The silence in the corridor was eerie, broken only by the distant echoes of shifting stones and the soft hiss of torches flickering on the damp walls.
Elias Blackthorn stood still, cloaked in shadows. His eyes were sharp, trained on the thick stone archway ahead—the entrance to the final chamber that protected the Philosopher's Stone.
He had followed the trail just a few moments after the trio had entered. Enough time for them to be well into the enchantments, but not so late as to miss what was important. As expected, the defenses had already been bypassed: the massive Devil's Snare was shriveled, the keys were scattered and the door already unlocked, and the chessboard stood motionless—its pieces frozen in unnatural stillness.
"They played their part," Elias murmured under his breath, stepping over a fallen knight.
He didn't rush. He moved with silent precision, his senses focused and heightened. When he reached the potion room—the one with the logic puzzle—he noticed that the flames blocking the path forward had vanished, the bottles tipped or emptied.
He was just in time.
At the threshold of the final doorway, Elias paused.
Up ahead, just beyond the shimmering veil of enchantment, Harry Potter's silhouette appeared—hesitating only for a moment before stepping into the final chamber.
But Elias wasn't the only observer.
Just off to the side, hidden beneath a flowing black cloak, another figure lurked—eyes narrowed and wand ready.
Professor Snape.
Of course.
Elias watched as the Potions Master's form melted further into the darkness, following Harry with silent footsteps like a shadow gliding over water.
The corner of Elias's mouth twitched. So, Dumbledore had given Snape the final task—to keep an eye on Quirrell. And yet, Snape seemed equally interested in watching the boy.
Smart move, Headmaster. But too late.
Elias leaned back against the stone, arms folded, concealed by both enchantments and shadows. He wasn't here to intervene. Not yet. Everything was unfolding exactly as he planned.
The chamber was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the enchanted flames flickering along the walls. At the center stood the Mirror of Erised, its ornate frame gleaming ominously. Harry Potter stood before it, his reflection staring back with wide, green eyes. He had expected to confront Professor Snape, but instead, it was Professor Quirrell who faced him, his usual stammer conspicuously absent.
"Surprised, Potter?" Quirrell's voice was cold, devoid of its usual nervousness. "I suppose you were expecting someone else."
Harry's mind raced. He had been so certain that Snape was behind everything—the troll on Halloween, the cursed broom during the Quidditch match. But now, standing before Quirrell, doubt began to creep in.
"But... Snape," Harry began, his voice trailing off.
Quirrell let out a mirthless chuckle. "Severus? Always the hero, isn't he? Meddling where he shouldn't. But no matter. The Stone, Potter. I need you to retrieve it for me.
Harry's gaze shifted to the Mirror. He knew the legend: the Mirror of Erised showed one's deepest desires. But how could it help Quirrell obtain the Philosopher's Stone
"Look into the Mirror," Quirrell commanded, his patience thinning.
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped closer and peered into the glass. His reflection stared back, but then, something changed. He saw himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out a blood-red stone—the Philosopher's Stone. And as he watched, he felt a sudden weight in his real pocket. His fingers closed around a small, hard object.
"Well?" Quirrell's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "What do you see?"
Harry hesitated. He couldn't reveal the truth. "I... I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor.
Quirrell's expression darkened. "Liar," he hissed. "Tell me the truth!"
Before Harry could react, Quirrell raised his wand. "Enough of this. If you won't help me willingly, I'll have to force you."
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the shadows. "Expelliarmus!"
A jet of red light shot across the room, knocking Quirrell's wand from his hand. Both Harry and Quirrell turned to see Professor Snape stepping into the chamber, his black eyes blazing with fury.
"Severus," Quirrell sneered, retrieving his wand with a flick of his wrist. "Always interfering."
Snape's voice was icy. "I won't let you harm the boy, Quirrell."
From his concealed vantage point, Elias Blackthorn observed the unfolding scene. He had followed the trio through the obstacles, ensuring they had enough time to navigate the challenges. Now, he watched as Snape and Quirrell faced off, wands drawn.
As the duel commenced, Elias seized his opportunity. With practiced stealth, he approached the Mirror of Erised. Using a subtle transfiguration spell, he swapped the real Philosopher's Stone in Harry's pocket with a convincing replica. The genuine Stone now rested safely within his robes.
However, as Elias began to retreat, he felt a chilling sensation wash over him. From the back of Quirrell's head, a sinister voice rasped, "I see you, interloper. Voldemort had noticed him.
Elias's heart pounded, but he maintained his composure. He couldn't afford to be exposed. Fortunately, Snape's relentless attacks kept Quirrell—and by extension, Voldemort—occupied.
In the chaos, Quirrell stumbled backward, tripping over Harry's unconscious form. As Quirrell's hand brushed against Harry's skin, he let out an agonized scream. His flesh blistered and burned upon contact.
"Severus, you traitor!" Voldemort's voice echoed through the chamber. "You will pay for this betrayal. I will return, and when I do, none of you will be safe."
With that, a dark, wraith-like form emerged from Quirrell's collapsing body, sweeping through the chamber before disappearing into the ether.