Neville clenched his fists, determination burning in his eyes. "Hurry up and find the professor! I'll hold him back—I swear!"
Without hesitation, he shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and charged straight into the roaring purple flames.
Even if it meant risking his life, he had to stop Voldemort.
'Maybe... this is my destiny.'
In an instant, the flames parted to let him through before sealing shut again, swallowing him whole. The entrance remained blocked, flickering ominously as if taunting those left behind.
Harley and the others stood frozen in shock. Jerry instinctively reached out, as if he could pull Neville back from the inferno, but it was too late.
"What do we do?! Neville's going to die!" Ron's voice cracked, his panic barely restrained.
For the first time, the weight of this adventure truly sank in.
"Don't worry!" Ted said suddenly, his voice cutting through the fear. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle filled with a glowing red liquid. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and gulped it down.
"Ted, what are you doing?!" Hermione grabbed his arm, her voice trembling.
She knew that look in his eyes—he was going after Neville.
"I'm going to give him some backup." Ted's tone was steady, his resolve unshaken. As he spoke, he began casting protective spells over himself.
Shield. Mage Armor. Frost Armor. Iron Armor. Each layer of magic shimmered around him, strengthening his defenses. But that wasn't enough.
Taking a deep breath, he activated his own creation—an Energy Shield based on DND's resistance combined with Azeroth's magic suppression.
This wasn't just ordinary protection. Unlike the others, it didn't block physical attacks but absorbed elemental damage—fire, frost, lightning, and more. When he first developed the spell, he'd earned nearly 300 experience points for it.
And that potion he drank? Fire Protection Potion. It enhanced his fire resistance and mitigated fire damage, stacking even more defense onto his already buffed-up state.
Now, in addition to his shields, he had:
Fire Resistance Lv3
Energy Absorption Lv2
Six layers of protection.
It had to be enough.
Snape's enchanted flames were likely designed to stop anyone attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
They weren't meant to kill, but that didn't mean they wouldn't hurt—badly.
Snape might not have lethal intent, but this was no game. The danger was real.
The only truly deadly obstacle so far had been Quirrell's troll, but who knew what lay ahead?
Still, Ted had faith. Dumbledore wouldn't let them burn to death. Right?
"Wait! Take this." Harley shoved a small bag into Ted's hands.
Ted nodded, gripping it tightly. "Get the professors. I'll help Neville."
Before anyone could stop him, he wrenched himself free of Hermione's grip and hurled himself into the fire.
It was reckless. It was dangerous.
But there was no other choice.
If they wanted to touch the Philosopher's Stone to complete his quest, they had to get past this trial.
And Ted refused to let Neville face Voldemort alone.
Ted hurled himself into the purple fire, his protective spells flaring to life in rapid succession. Three bursts of energy exploded around him in less than a second, absorbing the brunt of the magical flames.
Fortunately, his energy absorption and fire resistance held strong.
Teeth gritted, he pushed forward, ignoring the searing heat licking at his skin. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the fire was gone.
He staggered forward, panting hard.
In just two seconds, he had burned through nearly a third of his magic reserves.
His mana was draining fast—already below half and still dropping.
Wasting no time, Ted pulled a small blue potion from his belt and downed it in one gulp, its cooling magic replenishing some of his strength. As he wiped his mouth, his gaze snapped up, scanning the chamber.
Two figures stood before him—Professor Quirrell and Neville.
Quirrell had just cast a Disarming Charm, sending Neville's wand and short sword clattering to the ground. The professor's expression twisted into something unreadable as he turned, watching Ted crash through the flames and casually drink a potion like it was nothing.
"Ah, Ted~" Quirrell's voice was oddly strained, the corners of his mouth twitching. It was a far cry from his usual nervous demeanor in class—his tone laced with something darker, something unnatural.
Ted barely had a second to react before Neville shouted, "Ted, get out of here! Quirrell's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone!"
Even as he yelled, Ted had already darted behind a stone pillar. A spell shot past him, blasting into the pillar and sending chunks of rock flying.
"Ahh!" Neville, weaponless but undeterred, lunged at Quirrell with nothing but his bare hands.
Quirrell barely glanced at him. "Petrificus Totalus."
The spell struck, and Neville went rigid mid-stride before toppling like a felled statue.
Ted clenched his fists. He had to keep up with the act and keep Quirrell distracted. "So it was you all along, Professor Quirrell!"
Quirrell let out a soft chuckle. "But of course. Who else?" His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Did you suspect Snape? I suppose you would. Everyone does. The greasy bat in the dungeons, always lurking, always scowling. It's easy to assume the worst of him, isn't it?"
His voice curled with smug satisfaction. "But not you, Ted. You've been avoiding me for over a month now. No more private chats, no more lingering after class. Tell me, when did you start suspecting me?"
Ted's voice came from behind the pillar. "When the unicorns started dying in the Forbidden Forest. After that, you felt... off. Something changed. I wasn't about to stick around and find out what."
Quirrell scoffed. "Hmph. Cautious. But even you failed to see the full picture."
Ted frowned. "What do you mean?"
Quirrell's smirk deepened. "My master values you. You should feel honored."
Ted's breath hitched. 'Values me?'
Then it clicked.
Voldemort thought he was a potential dark wizard. Someone worth recruiting. Someone worth grooming.
Quirrell—despite everything—was jealous.
Ted almost laughed. 'Oh, I almost feel bad for you, Professor.'
Quirrell had risked everything, traveling deep into the Albanian forest to seek out Voldemort, surrendering his very body to serve as a vessel. And now, Voldemort had his sights set on Ted instead.
No wonder Quirrell resented him.
And it explained something else, too.
Over the past few weeks, Quirrell had tried to manipulate him—proposing that he use the Imperius Curse to control Ted, to make him a pawn in the castle and draw attention away from his real plans.
But Ted had been wary from the start. He never gave Quirrell the chance.
And now, judging by the irritation in Quirrell's voice, it had pissed him off.
Ted's fingers curled around his wand, his mind racing.
He wasn't going to let Quirrell walk away with the Philosopher's Stone.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to let Voldemort get his hands on him.
Ted crouched behind a crumbling stone pillar, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he and Quirrell dueled fiercely.
This was the result of his extensive research—replacing spoken incantations with hand gestures to cast spells...
"Protego! Expelliarmus!" Quirrell barked, instantly blocking the floating one-handed sword that had been silently creeping toward him. With a flick of his wand, he sent the weapon clattering to the ground.
"Hmph! Ted, you managed to combine a Levitation Charm with a Locomotor Charm without uttering a single word?" Quirrell's eyes burned with barely contained rage, and resentment twisted his face.
Ted had taken advantage of their conversation to discreetly manipulate the sword Neville had dropped, attempting a surprise attack.
Unfortunately, Quirrell had Voldemort quite literally watching his back, ruining Ted's ploy before it could land.
'The talent this boy possesses… it's beyond reach, a true prodigy!'
Wizards like Quirrell, bright but never quite brilliant, understood the painful gap between themselves and true genius better than anyone.
That knowledge bred desperation. That was why he had turned to the dark arts, why he had sworn loyalty to Voldemort.
"Yes… the boy is exceptional!" A rasping voice emerged from the back of Quirrell's head, as dry and grating as dead wood scraping against stone.
"M-Master?!" Quirrell's face contorted in an unreadable mix of fear, regret, and envy. Emotions warred within him, each more overwhelming than the last.
He had made a terrible choice seeking out Voldemort—but it was far too late for second thoughts.
"Let me speak with him!" Voldemort commanded.
"Master, he is not worthy of your time—"
"Silence! Let me face him!" Voldemort's impatience crackled in the air like static.
Quirrell shuddered, his trembling hands reaching up to remove the purple turban he had worn for a year—long enough to be infested with lice, Ted thought absently.
As the cloth unraveled, a grotesque face emerged from the back of Quirrell's head. Its features were unnatural, ashen gray, and entirely devoid of a nose.
Ted's mind solidified one fact: Voldemort really, truly had no nose.
"Ted Epifani… your talents are wasted here," Voldemort intoned, his voice eerily calm. "Dumbledore fears gifted individuals like you, those of Muggle lineage who surpass expectations.
He watches, waiting for a reason to cast you aside. Stay at Hogwarts, and you will be nothing more than an outsider."
He leaned forward—or rather, Quirrell's body did. "But if you join me… I will nurture your potential. Teach you the true depths of magic. Grant you power beyond your wildest imagination. You will not be shackled by mediocrity! You will share in my glory!"
Voldemort's words slithered through the air like an enchantment, smooth, persuasive, intoxicating. Quirrell, already under his thrall, shuddered with reverence. He believed every word.
Of course, Voldemort had never promised him the same.
Quirrell was nothing more than a tool, a disposable vessel. Ted could see it in the way his hands twitched, in the way his skin had begun to pale unnaturally.
But Ted wasn't Quirrell.
His mental resistance was strong, honed through experience. This level of manipulation wouldn't shake him. If anything, it was an opportunity.
Ted tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Oh, so you're the Dark Lord? I've heard a lot about you."
Voldemort's voice rose in triumphant affirmation. "Yes! I am Lord Voldemort! The greatest dark wizard to ever live! Immortal!"
Ted frowned theatrically. "You don't look so great now, though. And Professor Quirrell doesn't seem to be benefitting much from your 'guidance.' Didn't you force him to drink unicorn blood? I hear that kind of thing comes with a nasty curse…"
His words struck their target like a hex.
Quirrell flinched violently, his breathing ragged. Ted had hit a raw nerve.
He had indeed consumed unicorn blood. He had defiled something pure, and in doing so, had doomed himself. There was no escape from the curse that now clung to his very soul.
It was over. His life was already forfeit. And for what?
Voldemort let out a slow, calculated chuckle. "Ah, Ted… you truly do not disappoint! Such keen insight. Such power! You and I are alike. Only I can show you how to master your potential… how to rise above—"
Even in his weakened state, Voldemort could sense it—Ted had something.
A presence, an ability that shaped the thoughts of those around him. He didn't understand it, but he recognized it.
Because once, long ago, he had possessed it himself.
Ted heard Voldemort's words and felt a jolt of panic. Like him? That sounded like a one-way ticket to disaster!
There was no proof, but Ted had a strong suspicion—Dumbledore had to be watching nearby.
If the old man started getting suspicious of him, that would be bad. Really bad.
"Absolute nonsense! We are nothing alike!" Ted shot back instantly, playing his hand without hesitation—four cards in rapid succession!
[Boar Cannon Charge (Green)]
[Chasing Snowball (Green)]
[Fire Dragon Fireworks (Green)]
…
First, a loud "BANG!" echoed as a burly, tusked wild boar materialized from thin air and charged straight at Quirrell, eyes gleaming with aggression.
Next, a fist-sized snowball shot out and smacked Voldemort square in his ghostly face. A familiar sensation, no doubt.
Then, from a sudden explosion of sparks, a dazzling fire dragon—six meters long and crackling with fiery embers—burst forth, roaring as it lunged toward Quirrell, its ethereal fangs bared.
Of course, none of these could actually hurt Quirrell or Voldemort. But that wasn't the point.
"Diffindo!" Quirrell snapped, and the wild boar exploded into harmless sparks, vanishing instantly.
The snowball? Barely worth an effort—Quirrell's Shield Charm deflected it without a second thought.
Voldemort: Again?! Wait… why did I think "again"?
"Finite Incantatem!"
But Quirrell miscalculated. His counter-curse failed to dismiss the Fire Dragon Fireworks. Instead, the dazzling creature swelled even larger, its glowing body expanding before swooping down on him with terrifying speed!
The massive fire dragon crashed onto Quirrell, engulfing him completely in a whirlwind of flashing sparks and crackling explosions.
"Imbecile!" Voldemort's voice seethed through the fiery display. "Finite Totalis!"
Even though he lacked a body of his own, Voldemort effortlessly cast a powerful counter-curse—one that normally required multiple skilled wizards to execute. And he didn't even need a wand.
With a flicker of dark magic, the Fire Dragon Fireworks were extinguished in an instant.
Left standing in the aftermath was Professor Quirrell, his once-pristine wizard robes now riddled with holes—looking more like a net than actual clothing. Never in his life had he looked this… exposed.
At the same time, Quirrell's body trembled violently. More than half a year of being possessed was taking its toll. Now, forced to channel Voldemort's magic while enduring advanced spellwork, his body was at its limit.
The strain of hosting Voldemort, combined with the taxing counter-curse, was nearly draining him dry.
And then… cold raindrops suddenly pattered against Quirrell's bald head, dripping down his face—onto both his and Voldemort's unnatural features.
The first three attacks had only been a distraction. The real move was Ted's final card—[Neville's Failed Scabies Potion (Green)].
"AAAHHH!" A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the chamber.
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Word count: 2331
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