The silence shattered.
With a sound like silk tearing and glass breaking, Quirrell's body jerked forward. His hands hit the floor, fingers splayed. He gasped, twitched, and then slowly—so slowly—he straightened up again.
But his face didn't rise with him.
Instead, his head lolled to the side like a broken puppet as something shifted beneath his turban.
And then the voice came again.
"So… you are the one."
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The words slid into the chamber like fog—soft, slithering, undeniable. They weren't spoken through the mouth. They bypassed the ears and curled straight into the mind.
Rose went rigid beside me. Her wand shook just slightly.
But I stood still.
My heart thudded once, hard—but not with fear.
With recognition.
So this is what he feels like, I thought.
Not just Voldemort the memory. Not just the shade. But the soul fragment. Alive. Watching. Curious.
"I've been watching you," the voice said again, thoughtful now. "You are not like the others."
I didn't answer.
"You did not flinch," it noted. "You did not beg. You did not scream when the troll charged. And you faced the flames like they were nothing."
It paused.
"I wonder… what burns inside you?"
Rose moved closer to me, her hand brushing my sleeve. It was subtle, grounding—just enough to remind me that I wasn't alone.
I didn't look at her. My gaze was locked on Quirrell, whose limbs now moved like they didn't belong to him.
The turban unwound slowly.
One coil… two…
The fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whisper.
And then I saw it.
The face.
Flat. Leech-like. Sickly pale.
Stretched across the back of Quirrell's skull like some parasitic second skin.
Eyes like coals—red and narrow. Slits for nostrils. Lips pulled tight over unnatural teeth.
Rose gasped.
I didn't move.
"You know me," Voldemort said.
It wasn't a question.
I kept my face blank, even as fire stirred in my chest. Not rage. Not fear.
Just the beginning of something vast and hot and ancient waking up.
"Interesting," he mused. "You are no ordinary wizard. I can feel it. Your magic… it resists me. It bites."
He leaned forward—or rather, Quirrell did, bending at the waist.
"What are you, boy?" the voice hissed.
Behind my back, my fingers twitched. The Kavach shimmered against my skin like sunlight caught in water. Quiet. Watchful.
Rose opened her mouth, maybe to speak, maybe to shout—
I raised a hand without turning, and she stopped.
"Why are you so curious?" I asked softly.
Voldemort's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Because power must be understood. Controlled. Either it serves—or it is destroyed."
I tilted my head slightly. "Is that what happened to you?"
That struck a nerve.
The air went still.
Quirrell's body jerked again, and a ripple of magic flared outward—hot and sudden. The torches dimmed.
Rose stepped back. I stood my ground.
"You speak boldly," Voldemort growled. "You pretend to be fearless. But I see the flicker in your thoughts. The wall you hide behind. Tell me—what are you protecting?"
I smiled.
Just slightly.
"Something you'll never touch."
The temperature dropped.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Then I must peel it from your mind."
I felt the pressure return—harder this time. Sharper. Like claws scraping against steel.
But I had been training.
Occlumency isn't just resistance—it's redirection.
I let him in—just a sliver. Let him see a glimpse of fire, endless and rising. A sun within me.
His scream wasn't loud. But it was real.
Quirrell staggered, clutching his head. His hands smoked faintly.
"You—" Voldemort snarled. "What have you done?!"
I stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly gold now.
"I'm not yours to control," I said, voice low. "And neither is the Stone."
Voldemort snarled. "Then you will die."
"Maybe," I said. "But not today."
Quirrell lunged.
And the final battle began.
Quirrell snarled, robes flaring as he raised his hands. The torches lining the walls flickered violently, shadows writhing like snakes across the chamber.
But I didn't wait.
My hand snapped forward, and with a flick of my wrist, I summoned fire.
A blazing arrow formed mid-air, heat radiating from it like a miniature sun. I drew it back—not with a bow, but with will—and loosed it straight at him.
Quirrell barely raised a shield in time. The arrow exploded on contact, fire blooming outwards in a burst that forced him to stagger.
He hissed, more serpent than man. "You dare?"
I didn't answer. Another flame arrow materialized, then a third—fired in quick succession. They weren't meant to hit, not directly. They were distractions.
Rose darted to the left, wand flicking as she sent a volley of Stunners his way. Red bolts of magic lanced through the air.
Quirrell roared, spinning as he cast a wide shield—golden and pulsing—but not perfect. One of Rose's spells clipped his arm. He winced, momentarily losing focus.
I took the opening.
A fireball, large and furious, ignited in my palm. I threw it like a shotput. It arced high before crashing down behind Quirrell—forcing him forward, right into Rose's next hex.
He slammed into the stone floor.
But the moment he hit, everything changed.
His body jerked unnaturally. His hands clawed at his face. Then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.
And the back of his head spoke.
"Fools," the high, cruel voice rasped. "You fight like children."
Rose froze. Her face paled.
Even knowing what was coming didn't prepare me for the sight. That face—gaunt, noseless, warped by dark magic—emerging from the back of Quirrell's skull.
Voldemort.
"I have waited long enough," he hissed. "This stone is mine."
"Not happening," I growled.
I raised my hand again, fire coiling around my arm. But before I could release it, the torches all blew out at once. The chamber plunged into darkness—absolute and complete.
Then a single voice, echoing from every direction.
"Let us test your flame, boy."
A gust of wind slammed into me—cold and unnatural. I tumbled backward, hitting the ground hard. Rose cried out, somewhere in the dark.
"Rose!" I called, scrambling to my feet.
A flash of red lit the space. She was still fighting—dodging spells, flinging curses, holding her ground.
I gathered the heat again, drawing it from deep within.
"Enough games," I muttered.
Fire danced up both arms. I slammed my fists together, and the energy burst outward—a shockwave of flame illuminating the chamber for just a moment. In that moment, I saw Quirrell-Voldemort again—advancing toward the Mirror.
But he wasn't attacking.
He was searching.
His hands moved against the glass, frantic, trembling. "Where is it? I see… I see myself… but no Stone!"
Of course. The Mirror of Erised. That's where Dumbledore hid the Stone.
And only someone who wanted to find the Stone, not use it, could take it.
Voldemort couldn't get it.
He was losing patience.
And we were running out of time.
I summoned another fireball—this one tighter, denser. I didn't throw it immediately. I waited.
Watched.
His reflection shifted.
Rose stepped up beside me. "We can't let him figure it out."
"No," I said, my voice calm. "We end this now."
Then I threw it.
The fireball struck the floor in front of the Mirror and detonated—flames roaring high, pushing Voldemort back with a snarl. The heat surged through the room, smoke curling across the stone.
"YOU DARE!" the voice howled.
"Oh, I dare," I muttered, already shaping the next spell.
We were going to finish this.
With fire.
Quirrell collapsed, bound by Rose's spell, his burned hands curled into claws. His body twitched once… then went still.
But it wasn't over.
From the back of his skull, a black, wispy shadow began to tear free—like smoke escaping from a shattered shell. It hovered above the body, swirling and pulsing with rage. Two red eyes flared open within the mist.
"You…" it hissed, the voice no longer constrained by human lips. It reverberated like a thousand whispers at once. "You are not just a boy."
I took a step forward, fire still dancing around my arms. "No," I said, quietly. "I'm not."
Then it lunged.
The smoky wraith streaked through the air like a whip of shadow, aiming straight for my chest.
For my soul.
The world turned white-hot.
The Kavach reacted before I could.
A shockwave of radiant light burst outward from my body the moment the wisp touched me—blinding, burning, divine. The protection of Surya, buried in every thread of my being, flared to life with fury. Not passive, not defensive—but angry.
The shadow screamed.
It writhed and coiled, trying to pull away—but it was too late.
The light swallowed it whole.
I felt the thing—this twisted fragment of a soul—try to slither into my mind, into my magic. But it couldn't withstand the blaze. It burned from the inside out, shrieking as it unraveled.
For a moment, the chamber was filled with screaming fire and wind.
And then—silence.
The smoke was gone.
Nothing remained.
Not a trace of Voldemort.
No retreat. No escape.
Just ashes in the air.
I stumbled back a step, breathing hard, the flames slowly receding from my hands. The Kavach settled again beneath my skin, humming softly.
Rose stared at me, wide-eyed. "Ethan… what was that?"
I didn't answer right away. I stared at the empty space where the shadow had vanished.
"I think," I said slowly, "that part of him… is gone for good."
She didn't speak—just reached out and touched my arm, grounding me.
We turned together to the Mirror.
I stepped toward it and saw myself—tired, bruised, singed—but alive.
And something warm pulsed in my pocket.
I reached in and felt it.
Smooth. Heavy. Warm as sunlight.
The Philosopher's Stone.
I met my own reflection's eyes.
And smiled.
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Bonus Chapter!!
for every 10 power stones, 1 bonus chapter will be available