"We've got to get ahead of him and grab the Philosopher's Stone first!"
"You're mad!"
"You'll get expelled!"
"So what?"
"…"
The slightly childish voices echoed from the enchanted mirror.
In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the young witches and wizards had fallen silent, their eyes glued to the mirror, reflecting the flickering light of the film. The hall was so quiet you could only hear the movie's dialogue. Some students, desperate to use the loo, held it in with flushed faces, unwilling to miss a single moment.
"What's that thing by its feet?"
"It looks like a harp. We need to hurry!"
"…"
As the story neared its climax, the film's pace quickened. The Devil's Snare at the bottom of the tunnel, the winged keys fluttering about, the transfigured chess pieces in a dramatic endgame—each challenge pulled thousands of witches and wizards across England into the adventure alongside the three first-years. Their emotions surged with every move: anxious, eager, tense…
"Burn the Devil's Snare with fire! Ugh, why didn't they think of that sooner?"
"Use the Summoning Charm! Why isn't anyone casting Accio?"
"What? First-years don't learn the Summoning Charm? Doesn't the school teach it? Don't their families? Granger's Muggle-born, fine, but what about Harry… or Weasley? What are Arthur and Molly doing?"
"Wizard's Chess? Just looking at it gives me a headache. Why did Professor McGonagall make it so complicated?"
"Protecting the Philosopher's Stone didn't even work. It just held the kids back. I wonder if they'll make it in time."
In the remote village of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, a noisy little pub was filled with chatter. Wizards were shouting suggestions, some even cursing under their breath, frustrated by the trio's obstacles and wishing they could jump into the film to guide them.
Faced with a cunning chess endgame, the redheaded young wizard's face grew serious. "Yes… there's no other way. I have to be sacrificed."
"Oh, no!"
"It's chess! Sacrifices are part of the game!"
A redheaded witch stared at her son on the screen, unable to believe her eyes. Her breath caught, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest.
Next to her, a redheaded girl was even more excited, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the mirror—not at her brother, but at Harry.
Each challenge was tougher than the last, yet every success tugged at the audience's hearts. The story in the enchanted mirror was like an invisible hand, pulling at the emotions of thousands of wizards—sinking into despair when problems arose, bursting with excitement when obstacles were overcome.
Up and down, over and over.
The intense emotional rollercoaster rattled the viewers' minds. This new form of entertainment shook their souls, leaving them hooked.
In the film, Harry reached the final room, his small, lonely figure shown on the screen. After a bumpy journey, his companions had fallen behind—Ron stayed at the chessboard, Hermione stopped at the flames. Harry was alone again.
Just as the mood dipped into gloom, the film's tone shifted. Quirrell stumbled through the chamber, repeatedly thwarted, while Harry trailed behind, effortlessly dodging every trap.
The story turned lighthearted again.
In the dark, eerie room with dim visibility, a first-year wizard quietly followed an adult dark wizard, trying to protect the precious Philosopher's Stone. Alone, helpless, and vulnerable—it should've been a heavy, oppressive moment. But the scenes in the mirror made the audience chuckle.
A statue suddenly grabbed Quirrell by the throat; ropes in the water coiled around his neck. Quirrell struggled desperately, while Harry, eager and ready, pressed forward. The absurd mishaps befalling the evil dark wizard added a touch of comedy.
It was another way to toy with the audience's emotions.
"…"
In pubs and viewing halls across the land, the atmosphere lightened a bit.
The viewers' tense hearts began to ease. This story didn't feel so heavy after all.
"It's just kids playing pretend," one wizard muttered. "I thought it'd be some big battle, but it's just a bit of fun. I mean, those earlier challenges weren't exactly top-notch protection."
"You can't say that," another countered. "They're only first-years. Getting this far is impressive. We can't judge them by Auror standards…"
The debate stopped short as the cheerful music in the mirror faded. Quirrell had reached the end of the room.
"I wondered, when I came here, if I'd have the chance to meet you before leaving school, Potter!"
A chilling, sinister voice cut through. Quirrell turned, a creepy smirk on his face, the marks from earlier traps making him look even more sinister.
With a wave of his wand, Harry was powerless, instantly bound in front of the Mirror of Erised.
Facing the far stronger dark wizard, Harry tried to hide the Philosopher's Stone's existence, but Quirrell saw through him. As Quirrell charged, Harry gritted his teeth, broke free of the ropes, and swung his fist.
Quirrell's state was bizarre, his screams sharp and terrifying. Harry's young fists landed like red-hot irons, but Harry wasn't unscathed either—he seemed to be in great pain.
The visuals and music carried a tragic, heroic beauty.
After a fierce struggle, Harry collapsed unconscious, and Quirrell's body disintegrated into ash.
"…"
The audience's emotions swung wildly again. The wizard who'd called it "playing pretend" fell silent, eyes wide, staring at the mirror.
Malcolm and Tucklot exchanged a glance, their brows furrowed. In the dim light, their eyes conveyed a shared understanding.
Quirrell's confrontation and battle with Harry ended, answering many questions: the jinxed broom at the Quidditch match, the mysterious wizard attacking unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, the odd looks in class.
But new questions arose.
How could a first-year overpower an adult dark wizard?
They didn't think the story was nonsense. It was clear something was off with both Harry and Quirrell—some kind of magic was at play. But what was it?
The mirror shifted to Harry's perspective. After fainting in the battle, he woke up in the hospital wing, with Dumbledore smiling warmly by his bedside.
The mystery of defeating the dark wizard was revealed.
"A protective charm is an ancient form of magic, its casting method long lost, known only to a few. Your mother was one of them. She gave her life to place a protective charm on you, one that shields you from evil until you turn seventeen…"
A piece of the secret from eleven years ago was unveiled.
In Hogwarts' Great Hall and dozens of wizarding pubs across England, every viewer's emotions were stirred.
"Sob…"
Many mothers with children were crying. Witches wiped tears away, wizards' eyes grew misty. The redheaded witch hugged her teary daughter, heartbroken for the boy.
In the Great Hall, soft sobs echoed among the house tables. The towering half-giant groundskeeper discreetly wiped his eyes, while Peeves hovered nearby, not daring to provoke him.
Human joys and sorrows may differ, but the purest bonds of family touch everyone.
The mother's sacrifice in the story reminded many of their own devoted mothers.
Above the Ravenclaw table, a translucent figure stared at the mirror, watching the protagonist and his mother. Helena Ravenclaw thought of her own mother, always wise, steady, and capable, solving any problem with ease.
At some point, that figure began to age, her posture stooping, her face weary.
When Helena returned to the school as a ghost, she learned her mother had died of illness.
"…"
The cheerful tune of Jingle Bells played again, signaling the story's true end.
In the film, students staying at school ran and played on the pitch, snowballs flying everywhere. The view zoomed out, revealing Hogwarts Castle in its winter glory, surrounded by snow-covered forests and hills.
A line appeared on the mirror: "This story is purely fictional. Any resemblance to real events is coincidental."
"It said it was based on true events at the start, and now it's fictional?" a wizard remarked.
Just when everyone thought the story was over, the scene shifted to the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
Firenze, with his platinum-blond hair, trod lightly through the snowy path, his silver hooves graceful. He looked at the mirror as if gazing at the audience, his sapphire eyes gleaming:
"Unicorn blood can sustain life, but killing a unicorn is a brutal act, and the culprit pays a heavy price. Only a desperate, deranged dark wizard would use it to cling to life while scheming for the Philosopher's Stone.
"Can't you guess? Who's been waiting silently all these years, yearning for a comeback? Who clings to life, biding their time?"
"…"
His words hit like a boulder dropped into the Black Lake, stirring waves that unsettled the audience's calmed hearts. Some wizards had an answer but dared not speak the name, their faces frozen in shock.
In the upscale pub in Diagon Alley, silence fell. Editors and reporters shifted their gaze to the front, where a wizard in an old-fashioned pinstripe suit sat—Cornelius Fudge.
Fudge's plump face turned purple, as if the air had been sucked from the room. After several minutes, he forced a stiff smile. "It's just one of… Dumbledore's little tricks. Didn't you notice? It said it's fictional."
"Exactly!" a shrill female voice chimed in.
"Yeah, no way it's that person…"
The hall grew lively again. Some agreed with the Minister, others smirked, and some sank into thought. Different wizards had different reactions.
A few, like Lucius Malfoy, felt uneasy, always preparing for the worst. As a core Death Eater, he knew Voldemort had long studied ways to cheat death, witnessing his dark and powerful magic countless times.
As Dumbledore's rival, Lucius also knew the old headmaster never acted without purpose.
Sitting still, Lucius realized the Malfoys were once again teetering on a cliff's edge, like eleven years ago. But this time, he couldn't see which side was the abyss.
Most ordinary wizards saw it as a fictional tale. After a decade of peace, they wanted to believe it would last.
The film left them emotionally drained yet craving more.
Energetic young wizards were already asking about the next showing's time and ticket prices. Pub patrons, seeing the viewers' excitement, joined the ticket rush.
"Tom, one more ticket!"
"Kingsley, come quick, I got you one too!"
"This film's amazing—better than Muggle movies!"
"Invite Moody? No way!"
The wizarding world hadn't seen something this fresh in years. Everyone wanted to share the fun with friends and colleagues.
Some planned to spoil the plot for those who hadn't seen it, just for kicks.
"Listen, Quirrell's the dark wizard."
"Yeah, he's the one cursing the Quidditch match."
"The trapdoor leads to the Philosopher's Stone—Nicolas Flamel's stone."
Some blabbed on, thrilled, while listeners frowned, annoyed. Knowing the plot ruined the suspense, especially the tense final chamber scene, which lost its thrill when spoiled.
"It's fine, there's no real danger. Quirrell keeps messing up."
"Harry's got a protective charm from his mum—so touching!"
Those watching the second showing vowed to snag premiere tickets next time and spoil it for others.
Meanwhile, the Hogwarts screening ended. The students sat in silence for a moment before erupting into thunderous applause, diving into heated discussions. The Great Hall buzzed with excitement.
Having heard Ron's version of the story, they knew the basics of the Philosopher's Stone adventure, but seeing it vividly on the mirror was another thing. Muggle-born students familiar with films were less shocked, but pure-bloods who'd never seen a movie were flushed and giddy, eagerly discussing the scenes.
The Gryffindor table was mobbed. Harry tried not to look too smug, but his grin betrayed him. Hermione buried her face on the table, while Lavender and Parvati pestered her with questions.
"That's our brother!"
"Weasley pride!"
George and Fred, bursting with excitement, hoisted Ron between them, parading him down the aisle.
Ron, feet off the ground like a lamb to slaughter, didn't mind one bit, basking in the cheers and praise.
At the staff table, the professors watched the lively hall, smiling.
"Phew…"
Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed with depth as he glanced at the film's creator. Melvin sat quietly, a faint smile on his face, silver-white light flickering in his eyes—perhaps a reflection of the mirror, or maybe a trace of magic.
Dumbledore didn't disturb him. Clearing his throat, he addressed the school: "I'm sure you've all seen the contributions they've made to Hogwarts. To honor their bravery and wisdom, I have some points to award."
The hall fell silent, Gryffindors eyeing the headmaster with hope.
"First, to Mr. Ron Weasley, for playing the most brilliant chess game Hogwarts has seen in decades—fifty points to Gryffindor."
"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for her cool-headedness in the face of fire and poison—fifty points."
"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter, for showing extraordinary courage—sixty points."
"YES!!"
The first night of the 1992 Easter holidays ended with Gryffindor's roaring cheers.