𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 | 𝓔𝓵𝓲𝔃𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

015~𝓥𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓽

The twins gingerly pushed the door open and descended the staircase. In the middle of their descent, a sharp twinge shot through Harry's temple, causing him to flinch. Elizabeth observed her brother's expression with a sympathetic gaze, sending him a reassuring look.

Suddenly, the sight of Professor Quirrell standing before the enigmatic Mirror of Erised seized their attention. Elizabeth, her voice tinged with bewilderment, blurted out, "You? No, i-it can't be. Snape, h-he was the one-"

Quirrell interjected, his words slithering through his stammer, "Yes, he does seem the type, doesn't he? Next to him, who would suspect p-p-p-poor, st-stuttering Professor Quirrell?"

Harry, his voice trembling, stuttered, "But-but on that day, during the Quidditch match, Snape tried to kill me." Elizabeth's eyes widened, perplexed by this revelation. Someone had tried to murder her brother? Apparently both of them had their secrets.

Quirrell's lips curled into a malevolent smile as he offered Harry a chilling response, "No, dear boy. I tried to kill you! And trust me, if Snape's cloak hadn't caught fire and broken my eye contact, I would have succeeded. Even with Snape muttering his little countercurse." The girl was now determined, that man shall die and he shall suffer. He tried to kill her brother after all.

Her attention was captured again, as Quirrel continued, his voice carrying a sinister edge, "I knew you two were a danger to me right from the off. Especially after Halloween."

Elizabeth's voice erupted in a blend of rage and anguish, "Then you deliberately released the troll!" The man replied with a perverse satisfaction, "Very good, Potter, yes. Snape, unfortunately, wasn't fooled. While everyone else was running about the dungeon, he went to the third floor to head me off. He, of course, never trusted me again. He rarely left me alone. But he doesn't understand. I'm never alone. Never." With desperate haste, he rushed towards the mystical mirror, positioning himself before its enigmatic surface.

"Now, what does this mirror do? I see what I desire. I see myself holding the Stone. But how do I get it?" he mused aloud.

In that moment, an inhuman shrill voice commanded, its origins shrouded in mystery, "Use the boy." The twins exchanged wary glances, their senses prickling as they sought out the source of the enigmatic voice. Elizabeth, ready to shield her brother at any cost, steeled herself for the forthcoming unknown.

Quirrell spun around, his attention fixated on Harry, and commanded, "Come here, Potter! Now!"

Harry glanced at his sister, a silent exchange passing between their eyes filled with fear and determination. In her gaze, he found a promise that she would defend him, no matter the toll exacted. Gathering his courage, he approached the mirror, their destinies hanging in the balance. And in that moment, he felt the weight of something concealed within his pocket. Elizabeth knew instantaneously-it was the Stone.

However, Quirrell, oblivious to this revelation, impatiently urged, "What do you see?" Harry, his voice wavering, stammered, "I- I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. I won the House Cup." Suddenly, the mysterious voice interjected, piercingly proclaiming, "He lies!"

Enraged, Quirrell bellowed, "Tell the truth, what do you see?" "Let me speak to him," the mysterious voice demanded. "Master, you're not strong enough," the man replied, his voice tinged with trepidation. The voice retorted, brimming with resolute assertion, "I have streng enough for this."

As Quirrell hastily unwrapped his turban, his back turned to the mirror, the final vestiges of the fabric clung to his skull. Finally, the turban was cast aside, revealing a ghastly white countenance that sent shivers down their spines.

It was Voldemort. With a slight swivel, he confronted their gaze, unsettling and malevolent.

"Harry and Elizabeth Potter, we meet again," Voldemort's voice sounded through the hall.

Elizabeth declared, her voice dripping with steely resolve and sarcasm as she positioned herself protectively in front of her brother, "Voldemort. What a pleasure."

"Look at what you've reduced me to, Elizabeth Potter!" Voldemort's voice crackled with venom. "See what I must do to survive? Live off another. A mere parasite. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but it cannot give me a body of my own. But there is something that can. Something that, conveniently enough, lies in your pocket, Harry Potter. "Harry's eyes widened as he realized Voldemort sought the Philosopher's Stone. Without a word, he spun around, grabbed his sister's hand, and they both bolted up the stairs.

"Stop them!" Voldemort bellowed. With a snap of Quirrell's fingers, flames erupted to block every exit, ensnaring the twins. Voldemort's voice dripped with triumph. "Don't be foolish. Why suffer a horrific death when you can join me and live?"

Elizabeth met Voldemort's gaze, her voice unwavering. "Never." His laughter was like ice. "Bravery...your parents had that quality as well. Tell me, wouldn't you like to be reunited with your mother and father? Together, we can make that happen."

Elizabeth's eyes welled up with tears; she yearned for her parents' return. Harry, too, seemed tempted by the offer. Voldemort pressed his advantage. "I ask only for a small token in exchange." Harry hesitated, the Stone clutched in his hand. "That's it, Harry," Voldemort urged. "There's no good and evil. Power is the only truth, and those who shrink from it are its victims. Together, we three can achieve greatness. Give me the Stone!"

The girl's hand swiftly moved to her neck, grabbing her mother's necklace. She had received it for Christmas and she wore it all the time ever since. As she felt the cool crimson gemstone on her skin, she knew her mother would want her to be brave, to be strong and to defeat that son of a bitch, not listen to him. Elizabeth's scream shattered the moment.

"Liar!" With a flick of her wrist, she rent a gap through the encircling flames. "Run, Harry, run!" Harry's eyes locked onto hers, horrified and concerned, but she mouthed a single word, "RUN!" He dove through the opening, the Stone still clutched in his hand, and sprinted away. Voldemort's fury was a palpable thing.

"Kill her!" he roared. Quirrell lunged, fingers closing around Elizabeth's throat. Her vision began to blur as her airway constricted. Summoning her last reserves, she laid a hand on Quirrell's arm. He shrieked as his flesh began to char and flake away.

"What magic is this?" Voldemort's voice, muffled yet commanding, issued from the back of Quirrell's head. "Fool, forget the girl and get the Stone!" Quirrell stumbled towards Elizabeth, his arm a smoldering ruin. She grasped his face, and he howled as his skin blistered beneath her touch. Voldemort, too, winced at the sound.

Elizabeth's eyes burned with a deadly vow.

"You tried to kill my brother. Son of a bitch." Quirrell recoiled, his features a mass of burns. He disintegrated as he moved, his form collapsing into a pile of ash and tattered robes.

The girl swayed, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her strength spent. Suddenly, a plume of ash coalesced into Voldemort's visage. His spectral mouth yawned wide in a scream. Elizabeth's eyes went wide with horror before her vision darkened and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious, amidst the burning ruins.