When Kasen was busy getting drunk at Hagrid's place.
The Gryffindor quartet had finally reached the final level.
Neville helped Harry dismantle the piston door's outer casing, exposing the redstone circuits within.
Harry placed the small redstone block onto the circuit, and with a loud click, the piston door opened.
"Alright, let's go in," Harry said with a sigh of relief. This door was almost exactly like the one Kasenhis had described in class. If it weren't impossible, Harry might have suspected that Kasen had designed this redstone setup specifically for him.
The two stepped through the doorway, their eyes fixed on the figure at the end of the room, standing in front of a mirror.
"Mr. Potter, and Mr. Longbottom, how nice of you to join me," said a voice—though it wasn't coming from Quirrell's mouth.
"Do you have a speaker hidden in the back of your head or something?" Harry snapped, still wary but unable to resist throwing out some trash talk. He noted that Quirrell didn't seem in a hurry to attack them yet, but his dislike for dark wizards was written all over his face.
"Relax, Quirrell. Let me out. Let me see him," the voice from the back of Quirrell's head spoke again.
Obediently, Quirrell nodded and began unwrapping the turban from his head, loop by loop.
What emerged was a pale, twisted, sinister face, with no nose and a grotesque, snake-like appearance, staring out from the back of Quirrell's head.
"Mr. Potter, the last time I saw you, I gave you two gifts," the face hissed, its voice dripping with malice.
"Your father's death—and your mother's death."
"Likewise, Mr. Longbottom, your parents... I later heard some news about them. I can only say that your parents were brave—oh, very brave—but utterly foolish. They didn't know how to choose the right side. They stood on the wrong side of history, and that sealed their fate."
"Shut up!" Neville roared, his voice trembling with anger.
Harry clenched his wand tighter, fighting to keep a sliver of calm, but Neville was past that point.
Harry only knew that his parents had been murdered by the man standing before him, leaving him an orphan. He had been forced to live with the Dursleys, and the only glimpses of his parents came from the reflection in the Mirror of Erised.
But Neville was different. He had seen what had been done to his parents. He had witnessed the consequences of the Cruciatus Curse that had turned two brave Aurors into permanent patients at St. Mungo's.
They had been tortured into madness by Death Eaters who preyed on them with superior numbers, cowards who had stolen their minds and left them shadows of who they once were.
"Oh, I completely understand your desire to defend your parents," Voldemort continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "But before that, you'll need to help me find the Philosopher's Stone that Dumbledore has hidden here. Once I have it, I'll give you both the gift you've been waiting eleven years for."
His lipless mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "The gift of merciful death—and a reunion with your parents."
"We won't let you get the Stone! Stupefy!"
Harry shouted, his wand already out. He fired a spell with the speed of a Western gunslinger, but the magic was effortlessly deflected by the barrier of power surrounding Quirrell—Voldemort's power.
"You're just like your father," Voldemort sneered. "He thought he could fight me with just these stupid tricks."
Neville, meanwhile, had drawn his wand without a sound. He cast a spell instinctively, one he was most familiar with.
A forceful burst of magic shot upward, lifting Voldemort slightly into the air.
"Hmph. That magic is no better than what a Muggle could muster," Voldemort said disdainfully. "Your parents were far stronger than you could ever hope to be."
"Master, shall I kill them?" Quirrell asked, his tone eerily calm.
"No," Voldemort replied coldly. "We still need our dear Mr. Potter to help us retrieve the Philosopher's Stone from this mirror. If he refuses, we'll let Mr. Longbottom persuade him. Pain has a way of softening resolve."
"Praise your wisdom, Master," Quirrell said, bowing slightly.
"Now, dear Harry," Quirrell sneered, his voice oozing malice, "I recall a time when you didn't look at me with such hatred. Before that meddlesome Kasen got involved, I daresay you didn't mind me so much."
"You're not worthy of saying his name!" Harry spat, his green eyes blazing. "That duel on the platform—Professor Kasen should've finished you off!"
Quirrell's smug expression crumbled instantly, replaced by a snarl of pure rage.
Mentioning that duel had clearly struck a nerve. He tore at his sleeve, exposing a grotesque blackened mark crawling up his arm, its ominous, cursed appearance making Harry's stomach churn.
"Look at this! This vile curse—this is what your precious Kasen did to me in the Forbidden Forest!" Quirrell raged, holding his arm aloft like a trophy of suffering. "You think he's some noble hero? Let me tell you, Harry, your Kasenhis isn't any better than me! If it weren't for my great Master's power, I'd have been dead long ago. That so-called professor is no saint—he's just another hypocrite!"
Quirrell's fury boiled over. He launched himself at Harry, delivering a brutal kick to the boy's midsection. Harry fell to the ground with a groan, but Quirrell wasn't done. Fueled by anger, he began kicking Harry repeatedly, his heavy boots slamming into Harry's sides and back.
Each blow was accompanied by a twisted cackle, as though every strike on Harry's body was a small act of vengeance against Kasen.
In the corner, Neville watched helplessly, his face pale but determined. His wand was clutched tightly behind his back, and he whispered under his breath, trying to cast one of the spells he wasn't good at—Transfiguration. If no spell could directly hit Quirrell, then perhaps...
That's not magic, is it?
He decided to transform the memory ball bracelet on his wrist into a knife.
This should work. If it doesn't, then there's no other choice—this is the only thing he could transform.
"Longbottom... you don't seem as innocent as you look," Voldemort, residing on the back of Quirrell's head, noticed Neville's subtle movements and commented coldly.
Quirrell, realizing what was happening, began walking toward Neville. "Don't you all adore that so-called Professor Kasenhis? Where is he now? Can he come save you?"
"Oh... the only thing he can do is cry like a weakling. Why, you ask? Because I remember he cares a lot for his little students. Neaheheh~ When he sees your corpses... oh, he'll cry terribly, I guarantee it! Hahah~"
Quirrell roared as he approached Neville. He pulled out his wand, casually flicked it, and a silver light flashed, leaving a bloody cut on Neville's face. Blood gushed out in an instant.
"Hmph. Forget the Forbidden Forest; even that day in the hospital wing, I could figure out who that despicable man—who messed with my spine—was with just a thought. Isn't he supposed to be impressive? Let him suddenly appear here and save you then!"
Quirrell kicked Neville's leg, causing him to lose balance and fall to the ground.
Then he stomped hard on Neville's wrist, the one wearing the memory bracelet, as if he were trying to shatter it.
"..You ...don't deserve to mention his name!!" Neville said, struggling to lift his head. Hatred burned in his eyes as he stared at Quirrell.
Quirrell was infuriated by Neville's gaze. He reached for his wand, intending to make Neville suffer the same fate his parents had endured. However, Voldemort's voice from the back of his head interrupted him with a disapproving tone.
"Do you remember why we're here? Stop wasting time!"
Quirrell flinched at the sharp rebuke, quickly nodding in submission. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝘯𝘦𝘵
"Yes, Master," he replied humbly, moving toward Harry.
Harry, clutching his aching stomach, finally realized something through Quirrell's taunts.
Professor Kasenhis could indeed suddenly appear here.
With great effort, Harry reached into the hidden pocket of his wizarding robe, pulling out a dark green pearl. Summoning all his strength, he smashed it against the ground.
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