This was a spell Harry had developed years ago with Vivi. The flames themselves were the legendary eternal fire—Gubraithian Fire!
Mastering this flame had cost Harry sweat and effort far beyond what most could imagine.
"Protego Gubraithian!"
Harry incanted the spell, and the flames roared even brighter.
This was a fire that needed no fuel and could burn forever!
Voldemort's eyes widened dramatically. He stared at Harry in utter shock, unable to comprehend how a first-year student could possibly wield such advanced magic.
The last time he had heard of a flame-based protective spell was… well, it was said to be the signature magic of the dark wizard Grindelwald, who had been defeated by Dumbledore.
But…
Grindelwald had used Fiendfyre.
The fire surrounding this Potter, however, was Gubraithian Fire.
Also known as eternal fire, Gubraithian Fire was a magically enchanted flame capable of burning indefinitely. It was an exceptionally advanced piece of magic that very few witches and wizards could ever master.
Most importantly, it was not dark magic.
The spell was so sophisticated that it had never been part of Hogwarts' curriculum. Even a century ago, almost no students had managed to learn it.
Harry had only succeeded after studying ancient spellbooks Cassandra had retrieved from the Malfoy family library.
The idea of using Gubraithian Fire for protection had been Viletta's concept. Replacing traditional shielding charms with this eternal flame produced outstanding results.
Voldemort's Fiendfyre serpent thrashed its head wildly, trying to break through Harry's fiery barrier, but it could not shake the defense even slightly.
With the Philosopher's Stone fueling him, Harry's spells had reached a level of power few could hope to match.
As the Stone's energy gradually faded, Harry felt a powerful instinct surging within him, straining to break free from the confines of his body.
Following that instinct, he waved his wand and transfigured a nearby stone pedestal into a barrel of explosives, which whistled through the air toward Voldemort.
Voldemort's heart lurched. He quickly cast a Shield Charm, but the barrel detonated on impact. The force of the explosion sent him staggering backward.
Seizing the opportunity, Harry hurled a Disarming Charm at the off-balance Dark Lord.
Even in such a dire moment, the legendary dark wizard remained composed. Voldemort deftly deflected the spell with his wand and immediately countered with a Cruciatus Curse.
The Gubraithian Fire surged forward and completely devoured the incoming pain curse.
Harry flicked his wand again. Thunderous rumbling began to echo from the ceiling above Voldemort.
"What kind of spell is this?!" A terrible premonition rose in Voldemort's mind. He retreated rapidly, but the sound of thunder clung to him like a curse.
Left with no choice, he reinforced his defenses overhead.
Unfortunately, he was merely a remnant soul possessing Quirrell's lifeless body. He could barely access a tenth of his true power.
His dreadful premonition grew stronger. He fired a Killing Curse at Harry and, taking advantage of the moment, transformed into black smoke and abandoned Quirrell's body.
In that exact instant, a blinding bolt of lightning descended from above, striking Quirrell's body dead center.
The already charred remains of Professor Quirrell turned pitch black, as if struck by a high-voltage current.
Harry leveled his wand at Voldemort's fleeing soul remnant. Just as he prepared to cast another spell, a sudden wave of foreboding washed over him—his neck and the back of his head tingling with alarm.
He threw himself into a roll. Behind him, he heard the chilling words:
"Avada Kedavra!"
The sickly green light grazed past his body and struck the floor, achieving nothing.
Harry spun around. Voldemort's remnant soul had used the distraction to whip up a gust of wind and escape.
He scanned the room left and right but could not locate the source of the curse.
Whoever had cast it seemed to have no intention of pressing the attack.
Harry refused to lower his guard. He gave his wand a slight upward flick, expanding the Gubraithian Fire barrier to cover a wider area.
"Revelio!"
There was still no reaction. He could detect no hostile living presence.
At the same time, the Philosopher's Stone's energy was finally exhausted.
A wave of dizziness hit him. The world spun violently, and Harry staggered before collapsing onto Quirrell's body.
The moment his charred remains touched Harry, they crumbled into dust.
Before losing consciousness, Harry used the last of his strength to hurl the dark wizard's wand into the flames.
He never dropped the Gubraithian Fire shield, unaware that the person who had cast the Killing Curse at him had already left the underground chamber.
Voldemort, however, was not so fortunate.
As he fled the chamber and reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, he collided head-on with a beautiful Slytherin ghost with shoulder-length black hair.
He instinctively felt she was familiar but couldn't place where he had seen her.
Without warning, the ghost lunged at him, tearing a large chunk from his smoky soul form.
"You… who exactly are you?!" Voldemort asked in disbelief.
The ghost offered no reply. She tore away three more substantial pieces of his soul before finally smiling with satisfaction and crooking a finger to the side.
A notebook Voldemort knew all too well appeared before him.
"No… impossible!"
He recognized it immediately.
It was his old diary!
After learning about Cassandra from Abraxas Malfoy, he had used a transfiguration charm to disguise the Horcrux diary with a feminine appearance and signed it with the fake name "C.C. Malfoy." The goal had been for the Malfoy family to safeguard it discreetly.
Later, he had given Lucius Malfoy an identical diary for safekeeping.
So why was the real Horcrux here?
Before he could process the thought, the beautiful ghost compressed his smoky soul into a tight bundle and shoved it into the diary.
**Oh no, I've become a Horcrux!**
That was Voldemort's final thought.
Then he lost consciousness.
The notebook reverted to its original worn appearance. A swirling vortex appeared around it, and it vanished without a sound.
…
When Harry opened his eyes again, he found himself staring into a pair of half-moon spectacles.
It was Dumbledore, smiling down at him warmly.
"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
"Professor." Harry greeted him, then looked around.
He was lying in a bed with crisp white linen sheets. The table beside him was piled high with sweets—like half the candy shop had been relocated to the infirmary.
To his left lay the still-sleeping Seamus and Ron.
"All gifts from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "The fact that you stopped Professor Quirrell in the dungeons was supposed to be a complete secret. However, secrets have a way of spreading. By now, the entire school knows. I heard that your friends Fred and George originally wanted to give you a toilet seat."
"They undoubtedly meant it as a joke, but Madam Pomfrey deemed it unhygienic and confiscated it."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. He still didn't understand what a toilet seat was supposed to accomplish—perhaps it really was just meant to be funny.
"How long have I been here?" Harry asked.
"One night," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "I expected you to be out for much longer, yet you woke up before both of them."
He gestured toward Ron and Seamus.
"But Quirrell…" Harry frowned, trailing off.
He wanted to ask whether Dumbledore knew how Quirrell had died, but he felt a twinge of guilt.
Dumbledore smiled gently. "It seems the protective flames I left behind served their purpose—at least they kept you safe. I also had to conjure a broom to sweep up what remained of Professor Quirrell…"
"What exactly happened?" Harry asked, feeling slightly relieved.
"It was love," Dumbledore said softly. "Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort has never understood, it is love. He never realized that such powerful love leaves its own mark upon you."
"Not a scar, no visible sign… Having been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, leaves us with a permanent protection that lives beneath the skin."
"That is why Quirrell could not touch you. His heart was filled with hatred, greed, and ambition. Having sold his soul to Voldemort, touching someone marked by something so good caused him unbearable pain."
Harry was momentarily stunned.
No wonder…
No wonder Vivi had told him, outside the Slytherin common room, that he carried a powerful protective charm and that the Cruciatus Curse would have no effect on him…
He had thought she simply couldn't bring herself to use it on him. He never imagined she had been telling the literal truth.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt his mother was incredibly close.
"Mom…" he whispered. Tears slipped quietly from the corners of his eyes.
Dumbledore said nothing. He simply pretended to be deeply fascinated by a small bird outside the window.
Harry quickly wiped away his tears and steadied his voice.
"I heard Voldemort say that Professor Quirrell once asked you for help, but you ignored him?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. Although I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, there are still things I cannot do. He willingly gave himself to Voldemort. Even if there was a moment of regret, it might have been part of their evil plan… I am glad you asked me this, but I must tell you that even if he had truly repented, there was nothing I could have done to help him. The moment he chose to aid Voldemort, his fate was sealed."
"I understand, Professor," Harry said sincerely, nodding.
Having dealt with the cunning nature of dark wizards, he harbored no naïve illusions.
If this old Headmaster had trusted Quirrell so easily, he would never have become the greatest white wizard in the world.
"What about the Philosopher's Stone…" Harry continued. "I felt its energy pouring into my body… Is the Stone alright, Professor?"
"Ah, the Philosopher's Stone…" Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder. "I'm afraid it can no longer be used. I must also warn you that you will need to stay here for a few more days of observation. Logically, a young wizard like you absorbing the entire power of the Stone should have caused you to explode—quite literally."
"But I'm still alive and well, aren't I?" Harry smiled, showing not the slightest worry.
"I believe so… In fact, I suspect it was the protective charm Lily left you that absorbed all the Stone's energy. I have a feeling your protection has grown even stronger." Dumbledore sighed. "She was a brilliant witch. Only she could have mastered such ancient and complex magic."
Harry let out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief. The Headmaster's own theorizing had saved him a great deal of trouble.
"Don't you know it, Professor?" Harry asked, looking up with an innocent expression.
"Those without a natural talent for ancient magic cannot learn it in their entire lifetime," Dumbledore replied. A spark of wisdom flashed behind his half-moon glasses.
Harry had the distinct feeling that the Headmaster had noticed more than he was letting on.
Then he remembered the Flamels and asked, "Professor, what about Mr. Flamel? The Stone…"
"Don't worry. Nicolas has stored away plenty of Elixir of Life," Dumbledore said, winking at him. "Besides, we had already planned to destroy the Stone once this was over. There's no need for concern."
"One last question, Professor." Harry thought for a moment and asked directly, "I can't shake the feeling that you intentionally guided me to the underground chamber… to confront Professor Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort?"
"Harry…" A flicker of surprise crossed Dumbledore's eyes. He clearly hadn't expected such a blunt question.
He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, when Voldemort returns, everyone will face two choices: submit to his reign of terror or die resisting it."
"But you… more than ten years ago, you humiliated him and reduced him to a parasite clinging to the back of another's head. Believe me, he is a man who holds grudges. In this world, only you have no choice."
"I understand, Professor," Harry said, nodding firmly.
"Well, that's enough questions for now. I suggest you start enjoying these sweets."
Dumbledore stood up and casually picked up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from the table.
"Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was terribly unlucky in my youth—I once ate a bean that tasted of something utterly revolting. I haven't been very fond of them since. Still, a toffee-flavored one should be perfectly safe, don't you think?"
"I'd suggest you pick a different one," Harry said earnestly.
Dumbledore obligingly put the bean back and selected another, popping it into his mouth.
"Very nice—chocolate," he said with a smile.
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