cast a look full of hatred at her.

You bastard, you're in that sorry state and still have the nerve to glare at me? Completely unfazed, Hermione glared right back.

Go home and review how you lost!

As long as his Horcruxes remained, the old soldier wouldn't die. She didn't try to stop him, nor could she.

Hermione stepped forward, about to pick up the Philosopher's Stone, then suddenly paused.

[Ancient Magic]

[Ancient Magic: Sacrifice lv1]

[Sacrifice a life to generate magical protection against a specific source. While active, the protected individual takes no damage from that source. Contact with the specified source inflicts an extremely powerful backlash upon it. The exact strength and duration of the effect vary from person to person.]