Chapter 83 : The Boy Who Stopped Voldemort

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"I don't have time for this…" Harry mumbled and pointed his wand at the plant. "Incedio!" Bright red flames erupted from his wand, causing the plant to retreat close to the wall. The boy took off running the same second. The next door he pushed led him to a room where thousands of multicolored birds fluttered around; three broomsticks were thrown haphazardly next to the exit door and Harry could only guess who had used them. He approached the door to find it locked and he instinctively knew there was no spell he could cast that would get him through without the key. And speaking of keys…

He looked up again; the birds turned out to not be birds at all, but winged keys. And the one he was looking for must be old, the boy thought, and large, silver and tattered if it had already been used twice. He picked up a broom and took off, his eyes searching manically for the right key. And he found it a few moments later, his Seeker talent coming through, with almost jerky movements, he placed it in the keyhole and opened the door. He tightened his grip on his wand, secured the cloak around him and opened the door. There seemed to be a huge chessboard in front of him while an open door waited for him across the room.

For a few seconds he was afraid he would have to play his way through when luck decided to be on his side. A disheveled and crying Hermione appeared amongst the rumbles, running towards the chessboard her eyes stuck somewhere in the left corner of the room where a passed out Ron lay; Harry had no time to stop. Whishing the redhead was okay, he saw his chance and took it, running across the room the same time as Hermione. The presence of someone who had apparently already beat the chessboard proved to be enough to stop a second game from beginning.

The stench coming from the next chamber was enough to forewarn him of what was to come before the fainted troll came into view. Harry doubled his speed; only one trial left, he knew. And then the final chamber where his brother stood alone with Quirrell, or even Voldemort. Flames engulfed both entrance and exit as he walked through the second to last door. The message on the parchment Severus had left was clear and Harry debated his choices. There it was, he figured, picking up the small vial; there was barely enough left for one person. Not pausing to think he just gulped it down and walked through the black flames, the icy sensation of the potion boding well with the cold feeling in his chest.

He walked hastily towards the next chamber only to pause in shock with what he found. Quirrell was there as expected and so was his brother, mercifully still standing even if he was wrapped in thick rope head to toe, and behind them the very same mirror he had held his brother so captivated six months ago. The mirror that showed your heart's deepest desire. How good could it be that it was in this chamber? Not very good, Harry could bet on that. Quirrell went on explaining how he had let the troll in the school and how he worked for Voldemort. Adrian put up a brave front, but Harry could tell he was intimidated.

"I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… But where is it?" Quirrell mumbled to himself, turning his back on Adrian who just stood petrified. "Maybe the Stone is inside the mirror. Do I have to break it?" The Defense teacher was getting more agitated by the second. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!" Harry stood petrified as a voice answered to his plea, seemingly coming out of Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy… Use the boy…" Quirrell turned to wards Adrian and, with a flick of his wrist the ropes bidding Adrian into place disappeared and the boy was free too move. Quirrell ordered him to get close and look into the mirror. That's just what Adrian did. Harry couldn't understand what was going on.

"Well?" Asked Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

"I-I'm shaking hands with Dumbledore." Adrian stated. Harry knew his brother well enough to tell he was lying. "I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor." Quirrell cursed again and pushed the boy aside. Adrian seemed to take the hint and decided to run. He turned around, his hand clutching over his pocket. And it was at that vey second that Harry realized his brother had somehow gotten the Philosopher's Stone.

"He lies… He lies…" The high voice sounded again, coming from Quirrell without him ever moving his lips.

"Potter, come back here!" Adrian didn't stop. "I said come back!" And he pulled his wand to cast a quick Stupefy; Adrian fell head first on the floor and there he lay as the voice spoke again.

"So this is how it ends… Adrian Potter, the Boy Who Lived will die tonight… Let me look at him before he dies… I have waited ten years for this…" The voice said as Harry moved closer quietly his wand pointing at Quirrell under his cloak; he was ready to do anything that might be needed...

"Master, you're not strong enough!" Quirrell protested.

"I have strength enough… for this…" The voice insisted and Quirrell started unwrapping his turban slowly until it was all gone and then turned around. Harry bit into his cheek as not to scream; he bit so hard he could taste the coppery tang of his own blood. So that was Lord Voldemort? He looked at the man that had tried to kill him and his brother as babies, the man that was threatening his brother's life once again, or at least what was left of him. A deformed, snakelike face with red eyes stood where the back of Quirrell's head should be, looking at his fainted brother with pure malice.

"We meet again, Adrian Potter." Voldemort said. "I expected more from you; at least last time we faced each other you managed to look me in the eyes." He scoffed. "You won't get a second chance. Kill him off and take the Stone; it's on him somewhere!" The Dark Lord ordered with a cold voice.

"Yes, Master." Quirrell said obediently, almost reverently.

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