Harry and Hermione proceed to a room with a puzzle involving potions.
Alexander just followed.
Soon, Hermione solves the riddle, allowing Harry to move forward.
As Hermione ran back to check on Ron.
Alexander stood at the edge of the chamber, concealed in silence as he watched Harry descend the final staircase.
At the center of the room stood the Mirror.
And in front of it… Quirrell.
The timid professor slowly turned, as if he had sensed Harry long before he arrived. His usual stutter was gone.
His posture was straight, and his eyes were sharp.
He began to talk.
Villains truly did love explaining everything.
He spoke of the Quidditch match—how he had jinxed Harry's broom. He explained how the troll on Halloween had been a distraction. He even revealed how Snape had blocked him from entering the third-floor corridor, forcing him to delay his plans.
All the while, Alexander listened from the shadows, arms folded, expression calm.
So Snape was trying to stop him… interesting.
Quirrell continued, bitterness leaking into his voice as he described months of failure.
His inability to retrieve the Stone from the Mirror.
Then—
A second voice filled the chamber.
Cold. Inhuman.
Voldemort
The voice ordered Quirrell to bring Harry forward.
Quirrell obeyed immediately.
"Come here, Potter."
Harry hesitated, but stepped forward.
He stood before the Mirror.
Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed Harry's reflection. A subtle shimmer. A magical distortion.
Then Harry blinked.
His hand moved slightly toward his pocket.
Alexander noticed it instantly.
The Stone had appeared there.
But Harry didn't react outwardly. Instead, he turned back and lied.
"I see myself… winning the House Cup."
Quirrell screamed in frustration.
Alexander stepped closer, still silent, still unseen.
Then Quirrell reached up… and slowly untied his turban.
Layer by layer, the cloth fell away.
Until the back of his head was revealed.
A pale, noseless face protruded from his skull like a parasite.
The Dark Lord, clinging to life.
Even Alexander, who had expected something grotesque, felt mild surprise.
They talked.
Threats. Promises. Desperation.
Alexander remained still, calculating the timing of his intervention.
Too early, and Dumbledore might suspect his presence.
Too late, and the stone might go missing.
So he waited.
Harry suddenly bolted, trying to run—
But Quirrell waved his hands.
Flames erupted around the chamber, forming a ring that trapped them inside.
The heat roared, shadows dancing across the stone walls.
Then Harry, surprised by the flames, fell.
Quirrell stream and attacked him physically.
Alexander stood there thinking.
Why not just use your wand? Harry is a first-year and didn't even draw his wand?
He could only sigh and admit that maybe plot armor or Quirrell deserved to die.
Quirrell jumped on Harry and tried to strangle him.
Harry tried to not let Quirrell strangle him then.
Quirrell screamed when Harry touched him.
Flesh burned—crumbling into ash.
Alexander's eyes sharpened.
So that's the protection
While the two struggled, neither noticed anything else.
He moved.
He stepped beside the Mirror, reached down, and lifted the Sorcerer's Stone from where it had fallen unnoticed during the chaos.
He examined it briefly before storing it away.
Meanwhile, Harry clung to Quirrell as the professor's body began to break apart—skin cracking, flesh dissolving into sand-like fragments.
With a final scream, Quirrell collapsed.
Harry fell back, gasping, searching for the Stone.
Behind him, the parasite face tore free—now a wraithlike.
It lunged at Harry.
That was the moment Alexander chose to act.
He stepped forward and raised his wand.
"Protego Maxima."
A massive translucent blue barrier erupted into existence, forming a domed shield around Harry.
The wraith slammed into it and was violently repelled.
The force hurled Voldemort's spirit backward across the chamber.
Alexander didn't stop.
He sprinted forward, firing spells in rapid succession.
Stunning flashes, binding curses, searing light.
The wraith shrieked, dodging erratically before fleeing through the stone wall.
Alexander sighed.
Without a physical body, he was nearly impossible to destroy permanently.
He turned back.
Harry lay unconscious on the floor.
He knelt beside him, checking his condition.
Breathing steady.
No fatal injuries.
Just exhaustion and magical depletion.
He stood, thinking quickly about the next steps.
Then he heard footsteps approaching from the corridor beyond.
Alexander sighed as he ran out of time.
He couldn't escape now.
So he flicked his wand toward the flames still encircling the chamber.
"Finite Incantatem."
The fire vanished instantly, leaving only smoke and scorched stone behind.
Alexander adjusted his robes, expression returning to calm neutrality as he prepared for whoever was about to enter.
The Stone is already secured.
And his involvement… perfectly hidden, maybe.