At some point unknown to them, the room's furnishings had completely transformed into something else entirely—mysterious, intricate patterns now covered the walls, while the floor was inlaid and strewn with all manner of strange materials that were rapidly evaporating or losing their color. Quirrell's body convulsed uncontrollably as he collapsed limply to the ground, his wand slipping from his grasp and clattering away…
What terrified Voldemort most was that he saw his own wraith being forcibly torn from Quirrell's body by an invisible power, dragged straight into something attached to Quirrell's back!
In Harry and Baron's eyes, thick gray smoke suddenly billowed from the back of Quirrell's head, then surged in a single rush into the object pressed against his back—a black crystal sphere encircled by a white ring.
"Well then, Professor Voldemort?"
A voice that absolutely should not have been there suddenly rang out in the room."Are you… satisfied with the grand gift I prepared for you?"
"Ken?!"
Three cries overlapped and echoed through the chamber—Harry's, Baron's, and Voldemort's. Quirrell no longer had the strength left to scream.
"What are you doing out here?! Didn't we agree you'd stay hidden and cast the spell from the shadows?!" Baron shouted.
He sprang up from the floor, retreating in a single bound to put distance between himself and Voldemort, then rushed to Harry's side, staring in shock at the figure who had suddenly appeared.
Of course it's to draw fire. Dumbledore still hasn't shown up—if I don't want you two getting hurt, then I have to step out and make sure Voldemort doesn't have any hidden tricks left…
Avada merely glanced at him without replying. His glowing wand remained trained on Voldemort, his teeth clenched, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. Maintaining the spell was clearly taking everything he had.
"Tch… you idiot…" Baron snorted angrily.
He turned and swiftly cut the ropes binding Harry."It's over, Harry."
"You… Ken… you all…"
Harry felt as though a beehive had been stuffed into his skull—his thoughts buzzing in total chaos. He couldn't make sense of anything that was happening. Every scene before his eyes defied logic and reason, more absurd than the most nonsensical abstract painting multiplied ten thousand times.
"I'm sorry for using you without your knowledge," Baron said as he helped Harry to his feet, guilt heavy in his voice. "You don't know Occlumency—you couldn't defend against his Legilimency—so we had to keep the plan from you. Everything was for this moment, for the final victory."
"The final victory…? This was all planned by you and Dumbledore? You knew from the start that Voldemort would try to steal the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked in disbelief.
Baron didn't answer. He only gripped his wand tightly, eyes fixed on Avada as he sustained the spell, his mind flashing back to the conversation they'd had half a day earlier…
[So you're saying you control a spell similar to the Undetectable Extension Charm—one that can hide all the magic you've set up inside it, while the room's surface shows no abnormalities, preventing Voldemort from noticing anything. And only when he completely lowers his guard will you suddenly send those spells into the room and activate them, right?]
[Yes. That's a fair way to put it.]
[Then my plan is this—you stay hidden inside that space and just maintain the spell. I'll be the one to place the crystal sphere on Voldemort.]
[You? Don't be ridiculous. I won't let—]
[Hear me out first. Didn't you foresee that not long after Quirrell sneaks in, Harry and the others would also infiltrate the place, and that in the end Harry would face Voldemort, damage Quirrell's body, and force Voldemort's wraith to flee? Then as long as I take part in that process—help them clear the obstacles, enter the final chamber with Harry, and then ambush and restrain Harry from behind—we can make sure he never touches Quirrell—]
[—I helped Harry during the match. Voldemort knows I'm your friend, and that I'm a pure-blood Slytherin. I naturally have the trust of both sides. Neither will suspect me.]
[…]
[So Harry will trust me and enter the final room with me; and when Voldemort sees me ambush Harry, he'll trust me too, believing I'm on his side. As for you… just tell him you planned to present Harry to him to gain his favor, but didn't dare show yourself because you acted on your own initiative.]
[You're sure Harry has a trait that makes him immune to Voldemort's harm, right? Good. Then it's simple… when Voldemort completely lets his guard down, I'll grovel before him in the most pathetic, humiliating way, begging him to accept me as a Death Eater. He won't refuse. I'll take the chance to step forward and embrace him, and then—]
[—secure the crystal sphere hidden in my sleeve onto his back.]
[I'll wear a robe with wide sleeves to make sure the face on the back of his head doesn't notice my movements. Which hand did he brand with the Dark Mark—your right, yes? Then I'll hide the crystal sphere in my left. Even so, there's still a chance he'll notice… so the moment I make the motion to embrace him, you must activate the spell immediately. Don't give him any time to react.]
[Oh, right—you've already replicated the potion used to move forward, haven't you? Give me a bit of it. Just one dose. We can't leave any excuse for Ron and Hermione to advance. They don't have Harry's trait—forcing them into this would be far too dangerous…]
"Ken?! Why?! How is this possible?!"
Voldemort's screams were already growing weaker. Within the gray mist pouring into the crystal sphere, the vague outline of a face had begun to form—half of its chin had already been sucked inside.
"There's nothing impossible about it, Voldemort… no, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Avada stared at Voldemort's panicked, furious expression and mimicked his manner, curling his lips into a twisted smile.
"What?! You—who are you, really?!"
Avada's mouth twitched upward. Hooked.
From here on, he needed to bombard Voldemort with endless taunts, disrupting his focus and preventing him from forcing out some desperate trump card.
As for whether this might expose all kinds of messy secrets… what a joke. The Harry Potter series was about to end in his hands anyway—who cared?
"Who am I… heh."
Avada let out a disdainful snort. While doing everything he could to maintain the spell and drag Voldemort inch by inch into the abyss, he spared the attention to ask calmly,"Have you never wondered?"
"Why I have such a peculiar name? Why I share so many similarities with you? Why I was able to independently derive the prototype of the Imperius Curse? And why I can now use a spell that seems as though it were tailor-made just for you?"
"Do you… remember the name Merope Gaunt?!"
"What?!"
Voldemort's mind faltered instantly, and a large chunk of gray mist was violently swallowed by the crystal sphere."Who are you?! Could it be… could it be that you're—"
"Oh, sorry, I was just asking casually. I have nothing whatsoever to do with Merope Gaunt. I'm not related to you in any way."
Seeing the infuriating grin on Avada's face, Voldemort nearly exploded with rage.
"Alright, enough jokes…"
Avada watched as nearly half of Voldemort's soul had already been dragged into the crystal sphere, his own expression finally easing."Ever since I learned your true identity—including after you branded me with the Dark Mark—I never once intended to submit to you, Voldemort."
"And after you revealed yourself to me, I saw a certain future in you—a future in which you could be completely destroyed. For that future, I prepared relentlessly. Studying mental magic, drawing close to you, memorizing the characteristics of your magical signature over and over… everything was for this day, this very moment."
"The one who provided this spell wasn't me—nor was it Dumbledore—but an American adventurer who claimed to have once been possessed by you. Who that person is… you should know better than anyone, shouldn't you?"
"What?"
Voldemort was momentarily confused. Before Quirrell, he had never found a suitable host, let alone an American adventurer. But without such a person, where could a spell so perfectly tailored to him have come from?
No—wait!
In the next instant, he realized it. He's stalling for time!
"Very good, Ken. Very good…"
The face within the gray mist stared at Avada with murderous intensity, as if it wanted to devour him whole. The suppressed voice was filled with unimaginable fury.
"How could I not have seen it… someone as brilliant as you, a born dark wizard, with a mind that could even fool the Sorting Hat—how could you ever be content serving beneath another? How could you not, like me, possess a heart that seeks to dominate everything?"
"Excellent. You're just like me, Ken—no, even better. Even more adept at hiding…"
"But since that's the case, I can tolerate you even less. I will kill you. I will kill you…"
In the next second, the gray mist that had not yet been consumed by the crystal sphere swelled violently, as if gathering all its remaining strength, then forced a portion of itself back into the back of Quirrell's head.
The limp Quirrell suddenly moved. His right hand, as if no longer his own, automatically reached out and picked up the fallen wand, then twisted around—pointing it at his own throat.
"No!"
Quirrell's eyes flew wide open, terror and panic flooding his voice."Master, don't do this! Please! I—"
Slash!
In a flash too fast for the eye, before anyone could react, Quirrell's wand emitted a faint blue blade of light that instantly carved a horrific gash across his neck. Black blood sprayed out like a fountain, and the fear and unwillingness in Quirrell's eyes slowly faded…
With an ear-piercing, agonized scream, Voldemort's wraith split cleanly into two. Only the severed half—like a lizard's broken tail—remained, still being swallowed by the crystal sphere.
(End of Chapter)