Chapter 68: The Man with Two Faces

After navigating a gauntlet of perilous trials, Harry found himself in the final chamber, alone.

Ron had sacrificed himself on Professor McGonagall's giant chessboard. Hermione, after solving the final potion riddle, had taken the bottle that would allow her to return, promising to get word to Dumbledore and Professor Dracula.

Now, only one path remained. Harry stared at the smallest bottle, the one that would grant him passage through the final barrier of black fire.

"Here I come," he whispered to himself. He turned to face the flames, uncorked the bottle, and downed the potion in a single gulp.

It felt like swallowing ice. A chilling numbness spread through his entire body. He set the empty bottle down and, with a deep breath, walked forward.

The black flames licked at his skin, but he felt nothing. A moment later, he emerged on the other side, stepping into the final room.

Quirrell was there, standing before a tall, ornate mirror, his back to the entrance.

Harry, still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, began to creep forward, his plan simple: get to the Stone before Quirrell noticed him, then slip away unseen.

"I can feel him... he is coming... Harry Potter... the Boy Who Lived..."

Harry froze. A deep, rasping voice echoed through the chamber, seeming to emanate from Quirrell's own body, yet Quirrell's lips had not moved.

With a sudden, jarring motion, Quirrell spun around, his eyes fixed on the entrance.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes shot from the tip of his wand, snaking across the room with terrifying speed. They converged on Harry's position, and in an instant, he was bound tight, the Invisibility Cloak falling uselessly around him.

"The Invisibility Cloak, is it?" Quirrell said, a smug smile on his face as he strode forward and ripped the hood from Harry's head. His stutter was gone, as was his cowardly demeanor. In its place was a chilling, confident sneer. "A very rare item indeed."

"Hermione was right," Harry spat, glaring at the man he had once pitied. "It was all an act!"

"A pity," Quirrell said, his tone devoid of any regret. "I thought my performance was rather convincing. I never imagined Dumbledore and Dracula would suspect me, let alone a clever little first-year witch."

"What did you say?" Harry gasped. "Dumbledore and Professor Dracula knew?" The thought was staggering. Why would they let him stay at Hogwarts?

"Oh, of course," Quirrell sneered. "I imagine they've suspected me from the very beginning. But they were arrogant. Too clever for their own good. They thought they could use me as bait, to lure my master into a trap."

He let out a triumphant laugh. "But the joke is on them! A simple, forged summons, and Dumbledore is off to the Ministry. As for Dracula... if he hasn't discovered my little excursion by now, he must still be droning on in his classroom. Hahaha..."

At his words, Harry's heart leaped. Dumbledore being gone was bad, but he knew for a fact that Professor Dracula was not in his classroom. So where was he? Could he already be on his way?

Hope, bright and sudden, surged through him. The Stone could still be saved.

Neither Harry nor Quirrell noticed the small, handsome bat hanging upside down in a dark corner of the ceiling. Its beady eyes, gleaming with keen interest, watched the entire scene unfold.

Dracula had been there for some time, having arrived minutes before Quirrell. He had observed, with a great deal of amusement, the trio's journey through the various obstacles. Now, as he watched Quirrell's arrogant posturing, he felt an almost instinctual urge to produce a lollipop. Realizing his current form made that impossible, he simply folded his wings and continued to watch.

In the room below, Quirrell released Harry from the ropes and forced him to stand before the Mirror of Erised. A moment later, Dracula saw it: the Philosopher's Stone, glowing with a soft, crimson light, appeared in Harry's pocket.

Harry denied having the Stone, and Quirrell, his patience wearing thin, suddenly began to unwrap the purple turban from his head.

Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face—a monstrous, terrifying face. Its skin was chalk-white, its eyes a malevolent, glowing red, and in place of a nose were two long, snake-like slits.

As I expected, Dracula thought to himself. The scar Quirrell claimed was from a vampire was, in fact, the mark left by Voldemort's possession.

"Harry Potter..." the hideous face whispered. "Give me the Stone. Do not let your mother's sacrifice be in vain."

Ignoring him, Harry gritted his teeth and made a desperate dash for the door.

But what happened next left Dracula utterly baffled.

At Voldemort's command, Quirrell lunged forward and seized Harry's wrist. Harry cried out in pain, struggling to break free. But at the same time, Quirrell let out a pained scream of his own, snatching his hand back as if burned. Angry red blisters were already forming on his fingers.

"Master, I cannot hold him! My hand... my hand!" Quirrell moaned in agony.

"Then kill him, you fool! Do it now!" the face on the back of his head shrieked.

Quirrell raised his other hand, preparing to cast a killing curse. Seeing this, Dracula tensed, ready to intervene.

But before he could move, Harry, acting on pure instinct, reached out and slapped both of his hands onto Quirrell's face.

Two screams of agony ripped through the chamber, a horrifying duet of pain that confused even Dracula. He watched, fascinated, as the two of them, locked in this bizarre, non-magical struggle, writhed in torment. Even in his thousand years, he had never seen anything so strange. He decided to wait, to observe.

As the screams continued, Quirrell's body began to smoke and blister, his flesh turning to ash before Dracula's very eyes. Within seconds, his entire form had dissolved into a cloud of black dust.

The scar on Harry's forehead erupted in a searing, unbearable pain. The world swam before his eyes, and he collapsed, his consciousness fading.

Just before he blacked out, he saw a phantom-like wisp of smoke rise from Quirrell's ashes. And at the same time, another figure, robed in black, leaped through the curtain of fire and strode purposefully towards him.

(End of Chapter)

***

(End of Chapter)

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