Mystic Wizard in Azeroth

As Harry walked through the last flame, he saw someone he never expected: Quirrell.

"It's you!" Harry exclaimed in shock.

"It's me," Quirrell turned his head and said calmly, "I was just wondering if I'd see you here or the one named Flitwick."

"But - why you, not Snape -"

"Hahaha, Snape?" Quirrell sneered, "Yeah, he really doesn't look like a good guy, he's gloomy all day long, flying around like a giant bat, and he especially likes to target Greg. A student of Ranffindor, who would have been very helpful to us. With him there, who would have doubted poor, stammer-stuttering Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't believe this.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No no no, I was the one who tried to kill you. If your friend Miss Granger hadn't rushed over to set Snape on fire during the Quidditch match and knocked me down, you would have died in a few seconds." You fell off the broom. If Snape hadn't said the counter-curse to protect you, you would have fallen."

"And that time in the Forbidden Forest, is that mysterious hooded man also you?"

"Of course, how can I refuse the little request of the great master? It's just that your luck is really good. The first time you have Snape to help you, the second time you have that little Flitwick to help you. Today I I must kill you at night, and see who else will help you!"

Quirrell snapped his fingers. It was too late to say it, but a few ropes jumped out of nowhere and tied Harry tightly.

"You are too nosy, Potter. You have done so much extra work this semester, and you still have time to care about the whereabouts of the Philosopher's Stone. From Halloween to now, you have broken many things for me."

"Okay, watch quietly, Potter, I need to take a good look at this magical mirror."

Only then did Harry realize that the Mirror of Erised was standing behind him.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Sorcerer's Stone," Quirrell said excitedly, tapping on the gorgeous frame, "Only Dumbledore can get something out of it... but that old thing is in London right now , By the time he comes back, I've already taken the Philosopher's Stone away!"

"But I saw you arguing with Snape several times, in the Forbidden Forest, in the library—" Harry could only do his best to distract Quirrell.

"Of course," Quirrell replied lazily, "he has been suspicious of me. Ha, it turned out to be a former Death Eater who has been wary of me. Unfortunately, this is of no use. With the master as my backer, how can I Will you be afraid of his intimidation?"

Quirrell turned back from behind the magic mirror and stared greedily into the mirror.

"I saw the Philosopher's Stone.. I am offering it to my master.. But where is it hidden?"

Harry sat calmly on the steps without struggling. He found that the more he struggled, the tighter the ropes that bound him, he had to prevent Quirrell from focusing all his attention on the magic mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, of course he hates you," said Quirrell casually. "God, he must hate you. Don't you know that he went to Hogwarts with your father? Dai Tian, ​​but he never wanted you dead. And your mother—”

"What's wrong with my mother?" Harry asked anxiously after hearing this, no longer caring about wrestling with the rope.

"Oh, I suddenly don't want to talk." Quirrell stopped talking.

"What about you? I heard you cry a few days ago—"

For the first time a tremor of fear flashed across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it difficult to follow my master's orders—

He's a great wizard, and I'm so weak—"

"Are you saying he was the one with you in the classroom?" Harry asked in surprise.

"He was with me wherever I went," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I was traveling the world. I was a foolish lad with a ridiculous sense of right and wrong. Thoughts. It was the master who pointed out my mistake:

There is no right and wrong in the world, only power, and those incompetent people who cannot gain power...

Since then, I have served him faithfully, though I have disappointed him many times. He has been very strict with me. "

Quirrell shuddered suddenly.

"He never forgave my mistakes easily. He was very upset when I failed to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts. He punished me.. and decided to watch me even more closely from now on—"

Quirrell's voice was getting lower and lower, and Harry could no longer hear it, but his heart was disturbed by what Quirrell said: what's the relationship between his mother and Snape?

"I really don't understand.. Is the Philosopher's Stone hidden in the mirror? Should I break the mirror?" Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"Idiot, use that boy... use that boy..." A strange sharp voice seemed to come from Quirrell's body.

"Okay, Potter, come forward."

Quirrell clapped his hands, and the rope that bound Harry was untied automatically.

Harry stood up. "Come here," said Quirrell, "look in the mirror and tell me what you see!"

"I've got to lie to him," Harry thought desperately, cheering himself up, "Hermione's gone to get reinforcements, I've got to look in the mirror and make up a lie to hold him back, I can of."

Quirrell came up behind him, and Harry smelled a strange smell, which seemed to come from the scarf on Quirrell's head.

He closed his eyes, stood in front of the magic mirror, and then opened them.

When he saw himself in the mirror, he was pale and frightened at first, but after a while, he smiled.

Harry in the mirror reached into his pocket, pulled out a bright red stone, blinked, and put the stone back into his pocket.

At this moment, Harry felt that something heavy had really fallen into his pocket, and he actually got the Philosopher's Stone just like that.

"How?" asked Quirrell impatiently. "What did you see?"

Harry worked up his courage.

"I saw myself shaking Dumbledore's hand," he said, making it up. "He's giving me an award! Someone's taking a picture, and I'm — Sir Merlin, First Class, for my article!"

Quirrell began to curse again.

"Go away," he said.

Harry felt the Philosopher's Stone against his thigh as he stepped back. Would he dare to run away with it now?

At this moment, the flames at the door trembled again, and Quirrell and Harry turned their heads to look there at the same time.

A tall figure with pale blond hair appeared, surrounded by faint water vapor. Harry saw that man's heart raised his throat, and he took a deep breath until he saw the man clearly.

He hurried to the man, but Quirrell ignored him, but stared at the newcomer cautiously.

"Little Mr. Flitwick, you are here!" Harry said a little excitedly, "Professor Quirrell—"

"It's okay, Harry," Aristophanes stared at Quirrell, "Neville and Hermione are fine, you can hide aside and watch, the next battle is not for you to participate in."

Harry gripped his trouser pockets tightly upon hearing this, and quietly retreated into a corner.

"Meet you again, Hooded Man," Aristophanes clenched his wand tightly, "or should I call you, Voldemort?"

Quirrell stared at him, at this moment, the sharp voice appeared again:

"Let me talk to him.. face to face.."

"Master, your physical strength hasn't recovered yet!"

"This strength... I still have it..."

Harry watched Quirrell take off his hood, and then turned around. He wanted to scream out of fear, but he couldn't make any sound as if he had been cursed.

Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face, Harry had never seen such a hideous and terrifying face. The color of the face was as dead as chalk, the red eyes glowed, and there were two nostrils as long and thin as snakes.

"Hello, little Mr. Flitwick, and Harry Potter..." he whispered.

Harry tried his best to shrink back to the corner, afraid that this person would stare at him.

"Do you have any last words, Mr. Voldemort?" Aristophanes raised his wand after applying the two buffs of ice armor and diamond skin to himself.

"Come to me, little Flitwick! Your ingenuity deserves greater power!" The voice suddenly became frantic, "I will give you what Dumbledore can't give you, and the decaying wizarding world can't tolerate you Such a genius!"

Harry looked at Aristophanes worriedly, afraid that he would be bewitched.

"Oh?" Aristophanes laughed playfully, "You don't even have a complete body now, so what can you give me?"

"As long as I get the Philosopher's Stone, supplemented with the blood of your unicorn, I can be reborn in an instant, stronger than before! When I come back alive, let's call my subordinates first, and then go to liberate Az Caban, dementors are my natural allies, and werewolves are my best subordinates! When we dominate the entire wizarding world, you, as my deputy, will be under one person and above ten thousand!" He continued to use extremely tempting words Said the voice of strength.

"Voldemort, oh no, Tom Riddle—"

"You can't use that name!" cried Voldemort.

"Perhaps Dumbledore protected you too well. There is a reason you don't seem to understand—"

"what?"

"In the wizarding world, strength is power, and knowledge is power! When you are powerful enough to surpass everyone's knowledge, you don't have to look for power, power will come to you! Fear, intimidation, massacre, but It's just your self-satisfaction!"

Before the words fell, Aristophanes released the magic that had been prepared, and saw a lightning ball whizzing past, directly hitting the back of Quirrell's head - that distorted face.

"Ah! Come on, Quirrell, kill him for me!"

Quirrell also screamed, shook his body a few times, gritted his teeth, turned around and took out his wand to cast a spell.