[Third Person Pov]
Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face.
It was the most terrible thing Gwyneth had ever seen.
The skin was chalk-white, stretched tight and lifeless, as if it had never truly belonged to a living body. Its eyes burned a glaring, unnatural red, sharp and intelligent and utterly devoid of warmth. Where a proper nose should have been were only narrow slits, twitching faintly as though tasting the air, giving the face the unmistakable resemblance of a serpent.
For a brief, horrifying second, the chamber went completely silent.
"Harry Potter—" the thing began to whisper, its voice thin and cold, like wind sliding over a grave.
"THAT IS HORRIFYING! PUT IT AWAY! PUT IT AWAY!!"
Gwyneth's scream echoed violently off the stone walls, shrill with pure, unfiltered terror. She thrashed against her bindings, eyes wide and glassy as she strained to turn her head away.
Harry tried to step back, but his legs refused to obey him. They felt locked in place, as though the stone floor itself had claimed him. Somewhere in his robes, he felt the faint shift of the Stone in his pocket, but the sensation barely registered. Voldemort's presence swallowed all thought, all reason, leaving only fear.
"See what I—" Voldemort began again, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Oh my lord!" Gwyneth sobbed loudly, rocking back and forth despite the ropes. "I'm going to have nightmares about this for the rest of my life!"
"See—" Voldemort tried once more, his tone sharpening.
"Ahhh! I can't look at it! I can't look at it! Mer-lynn! Make it go away!" she cried, twisting desperately until she rolled toward Merlin, pressing her face against him for comfort, her entire body shaking.
"Would somebody shut her up!" Voldemort hissed, his patience finally snapping.
Quirrell flinched at his master's fury. With trembling hands, he flicked his wand, muttering hurriedly. Additional lengths of fabric sprang forth, tightening Gwyneth's bindings and gently but firmly gagging her mouth. She let out a muffled sob as she curled instinctively into Merlin's lap, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking down her face as she trembled.
At last, the chamber was quiet again.
"Now, as I was saying…" Voldemort resumed, his voice slipping back into a slow, serpentine calm. "See what I have become?"
The red eyes fixed themselves on Harry.
"Mere shadow and vapor. I have form only when I can share another's body. Yet there have always been those willing to open their hearts and minds to me—like my faithful servant, Quirrell." The face twisted faintly, almost smug. "And another… a very special someone who provided me with strength and resources, all in exchange for a single favor."
Harry swallowed.
"Once I have the Elixir of Life," Voldemort continued, "I will be able to create a body of my own. Whole. Powerful. Immortal." His gaze sharpened. "Now, why don't you give me the Stone in your pocket?"
Suddenly, the feeling rushed back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance.
"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled. "Better save your own life and join me… or you will meet the same end as your parents. They died begging me for mercy."
"LIAR!" Harry shouted, the word tearing itself from his chest.
Quirrell advanced toward him, walking backward so that Voldemort's face never lost sight of Harry. The red eyes narrowed, and then the mouth curved into a cold smile.
"How touching…" Voldemort hissed. "I have always valued bravery. Yes, boy, your parents were brave. Your father fought valiantly—I killed him first. But your mother needn't have died." The smile widened. "She was trying to protect you."
Harry's heart pounded painfully.
"Now give me the Stone," Voldemort finished softly, "unless you want her sacrifice to have been in vain."
"Harry."
Arthur's voice cut through the tension, calm and steady, grounding.
"Do you trust me?"
"What?" Harry asked, startled. Arthur had drawn Voldemort's attention now, something that felt impossibly dangerous.
"Just answer yes or no," Arthur said quietly, his gaze locked firmly onto Harry's green eyes. "Do you trust me?"
Harry hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Of course."
Arthur couldn't reach his wand. He couldn't reach for his sword. The bindings ensured that.
But he still had one weapon left.
His alchemy gloves.
"Then throw me the Stone!!" Arthur shouted.
With a single finger, he touched the rope binding his wrist.
It detonated in a sudden burst—not into fire or sparks, but into a spiraling shower of glowing blue rose petals that scattered through the air before.
"NOW!"
Harry fumbled desperately at his pockets as Voldemort let out an alarmed, furious shriek.
"Stop him!"
Arthur surged forward, thrusting his hand out as arcane energy flared to life around him.
[Tier 3 Magic: Telekinesis!]
The sword lying discarded across the floor trembled violently before lifting into the air. It spun in a tight, controlled arc before snapping cleanly into Arthur's waiting grasp as though drawn by an invisible chain.
Quirrell whipped around, panic flashing across his face as he raised his wand and aimed it straight at Arthur.
In his panic, Harry didn't aim.
He threw.
The ruby-red Stone sailed high overhead, spinning end over end through the air.
"No, you don't!" Merlin exclaimed sharply.
With a grin that mixed confidence and mischief, she released her magic. She pointed her staff with theatrical flair, and Quirrell's wand ripped itself free from his hand, skidding across the stone floor.
"Expelliarmus!!" she shouted dramatically.
Arthur hurled his scabbard aside and slammed one hand against the ground.
The stone beneath his palm surged upward like a living thing, launching him skyward in a powerful arc. He met the flying Stone head-on.
Teeth clenched, Arthur swung his sword in a wide, decisive arc, pouring every ounce of strength and will into the strike.
From the reflection of the Mirror of Erised, Voldemort watched in stunned disbelief as Caliburn cleaved cleanly through the ruby Stone. The gem split apart, revealing a shimmering, golden liquid within.
Everyone else could only stare, mouths hanging open, utterly stunned.
As the Stone separated into two halves, a blinding burst of crimson-gold light erupted outward. The dungeon was flooded with searing color as a violent, billowing explosion followed, shaking the chamber from wall to wall.
The force threw everyone off their feet.
Arthur was blasted backward through the air, crashing hard into the stone floor. He rolled several times before coming to a stop, groaning as pain surged through him. Dust and soot clung to his clothes and face, blood trickling from his brow as he struggled to steady himself.
The others were flung aside as well, scrambling for balance. Even Quirrell and Voldemort were forced backward by the shockwave.
"Mer-lynn—the ropes!" Hermione cried urgently.
Merlin flicked her wand, and the bindings fell away instantly. The group gasped in relief as they pushed themselves back to their feet.
Quirrell lay face-down on the ground. As he shakily picked himself up, something slipped from his robes and fluttered to the floor before unrolling at his feet.
It was parchment.
Etched across it was an intricate magical array—five interconnected sigils forming an elaborate and unmistakably powerful spell.
Voldemort's face twisted with pure rage. His eyes burned as they locked onto Arthur.
"You insolent brat!" he roared. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
"Yeah," Arthur replied hoarsely, forcing himself onto one knee, his sword planted firmly into the ground to support his weight. "I do. With the Stone destroyed, your plan ends here."
Voldemort's fury deepened into something far colder and more lethal.
"Now I understand why your death was demanded in exchange for their support," he hissed. "I will not allow you to draw another breath. Quirrell—unleash the spell!!"
"Spell? What spell?" Merlin muttered, genuine alarm creeping into her voice.
Quirrell turned, raising the parchment toward Arthur.
Merlin's eyes widened instantly, she recognized it at first glance.
A fifth-tier spell.
"No—don't!!" she shouted as Quirrell began tearing the paper.
Lance was already running midway across the room ready to intercept the spell with his own body.
The warning came too late.
The parchment split.
Arthur saw only a flash of light and instinctively turned away, bracing himself for impact.
But instead of pain, all he heard was a confused, distorted—
"What?"
Arthur looked back.
Lance stopped in his tracks.
Their breath caught in their throat.
A massive five-circle magic sigil had formed—but not in front of him.
Not beneath Arthur.
It was glowing beneath Voldemort and Quirrell.
"Arthur, brace yourself," Merlin's voice echoed urgently inside his mind.
"What?" Arthur muttered aloud, dread creeping into his chest.
"The spell they unleashed," Merlin continued, her mental voice tight with fear, "it's high-level transmogrification magic."
A pause.
"A fifth-tier monsterfication spell."
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