Time to go back a little earlier.
"Stupefy!"
"Accio Key!"
"Sectumsempra!" "Reducto!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Earlier, Draco had arrived at the final destination before Quirrell and the Golden Trio. He walked into the last room and slowly approached the Mirror of Erised.
"Only those who do not want to obtain the Philosopher's Stone can truly obtain it." Thinking of this, Draco chuckled. He reached into his right pocket, and a stone appeared in his hand.
"Sorry, I'm not short on money, and I don't want immortality filled with side effects." He thought to himself. He played with the stone for a few moments, found it boring, and put it back into his pocket.
"As for you, Lord Voldemort, you can witness how deeply one can fall into a double illusion. It must be interesting to see the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone displaying the same vision." He chuckled softly and then pulled another stone from his left pocket.
"This thing is surprisingly fire-resistant." Draco could not help smiling as he looked at the stone.
This was the Resurrection Stone he had picked up from the Gaunt shack last time.
"Seeing the people you've resurrected—that should count as a unique achievement, Lord Voldemort. Thank me." Somehow, he managed to place the other stone into the mirror.
The Mirror of Erised could allow those who did not want the Philosopher's Stone to obtain it, so naturally, it could allow those who did not want the Resurrection Stone to obtain it as well. After all, Lord Voldemort or Quirrell wanted the former.
"The taste of falling from heaven to hell shouldn't be pleasant." By now, Draco had returned to his dormitory, pretending to study diligently.
As for Lord Voldemort, after getting his hands on the Resurrection Stone and enjoying a brief hallucination, he returned to reality because the stone shattered.
Even for one of the Deathly Hallows, surviving Fiendfyre in that state was already impressive, but after being gripped tightly by someone, it was unlikely to survive.
As the most powerful Dark Wizard of the present day, Lord Voldemort naturally possessed the willpower to resist hallucinations, but such willpower was limited. Normally,y he might have been lost in it for a dozen seconds before waking up, but now, while he was completely immersed, the stone shattered in just three seconds. Waking up on one's own versus being jolted awake was a completely different experience. Realising he had been deceived, Lord Voldemort was furious.
The power of the Resurrection Stone seemed immense, shaking even Lord Voldemort's spirit. He found that his remaining magic was temporarily unusable, and it even affected his host, Quirrell.
"Quirrell, what did you tell me? Is the Philosopher's Stone here?" The high-pitched voice was exceptionally cold. Having regained his composure, Lord Voldemort simply wanted to vent, and the minion before him seemed like a suitable target.
"Master, I don't know either. The stone must be on Potter. If I kill him, I'll find it." Quirrell said in terror. He could not imagine what punishment he would face. To make amends, he rushed toward Harry, realising something was wrong with his body and that he had to resort to physical combat.
Harry had already fainted. Quirrell grabbed his neck, but an unbearable pain surged through his hand. "Master, I can't hold him—my hand—my hand!" Quirrell wailed in agony; his hand was red and glowing, as if burned by fire.
"Tom, you have returned indeed." An elderly voice suddenly echoed throughout the room.
"Damn it." Lord Voldemort cursed under his breath and then fell silent.
"No, Master, don't abandon me! I can still kill Potter!" Quirrell felt his power draining away; that presence was detaching from his body. Quirrell's expression grew more and more terrified, unsure whether he feared Lord Voldemort killing him on the spot or an endless future in Azkaban.
"Foolish wretch, ruining my grand plans." Lord Voldemort tried his best to stabilise his spirit. It might be humiliating, but he had to choose to flee. However, he would never guess that today's events were orchestrated by someone he considered incredibly loyal.
"Dumbledore, just you wait. I will return." In the end, he could only leave a threat and slink away.
Dumbledore did not try to stop him, perhaps knowing he could not, or perhaps knowing it would be meaningless. However, behind his spectacles, his cloudy old eyes revealed a glimmer of clarity, and perhaps even a trace of surprise.
"It's time to have a good talk with that little one." He touched his nose, which had been broken several times, and muttered to himself. The old man's gaze had now become startlingly sharp.
Just like in the original timeline, the encounter between Harry and Quirrell in the dungeon spread like wildfire. Perhaps it had been embellished and polished by someone, and the vast majority of students believed the official account. As for most of the Slytherin studeney found it difficult to accept.
"Draco, I have a bad feeling about this," Pansy whispered, sitting next to Draco.
The Great Hall was filled with a jubilant atmosphere. The school was holding the end-of-year feast, and students from all four Houses were gathered together. The hall was decorated in the green and silver of Slytherin to celebrate their seventh consecutive House Cup victory. On the wall behind the high table hung a massive banner depicting the Slytherin serpent.
"What's wrong, Pansy?" Draco asked.
Pansy pursed her lips and pointed toward the entrance of the Great Hall. Harry was walking in slowly. The moment he entered, the Great Hall suddenly fell silent, and then everyone began talking loudly again.
"I have a feeling this fellow is going to earn Gryffindor a lot of points. Look at the announcement Dumbledore made; it's so biased. I feel like he should have been expelled right when he went to the dungeon." Pansy stared at Harry as if he were a mortal enemy.
"Not just that, they are a four-person deluxe point package." Draco thought to himself, though he did not care much about it. Whether in his past life or this one, he was someone with little sense of collective honour.
"Then prepare yourself mentally and watch the ugliness of the adult world." Draco ruffled Pansy's hair.
"Are we really going to lose?" she asked.
"I didn't say that." Draco immediately shrugged, feigning innocence.
A moment later, Dumbledore arrived, and the noise in the Great Hall gradually died down.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Before we indulge in these delicious feasts, I must trouble you to listen to an old man's clichés. What a wonderful year it has been! Your little brains must be a bit richer than they were before. A whole summer holiday awaits you, allowing you to digest all that knowledge and clear some space in your minds before the next term begins."
"Now, as far as I know, we must first proceed with the House Cup award ceremony. The specific scores for each House are as follows: Fourth place, Gryffindor, three hundred and twelve points; third place, Hufflepuff, three hundred and fifty-two points; Ravenclaw, four hundred and twenty-six points; and Slytherin, four hundred and ninety-two points."
Neville was not present that day. Compared to the previous timeline, Gryffindor should still have been in third place because they could have had fifty more points, but someone's academic brilliance had completely suppressed Miss Know-it-all. The points added in class offset each other, cancelling out those differences. In fact, Slytherin's score was even higher than before.
A thunderous roar of cheers and foot-stomping erupted from the Slytherin table. Draco was expressionless. Pansy, perhaps because of what had been said earlier, remained in a poor mood.
"Yes, yes, well done," Dumbledore said. "However, a few recent events must also be taken into account." The Great Hall became very quiet, and the smiles of the Slytherins faded.
"Er, er," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I have a few final points to award. Let me see. Ah, yes, first item—Mr Ron Weasley." Ron's face turned bright red, like a sun-dried carrot. "He played the finest game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, for which I award Gryffindor fifty points."
The cheers from Gryffindor nearly lifted the enchanted ceiling.
"Second item—Miss Hermione Granger. She faced fire, calmly conducting logical reasoning. Not only that, but on the chessboard, she also calmly used spells to assist her teammates and applied knowledge from Herbology to deal with the clinging plants. I award Gryffindor sixty points."
Hermione buried her face in her arms; no one knew her feelings.
"Third item—Harry Potter," Dumbledore said.
"I award Gryffindor seventy points."
The Great Hall erupted.
"Courage comes in many forms," Dumbledore continued. "Facing enemies requires extraordinary bravery, but standing up for what you believe in before your friends requires just as much courage. Therefore, I award ten points to Neville Longbottom."
Gryffindor had won.
The decorations instantly changed.
Snape forced a tight smile.
Harry thought it was the best night of his life.
"Why do you look like you knew we were going to lose?" Pansy asked Draco quietly.
"Our seven-year winning streak has been broken… why?" she said bitterly.
"Don't be angry; the House Cup can't be eaten as a meal." Draco gently comforted her.
After a while, the feast ended.
Draco was about to return to his dormitory when Professor McGonagall stopped him.
"Professor Dumbledore is waiting for you in his office, Draco."
"Okay, Professor," Draco nodded.
When he entered the office, Dumbledore greeted him warmly.
"You were wronged in this House Cup," Dumbledore said.
"Professor, I don't understand," Draco replied calmly.
Dumbledore awkwardly changed the subject and produced a small bottle.
Inside it shimmered Phoenix tears.
Draco accepted it politely.
"By the way, Professor," Draco said casually, "I happened to pick up a strange stone the other day."
He placed the Philosopher's Stone on the table.
Dumbledore quietly took it.
Then Draco turned and left.
As he walked away, he thought:
"Dealing with the old bee is really troublesome… but the benefits are real."
He looked at the bottle of Phoenix tears.
"This thing might even be an extra life."
And in an excellent mood, Draco whistled all the way back to the Slytherin dormitory.
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