Chapter 38: Black Flames, the True Face Before the Mirror (Patreon)

Past the iron-wrought gate, the temperature in the air shot up.

Before anyone could take in the room, a roaring wall of purple flame erupted with a whoomph before the gate behind them, sealing off their retreat completely! At the same instant, eerie black fire taller than a man leapt up in the narrow doorway ahead.

Between the two seas of fire stood a stone table. Seven glass bottles of different shapes sat on it in a neat row, and a roll of parchment covered in tidy handwriting was pinned beside them.

"It's Professor Snape's obstacle." Hermione hurried to the table, snatched up the parchment, and skimmed the writing at lightning speed. A rare, confident smile spread across her tense little face. "This isn't a charm. It's a pure logic puzzle! 'Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind… Of the seven bottles, two hold nettle wine, three hold poison, one will carry you forward through the black fire, and one will carry you back through the purple.'"

"My godfather has always despised reckless fools who don't use their brains." Draconia leaned in as well and carefully sniffed the faint fumes drifting from the bottles. Her fingertip hooked the round-bellied little bottle on the far right. "This one is the potion for retreat. There's a trace of cool mint in the scent, and it can ward off the purple fire." Then she pointed to the smallest, flat, clear bottle in the very center of the table. "And this one… is the only one that can carry you through the black flames. A frost potion."

"Brilliant!" Ron said, rubbing his still-sore shoulder. "So what are we waiting for? Drink it and get through!"

"Wait." Hermione grabbed the flat little bottle and gave it a shake, and her face changed in an instant. "There's too little potion… At most, there's enough in here for one person to swallow a single mouthful."

Silence fell over the stone chamber again.

The black fire crackled along the doorframe, and the oppressive heat drew cold sweat from everyone's temples.

"Hermione, take Ron and drink the retreat potion to go back," Raven said calmly, breaking the silence, his tone decisive and beyond argument. "Go to the Owlery and send Dumbledore an urgent letter, or head straight to the Entrance Hall and find Professor McGonagall. We need someone outside to know everything that's happening here."

"But Brother Raven, what about you and Harry?" Ron asked anxiously.

"I'm going in with Harry." Raven picked up the small bottle, [Magic Circuit Analysis Vision] turning deep within his eyes.

In his sight, the core magic of this frost potion was nothing more than a thin layer of miniature "inverse-thermal neutralizing force."

Raven flipped his wrist and produced his [Wind Spirit Warming Protective Amulet]. With a slight movement of his fingertip, a tiny repelling wind-rune swept lightly across the surface of the liquid and split its chilled essence evenly in two. With a miniature cyclone, he then wrapped a heat-insulating barrier around himself and Harry.

"And me!" Draconia stepped forward sharply and seized Raven's arm, her water-grey-blue eyes locked fiercely on him. "I told you I'm not going back! With this kid's spellwork, he can't possibly protect you once it comes to a fight!"

Raven turned to look at her stubborn, anxious little face, and suddenly gave a soft laugh. He didn't bother explaining. He simply took her chilled right hand in his, and neatly draped a corner of his cloak over her shoulders. "Then stay close to me, Draconia. Don't let go for a single step."

Raven handed Harry the half he had divided off and tipped the remaining drops down his own throat. An icy current surged through his whole body, as though he had swallowed an entire block of thousand-year ice.

"Hermione, go!" Harry shouted after he drank. Hermione nodded through her tears, helped Ron up, snatched the retreat potion, and passed through the purple fire behind them.

Raven, one arm shielding Draconia at his side, faced the roaring black flames ahead and strode in!

"Whoosh!!" The cold black fire licked at the edges of his cloak, but under the double cancellation of the wind-spirit cyclone and the frost potion's effect, the flames parted to either side like a tide, and not one of the three was harmed.

One step over the threshold, and the heat vanished at once.

Before their eyes lay a dim, spacious, circular underground chamber. On the raised platform at its center stood not Severus Snape, as they had expected, but a familiar, towering object that gleamed with cold golden light.

The Mirror of Erised.

A slightly hunched figure stood quietly before the mirror, back turned to them, that huge, ridiculous purple turban wrapped around its head.

Hearing the commotion at the door, the figure slowly turned around.

A pale face, a pointed chin, and at the corner of the mouth a cold, mocking, cruel smile. The eyes were clear as a viper's, without a trace of the usual cowering and fear. Even the trademark stammer had vanished without a trace:

"I thought as much… that sooner or later you would find your way here, Potter, and you too, Mr. Capet."

"Quirrell?!" Harry cried out, thunderstruck. "How can it be you?! Isn't it Snape?!"

"Godfather?!" Draconia also stepped back half a pace on instinct, disbelief filling her lovely eyes.

For months, the entire school had suspected that perpetually scowling Potions master. Even she herself had secretly worried that her godfather had been lured in by old business from years past. But never in a thousand years had she imagined the hand behind it all would be this spineless wretch, who normally trembled in fear even of vampires!

"Severus?" Quirrell burst into shrill, grating laughter that echoed off the stone walls and raised gooseflesh. "Yes… he does look very much the villain, doesn't he? That gloomy manner, that black robe billowing like a bat's wings… Thanks to him sniffing out conspiracies everywhere, I could walk about the castle in perfect peace."

Quirrell coldly swept his gaze over Draconia, and his mouth curled into a vicious arc. "Little girl of the Malfoys… If that shrewd father of yours knew you had come running to your death tonight of your own free will, he would probably weep his heart to pieces in the manor."

Draconia clenched her teeth and drew her wand. Her fingertips were still trembling, but she didn't give up half an inch of ground.

Quirrell paid them no more mind. He turned away irritably and glared at the Mirror of Erised, pounding his fist against the golden frame in a fit of nerves. "What is wrong with this mirror?! I see myself presenting the Philosopher's Stone to my master… but where is it hidden? Must I smash the thing to pieces?!"

"Use the boy… and that Capet brat…"

A cold, faint, rasping voice, as though crawling up from a bottomless pit of corpses, rose without warning from Quirrell's body.

The voice seemed to echo directly inside everyone's skulls, laden with suffocating blood and deathly stillness.

Quirrell shuddered violently, and his expression turned fanatical and servile in an instant. He spun around, bloodshot eyes fixing on Harry and Raven below the platform.

"Come here, Potter! And you, Capet!" Quirrell drew his wand and pointed it at the two of them, his voice piercing as a night owl's. "Come and look into this mirror! Tell me what you see in it!!"