"Elekid—you actually evolved?!"
Harry's face lit up with shock and joy as he stared at his newly evolved Electabuzz.
He hadn't expected it to happen—not now, not at such a critical moment. According to his calculations, Elekid was still a few levels short of evolution.
"Could it be… that its desire to protect me and defeat the enemy triggered an early evolution?" Harry suddenly recalled what Professor Gold had once said in class.
Pokémon evolution wasn't always fixed by level. Some might refuse to evolve even when they were ready, while others could awaken their latent power and evolve early—especially under emotional or environmental stress.
The blazing spirit radiating from Electabuzz now proved that theory true.
Facing the massive rock serpent, Electabuzz showed not an ounce of fear. On the contrary, its confidence burned hotter than ever.
"So this is evolution, huh?" Quirrell sneered. "That beast suits you, Harry. When you see those lightning scars on its body, does it remind you of the one on your own face?"
Though it was his first time witnessing a Pokémon's evolution, Quirrell was far from impressed. He marveled inwardly at these creatures' mysteries—but his hands showed no hesitation.
Under his command, the enormous rock snake lunged forward, its colossal body crashing down with the weight of a mountain. One strike could shatter even a Pokémon's body.
"Electabuzz, dodge it!"
Electabuzz raised its arms high, crackling with electric energy, then leapt agilely into the air—far more nimble than before. It landed cleanly atop the serpent's head.
"Thunder Punch!"
At Harry's order, Electabuzz's fists blazed with lightning. It looked as if it held thunder itself in its hands.
BOOM!
The electrified punch slammed down, blowing apart half the serpent's head in an explosion of rock and light. Quirrell's transfiguration collapsed, the enormous stone body crumbling into rubble.
Even Dumbledore, hidden in the shadows, couldn't help but feel stunned.
Before Professor Gold brought Pokémon to Hogwarts, he would never have imagined Harry could stand against one of the Dark Lord's servants.
Now, with the strength of Pokémon beside him, Harry had earned—barely—a place among adult wizards.
Barely. His meager magical power and limited spell knowledge remained his greatest weaknesses.
"Well done, Electabuzz!"
Harry, filled with momentum, prepared to attack again—only for the fallen rocks to stir once more.
"You're celebrating too early, Harry!" Quirrell snarled, waving his wand with one hand and his other hand glowing with magical energy. The rubble rose into the air and surrounded Electabuzz in a crushing ring.
In the next instant, dozens of stones smashed inward, encasing Electabuzz in a deadly sphere that squeezed tighter and tighter.
"Jiaaa—!"
The crushing force drew a cry of pain from Electabuzz. The stones pressed hard enough to shatter bone.
"Electabuzz, break free!"
Electric power burst from Electabuzz's body, shattering the stony prison in a flash of lightning. Exhausted, the Pokémon staggered but stood free once again.
Harry knew its stamina was nearly gone. Reading a Pokémon's strength mid-battle was an essential skill—there were no health bars in real life.
He locked eyes on Quirrell, searching for any opening that might turn the tide.
"I'll admit, you've done well, Harry," Quirrell said with a smirk. "But it ends here. Don't worry, I won't kill you just yet. My master will decide your fate once he returns."
"Cru—"
"Use Screech!"
Quirrell raised his wand, ready to unleash a deadly curse—but before the spell could form, Electabuzz let out a piercing, grating sound. It was like ten fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, like metal scraping glass a thousandfold louder.
The horrific noise broke Quirrell's focus instantly. He clutched his head and screamed in pain.
Even Harry, standing behind his Pokémon, flinched under the sonic assault.
But compared to Quirrell, his discomfort was mild.
Electabuzz knew it couldn't keep the sound up forever—Quirrell would adapt. It had to act fast.
Harry's mind raced. Think, I'm a wizard too!
"What spells do I know…"
He didn't have Hermione's repertoire. But anything—anything—was better than standing still.
Levitation? No. Unlocking? Useless. Fire-Making? Too dangerous… I might kill him.
Then it struck him. The Body-Bind Curse!
He'd seen Hermione use it on Neville once. He still remembered the incantation.
"Please—work!" Harry raised his wand, pointed at Quirrell, and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"
A jet of blue light burst from his wand, striking Quirrell squarely in the chest. His body froze mid-motion and toppled over in a grotesque, rigid pose.
"It worked!"
Harry grinned in triumph, high-fiving Electabuzz.
Looking down at the immobilized Quirrell, he couldn't resist mocking him. "So, who's the loser now?"
Quirrell's eyes rolled toward him, burning with hate, but he couldn't move or speak.
"Now I'll take the Philosopher's Stone and leave you here," Harry said confidently. "You can wait for Dumbledore or Professor Gold to drag you away."
He turned toward the room's only object—the Mirror of Erised.
Harry knew it well. It showed one's deepest desires. Just last Christmas, he had nearly lost himself gazing at it.
If the Headmaster had hidden the Stone here, that could only mean one thing—the mirror was the key.
And suddenly, Harry realized: perhaps Dumbledore had placed the mirror before him on purpose, to teach him how to retrieve the Stone when the time came.
Rather than anger, Harry felt pride. The Headmaster trusted him enough to face Voldemort.
All he had to do was focus on wanting the Stone. The mirror would reveal it.
And sure enough—he felt something slip into his pocket.
But confusion followed. If the mirror gave him the Stone, why hadn't Quirrell or Voldemort managed to take it earlier?
Before he could ponder further, pain exploded in his scar.
He spun around. Quirrell—who should have been paralyzed—was standing again, wand raised and glowing red.
"You—"
That single word was all Harry got out before the spell flew.
He dove aside just in time, the curse blasting the floor. Electabuzz charged, lightning sparking—but a flick of Quirrell's wand sent it flying across the room.
"Hehehe… hello again, Harry…"
The voice that emerged didn't come from Quirrell's mouth. It was sharper, colder.
Harry froze. His body refused to move, as if bound by Devil's Snare. He watched as Quirrell removed the turban from his head. Beneath it—
Harry's stomach turned. Quirrell's bald scalp was grotesquely small, and on the back of it… was a face.
A white, corpse-like face with glowing red eyes and slitted nostrils like a snake's.
"Harry Potter…" it whispered.
Harry tried to back away, but his legs wouldn't respond.
"Look at what I've become," the face hissed. "A mere shadow and vapor… I exist only while sharing another's body. But once I obtain the Elixir of Life, I'll craft a new one for myself. Now—hand me the Stone."
"So you were faking being dead! Just to trick me into taking it from the mirror!" Harry realized aloud.
His spell had never worked; Voldemort had simply waited for his chance.
"Clever boy," the voice sneered. "But now, give it to me."
Quirrell walked backward toward him, Voldemort's face grinning from behind.
"Never!" Harry shouted.
"How touching…" Voldemort rasped. "Your parents were brave too. I killed your father first—he died fighting me. Your mother could have lived, but she chose to die protecting you. Don't let her sacrifice be in vain. Give me the Stone."
Harry's hand trembled toward his belt. His fingers closed around something small and round.
"Fine," he said evenly. "I'll give it to you. Just don't kill me."
Voldemort smiled. Of course the boy would surrender—everyone did, in the end.
But not Harry Potter.
"Here you go, Voldemort—this is all you'll get from me!"
Harry lunged and hurled the red sphere straight at Voldemort's face.
A flash of golden lightning burst forth.
"Pikachu, use Iron Tail!"
A small, yellow blur shot from the Poké Ball. Pikachu twisted midair, its tail gleaming with a metallic sheen like a curved blade.
"Pika—CHU!"
Even Voldemort couldn't react in time. The sight of a child's fearless defiance caught him off guard.
The Iron Tail struck him square across the face, carving a deep scar into his forehead.
The pain drove Voldemort mad. He screamed, seizing Pikachu by the tail and slamming it brutally into the floor.
"Excellent, Harry Potter!" he howled. "You've chosen death!"
No hesitation. Unlike Quirrell, Voldemort acted instantly. His wand flared with green light.
"Avada Kedavra!"
After more than a decade, he spoke the Killing Curse's name once again—and it thrilled him. The power, the certainty of death—it was intoxicating.
He didn't even care that his own blood was streaming into his eyes. He just wanted to watch Harry fall.
But Dumbledore and Professor Gold, watching from the shadows, would never allow that.
In an instant, Dumbledore's wand blazed crimson. The spell collided with Voldemort's curse midair, forcing it backward.
Had Voldemort been any slower, his own Killing Curse would've rebounded upon him once more.
"Dumbledore!" Voldemort's voice trembled with fury and fear.
"Your plan has failed, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, stepping into view. His gaze was ice.
For a brief moment, Voldemort faltered—then sneered.
"Has it? I don't think so."
He knew he couldn't overpower Dumbledore head-on. But he could still take a hostage.
He lunged—not with a wand, but with his bare hand—reaching for Harry's throat.
"You can't kill me, old man, but I can kill—AAAHHH!"
His scream tore through the chamber as he yanked his hand back. His skin bubbled and burned as though dipped in acid.
Horror filled his red eyes. His arm was blistered and smoking.
Harry suddenly understood—Voldemort couldn't touch him.
Without hesitation, he threw himself forward and grabbed the man in return—
(End of Chapter)