"Damn it! Cough, cough! How dare you—cough…"
When the smoke cleared, Hermione saw Quirrell: his robes tattered, but only his arm badly injured.
One had to admit—this top Ravenclaw graduate did have so skill.
The instant he sensed danger, he'd turned into black mist, phasing his body to try and dodge the blast.
Unfortunately for him, Arthur's magic grenades carried arcane damage.
His dodge had been too slow.
"You! Hermione Gr—?!"
Quirrell had never imagined anyone besides Harry could have entered here.
The potion for passing through the flas had only been enough for two.
…Wait. He'd drunk half, then Harry the other half.
Tch. Does that an he and Harry indirectly kissed?
That was why he'd answered Harry's questions so readily—
he needed soone to share the joy of imminent success with, even if that soone was his soon-to-be victim.
"Quirrell, I know everything now! Dumbledore is already on his way. Surrender!" Hermione stared fearlessly into his venomous eyes.
"Hah. , surrender? If it were just , maybe I wouldn't escape today. But I've never been alone.
Great Master, your servant is weak—grant your aid!"
Quirrell ripped off his turban, fully revealing Voldemort.
"Useless worm. You can't even handle a trifle."
The cold, sinister voice ca from the back of Quirrell's head.
Hermione thought she heard… weakness in it.
"Her…mi…one Granger… And you, Harry Pott—"
Quirrell turned, showing the grotesque face on his skull.
"You're Voldemort!" Hermione gasped. She hadn't expected the true final boss to be literally stuck to the back of their professor's head.
"Yes. I am. Surprised? Few dare speak my na anymore. Join . I can give you fa, power, strength—even immortality."
"Forget it. You're too ugly. Why would I want a boss who looks like that?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose. Why would she abandon her handso cousin for this ugly freak?
Harry didn't understand Voldemort's sudden recruitnt pitch, but Hermione's blunt rejection had him snickering.
"What's so funny?! You'd better think about your own fate. Once I kill this girl, it'll be your turn."
Voldemort roared in anger.
Harry, still pinned under the fallen Mirror of Erised, could only watch helplessly as Voldemort raised Quirrell's wand.
"Diffindo!"
A slashing curse streaked toward Hermione.
She dodged, but not fast enough. The spell smashed into her, the bracelet deflecting the killing force but sending her flying back.
"Oh? A curious little alchemical trinket. But let's see how long it lasts."
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green bolt shrieked through the air like a screaming banshee.
"No!" Harry cried out in despair. His friend—gone, right before his eyes.
Then Hermione stepped out from behind a pillar, losing a "Glintstone Pebble" at Voldemort.
"Stop yelling. I'm not dead."
When she was blasted back earlier, she'd instantly realized her speed wasn't enough. She had crushed the Featherlight Bead Arthur had given her.
As Voldemort cast the Killing Curse, she slipped aside, hidden in its flash.
Did he really think Avada Kedavra vaporizes the whole body?
Voldemort dodged her spell easily. His experience in combat was vast.
"Unseen magic, and silent casting too? Remarkable. You truly have talent."
He had no idea this was just Arthur's leftover handiwork.
Most sorceries in the Lands Between required no incantations; their rune circuits were stable on their own.
"Still unwilling to serve ?"
"Never!"
Negotiation failed, they clashed again.
Hermione's Featherlight Bead made her swift, letting her evade most curses. Those she couldn't, her bracelet's shield repelled.
Voldemort, battle-hardened, easily countered her limited arsenal. Arthur had only taught her a handful of basic glintstone spells.
Not from stinginess—just that her level could only handle those.
The duel dragged on. Neither could overpower the other.
Voldemort grew annoyed. Quick, weak spells couldn't pierce her defenses.
Strong curses required casting ti, which gave her room to dodge.
He tried to wear down her mana reserves—
but every ti she looked spent, she'd pull out another potion and gulp it down, fully refreshed.
As ti passed, the tide turned. He, a half-ford remnant soul, was the one weakening.
"Enough! I've no more patience for this!"
Voldemort retreated to the Mirror of Erised, seizing Harry by the throat.
"Little witch, you have a choice—drop your wand and submit, or I kill him now."
He lifted Harry off the ground, strangling him.
But in doing so, he dood himself.
The protective magic Lily had left in Harry still lingered.
And the earlier blast had cut Harry's skin—blood was on his hands.
Struggling to breathe, Harry instinctively grabbed Quirrell's wrist.
His blood touched Voldemort's host—
and invisible flas seared him.
"AAHH! What is this magic?!"
Hermione seized the chance. She flicked her wand, summoning a "Glintstone Phalanx."
The spectral sword lanced straight through Quirrell's back, into his heart—
so close it nearly skewered Harry as well.
Their screams mingled.
Harry and Hermione watched Quirrell's body crack like scorched stone, then crumble into dust.
Only his robes remained, perfectly intact.
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