How Could You?

Blake felt a growing sense of confusion. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in the Philosopher's Stone, but something about it didn't sit right with him anymore.

For most people, the Philosopher's Stone represented ultimate power and immortality, but Blake's current feelings towards it were different.

He no longer desired it as much as he once did. It wasn't that he dismissed the stone's incredible power, but Blake had come to realize that its significance had lessened in his eyes.

The truth was, he was confident that he would be able to create something similar himself one day. Nicolas Flamel, the legendary alchemist, had created it once, and even he had chosen to destroy it eventually.

If Flamel could achieve such a feat, why couldn't Blake? His alchemy skills were only growing stronger, and with enough time and effort, he could surpass Flamel's accomplishments. The Philosopher's Stone had been the pinnacle of alchemy for centuries, but Blake believed he could push those limits even further.

His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden realization. Why was he obsessing over the stone at all? What if, instead of seeking to use the stone, he could study it and find ways to improve upon its design? The idea intrigued him.

Perhaps there was more to be gained from understanding its secrets than merely possessing it. This desire to explore its mysteries aligned perfectly with his recent motivations. He didn't need to use the stone; he just needed to have it in his hands.

But plans never go as expected, and soon, the fake Philosopher's Stone found its way into Blake's possession. The original timeline of events would be altered, and now things would begin to shift in unpredictable ways.

What if Harry Potter didn't manage to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone? Everything was already moving forward rapidly. Quirrell had removed his scarf, exposing the twisted face of Voldemort on the back of his head. The Dark Lord was eager to confront Harry, the boy who had thwarted him all those years ago.

Harry stood frozen, his fear palpable. He had never faced anything as terrifying as the grotesque face staring back at him. Voldemort's face was ghostly pale, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light, and his nose was nothing more than two thin, snake-like slits. The sound of his voice, a sinister hiss, sent chills down Harry's spine.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered, his voice sharp and malicious.

Harry felt an overwhelming urge to back away, but his legs refused to move. He was paralyzed by the sheer terror that Voldemort exuded.

"Look at what I have become!" Voldemort's voice rose into a snarl. "I am nothing but a shadow, a wisp of my former self. I have no true body—only a form because I share this pitiful fool's body!"

Voldemort's voice dropped, dripping with malice. "But once I possess the Philosopher's Stone, once I have the Elixir of Life... I will be whole again. Stronger than ever before!"

He sneered at Harry, clearly relishing the boy's fear. "Dumbledore's little tricks won't protect you now. Do as I command, Harry. Fetch the stone from the mirror and bring it to me!"

Harry took a shaky step backwards, his mind racing. There was no way he could follow Voldemort's orders, no matter how afraid he was.

"Don't be foolish, boy!" Voldemort snapped, his voice growing sharper. "Do you want to die like your parents? They begged me for mercy before I killed them. Is that what you want?"

A wave of anger suddenly surged through Harry, burning away some of the fear that had gripped him. "Lies!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. "You're lying!"

Voldemort let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Such bravery. Yes, I admit, your parents were brave... but it didn't save them." His voice darkened. "Your father tried to fight me head-on and died for his foolishness. Your mother, though—she didn't need to die. I offered her a chance to live. I offered her mercy, but she threw it away to save you. She died for nothing."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger and grief swirling inside him. He felt the full weight of Voldemort's words pressing down on him, but he refused to give in.

"No," Harry muttered through gritted teeth. "I won't let you have it. I won't!"

Voldemort's patience was thinning, his face contorting with frustration. The Philosopher's Stone was within reach, but time was running out. Harry was the only one who could bypass Dumbledore's enchantments, and he needed to act soon.

With a surge of adrenaline, Harry turned and ran, heading toward the fire door, desperate to escape. "Catch him!" Voldemort roared, his fury echoing through the chamber.

Quirrell moved quickly, raising his wand, but Harry was too fast. He nearly made it to the door when suddenly, a spell hit him. "Quick imprisonment!" Blake's voice rang out.

Thick ropes shot through the air, binding Harry tightly and sending him crashing to the ground, just a few feet from the door. He twisted in pain, rolling onto his back to see Blake standing there, wand in hand.

"Blake! Why?" Harry gasped, struggling against his bonds. "I thought you were my friend!"

Blake's face twisted into a cruel smile. "Friend? You're not worthy of being my friend, Harry Potter."

Harry stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "You... you traitor! You've betrayed Dumbledore!"

Blake's laughter echoed in the chamber. "Betrayed him? I never owed Dumbledore any loyalty."

"But he trusted you!" Harry cried, his voice filled with disbelief. "He believed in you!"

Blake's grin widened. "Then he's more of a fool than I thought."

Harry's world felt like it was collapsing. He had seen betrayal before, but this was different. Blake had always been there, helping him, guiding him, and now... he was working with Voldemort?

Harry glared at Blake hard, eyes about to burst into flames.

[Ding! Angry emotion detected!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting a golden treasure chest!]

"You don't get it, do you, Harry?" Blake continued. "Dumbledore has been holding me back, preventing me from reaching my full potential. He kept me away from dark magic, from the power I could have. But the Dark Lord..." He gestured toward Voldemort. "He can give me that power."

Harry's heart sank. "Is that what this is all about? Power?"

Blake's eyes gleamed. "Yes, Harry. Power is everything. Now be a good boy, and find the stone."

With a flick of his wand, Blake forced Harry to stand in front of the Mirror of Erised. Harry struggled against the invisible force, but it was no use. Blake's control over him was too strong.

Quirrell, with Voldemort's face still twisted onto the back of his head, watched eagerly as Harry was pushed closer to the mirror. But something strange was happening. Blake's hand slipped into his pocket, and for a moment, a flash of red glinted from within. The Philosopher's Stone!

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. How had Blake gotten the stone? And why hadn't he given it to Voldemort?

Quirrell, too, had noticed. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of the stone in Blake's possession. When had Blake retrieved it? And why hadn't he handed it over to Voldemort yet?

Voldemort's voice rang out, filled with rage. "Blake!"

In an instant, the face on the back of Quirrell's head vanished and reappeared on the front, violently merging with his original features. Quirrell screamed, the force of Voldemort's control overwhelming him as his master seized control.

[Ding! Angry emotion detected.]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting a golden treasure chest!]

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