(70) End Of The Game!

"Many of the greatest wizards have no ability to reason logically, so they are trapped here forever."

Cassandra stood beside Hermione and read the last sentence of the parchment.

"What about us? Can't we get out either?" Harry frowned and asked.

"Of course not!" The two little witches said at the same time.

"Everything we need to know is written on this paper." Hermione pointed to the parchment. "Seven bottles: three are poison, two are wine, one can allow us to safely pass through the black flame, and the other can allow us to return through the purple flame."

Ron scratched his hair. "But how do we know which one is which?"

"Give me a minute." Hermione said.

She read the parchment and muttered: "Umm... No matter how cunningly the poison hides, it actually stands to the left of the nettle wine."

She picked up a bottle on the right. "This is definitely not wine, and it can't be poison if it passes through the black flame, so it can't be it..."

Hermione began to pace back and forth, muttering as she walked. "Neither the largest bottle nor the smallest bottle, the second on the left and the second on the right taste the same..."

Cassandra also picked up the smallest bottle thoughtfully.

"I know!"

Hermione and Cassandra shouted at the same time. The two smiled at each other and picked up the bottles they had identified.

"This!"

Hermione picked up the third bottle on the left. "This can pass through the black flame, let us move on and get the Philosopher's Stone!"

"And this one can pass through the purple flame and take us away from here." Cassandra picked up the first bottle on the right.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Of course!" The two little witches said in unison again.

Ian took the two bottles of potion and stuffed the one that could let them leave into Hermione's hand. He grabbed Cassandra's hand and overlapped it with Hermione's hand.

"Hermione, Cassandra, take Ron and Draco, you leave first. Harry and I will find you as soon as we get the Philosopher's Stone." Ian looked at the two little witches with a serious expression.

Hermione shook her head stubbornly and was about to say something when Ian interrupted her. "Be obedient. If you're here, I have to distract myself to protect you."

Cassandra let go of Ian's hand and looked at him straight. "We came together, and we have to go together."

"Yeah!" Hermione, for once, agreed with Cassandra. "Let's go together!"

"Neither of you will be Voldemort's opponent." Ian was always gentle with pretty little witches. "And if you're here, most of my focus will be on protecting you."

"Listen to me, there are two brooms in the flying key room. Draco is very good at Quidditch. He can take Ron, who isn't in good condition. Cassandra, you and Hermione together."

Ian took a deep breath and looked at the two little witches steadily. "They will carry you through the trapdoor, past Fluffy, go directly to the Owlery, find Themis and Hedwig, and send a letter to Professor Dumbledore. We need him to come and help."

"Believe me, whether it's Voldemort or someone else inside, I can hold them off for now."

Harry also pointed to the lightning scar on his forehead and said, "That's right. Don't worry, I already escaped once by luck, and Ian wasn't at a disadvantage against Voldemort in the forest. We can turn danger into safety."

"..." Hermione wanted to say something else, but Cassandra pulled her away.

"Let's go." Cassandra said briefly, pulling Hermione toward the purple flames.

Ron and Draco followed quickly, and the four drank the potion in Cassandra's hand, disappearing into the black flames in an instant.

Ian watched the purple flames gradually extinguish and retracted his gaze.

Voldemort! Cub! Your father is here!

"Let's go, Harry." Ian picked up the potion that could pass through the black flames and drank it in one breath. He felt a chill spread through his warm stomach.

Passing through the black flames, they fell to the ground unscathed.

The two successfully arrived in the last room, where a huge mirror stood in the middle—the Mirror of Erised.

In front of the mirror stood a man—not Snape, not Voldemort—but Quirrell, still wearing his huge purple turban.

"Professor Quirrell!?" Harry looked at the man in front of him in shock. "No! This is impossible! Snape should be..."

He could never have imagined that the man behind everything was Quirrell, not Snape, as he had always believed.

"Yes, Snape does look like a bad guy." Quirrell sneered, his voice no longer stuttering like before but turning cold and hoarse. "So, with him around, who would ever suspect... poor, poor Professor Quirrell?"

"But that day... that day during the Quidditch match, Snape wanted to kill me." Harry still couldn't understand. He subconsciously looked at Ian beside him. Ian shook his head slightly.

"You're wrong, kid. I wanted to kill you! The crazy broom, the troll, the Quidditch match—it was all me!" Quirrell grinned. "Believe me, if Snape's robe hadn't suddenly caught fire and blocked my view, you would have lost your life long ago! No matter how much he chanted the counter-curse, it was useless."

"Snape saved me? The spell he was chanting was a counter-curse?" Harry muttered to himself.

Ian shrugged. "I told you, Professor Snape isn't a bad guy, but you never believed me. Humph!"

"Hahaha. Snape already suspected me on Halloween. I let the troll in, but he didn't fall for the distraction!" Quirrell looked at Ian and Harry viciously. "Everyone else was busy in the dungeons, but he went straight to the fourth floor to stop me! It's all because of him that my plan failed!"

"After that day, he no longer trusted me."

Quirrell's expression twisted, his hands clenched into fists. "He never let me be alone… but I have never been alone. Never."

Quirrell turned around and stared at the mirror. "As long as I have the Philosopher's Stone, Lord Voldemort will rise again.

At that time, all those who dare to defy him will die!"

The moment Quirrell turned, Harry felt a sharp pain in his lightning scar.

Ian quickly dragged Harry behind him, clenching his wand tightly, his eyes locked on Quirrell's every movement.

Quirrell's tone grew increasingly frantic. "What is this mirror used for? Why did Dumbledore put it here?! I see my desire in it—I have the Philosopher's Stone! But how do I get it?!"

~"Use the boy. Use him."~

A weak, hoarse voice like a snake hissed from behind Quirrell's head.

Quirrell's face twisted with malice as he turned to Ian and Harry. "You! Come here! Now!"

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking baldy!" Ian didn't waste time with words and instantly fired a spell. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Quirrell dodged Ian's spell and was about to counterattack when the voice behind him interrupted.

"Do not kill him. I need the boy to get to the stone!"

Upon hearing this, Quirrell abandoned his wand and lunged at Harry instead.

Ian's expression hardened. He shoved Harry aside and rushed forward.

"Reducto!"

A blast shot from Ian's wand, striking Quirrell squarely.

"Protego!"

Quirrell barely had time to raise a shield, deflecting the spell without attacking in return.

Harry grabbed Ian's sleeve and tried to pull him toward the exit, but with a snap of Quirrell's fingers, a circle of fire erupted around them, cutting off their escape.

Ian clicked his tongue. Tsk, this knockoff fire spell! Trying to imitate Grindelwald?

"Enough! Stop. Let me talk to them—let me do it."

Quirrell hesitated. "But... Master, your condition is not very good..."

"I still have enough strength for this. Let me handle it."

Quirrell slowly unwrapped his turban, revealing the back of his head—where a twisted, grotesque face was embedded.

The moment Harry saw it, his scar seared with intense pain, as if it were on fire.

"Voldemort... you've become nothing more than a parasite." Ian's expression darkened as he stared at the face.

Voldemort grinned wickedly. "The blood of the unicorn can prolong my life, but it cannot give me a body. However, there is something else that can grant my wish."

"Ian Potter... you are a Slytherin student." Voldemort's voice was hoarse as he called Ian's name. "You performed exceptionally in the Forbidden Forest. Your talent is remarkable—just like mine in the past. Hahaha~ Amazing Talent Indeed! Believe me, if we work together, the entire world will bow before us!"

Ian scoffed. "You must be joking. You're just a lingering wraith now—trash!"

Harry gripped his wand tightly, his gaze icy as he stared at Voldemort. "You! You're the one who killed our parents! And now you're trying to manipulate my brother?!"

"Ah~ Harry Potter... don't you want to see your parents again?" Voldemort's eerie smile widened. "Help me retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, and I can bring them back. Imagine the joy of a reunion… don't you long for that?"

As Voldemort spoke, two familiar figures appeared in the Mirror of Erised—James and Lily Potter.

Harry's breath caught for a moment.

But Ian immediately pulled Harry behind him. "Don't listen to him. He can't bring back the dead. The figures in the mirror aren't our parents—they're just your deepest desire."

Harry took a shaky breath and nodded. "You're right. Ian already told me—no magic can truly bring back the dead. Even Professor Dumbledore said that the deceased cannot return in any form other than ghosts."

Voldemort's expression suddenly darkened. "Potter! Two damn Potters! Just as damnable as your parents!"

"Reducto! Bombarda! Stupefy! Incendio! Expelliarmus!" Ian fired off several spells in rapid succession, pulling Harry back. "Harry, run!"

Voldemort was forced back several steps by Ian's spells and roared, "Quirrell, catch them! Don't let them escape!"

Quirrell immediately lunged after Ian and Harry.

The two brothers dodged back and forth in the room, desperately looking for an opening, but the enchanted flames surrounding them burned fiercely, cutting off any escape route.

"Ahahah! Just like me in the past! Such power, such brilliant magic! Abandon your brother! Together, we can build a greater world!" Voldemort's voice slithered through the air.

"Voldemort, go to hell!" Ian gritted his teeth and cast a spell of his own creation. "Constriction!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Just like that night in the Forbidden Forest, two beams of magic—one green, one deep red—collided, sending a shockwave through the room.

Harry seized the opportunity and fired spells at Voldemort in quick succession. "Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!"

But Voldemort had years of experience over them. With a flick of his hand, he sent Harry flying, crashing hard onto the ground. Then, he turned his attention back to Ian, increasing his magical assault.

Ian, already at his limit, rolled to the side, coughing up blood from the sheer force of Voldemort's spell.

"Ian!" Harry screamed, scrambling over and helping his brother up.

Ian wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and locked eyes with Voldemort, who was slowly approaching with a sinister grin.

Voldemort reached out, grabbing Harry by the collar and hoisting him off the ground.

"Harry! Hit him with your hand! Hit him in the face!" Ian shouted.

At this critical moment of life and death, although Harry didn't understand why, out of trust in Ian, he raised his hand without hesitation and slapped Voldemort across the face.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

A few crisp, loud slaps echoed in the room. Voldemort was struck several times, momentarily stunned.

As a wizard, he had never imagined someone would fight him with physical attacks.

Before Voldemort could react, the areas where Harry had touched him began to sizzle, as if burned by fire. Green smoke rose from his skin, turning it charred in an instant.

"AAAAAAaaaaahhhhhhhHHHH!" Voldemort screamed in agony, immediately releasing Harry as he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

It was impossible to tell whether the screams belonged to Voldemort or Quirrell.

Harry, panting heavily, looked at his hands in shock. "I... I hit him?"

"Don't talk nonsense! Keep hitting him!" Ian growled, pushing himself up from the ground. He stomped on Voldemort's back, grabbed his arm, and desperately tried to pry him off Quirrell's head. "Harry! Don't let him escape!"

Harry snapped back to reality and rushed forward to help.

The moment Harry's hands touched Quirrell's body, the burning effect intensified.

Quirrell's struggles weakened, his body disintegrating into black ash that scattered across the floor, leaving behind only an empty robe.

"He's dead! Voldemort is dead! Ian! We avenged our parents!" Harry cried, tears streaming down his face.

"Dead?" Ian remained on guard, not lowering his wand for even a second.

He remembered that in the original plot, Voldemort's remnant soul should still be there. Where was it hiding?

Sure enough, in the next second, a black mist formed from Voldemort's fragmented soul emerged from the robes, surging toward Ian and Harry before fleeing in a panic.

At the moment Voldemort's soul passed through him, Ian had only one thought in his mind.

Damn it! Voldemort, stop playing tricks on me!

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