HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Chapter 44 The Truth

Hermione, passing through the purple flames, was about to head to Ron's room when she suddenly noticed that the stench in the room had disappeared.

She lowered the sleeve covering her mouth and nose, and only then did she realize that there was another figure in the room.

“Professor Greengrass?” The little witch looked very surprised. “What are you doing here…”

“That’s the question I should be asking you, Miss Granger,” Sagles said with a smile.

“Uh, I’m sorry, Professor, we shouldn’t have acted on our own. I will tell you everything exactly as it is, but the situation is very urgent. Harry is in danger, and we have to go first…”

“Calm down, Miss Granger…” he interrupted the little witch, saying calmly, “The fact that I am standing here means that the situation is still under my control.”

Upon hearing this, the little witch recalled Sagrais's formidable power and gradually calmed down, regaining her composure.

Sagres nodded at this and pointed to Ron, whom he had placed on the ground. "Wake him up. Mr. Weasley will definitely blame us if he misses the most exciting truth."

Ignoring Ron, who had just woken up, Sagrais instantly enveloped the three of them with an "Immune to Water and Fire" spell, and then calmly led the two young wizards through the Gate of Flames.

……

……

On the other side, the moment the potion slid down his throat, Harry felt a strange lightness spread throughout his body. He stepped toward the black wall of fire, the flames parting to either side like obedient servants.

The scene before him gradually became clear—the Mirror of Erised stood in the center of the circular stone chamber, its surface gleaming with an eerie silver light. And standing before the mirror was neither Snape as he had anticipated, nor Voldemort.

It's Quirrell.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who was always timid and hesitant on the faculty bench, now stood with his back to him, his posture upright.

When Quirrell turned around, Harry couldn't help but take a step back—that face, which was usually twitching, was now eerily calm, with a composed smile on its lips.

“Potter,” Quirrell’s voice was low and hoarse, like a serpent slithering across the ground, “I was wondering if you would come.”

"You...you're not..."

"Not a stutterer?" Quirrell chuckled, a laugh that reminded Harry of a frozen lake on a winter night.

“How could it be…why not Snape?” Harry’s voice caught in his throat. His scar suddenly throbbed with pain, like a red-hot iron pressed against his forehead.

“Snape? Ha, it’s all thanks to Snape, with him wandering around the school…” He paced gracefully, his wand twirling between his fingers, “who would doubt poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?”

Harry's mind raced, and fragments of memory suddenly pieced together a terrifying pattern: "But didn't he want to kill me? In Quidditch."

"Kill you? Ha, he was saving you!" Quirrell's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If Snape hadn't cast the reverse spell, you would have been smashed to pieces. And that damned Greengrass—"

His voice suddenly twisted, and a ferocious glint flashed across his face. "He ruined my meticulously planned scheme!"

Harry felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Snape had been protecting him all along? That Potions professor who was always picking on him? This realization was even harder for him to accept than Quirrell's betrayal.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Quirrell suddenly snapped his fingers, and ropes shot out from the ground like serpents, binding Harry tightly. “Tonight, the Dark Lord will get what he wants.”

“I can’t let you live any longer, Potter. I wanted to do that last time in the Forbidden Forest, but that damned woman almost killed me. If I hadn’t run fast enough, I might have turned to ashes on the spot. It’s all your fault. But it’s okay. No one can save you this time, Harry Potter. This time, no one can save you!”

“But before that, Potter, you’ll have to wait a while, because I need to take a good look at this interesting mirror.”

"Was that you in the Forbidden Forest last time?" Harry's eyes widened. "Were you drinking unicorn blood?"

“Yes, that’s right…” Quirrell stared intently at the mirror, not turning his head, and said, “Unbelievable, isn’t it? For decades before this, I had no idea that the blood of those beasts possessed such powerful magic. It’s a pity that bastard Greengrass has been going to the Forbidden Forest so much lately, otherwise my magic would definitely be much more than what I have now…”

“But aren’t you afraid of the curse? Drinking unicorn blood will bring a curse…” Harry mustered his courage and spoke again.

“A curse?” Quirrell glanced back at him casually. “What are you talking about, Potter? Are you trying to stop me from studying this mirror with lies?”

After saying that, he ignored Harry and started walking around the mirror, muttering to himself, "I saw the Philosopher's Stone. I saw myself offering it to my master and receiving a great reward. Does this mirror have prophetic power? Can it show what is about to happen?"

Quirrell muttered to himself anxiously.

“That’s the Mirror of Desire!” Harry said, trying to stall for time and get Quirrell’s attention.

Sure enough, his words had an effect, and Quirrell turned to look at him.

"You know this mirror?" Quirrell asked expressionlessly. "Tell me, Potter, tell me its secret."

Harry seemed somewhat frightened; he was indeed very scared. "If I tell you, will you let me go this time? Professor Quirrell, I don't want to die..."

The young wizard tried his best to pretend that he was a coward who feared death, and he was prepared to use every means to deal with the other party.

“Oh dear, Potter…” Quirrell laughed. “Are you begging me for mercy, you infamous savior?”

“I don’t want to be some kind of savior,” Harry shouted. “I just want to be… to be an ordinary person.”

“I understand, I understand, Potter…” Quirrell slowly approached him, a fake smile on his face. “Master will definitely agree to your request. Although he is very strict with me, he will definitely be very kind to you… Of course, this requires you to tell me everything you know.”

Quirrell tried to soften his voice, while Harry kept weaving lies in his mind.

“This is the Mirror of Erised!” Harry said hesitantly. “People can see their desires through it, but what it shows is false…”

"You mean... the Philosopher's Stone isn't here?" Quirrell's smile vanished, replaced by a somber expression.

“Of course not,” Harry said more and more fluently, several clever little lies suddenly popping into his head, “Professor Dumbledore always carries the Philosopher’s Stone with him. I’ve seen it; it’s in a small cloth bag…”

Quirrell's expression grew increasingly grim, and Harry quickly tried to reassure him, "But I can try and see if I can get it..."

The boy said, feigning pride, "Dumbledore favors me, you know, that's probably the only use of the title of savior..."

"But why did you do that?"

“Consider it payment for sparing my life!” Harry replied, somewhat excitedly.

“I see…” Quirrell nodded in understanding. He leaned down and slowly brought his face closer to the young wizard. “But Potter… if that’s the case, why is this mirror placed here?”

A mocking expression appeared on his face, as if he had seen through all the little wizard's lies. "How could that old fox Dumbledore protect a worthless mirror with so many layers?"

"It's a trap!" Harry quickly replied. "Professor Greengrass made him do it. Their goal is to mislead those who covet the Philosopher's Stone. It's a trap in itself..." Harry felt he was performing exceptionally well today, able to come up with any lie with ease.

"What did you say?" Quirrell's eyes widened in shock. He looked around in terror and cried out, "Master, we've been tricked! It's a trap..."

Just as Harry was wondering what was going on, a deep, hoarse voice suddenly came from Quirrell's body, instantly making his hands and feet go cold.

"That boy is lying to you, you idiot!"

Harry felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, but the voice still didn't stop.

"The magic stone is in the mirror. If you can't get it, use that boy; he can help you get it..."

Quirrell turned to Harry again, this time his face was so dark it could drip water.

“Alright, Potter…” He suppressed his anger and waved his hand to untie the ropes binding Harry. “You shouldn’t have lied to me, although I don’t blame you… Now, come here.”

Quirrell pointed to the spot in front of the mirror. "Come here, look in the mirror, and tell me what you see."

Harry didn't know how he got to the mirror; the voice from earlier kept echoing in his mind. For a moment, he even thought it was just a hallucination.

"I still have to lie. Whatever I saw, I have to lie!" Harry kept telling himself.

He finally stood in front of the mirror. When he looked up at the mirror, he thought he would see his family again, but he soon realized he was wrong.

His reflection in the mirror was deathly pale, the scar on his forehead appearing particularly grotesque in the dim light. Suddenly, the person in the mirror gave him a mysterious smile—an expression he would never make himself.

The "Harry" in the mirror reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a blood-red gem. The Philosopher's Stone shimmered eerily in the illusory world of the mirror, like a drop of congealed blood. The person in the mirror winked mischievously at him, then, in the instant he slipped the gem back into his pocket—

"Boom."

Harry shuddered. His robe pocket suddenly felt heavy and slumped downwards, and he could feel a warm sensation through the fabric. It wasn't a hallucination—the Philosopher's Stone had appeared in his pocket out of thin air!

Harry tried his best not to show any abnormality, because Quirrell was standing right behind him, and he could even feel the other's hot breath on the back of his head.

Quirrell seemed to sense something was wrong and abruptly turned to look at the magic mirror: "What are you looking at? What are you seeing?"

He shouted sharply, his voice tinged with unease.

Harry resisted the urge to reach for his pocket, forcing himself to maintain a look of terror. His reflection in the mirror returned to its initial state of fear, as if nothing had happened.

But even through the wide wizard's robes, he could clearly feel the subtle warmth emanating from the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, like holding a tiny heart inside.

"I saw a huge crowd surrounding me," Harry said without hesitation, looking at his pale face in the mirror. "And I became the Gryffindor prefect, oh no, I also became the student council president..."

Quirrell was getting impatient, but Harry kept going on and on: "I won the House Cup for Gryffindor and joined the Quidditch national team!"

"Shut up, get out of my way..." Quirrell shoved Harry aside and went up to the mirror himself.

"Lying! That boy is still lying..."

The hoarse, low voice came again, but this time Harry could see clearly that Quirrell's mouth hadn't moved at all.

“Potter, get back here!” Quirrell shouted immediately. “Tell me the truth, what did you see? Stop trying to lie. All your lies are futile in front of your master!”

“Quirinas, let me talk to him, let me talk to him—face to face…” the voice said, “After all, he seems…to be a liar…”

"But Master, your power has not yet been restored..."

“I still have some strength…” The voice seemed a little angry at Quirrell’s doubts. “Don’t make me say it a second time, Quirinas.”

"Yes, Master—Yes, Master." Quirrell hurriedly lowered his head in fear. He reached out and untied the scarf wrapped around his head, revealing his bald head underneath.

Harry then saw Quirrell turn around and turn the back of his head toward him.

For a fleeting moment, Harry remembered the nightmare that often haunted him. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted to turn and run away, but he couldn't move his feet.

Where Quirrell's head should have been, there was a human face, a face Harry had never seen before so grotesque and terrifying. His skin was as white as bone, his eyes were as red as blood, and below his eyes were two long, thin nostrils like snakes.

“Harry Potter…” the face whispered, “We’ve finally met again.”

Harry felt unsteady on his feet, and he staggered backward, landing hard on the steps.

"Look what you've done to me..." the face whispered, "I've even lost my own body, wandering the forest like a lost soul... I can only survive by feeding on snakes and rats..."

Harry couldn't speak, but the face kept talking.

"But it's alright, the great and merciful Voldemort can give you a chance—as long as you're willing to hand over the Philosopher's Stone in your pocket, then I can certainly spare your life..."

It turned out that Voldemort knew everything. Harry was shocked. He didn't know that Voldemort could "Leechism," and he thought that Voldemort could really distinguish lies.

What was there to be afraid of? Harry suddenly felt relieved. Hadn't he already prepared for this before stepping into this room? Or rather, he should have died at the hands of the other party eleven years ago.

With that thought in mind, Harry forced himself to stand up, his legs feeling weak.

“Don’t be foolish, child…don’t be like your parents, thinking you can defy me…” Voldemort said viciously, “Didn’t you just say you were willing to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from Dumbledore for me in exchange for my forgiveness—to spare your life? Now I’m giving you that chance, all you have to do is give me the Philosopher’s Stone…”

"Don't even think about it!"

Harry suddenly shouted resolutely, and at the same time turned around quickly and rushed towards the wooden door burning with black flames.