The exam date was fast approaching, and Harry remained in a state of dread. He feared that Lord Voldemort might suddenly appear any day, believing that Lord Voldemort could steal the Philosopher's Stone at any moment. He barely had the motivation to study, and even when reading, his mind often wandered.
"Harry, honestly, I think we should report this to the Headmaster and the professors immediately." Ron already knew what they had seen and heard in the Forbidden Forest. "I never trust a single word that Slytherin says." As he spoke, he slapped the table in front of him to emphasise the seriousness of the situation.
"They won't believe us." Harry shook his head.
"Draco won't tell You-Know-Who," Hermione whispered.
"You're actually defending that Slytherin?" Ron looked bewildered.
"He didn't lie to us about Norbert before, did he?" Hermione said.
"That was just a trick. Think about it—if You-Know-Who returns, how happy his father will be!"
Hermione did not know how to answer him.
"Stop talking." Harry buried his head in his book, seemingly unwilling to think about these things anymore. His scar had been throbbing intermittently since returning from the Forbidden Forest, making it difficult to sleep at night. Neville even suspected he had developed exam anxiety because he was constantly waking up screaming.
No matter how much the top students anticipated it, or how much the poor students dreaded it, the final exams finally arrived.
Whether it was making a pineapple tap-dance across a desk, transfiguring a mouse into a snuffbox, or reciting the procedure for brewing a Forgetfulness Potion, none of it was difficult for Draco, who was already qualified to graduate, let alone the classes that relied purely on memory, such as History of Magic.
In any case, everyone was liberated when Professor Binns's ghost told them to put down their quills and roll up their answer parchment.
The Golden Trio gathered after the exams. Harry said his head still hurt a bit, and Ron suggested they go to Hagrid's hut to relax.
"Oh no." Mentioning Hagrid made Harry realise something, and his face went pale. "There are no coincidences without reason," he said.
"Harry, what are you talking about?" Ron was confused.
"I have to go find him and figure it out now." Harry quickly pulled the two of them and ran toward Hagrid's hut.
It was easy to trick the information out of Hagrid. Harry confirmed his suspicions, and Hermione and Ron's faces instantly turned white.
"That person is either Snape or You-Know-Who," Hermione said, trembling.
"We need to quickly find Headmaster Dumbledore. Maybe the centaurs can testify for us." So the group rushed toward the Headmaster's office, but the result was obvious: they were rebuffed. They were forced to run out onto the stone steps.
"We have to go ourselves," Harry said helplessly.
"Harry, Professor McGonagall just said…" Ron tried to persuade him, but was cut off.
"I know—asking about these things or running around will result in points being deducted or expulsion." Harry's expression grew somewhat frantic. "But so what? If Lord Voldemort truly returns, what's the point of the House Cup? Hogwarts will become ruins, razed to the ground. Maybe we'll all die. If I fail to stop him today, maybe I'll just die a little sooner."
"You're right, Harry." Hermione nodded.
"I'll go with you, Harry," Ron said.
"Me too," Hermione quickly added.
"I can't drag you down," Harry quickly shook his head.
"What could be worse than death, Harry?" Hermione whispered, pausing. "Besides, Professor Flitwick just secretly told me I scored 112 points on his exam. With such a high score, they won't bear to expel me."
"What about me?" Ron wailed.
That line actually made all three of them laugh,
and the tension eased somewhat.
After dinner, they secretly avoided others and sat in the common room. No one paid attention to them, and certainly no one wanted to. When nearly all the students had fallen asleep, Harry ran upstairs to fetch his Invisibility Cloak, but upon returning to the common room,m he was discovered by Neville, who was still awake.
"You're breaking school rules again!" Neville exclaimed loudly.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione pointed her wand directly at Neville. "I'm sorry, Neville," she whispered, then told the other two, "We don't have time. We don't know how far Snape has gotten. We need to hurry."
"Mm-hmm." The other two nodded.
As for Neville, he was now lying rigidly on the floor, stiff all over, looking as hard as a plank of wood.
Along the way, ay they avoided Peeves and Madam Norris, and even managed to scare Peeves a bit. They finally reached the fourth-floor corridor—the door was already slightly ajar.
Hearing the sound of the door being pushed open, the large dog began to bark furiously. They saw a harp on the floor, and they knew they had to speed up—Snape was ahead of them.
Harry took out the present Hagrid had given him for Christmas, a flute. He began to play, producing one off-key note after another. Slowly, the large dog's furious barking stopped—it swayed a few times, its knees buckled, and it sank to the floor with a thud, falling into a deep sleep.
Harry checked the path first, and the two followed him down. They were celebrating that a pile of plants had given them a soft landing, but then realised the long vines were wrapping around their legs.
"Oh no!" the two boys screamed.
"Incendio." Hermione raised her wand and cast a spell at the pile of plants. Blue, bellflower-like flames shot out from the wand. Within seconds, the two boys felt the vines recoiling, shrinking away from the light and warmth, and releasing their grip. The plants twisted and twitched, automatically letting go of the tendrils wrapped around them, and Harry and Ron were finally free.
"Hermione, you're amazing." Harry praised her, and Ron chimed in beside him. "Yeah, how did you know that thing was afraid of fire?"
"It was taught in class, didn't you know?" Hermione said somewhat unnaturally.
It wasn't just taught in class; similar words had appeared on the note Draco gave her: "Devil's Snare is most afraid of fire." The few sentences on the note were nonsensical, along with a spelling error. Hermione had a deeper memory of this than of the information imparted in class.
"Did he know we were coming to steal the Philosopher's Stone back then?" Hermione shivered, then told herself internally, "It's just a coincidence, a coincidence."
However, she could not call what happened next a coincidence anymore.
The three of them went down the slope to the end of the corridor. Before them was a brightly lit room with a high, vaulted ceiling. Countless small birds, glittering like jewels, fluttered their wings and flew everywhere in the room. Opposite them was a heavy wooden door.
Harry then easily caught a silver key. They continued forward and entered the second room. It was pitch black before they entered, but suddenly lit up brightly once inside. They saw a giant chessboard, with a large number of chess pieces standing on it. These pieces were much taller than they were. How could they get through this door? There was only one answer: win the game of chess before proceeding.
The three of them took the black pieces, replacing a knight, a bishop, and a rook. Ron was the best chess player among the three; Harry was a beginner, and although Hermione was intelligent, she was not good at this. The beginning was peaceful, but when the white queen fiercely knocked the knight onto the floor and dragged it off the board, shocked expressions appeared on the faces of all three.
"Sacrifice is necessary, Harry, I have to be taken," Ron said after helping Harry and Hermione escape a tight spot.
"Ron, wait!" Harry cried out in warning, but Ron had already stepped out and moved forward one square. The white queen immediately lunged. She raised her stone arm and smashed it down fiercely.
"Impedimenta!" At that moment, Hermione suddenly raised her wand and spoke, pointing at the white queen. Instantly, the white queen's swift arm slowed down, like a slow-motion film, unable to smash down immediately.
"Harry, what are you waiting for? I can't hold on much longer," Hermione urgently shouted. Harry seemed stunned by the sudden change. Trembling all over, he moved three squares to the left. The white king removed his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won.
"Hermione, how did you do that?" Ron asked, breathing heavily after his close call.
"Don't worry about that now, let's go quickly." Hermione did not know how to explain and could only change the subject.
"Right, we don't have time," Harry said quickly. The trio then hurried down the next corridor, bypassed a troll that had already been severely injured, and arrived in front of a table holding seven bottles.
Hermione quickly deduced the effects of the potions in all the bottles. Harry told the two of them to go back and report, while he drank the potion that allowed him to pass through the black flames.
The biting cold allowed him to withstand the black flames. He could see nothing, only black fire—then he successfully reached the other side and entered the final room.
"No!" As soon as Harry entered, he saw a sight that made his eyes nearly burst. There was already someone inside—it wasn't Snape, nor was it even Lord Voldemort. The man was holding a stone, and Harry recognised him: it was Quirrell.
Quirrell seemed to notice him. The back of his head turned around, and Harry heard: "Master, your strength has not yet recovered." This was Quirrell's voice.
"It is enough for me to act partially now. Hand over control of the body to me." This was a sharp, piercing voice.
Two voices coming from one body made Harry shiver involuntarily.
The large turban was slowly unwrapped. 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 face was chalky white, with glowing red eyes and two narrow, snake-like slits for nostrils below.
Suddenly, that face began to laugh out loud—mad laughter, frenzied and maniacal. His hand tightly gripped the stone, as if seeing some hallucination. The already extremely ugly face twisted into such an expression. He kept waving his hands, making Harry feel a wave of nausea, followed by terror: "He got the Philosopher's Stone, he is Lord Voldemort, am I going to die?" His thoughts began to scatter.
He thought this and that, but death was slow to arrive.
He mustered his courage and looked at Lord Voldemort, only to find that the stone in his hand was slowly turning into dust, slipping from his palm onto the floor.
"No!" As if his beautiful dream had shattered, he let out a hoarse, shrill cry of despair. He regained his senses, and his expression became even more ferocious as he stared at Harry.
Harry said to himself, "The Philosopher's Stone was somehow destroyed by him. Although I might die, it was enough."
Following that, he plunged into darkness. Whether he fainted from fright or was struck by a spell, it was impossible to know.
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