But he looked very strange now, as if he had aged dozens of years in an instant, his face was extremely pale and full of wrinkles.

Moreover, Quirrell seemed to be seriously injured. There was a strong smell of blood all over his body, and he grimaced in pain every time he took a step.

After Quirrell entered the room, the magical flame that had been extinguished rose again.

He staggered to the table where the potion was placed, picked up the parchment and read it carefully.

“… Death does not hide among giants and dwarfs.

The second from the left and the second from the right may look different, but they taste the same.”

A smile slowly appeared on Quirrell's face.

Snape, this idiot, actually thought that he couldn't reason logically... Ridiculous, he was an excellent student who graduated from Ravenclaw with eight "O" grades.

Compared to finding keys, playing chess, and fighting trolls, this is what he is best at.

Quirrell produced a feather, dipped it in a bloody spot on his body, and began to calculate.

"I know!" Quirrell shouted excitedly soon, "It is this smallest bottle that allows me to pass through the black flames and get the Philosopher's Stone."

He picked up the inconspicuous little bottle without hesitation, tilted his head back and took a sip.

"vomit……"

Quirrell had originally thought that nothing would happen, which was more difficult to accept than facing dozens of biting cabbages.

But now he found out that he was wrong.

As soon as his lips touched the potion, a disgusting taste instantly rushed into his mouth, and it felt as if three hundred trolls were dancing in his mouth.

The compost in the greenhouse tastes sweeter than this.

The mental torture made Quirrell's face even uglier. He only took a sip and threw the potion back on the table.

"Damn you Snape!"

Quirrell covered his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other, and staggered through the black flames.

"Just wait... Wait until I get the Philosopher's Stone and resurrect the Dark Lord. Both Sprout and Snape must die!"

Quirrell growled in his mind and entered the last room.

But he was horrified to find that there was already someone inside...not Snape, nor Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter!"

Quirrell gasped in amazement.

"It's me, Professor."

The "Harry" in the room turned around and said in a slightly panicked tone: "I was just worried about whether I would meet the professor here, and then you came..."

"Wait. Professor Quirrell, how did you get so badly injured? Don't worry, I'll take you to the school hospital right away."

As he said this, he walked towards Quirrell.

"Stand there!" Quirrell took out his wand and shouted, "Now, give me the Philosopher's Stone!"

Quirrell felt his mind was in a mess, very messy.

He had anticipated countless situations before... such as how to fight if he met Snape, or how to beg for mercy if he met Dumbledore.

But Quirrell never expected that Harry Potter would come here before him, and judging from his appearance, he seemed to have been waiting here for a long time.

How on earth did the Boy-Who-Lived get through those biting brussels sprouts! "The Philosopher's Stone? What nonsense are you talking about!"

"Harry" asked in confusion: "Isn't the final reward here this mirror? Professor, you must come and see it. This mirror is really amazing. I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore and becoming the Minister of Magic.

I guess it can predict the future!"

He wanted to go over and take a look, but he had taken less than five steps when he heard a shrill voice.

"He's lying... He's lying..."

"Potter, don't move!" Quirrell immediately raised his wand and shouted, "My patience is limited. Give me the Philosopher's Stone quickly!"

The shrill voice spoke again.

"Idiot, haven't you realized by now? He is not Harry Potter!"

"Not Harry Potter?" Quirrell looked at the other person carefully again.

The messy hair, the scar on the forehead, and the round-frame glasses... this is definitely Potter.

"Let me talk to him... face to face..."

"Master, you have just wasted a lot of energy biting the cabbage, and now you need to rest!"

"Thanks to your help... I still have some strength..."

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"It's my pleasure, Master!"

Quirrell bent down, raised his hands to untie the scarf that was wrapped around his head, then slowly turned around, revealing the hideous and terrifying face on the back of his head.

The face was as white as chalk, with glowing red eyes and two long, thin nostrils below, making it look like a snake.

"You don't seem surprised at all..." he whispered.

"Quirrell can't come alone to steal the Philosopher's Stone. He doesn't have the guts to do it."

Harry said calmly: "It's just that I didn't expect you to appear in this way...Mr. Voldemort."

"You know I..." Voldemort seemed a little surprised.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"By the way, how did you find out that I'm not Harry Potter? I think my costume is pretty accurate."

"Clothes..." Voldemort said in a hoarse voice: "Harry Potter will not wear a Slytherin badge!"

"What a shame... But there's nothing I can do about it. I will never wear that stupid lion emblem."

Kyle took off his glasses and threw them aside. After the glasses bounced a few times on the ground, they turned back into a Bibi Every Flavour Bean.

Dean Sassia gave him a lot of potions, including a large bottle of Polyjuice Potion.

And getting Harry's hair was not difficult, or rather, very simple. If Kyle wanted to, he could trick Harry into revealing nothing.

It's just not necessary.

"Who are you..." Voldemort said with interest: "Malfoy... Nott... or Selwyn..."

"Don't guess, Mr. Voldemort." Kyle spread his hands and said, "Since I used the Polyjuice Potion, I definitely don't want others to know who I am."

"He is brave and cunning... and he is also very clear-headed. It seems that Slytherin has produced another outstanding little wizard."

Voldemort became more interested. He looked at Kyle and said in a very bewitching voice, "You are much stronger than that loser Quirrell... Come and follow me, help me get the Philosopher's Stone... I will grant you unimaginable power and wealth!"

"Master..." Quirrell felt a little wronged, and trembled as he stammered, "I am your most loyal servant."

He was clearly the first one to come here, whether it was in the forest of Albania or in those dangerous checkpoints just now...

He was the one who had been helping the Dark Lord, not the man in front of him whose name he didn't even know.

…

(End of this chapter)