Chapter Forty-Eight: The Death of Voldemort
Quirrell turned to Harry and said, "Potter, come here."
He clapped his hands, and the ropes binding Harry loosened automatically. Harry slowly stood up from the floor. "Come closer," Quirrell gestured. "Look into the mirror, and tell me what you see." Harry was forced to step forward.
Has he thought of it too? Harry thought, realizing he had to come up with a suitable lie to fool him. He couldn't let Quirrell find the Philosopher's Stone.
Quirrell moved closer, urging him to gaze into the mirror. Harry even noticed a strange smell emanating from Quirrell's scarf.
Harry didn't care. He was already standing in front of the mirror, desperately thinking of a way to trick Quirrell. He wasn't sure if he should even think about the Stone while facing the mirror.
He noticed his reflection. The Harry in the mirror looked pale and terrified. But after a moment, the reflected Harry smiled. The reflection reached into its pocket and, as if by magic, pulled out a bright red stone. It blinked, then returned the Stone to its pocket.
At the same time, Harry felt something bulky appear in his own pocket.
Oh no… this is backfiring, Harry thought nervously. Why had the Stone appeared like this?
"What did you see?" Quirrell asked impatiently.
Harry quickly made up a story. "When I looked in the mirror, I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. I made Gryffindor win the House Cup."
Quirrell cursed and shoved him aside. "Get out!"
Harry stepped back, feeling the Stone cling to his pocket. He needed to find a chance to escape with it.
But he had only taken a few steps when a sharp voice rang out: "He lied! He lied!"
"Potter, come back!" Quirrell shouted, his voice harsh. "Tell me everything you saw. Speak the truth."
"Let me handle this myself," the sharp, terrifying voice said again.
"But Master, you haven't recovered yet," Quirrell's voice turned pitiful.
"This doesn't require much energy."
Harry felt as if he were trapped in a devil's net, unable to move, struggling even to breathe. He stood frozen, watching Quirrell undo the scarf from his head—an oddly grotesque sight. With the scarf removed, Quirrell's head seemed unnaturally small. Then he turned, back to Harry.
Harry stared at him like he was a terrifying monster. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Quirrell had truly become a monster. The back of his head caved in, revealing a face Harry had never seen before: chalk-white, grotesque, with glowing red, snake-like eyes and nostrils.
"Harry Potter," the terrifying face whispered.
Harry's mind went blank. No Stone, no lies, no plan—just the instinct to flee.
"Look at what I've become," the face continued. "Only a shadow, steam, a husk. I must borrow others' bodies to act. But as long as I draw breath, as long as I think, there will be those who open their hearts and accept me."
"In the past weeks, the unicorn's blood has given me some strength. You know, Rikylo drank for me in the Forbidden Forest. Soon, I only need the Philosopher's Stone to regain my perfect body. Now, you should hand over the Stone hidden in your pocket."
Harry realized that Quirrell already knew. The bindings on his body loosened slightly as he staggered back.
"Don't be foolish," the face hissed. "Surrender, and you will live. Otherwise, you will meet the same fate as your parents. They begged me for mercy, but it was too late."
"You're talking nonsense!" Harry shouted, retreating.
"The same story again," the voice sighed.
"I admire the brave, like your parents. I killed your father first. He fought bravely, refusing to surrender, but he was too weak to resist. Your mother… she was special. She didn't have to die—only to save you. Now, hand over the Stone and don't let her sacrifice be in vain."
Even if I die, I won't let him succeed, Harry thought. He could never surrender to Voldemort, never allow him to claim the Stone. With no way to retreat, he steeled himself and charged toward the door burning with black flames.
"Seize him!" Voldemort shouted.
Who's there?
As Harry ran, he heard the voice again—Voldemort's anguished cry—and a rush of air hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground.
He lay there, turning his head carefully, and saw Quirrell desperately clutching his own neck, but blood gushed through his fingers. Harry opened his mouth but could not make a sound.
Suddenly, blue flames erupted from Quirrell's body, engulfing him completely.
Only when the last wisp of black smoke was consumed did the flames shrink and vanish.
"George… is that you?" Harry scanned the area, his eyes landing in the air.
"You didn't seem surprised," said a tall figure—it was George Soros, holding a cloak.
"At first, I thought it was Dumbledore, but seeing no one, I assumed you had taken my Invisibility Cloak before." Seeing it was George, Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"I didn't expect it to be so useful. I stayed hidden, waiting for the right moment. While you distracted them, I used an air-cutting spell to sever Quirrell's neck. I also summoned flames to burn him and Voldemort. Until the very end, they never found me."
George examined the cloak carefully, noting something strange. This was indeed the legendary Invisibility Cloak of the Deathly Hallows, rarely seen in Harry's possession. Today, George used it to defeat Voldemort. Only after Voldemort's death did the Dark Lord manage to find him.
"You saved me. If you want, it's yours." Harry, nearly fully recovered, smiled in relief, giving George the Invisibility Cloak as a token of gratitude.
"Everyone, be sure to give this story a Powerstone! Also, 30 advanced chapters of this story are uploaded on my Patreon—you can go there and read them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
for 30 advanced chapter, visit my patreon
'patreon.com/fatimasoomro123'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"