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Chapter 97 - Chapter 96: Swift Passage 

"How are we going to do this? I'm pretty decent at Wizard's Chess—" Daphne began, but Edward cut her off. 

"No, we don't have time for a game. Both of you, step back—way back!" Edward was already drawing the sword from his waist, which shimmered and transformed into a massive hammer. 

Daphne and Draco exchanged confused glances but obeyed, retreating far from the giant chessboard. 

Edward stood alone on the board, his eyes blazing. Instead of taking a position among the black pieces, he let out a booming cry: "Great is Slytherin!" 

Green magical energy surged over the hammer, growing larger in the air until it formed a colossal weapon, towering as tall as three people. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Edward swung the hammer to the right, smashing a line of white chess pieces into dust and debris. 

The remaining pieces—black and white alike—sprang to life. Kings, queens, bishops, knights, rooks, and pawns drew their stone weapons and charged at Edward in a frenzy. 

But Edward didn't flinch at the overwhelming odds. This only confirmed what he already suspected: Professor McGonagall's giant chessboard didn't have to be beaten by playing the game. Flip the board, survive the onslaught, and you'd still pass. 

With a fierce shout, he charged headlong into the swarm of pieces, leaping into the fray. 

"Should we help him?" Draco muttered, his mouth twitching as he watched. 

"Is this allowed? Did he just find another loophole?" 

Daphne raised her robe to cover her nose, shielding herself from the dust cloud rising from the battlefield. "Ten of you wouldn't stand a chance against those pieces. Got any spells that work on enchanted stone? Let's just head to the door and wait." 

The deafening clash of battle raged for a few minutes until the dust settled. Edward, covered in grime, was smashing the white king's head to powder and kicking the black king's crown aside. 

The door ahead swung open. 

A foul stench wafted from the next room, so overpowering that even Draco and Edward lifted their robes to cover their noses. A massive troll lay motionless on the floor, clearly dead. 

Edward couldn't sense any life in it. "Brilliant. One less headache to deal with!" 

The trio hurried through the reeking room and pulled open the next door. This was the final chamber standing between them, Quirrell, Voldemort, and Harry. 

Unlike the previous rooms, this one held no terrifying creatures or oddities—just a table with seven oddly shaped bottles. 

As they stepped inside, purple flames roared up behind them, sealing the entrance. Black flames flickered at the far door, blocking their path forward. 

"Professor Snape's challenge?" Draco spotted a note on the table. "What's this? A logic puzzle? I'm rubbish at these!" he groaned, scratching his head in frustration. 

"Draco, even you can see which potion gets us through the black flames," Daphne said coolly, picking up the smallest bottle. It was empty—not a drop left. 

"Quirrell and Potter must've drunk it all. We're stuck," she said, her voice tinged with worry. 

"We took Felix Felicis, didn't we? Some 'lucky' potion that was!" Draco scowled, pacing around the bottles as if they'd magically refill. 

Edward, unfazed, sniffed the empty bottle, then pointed his wand at his satchel. "Accio Fire Protection Potion!" 

A small vial zoomed into his hand. 

"What's that?" Draco asked, taking it and sniffing curiously. His keen potion instincts told him it was identical to the one from Snape's puzzle. 

"Brewed it during detention with Snape. Didn't think it'd come in handy," Edward said, taking a sip before passing it to Daphne and Draco. "Ready? You can still turn back or wait for the professors." 

"I'll make whoever hurt that unicorn pay, no matter who they are," Daphne said firmly, drinking without hesitation. 

Draco's hand trembled as he took the bottle, but he steeled himself and downed a gulp. The potion felt like ice spreading through him, numbing him to the surrounding heat—even his own skin felt temperature-less. 

"Potter's going to owe Slytherin big time for saving his skin," Draco muttered. 

The three took a deep breath and stepped into the black flames. 

 

Harry felt the black flames lick at his body, but they didn't burn. He passed through Snape's final barrier and entered the last room. 

In the center stood a figure he'd expected. 

"I knew it was you!" Harry said, his brow furrowing as he gripped his wand. It gave him courage, even if he wasn't sure what spells he could cast. 

"Me," Quirrell said, his usual stammer gone. "I was wondering if we'd meet here." 

"You're done for! Dumbledore knows your plans. He's on his way, and you're finished!" Harry shouted, his courage surging. "You and Voldemort, hiding back there!" 

Quirrell's face twisted in panic. "Master, I don't know how he—" 

A harsh, rasping laugh echoed from Quirrell's body—specifically, from the back of his head. "No matter, Quirrell. This saves us the trouble, doesn't it?" 

"Let me speak to him." 

"But Master, your strength—" 

"I have enough for this…" 

Harry froze as Quirrell unwrapped his turban, revealing a chalk-white, grotesque face with scarlet eyes glaring from the back of his skull. 

Voldemort. 

Harry wanted to scream but couldn't make a sound. 

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Look what you've reduced me to—a parasite in another's body, sustained by unicorn blood, less than a ghost. But with the Philosopher's Stone, I'll forge a new, immortal body. And the key to that stone… is you." 

Harry's gaze shifted to the Mirror of Erised. He'd seen his parents in it before, but Dumbledore had moved it. What was it doing here? 

"No way!" Harry snapped, his voice shaky. "Edward figured you out ages ago! He's thwarted your plans at every turn, and Dumbledore's known about you all along. You're done!" 

Voldemort's face contorted at the mention of those names. "Dumbledore? Fooled by a letter and off in London. By the time he returns, I'll be long gone. And that meddling Bedivere boy—pure Slytherin blood, yet he keeps ruining my plans!" 

"But what can an eleven-year-old do? My servant has powers beyond your understanding," Voldemort sneered. 

"Come here, Potter," Quirrell barked. "Tell me what you see in the mirror!" 

Harry felt his legs move toward the mirror against his will. What would he see? His parents again? How was that connected to the Stone? 

In the mirror, his reflection looked terrified but then smiled. Mirror-Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out a blood-red stone, and tucked it away. 

Harry felt a heavy weight settle in his real pocket. 

He tried to keep his face neutral, but Voldemort's next words chilled him more than the potion. "Now, Potter, hand over the Stone in your pocket. Save your life—don't let your parents' sacrifice be in vain." 

"Never!" Harry turned to run, but Quirrell snapped his fingers, and Harry's body froze. 

Quirrell grabbed his throat, lifting him off the ground. Harry flailed, his wand clattering to the floor, but Quirrell's armored hands were like steel. 

Harry's vision blurred. How could I think I could fight a dark wizard? 

Just as consciousness slipped away, three shouts rang out behind him. 

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