They had nearly done it. After so many trials and tribulations, they were almost there. Hermione had gotten past Neville's attempt to fight them in the common room by using the Full Body-Bind Curse on him. Harry had used his father's record player to placate Fluffy. Hermione had saved Harry and Ron from the Devil's Snare. The three of them had caught a winged key to open another door. Ron had talked them through an excellent chess game, although he had ended up sacrificing himself. Luckily, Snape had apparently taken care of the next guard (a troll) for them. And finally…Hermione pushed open the door to the next challenge.
Harry knew whose challenge it was immediately—Professor Snape's. It contained seven bottles of all different sizes, filled with different potions. As soon as they stepped into the room, purple flames shot up behind them, black flames in front of them.
"We're trapped!" said Harry, fidgeting with the dueling gloves on his hands. Not even they would protect him from magical fire.
"Maybe not." Hermione pointed to something sitting by the bottles. It was a scroll of paper, which contained a poem. Harry read it over Hermione's shoulder.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead.
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
"Brilliant," sighed Hermione. "This isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."
"But so will we, won't we?" said Harry, who thought it would have just been smarter to put the bottles out without any clues, which almost guaranteed that nobody would reach the Sorcerer's Stone.
"Of course not," Hermione told him. "Everything we need is here on this paper."
After Hermione had figured out the riddle, and they knew what bottles they needed to drink (Harry had to confront Snape alone, since the bottle that would take him through the black flames was so small) it was almost time for Harry to go.
"Listen, Hermione, after I go through the black flames, go back to the chess room and wake Ron, okay?" Harry said. "Use the brooms from the flying-key room to get you out of here. Then send a letter to Dumbledore. We've got to get his help."
"All right," said Hermione, and even though she tried not to show it, Harry could see concern flickering in her chocolate-brown eyes. She made to pick up the bottle that would take her through the purple flames, but…
"Hermione, wait."
"Yes?" Hermione turned around, eyebrows raised.
"I just want you to know…if this is truly the end…" Harry swallowed, not knowing, at the end of the night, whether Hermione would hold him in her arms or weep over his dead body. "I don't think Voldemort's going to be the death of me."
"You—you don't?" Hermione frowned.
"No." Harry took her hands in his and felt a now familiar jumping sensation in his stomach. "You will."
"What do you mean?" Hermione still looked confused, turning her head on an angle slightly.
"I mean…I love you, Hermione," said Harry. "Don't ever forget that."
This time he didn't know who started it, but it didn't matter. It just seemed so natural, the way they both went in for a kiss at the same time…and wonderful heat, like hot chocolate, filling Harry up, melting his heart, as he felt Hermione's lips on his own. It was like kissing heaven. When their lips parted, he forgot the Snape dilemma for a moment and felt simply exuberant.
"I love you too, Harry," she whispered, tears sparkling in her eyes. She took a gulp from the bottle she had chosen, shuddered at the taste, then waved goodbye. Harry waved back, then picked up the smallest bottle, downing it in one sip.
Harry walked forward through the black flames, but he couldn't feel them. And when he finally arrived in the next room, he couldn't believe who he saw. It was Quirrell.
"You!"
"Me." Quirrell smiled calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."
"B-But where's Snape?" said Harry, frantically adjusting his helmet. It still felt way too heavy on his head, and made his hair all sweaty. "I-I thought he was trying to steal the Stone…"
"No, I was trying to steal the Stone," Quirrell said triumphantly. He seemed amused by Harry's utter shock. "Severus was able to cover for me just by being himself—and a Death Eater past does follow one around, doesn't it?"
"So he was—" Harry could worry about Dumbledore's questionable staff appointments later. For now, he had to process the fact that this feeble man had been helping Voldemort all along. Finally he burst out, "Why'd you do it, Professor Quirrell?!"
"So nobody would ever laugh at me again!" Quirrell glared at Harry, as if he had just asked a very rude question.
"You did all this crap so people wouldn't laugh at you?" Harry said incredulously. "Resurrecting the horrible Dark wizard who—"
"Do not speak about my Master that way!" Quirrell looked infuriated.
"Calm down," said Harry. "I just—wait, what's that?"
Harry had just noticed a familiar, majestic golden mirror standing behind Quirrell—the Mirror of Erised.
"Silence!" Quirrell snapped his fingers, but it was too late. Harry had instinctively thrown out his fists and the ropes that should have bound him retreated. They almost wrapped themselves around Quirrell, but he jumped out of the way just in time. Quirrell gave an angry growl and started towards Harry, but then a high, chilling voice cut in…one that seemed to be coming from Quirrell, except he wasn't moving his lips.
"Focus, Quirinus…focus on the Mirror…"
"Yes…this mirror will reveal to me the location of the Sorcerer's Stone," said Quirrell, more to himself than to Harry, peering into the mirror thoughtfully. "Yes…I see myself in it, presenting the Stone to the Dark Lord…but where is the Stone?"
Harry had the feeling Quirrell didn't know how the Mirror of Erised worked, and hopefully it would stay that way. But what if Quirrell figured it out? He could see himself presenting the Stone to Voldemort, because that was what he wanted the most in the world…What do I want most in the world right now?
That was easy. Harry most wanted to rescue the Stone before Quirrell could get ahold of it. So that was what he would see if he looked into the mirror…and he would see its hiding place! Harry gingerly stepped towards the mirror, but Quirrell was blocking him.
"What does this mirror do?" Quirrell asked. "How does it work? Help me, Master!"
"Use the boy…use the boy…"
"Potter!" Quirrell snarled, glaring at Harry's helmet and dueling gloves. "Come here. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Did Quirrell honestly think Harry was going to tell him what he actually saw? All he had to do was lie; how would Quirrell possibly know?
Harry stepped in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection, looking for the Stone. Then, suddenly, his reflection smiled, then pulled the crimson Sorcerer's Stone out of his pocket. And as the Harry in the mirror returned the Stone, Harry felt it drop into his pocket for real. He didn't understand how that had worked, exactly…but Quirrell didn't have it.
"Well?" Quirrell demanded. "What do you see?"
"I'm snogging my girlfriend," was the first thing Harry could think of.
"Unbelievable," Quirrell muttered, shoving Harry aside. "Stupid kid. Get the fuck out of the way."
Harry was just about to run when the horrible voice spoke yet again.
"He lies…He lies…"
"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell was looking fed-up now. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"
"Let me speak to him…face-to-face…"
"Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have strength enough…for this…"
Harry stood there, staring, as Quirrell unwrapped his turban, then turned slowly around. On the back of Quirrell's head was a horrible, chalk-white face. And it was so…snakelike. The eyes were slanted and blood-red; the nose consisted of two slits. Harry recoiled.
"Harry Potter…" whispered the head, and Harry knew perfectly well who it was.
"V-Voldemort?" he said in shock, taking another step backwards.
"See what I have become?" said Voldemort. "Mere shadow and vapor…I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"
Harry remembered something Sirius had told him about Voldemort being a Legilimens—someone who could read minds. If he could tell Harry had been lying about what he saw in the Mirror, surely he'd be able to tell where the Stone was, too. Now all he needed to do was get Harry to hand it over…but it wouldn't be that easy.
"OVER MY DEAD BODY!" Harry hollered.
"You want to join your parents? Well, I think that can be arranged," said Voldemort, smiling nastily; then, to Quirrell: "Kill him!"
Harry pulled his wand quickly out of its holster (a gift from Sirius at their last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson).
"Expelliarmus!" said Quirrell, catching Harry's wand in midair. Harry cried out as Quirrell used his own wand to remove Harry's dueling gloves and helmet; they landed about a foot away. Harry would never reach them in time.
Not only was he wandless, but his dueling gloves and helmet were gone, too. What now?
"Now, Master, I shall make you proud," said Quirrell, his voice edged with excitement now. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Harry dodged the jet of green light, feeling it graze the back of his hair, the part that stuck up in back.
"KILL HIM!" Voldemort repeated.
"AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA!" Quirrell screamed over and over again.
Harry was dodging the bright flashes of light like they were Bludgers.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Quirrell's curse nearly hit Harry square in the chest; he ducked for cover and fell onto his stomach as the Killing Curse flew past over his head. Then he heard a clattering sound…to his horror, the Sorcerer's Stone had fallen right out of his pocket.
"Ah," said Quirrell, putting his wand hand down and staring at it hungrily. "The Stone."