"Why? Hermione, it should be you and Harry going. You're so much more useful than I am," Neville cried out after hearing Hermione's plan. "There's almost nothing you don't know."
Hermione didn't earn the nickname "The Walking Encyclopaedia" for nothing. Her knowledge of magical lore was richer than any of theirs, even those who grew up in the wizarding world. She could almost always find a suitable spell for any situation.
"Listen to me, Neville," Hermione said calmly. "Your and Harry's duelling skills are the best out of all of us."
While Hermione was the walking brain, Harry and Neville were the most skilled in practical combat.
Yes, practical combat.
After receiving intensive tutoring from the professors, Harry had shown his astonishing talent. His learning wasn't particularly fast, but his magical growth was incredibly rapid. As for Neville, he had a knack for battle intuition, often imitating Dudley's fighting style, though not quite as powerfully.
Draco Malfoy was a different story—he was already unconscious.
---
Ron, on the other hand, was better suited for other things. Dueling wasn't really his forté. He had other skills that would be more useful.
"As for knowledge, you're not far behind me at all. Especially you, Harry. You've been secretly studying, haven't you?"
Called out, Harry sheepishly scratched his head. He had indeed been secretly hitting the books. More and more people were calling Dudley 'D-Man', and it made him feel a bit of a rivalry.
I was the one who came first, I'm the real younger brother, he thought to himself. It wasn't that he didn't want Dudley to be popular, it was just a strange feeling deep inside.
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Harry. We eat together, sleep together, train together, and hang out together. How did you manage to study in secret without me knowing?
Hermione reiterated her instructions. "Harry, Neville, it's up to you now! But don't push yourselves. I think Dudley will be here soon."
Harry asked, "But what about D-Man, since we've already had the potion?"
"Dudley will find a way. Because he's Dudley!" Hermione said with unshakable confidence.
Right, it's Dudley. He'll definitely find a way.
"Got it!" Harry and Neville exchanged a look and nodded firmly.
And so, Neville and Harry each took a sip of the potion and stepped into the wall of fire. Almost at the same time, an unseen shadow slipped in right behind them.
They found themselves in an empty room with a single object in the centre: a mirror. There was no door on the other side, which meant this was the final chamber.
Maybe we can finish this test before D-Man even gets here, a thought crossed Harry's mind.
"Harry... this mirror? You have to come see this!" a sharp cry interrupted his thoughts. Neville was standing in front of the mirror, staring wide-eyed at his reflection.
Harry walked over and recognised the mirror from the Christmas holidays. It was the Mirror of Erised.
"I see my parents! They're... they're well again!" Neville's expression was full of raw emotion, and he looked like he was about to cry.
"Listen to me, Neville... that's not real!" Harry, having learned about the Mirror's magic from Dudley, rushed to comfort the distraught Neville. "Calm down."
"I saw my parents in there too, but it's not real. It's just an illusion."
"Potter is correct."
A new, unfamiliar voice spoke. Harry spun around and saw a person standing in the corner of the room, someone both familiar and strange at the same time: Professor Quirrell, the only professor who hadn't tutored them. The same professor who fainted from fright at the Halloween feast.
Now, he stood there with a completely different demeanour, a totally new look about him.
"I didn't expect to run into you here, Potter," Quirrell said. His voice was steady, and his trademark stammer was completely gone. Quirrell's face was grim as he stared at Harry, though he seemed to be hiding something behind him. His expression was unnatural.
Is Professor Quirrell the final test?
No, something felt wrong.
Suddenly, the scar on Harry's forehead began to ache violently, accompanied by a fierce burning sensation. The pain made him feel like his head was going to split open.
"Harry Potter!"
In a daze, Harry heard another voice, one that definitely didn't belong to Quirrell.
"Let me see him! Face to face!"
Quirrell's expression was profoundly uncomfortable. He looked like he wanted to protest, but the voice's owner was impossible to defy. Quirrell slowly unwrapped the thick turban from his head and turned, revealing a second, twisted face on the back of his head. It was no human face.
"Look at what I've become!" the twisted face began to speak, not with vocal cords (it had none), but with a horrifying, opening and closing mouth. "Just a shadow and a wisp of smoke... All because of you, Potter!"
It was Voldemort, or what was left of his soul.
"Because of you! I'm now forced to share a body with someone else."
"But I never dreamed you'd show up right in front of me."
Saying this, Voldemort took control of Quirrell's body, raising his wand. With a slight flick of his hand, countless ropes appeared out of thin air, binding Harry from head to toe.
Against such overwhelming power, Harry was completely helpless. He was no match in experience, magical ability, or knowledge, even against a mere remnant of a soul.
Voldemort studied Harry intently, seeing nothing special about him. "Look, no matter how I look at you, you're just an ordinary, unremarkable little wizard. Why... why was it that you were able to kill the perfect me, the powerful me, eleven years ago?"
His voice was filled with a deep confusion and question, while his eyes were filled with pure, murderous intent. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kill Harry Potter.
Meanwhile, Neville took advantage of the distraction, discreetly pulling a few seeds from his pocket. But a spell struck his wrist, and the seeds scattered across the floor.
"Don't try anything clever in front of me, little one," Voldemort said, finally noticing Neville. His blood-red eyes narrowed when he recognised him.
"Neville... Neville Longbottom!"
He knew who Neville was, and it brought back some rather unpleasant memories.
As everyone knows, wizards don't believe in science, they believe in prophecies. And in the prophecy about the one who would vanquish the Dark Lord, there was actually another person who fit the description. This meant there were supposed to be two Chosen Ones who could kill the Dark Lord.
One was the famous Harry Potter, and the other was Neville Longbottom, standing right in front of him.
Theoretically, the Chosen One was among them, but Voldemort had happened to pick Harry.
Voldemort's expression was complex as he looked at both of them. Even as the Dark Lord, a hint of uncertainty, a tremor of panic, began to stir in his soul.
Is the prophecy going to come true again?!
Was he going to have to choose again? And die again?
No! Absolutely not!