Hubris

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Back at Hogwarts, Harry, now standing defiantly at the edge of the chessboard, bypassed the life-sized chess pieces that awaited a player's command. "Stop me if you can," Harry said, as he walked forward. The pieces, giant and intimidating, brandished their weapons, but Harry raised his wand and cast, "Depulso." At the point he aimed, which was the center of the white pieces, a big black ball appeared, then exploded outward, sending giant pieces all around. Walking unperturbed, Harry arrived at a door. Opening it, he saw a dozing-off Troll on the ground, and the smell made him nauseous. Frowning, Harry walked, "Quirrell's test, but beaten by him. Ironic." He then moved again.

As he saw a table with seven vials containing different liquids inside, Harry chuckled, "Snape's test. How quaint." Fires started to blaze behind and in front of him—purple behind, black fire ahead. Reading the riddle on the paper next to the vials, Harry snickered, "Why do I feel like Snape took ideas for the riddle from my Easter Hunt?" Nigel laughed in his mind, "Seems like he did." The smallest vial was the potion to go forward, and drinking it, Harry felt he could walk through the black fire. So, donning his cloak, he walked in.

Within, he saw Professor Quirrel pacing in front of a mirror. "Finally caught up to the real test," Harry muttered, pulling the cloak tighter around him. Quirrel seemed oblivious to Harry's presence, engrossed in his dialogue with the mirror. "Curious, he doesn't seem to have found what he's looking for," Harry observed.

Harry studied the mirror closely, allowing his Observe skill to take over. The System message appeared promptly in his vision:

[System Message: Mirror of Erised - An ancient magical artifact that shows the deepest, most desperate desire of one's heart. Caution: Prolonged exposure may lead to obsession. Not to be used as a guide for decision making.]

This was Harry's first encounter with such a powerful artifact, but upon reading the description, he couldn't help but frown. "That's one way to get lost in your dreams," he thought, intrigued yet wary of the mirror's capabilities.

Quirrell, still unaware of Harry's presence, continued his frantic mutterings, seemingly trying to coax the mirror into revealing its secrets. Harry watched silently, a plan formulating in his mind.

Nigel chimed in, "I'd wager you're seeing something quite fascinating in that mirror, Quirrell. A new turban, perhaps?"

Harry, still mulling over the Mirror of Erised's potential to reveal one's deepest desires, couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. "I'm not fond of anything that tries to delve into my mind, especially something set up by the headmaster," he thought, stepping closer to observe Quirrell's frantic attempts to use the mirror to find the Philosopher's Stone. Quirrell's voice rose in frustration, "Why can't I get it? What is Dumbledore's test? I can see the stone in my hands, offering it to my lord."

As Harry watched, a magic that felt oddly familiar emanated from the mirror, but he couldn't quite place it. Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, an eerie voice cut through the silence, "Use the boy." Harry tensed, as Quirrell scanned the seemingly empty room. "The boy? I don't see anyone, my lord," Quirrell responded, confused.

"The boy is here. I can feel him," the voice insisted, its source unnervingly close to Quirrell, though Harry saw no one else. A chill ran down Harry's spine as Quirrell began to unwrap his turban, revealing another face on the back of his head. Harry gasped silently; it was Voldemort, the man who killed his parents.

Realizing his cover was blown and if he appeared now, they'd know about his cloak's capabilities, Harry made a quick decision. Removing the Ring of Invisibility from his inventory, he slipped it onto his finger, allowing him to become visible without revealing the cloak's secret. Harry swiftly stored the cloak in his inventory, then removed the ring, after ensuring Quirrell and Voldemort saw the ring, he stood boldly across from them.

Voldemort's eyes, full of malice and surprise, fixed on Harry. "Ah, Harry Potter. We meet again."

Harry, standing his ground, replied coolly, "Not the reunion I was hoping for." Nigel, sensing the tension, offered a quip to lighten the mood, "I suppose he's not here for a catch-up over tea, then?"

Harry ignored the jest, focusing on the immediate threat before him. "I wish I had a spell that could deal with you two when I was invisible, but since you feel me, it would be useless anyway. Well, since you cannot get the stone, I will just take my leave. Wait until the Headmaster arrives, then you can fight or whatever." With a confident, albeit slightly bluffing tone, Harry turned to leave, holding his wand in front of him as a precaution.

Quirrell, acting more like a desperate brute than the wizard he was supposed to be, lunged at Harry in a futile attempt to stop him. Harry, quick on his feet, waved his wand and cast a Knockback spell. However, to his surprise, a magical shield materialized, absorbing the impact of his spell. "Really? A shield now?" Harry muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Nigel, watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but comment, "Seems like Quirrell has learned a trick or two. Shame it's not enough to make him any less of a barbarian."

Harry, undeterred, searched for an opening. "Fine, if we're playing it this way," he said, scanning his mental catalog of spells for something more suitable. With a swift motion, he cast a Disarming spell, aiming directly at Quirrell. The shield faltered, and Quirrell's wand flew out of his hand, skidding across the floor.

"Oops, did I do that?" Harry quipped, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. Nigel's laughter echoed in his mind, "Marvelous! Though, I'm sure he's not appreciating the humor right now."

The cold voice rebuked, "Useless! I will control your body." As Voldemort took over Quirrell's body, the wand zipped back to his hand with an unseen force. Harry's face hardened in response; he was now confronting Voldemort himself, a dark lord rumored to be Dumbledore's equal. With his wand at the ready and his other hand poised behind his back to summon the Dagger of Serpent's Fang at a moment's notice, Harry prepared for what he knew would be a formidable duel.

However, before he could act, his wand was inexplicably pulled from his grasp, leaving him stunned. "You are still wet behind the ears," Voldemort hissed contemptuously. "Get him." 

As the wand slipped from Harry's grasp, stolen by an unseen force wielded by Voldemort, a chilling sense of vulnerability washed over him. Cold sweat traced the outline of his spine, marking the sudden, stark realization of his precarious situation. His prior confidence, bolstered by his quick disarm of Quirrell, crumbled under the weight of his current helplessness. Anger and frustration seethed within him, not just at Voldemort's intervention but at himself for being caught off guard so easily. "Careless," he chastised himself silently, recognizing the folly of his overconfidence.

Despite his growing prowess and the accolades he had earned for being ahead of his peers, this moment laid bare a crucial truth: raw power, experience and cunning often trumped talent. The ease with which Voldemort had disarmed him served as a harsh reminder of the vast gulf that lay between his abilities and those of a dark lord.

His resolve hardened, Harry mentally berated himself for his lapse in caution. Being at the forefront of his peers had inadvertently led to a certain complacency, a dangerous mindset when facing an enemy as formidable as Voldemort. "I've become too comfortable," he acknowledged internally, the bitter taste of humility tempering his spirit. "This isn't a classroom challenge or a friendly duel. It's life or death."

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