The potion flowed through their blood like ice water. Flames swept over their bodies and robes, yet they felt no heat at all, and their clothes remained perfectly intact. It was as though an invisible shield had spread outward from within them, forcing back the surrounding fire.
Potions were truly wondrous. Perhaps, just as Snape had said in his opening speech during the first lesson of term, it was a subject that could brew glory and prevent death.
But alchemy seemed even more marvelous. Hermione could hardly wait to see what the Philosopher's Stone looked like.
Rustle, rustle.
Walking through the flames felt no different from walking normally. For quite a while, all three of them saw nothing but a sea of fire. Then, suddenly, they arrived in another open area, perhaps the final room.
A figure stood with his back to them, seemingly studying an enormous full-length mirror. The mirror was very old, with a beautiful frame, though its wooden lacquer was mottled and faded.
At that moment, the man was raging at the mirror, as though he wanted to take something out of it but could not manage it.
Several times, he raised his wand as if to smash the mirror, only to lower it again in frustration.
"Harry Potter, you've come. I was wondering when you would discover the clues I deliberately left behind. I won't kill you just yet." Quirrell heard the footsteps behind him. His turban-wrapped head swayed smugly as he turned around with a strange smile, then froze stiffly. "Granger? You..."
"Bang!"
Hermione did not give him the chance to finish. The moment she saw Quirrell turn around, it was as if she were seeing the Troll turn and charge at her yesterday all over again. This time, she would not hesitate.
Since Professor