"Ron!" Harry, Hermione, and Felix gasped out in worry as Ron had just sacrificed himself in the game of chess. The inseparable quartet had now been reduced to three.
As the drama deep inside the trial unfolded, Adrian had finally arrived at the entrance. Seeing that the huge Cerberus Fluffy was still asleep, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room, McGonagall was trying her absolute best to contact Albus Dumbledore. However, to her futile attempts, all of them were unsuccessful. The event related to Nott's kidnapping needed to be kept a secret; it had to be kept secret. The ministry had always wanted to consolidate its power over Hogwarts. Thankfully, Dumbledore had somehow managed to stop the ministry from mixing politics with education. Now that she realized it, she was sure that the power-hungry Cornelius Fudge would take this opportunity to pin the blame on Dumbledore—especially after their political disputes after the attack of the Chimavorax. Realizing that Dumbledore would still be in a meeting, McGonagall asked every single professor to search Hogwarts for Theodore Nott.
The professor thought about where the kidnapper could have taken Nott. Until she realized that Quirrell was nowhere to be seen. Was Quirrell the Gringotts criminal Dumbledore was trying to lure into Hogwarts? So the criminal had been the DADA teacher all along? This was outrageous.
"Merlin's beard," she muttered. How did she ever agree to Dumbledore's idea? She needed to check that underground labyrinth. Could Nott have been taken there? Why was Dumbledore hiding so much from her? She ran towards the third floor, disappearing into the darkness.
Deep inside the trial lay a frustrated Harry, who was saddened by his teammates' sacrifices. Ron had nearly died playing a simple game of chess, and him? He stood there, trembling like a scaredy-cat. How utterly useless he had felt.
Hence, as the end of the trial approached, he had made up his mind. He would not drag his friends into this, beyond the last stage. After a lot of convincing, he drank the potion that allowed him to pass through the fire, leaving his friends behind.
As he approached the final room, Harry saw a huge circular chamber. The marble tiles covered with ancient carvings brought a sense of grandeur to the chamber. These marvels failed to impress Harry after he noticed the cloaked figure standing in the center of the room.
The figure stood next to the Mirror of Erised, an evil grin creeping onto the man's face. How could he ever not recognize the person with such an ominous black cloak? He was sure that this man was the same maniac who had drunk the unicorn blood in the forbidden forest. The same aura, the same chilling feeling, the same feeling that evoked a sense of impending death.
Unsurprisingly, next to the man lay a debilitated Theodore Nott with his limbs chopped off. As Harry stared at Nott, he suddenly muttered. "Run, Harry... Run. He will kill you.
"Run, Harry… run. He will kill you."
Dread crept into his very soul as he stood there, trying his best to maintain his facade of bravery. "Nott, I… I… will save you."
His voice cracked, weak and uncertain. Quirrell tilted his head, the sinister curve of his mouth widening into a full smile. The man hadn't moved, yet the pressure in the room mounted like a boulder pressing on Harry's chest.
"You are here, Potter," Quirrell said softly, almost kindly. "You'll be useful in your own way."
The man raised his wand slowly, almost lazily.
Harry's instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey. His eyes were fixed on Nott's mangled body, the blood soaking into the marble floor like ink staining a white page. Harry grabbed at his wand and charged towards Quirrell.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.
"Useful to whom, Quirrell?"
A figure stepped out of the shadows near the entrance, wand already drawn. Harry turned, surprised to see Adrian Blackthorn standing there. His expression was unreadable — cold, calculating.
Quirrell's eyes narrowed slightly. "Ah… Mr. Blackthorn, here comes another one of my expected guests." He said, his tone still calm but now edged with a sliver of caution.
Adrian replied with a sadistic grin on his face. His wand didn't waver. "Now step away from my friend. You've already done enough damage for one night."
Quirrell laughed softly. "You speak with such confidence, boy. I wonder... do you even understand the scale of what's happening here?"
"I understand enough," Adrian replied flatly. "You're not just some servant of You-Know-Who. You're working for someone else too."
"How interesting," he said at last. "Perhaps you're not as dull as your professors believe. Tell me, Blackthorn… What do you really know?"
Adrian's fingers tightened on his wand. "Enough to know that you're not alone. That this isn't just about the Stone. You've aligned yourself with something far older. Something even Voldemort is interested in."
Harry flinched at the name. But Quirrell? He chuckled.
He waved his hand. The torches around the chamber flared to life with black and purple flames. The temperature dropped instantly. Adrian's mind raced. He had come here to fight. He had come here out of love—pure love for his friend Adrian, not. Truth be told, he was reckless coming here without any planning. Dumbledore was missing — not by accident. The pieces clicked, and now he stood face-to-face with a servant of both Voldemort and something far greater.
Suddenly, Quirrell tilted his head, muttering almost lazily, "Crucio."
The curse was aimed straight at Adrian, who managed to roll just in time. The wall behind Adrian had shattered, showcasing the tremendous impact of the spell.
"Confringo!" Quirrell blasted again.
A massive explosion burst through the stone column to his left. Adrian was hurled back, slamming into the wall. His head spun. Blood dripped from his temple. Still, he didn't drop his wand.
"Stop it!" Harry screamed as he charged forward again. "He's just a student!"
"Oh, Potter," Quirrell sighed. "So are you. But that hasn't stopped me before."
He raised his wand toward Harry.
"No!" Adrian shouted, thrusting his hand out. A sudden ripple of silver energy burst from his palm — the raw, unstable version of Involvus. The spell twisted unnaturally through the air, slamming into Quirrell's wand arm and throwing off his aim. Sparks burst where it hit.
Quirrell's eyes flared with interest.
"Fascinating. I was right to keep an eye on you…"
Suddenly, an immense force blew through the chamber like a wave of magic. The flames went out.
A new voice boomed across the room, powerful and ancient.
"That is enough."
Dumbledore had arrived.
Clad in violet robes that shimmered with runes, his eyes blazed with fury. In a single movement, he cast a golden chain spell that wrapped around Quirrell's limbs, forcing the man to the ground. The moment his wand dropped, a horrific screech echoed from the back of his head — a voice, angry and distorted, shrieking in pain.
"NOOOO!" the voice howled. "YOU PROMISED—"
The sound was cut short as the chains began glowing brighter, sealing Quirrell's movement entirely.
Harry collapsed to his knees, panting. Adrian leaned against the wall, watching carefully. Something was wrong — Dumbledore had come far too quickly. Did he already know? Or had someone tipped him off?
As the headmaster rushed to Harry and conjured a stretcher for Nott, Adrian's eyes remained fixed on Quirrell's twitching body. Before the man blacked out, something dropped from his robes — a small metallic insignia with ancient script engraved across it.
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
COA.
He recognized the symbol immediately. He had seen this in the first DADA class.
.