About half an hour later, Quirrell finally limped into the room after the troll, reaching Snape's obstacle course.
His current appearance was very strange, as if he had aged decades all at once, with an extremely pale complexion and covered in wrinkles.
Moreover, Quirrell seemed to have suffered serious injuries, reeking of blood from head to toe, and with every step, he grimaced in pain.
Once Quirrell entered the room, the previously extinguished magic flames roared back to life.
He tremulously approached the table with the magic potions, picked up a piece of parchment, and read it carefully.
"...Neither the giant nor the dwarf harbors the God of Death.
The second from the left and the second from the right look different but taste the same."
A slow smile spread across Quirrell's face.
That idiot Snape actually thought he couldn't handle logical puzzles... Ridiculous, he had graduated from Ravenclaw with eight "O" grades as an outstanding student.
Compared to finding keys, playing chess, and fighting trolls, this was what he was best at.
Quirrell conjured a feather and dabbed it in one of his bloodier wounds, then began his calculations.
"I got it!" Quirrell exclaimed excitedly soon after, "It's this smallest bottle that will let me pass through the black flames and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone."
He grabbed that inconspicuous small bottle without hesitation and took a sip.
"Ugh..."
Quirrell had thought nothing could be worse than facing dozens of chomping cabbages.
But now he realized he was wrong.
The instant the potion touched his lips, a nauseating taste flooded into his mouth, as if three hundred trolls were dancing inside it.
The compost from the greenhouse smelled sweeter than this stuff.
The mental torment made Quirrell's face look even worse. After only taking a sip, he threw the potion back onto the table.
"Damn Snape!"
Quirrell clutched his stomach with one hand, covered his mouth with the other, and tremblingly passed through the black flames.
"Just wait… once I get the Philosopher's Stone and resurrect the Dark Lord, both Sprout and Snape will die!"
Quirrell roared internally as he entered the last room.
But he was horrified to find that someone was already inside... neither Snape nor Dumbledore.
"Harry Potter!"
Quirrell gasped in shock, unable to catch his breath.
"It's me, Professor."
The "Harry" in the room turned around and said in a voice tinged with panic, "I was just worried about bumping into you here, and here you are…"
"Wait a moment. Professor Quirrell, you're seriously injured, no worries, I'll take you to the hospital wing right away."
With that, he began to approach Quirrell.
"Stand there, don't move!" Quirrell took out his wand and shouted fiercely, "Now, give me the Philosopher's Stone!"
Quirrell felt his mind was a mess, a complete mess.
He had anticipated numerous scenarios before… like how to fight if he encountered Snape or what posture to use to plead if he ran into Dumbledore.
But Quirrell had never expected Harry Potter to be here before him, and judging by his demeanor, it seemed he had been waiting for some time.
How on earth did this "Boy Who Lived" get through those chomping cabbages!
"Philosopher's Stone? What nonsense are you talking about?"
"Harry" asked in puzzlement, "Isn't the final reward this mirror?
Professor, you must take a look. This mirror is truly amazing. I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore and becoming the Minister of Magic.
I guess it can predict the future!"
Quirrell glanced suspiciously at The Mirror of Erised.
He wanted to take a closer look, but before he had taken five steps, he heard a shrill voice speaking.
"He is lying… he is lying…"
"Potter, don't move!" Quirrell immediately raised his wand and shouted, "My patience is limited, hand over the Philosopher's Stone now!"
The shrill voice spoke again.
"Fool, haven't you realized yet? He's not Harry Potter!"
"Not Harry Potter?" Quirrell scrutinized the figure again.
Messy hair, scar on the forehead, and those round glasses… this was undoubtedly Potter.
"Let me talk to him… face to face…"
"Master, you have already expended a lot of strength in the chomping cabbage area; you need to rest now!"
"Thanks to your assistance… I still have enough strength…"
"It is my honor, Master!"
Quirrell bent over, raised his hand to remove the scarf messily wrapped around his head, then slowly turned around, revealing the hideous face on the back of his head.
The face was as white as chalk, with glowing red eyes below which were two narrow nostrils, resembling those of a snake.
"You don't seem surprised at all…" he whispered.
"Quirrell wouldn't dare steal the Philosopher's Stone alone; he doesn't have the guts."
"Harry" said calmly, "I just didn't expect you to appear this way… Mr. Voldemort."
"You know me…" Voldemort seemed a bit surprised.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"By the way, how did you figure out I'm not Harry Potter? I thought my disguise was pretty spot on."
"Clothes…" Voldemort said in a hoarse voice, "Harry Potter wouldn't be wearing a Slytherin badge!"
"Too bad… but there's no way I'll wear that stupid lion badge."
Kael removed his glasses and tossed them aside. After bouncing a few times on the floor, they transformed back into a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean.
Professor Cecily had given him many potions, including a big vial of Polyjuice Potion.
Getting Harry's hair wasn't difficult, or rather, it was very simple. If Kael wanted, he could trick Harry out of even his underwear.
But it wasn't necessary.
"Who are you…" Voldemort said with interest, "Malfoy… Nott… or perhaps Selwyn…"
"Don't bother guessing, Mr. Voldemort." Kael spread his hands and said, "Since I used Polyjuice Potion, I obviously don't want others to know who I am."
"Courageous, cunning… and very clear-headed, it seems Slytherin has produced another exceptional young wizard."
Voldemort's interest grew as he looked at Kael, speaking in the most seductive voice, "You're far stronger than that waste Quirrell… join me, help me acquire the Philosopher's Stone… I will grant you unimaginable power and wealth!"
"Master…" Quirrell said somewhat aggrievedly, stammering, "but I am your most loyal servant."
Clearly, he had arrived first, whether it was in the forests of Albania or through those perilous obstacles just now…
The one who had been assisting the Dark Lord all along was him, not this person whose name wasn't even known.
...