With the Illusion Charm, they hid their figures, and with the Silencing Charm, their voices were completely covered. Solim and the others slipped into the last room, pressing themselves against a corner.
Solim had already agreed in advance: just watch and ignore everything else. Even so, Evans kept his wand in hand, just in case.
The three of them—Harry, Hermione, and Ron—were restrained, tied with the ropes Quirrell had conjured. Quirrell himself stood before the Mirror of Erised, seemingly helpless.
"I thought it was Snape…" Harry muttered, struggling to make sense of the scene. He had long believed that Snape intended to steal the Philosopher's Stone, while Quirrell was protecting it. He had even heard Snape threaten Quirrell more than once.
"Oh, yeah," Quirrell replied, turning toward Harry with a triumphant grin. "Snape doesn't really look like a nice guy, does he? He flits around like a giant bat. Very helpful to us. With him there, who would doubt… but… poor, stutter… stutter… stutter… Where's the Quirrell-professor?"
He laughed—but it was not his usual shrill trill. It was a chilling sneer.
"But Snape was trying to kill me on the pitch!" Harry exclaimed, disbelief written all over his face.
"No, no, it's not like that," Quirrell said, his expression growing gloomy. "I was the one who wanted to kill you. I cast the curse on you! Snape has been chanting counter-curses to interfere with me. If it weren't for that little girl next to me—she knocked me down and ruined my aim—you should have fallen off your broom long ago."
His tone became vicious as he spoke.
"As expected…" Hermione lay quietly on the floor, thinking of a way to escape. The magic of adult wizards was clearly much stronger than theirs. The ropes binding her could not be broken by any normal effort.
"Snape… help me?" Harry muttered helplessly. The idea of Snape saving him seemed even more unbelievable than Quirrell's appearance.
"I told you a long time ago, Harry! Solim's analysis is very reasonable—you just didn't listen!" Hermione tried desperately to signal Harry, emphasizing Solim's name with a subtle gesture.
Harry's mind raced. Gryffindor's brains often worked fastest in critical moments, and he quickly understood what Hermione meant. He remembered the ring Solim had given him, a seemingly ordinary ring that could transform into a knife.
Seeing Harry's movements, Hermione hurriedly diverted Quirrell's attention. "You put in the Halloween troll too, didn't you?"
Quirrell glanced at her lazily. "Of course it is. It's a pity that while the other professors were distracted by the troll, Snape—already suspicious of me—rushed straight to the fourth floor. That's why I fell short. But you… little girl, if it weren't for that Selwyn, you should have been beaten to death by the troll."
Solim sat back, munching popcorn and watching the unfolding scene with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Unfortunately, he couldn't communicate with the others because the Silencing Charm blocked any sound.
"Now, just lie there obediently. I need to take a good look at this golden mirror," Quirrell said, turning his attention fully to the Mirror of Erised, ignoring the three young wizards on the floor.
It was then that Harry realized exactly what stood behind Quirrell. The Mirror of Erised.
He knew he had to act—and quickly. Anything to stop Quirrell from focusing on the mirror.
"I saw you with Snape in the Forbidden Forest—I heard him threatening you—" Harry tried, using words to distract Quirrell.
"That's right," Quirrell said lazily, turning slightly. "He was suspicious of me then, trying to see what I was up to. He wanted to scare me—though, really, how could he? Voldemort backs me."
"You're not a Death Eater at all!" Hermione blurted. "Death Eaters don't call him by his first name."
Quirrell turned his head slowly toward her. "You're right, little girl. I am not a Death Eater. Wherever I go, he is with me."
Harry began cutting the ropes slowly while Quirrell spoke. He remembered seeing Quirrell crying in the classroom days ago. Could it be that Voldemort had been influencing him all along?
"Yes," Quirrell confirmed blankly. "He has always been with me. I was a foolish young man, full of ridiculous ideas about right and wrong. Voldemort pointed out my mistakes. There is no right or wrong in this world—only power. Those who cannot gain it are incompetent. Since then, I have served him faithfully, but I have disappointed him many times. He is strict. He punishes failure harshly… He was upset when I failed to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts and decided to monitor me more closely."
Quirrell's voice trailed into inaudible silence for a moment before returning with renewed intensity. "Yes… yes, the Philosopher's Stone. I must have it." He turned back to the mirror. "But what should I do? Break it? What function does it have? Help me, master…"
In the next instant, everyone in the room—including the hidden watchers—looked at Quirrell in disbelief, except Solim, who already knew what was happening.
"Use that boy! Stupid! Use him!" came a strange, hoarse, feeble voice from Quirrell.
"Ask for the Stone…"
"Okay… come here, Potter!" Quirrell clapped his hands, and the ropes that Harry had nearly freed were suddenly undone.
Harry rose cautiously. He had to buy time, and this was the only way.
"Hurry up!" Quirrell snapped impatiently.
Harry stepped forward, slowly approaching the Mirror of Erised. This was the third time he had seen himself in the mirror—but this time, there were no parents, no family. Only another version of himself.
At first, he was pale and frightened. But gradually, a smile spread across his face. Harry in the mirror reached into his pocket, took out a bright red stone, blinked, and returned it. Simultaneously, Harry felt something heavy drop into his own pocket. He had the Philosopher's Stone.
Evans, who had been watching carefully, clenched his wand. The sudden appearance of an item charged with immense magical energy could only mean one thing—the Philosopher's Stone. Yet his task was only to ensure the Stone remained within Hogwarts. If someone had it but hadn't left the grounds, it was not his concern… yet he chose to observe further.
"How?" Quirrell demanded, turning impatiently.
"I saw myself shaking Dumbledore's hand," Harry said quickly, improvising. "I… I won the House Cup for Gryffindor."
"Go away!" Quirrell swore, shoving Harry aside. But Harry felt the Stone against his thigh. Should he flee now? What about Ron and Hermione, still bound?
Before he could decide, the hoarse voice called again. "He's lying! Tell me the truth, Potter!" Quirrell gestured threateningly toward Ron and Hermione.
Harry had no choice. "Let me face him," he said quietly.
"But… Master, your physical strength—"
"There's still some strength left," Quirrell said.
Harry felt himself being caught in Quirrell's manipulative web again. As Quirrell turned, removing the scarf that covered the back of his head, Harry's stomach dropped. He wanted to scream—but someone had already taken a step ahead. Neville and Draco had used the Silencing Charm, preventing any cries from filling the room.
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