Chương 108: The Invisibility Cloak
Quirrell silenced the music box and exited the room, his mind swirling with thoughts.
Suddenly, a series of footsteps echoed in the corridor, though Quirrell found himself alone.
"It's Harry! Harry Potter!" Quirrell realized, deducing that the cloaked figure must be the elusive Gryffindor student.
Aware of Harry's recent night travels, Quirrell had heard whispers of his exploits, including Filch's threats of punishment if caught.
"Let's see what he's up to!" Quirrell resolved, propelled by a sudden impulse to investigate.
"Harry's courage has grown since last time," Quirrell marveled as he discreetly trailed behind.
In contrast to Harry's loud footsteps, Quirrell moved stealthily, avoiding detection even from the slumbering portraits.
They arrived at an abandoned classroom on the library floor's corner.
"What's Harry doing here?" Quirrell wondered, slipping inside to find a dusty room filled with dilapidated furniture. At its center stood a magnificent, oversized mirror.
"The Mirror of Erised!" Quirrell gasped, recognizing the legendary artifact from his studies.
"But who placed it here?" Quirrell mused, recalling the note in the music box urging someone to look into the mirror.
"It must be Dumbledore," Quirrell concluded, surmising that the mirror concealed the Philosopher's Stone and was enchanted by Dumbledore.
"But why hide it here?" Quirrell puzzled over Dumbledore's motive, while Harry, having shed his cloak, sat before the mirror with rapt attention.
"What does he see?" Quirrell wondered, his curiosity piqued.
Quirrell couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity as he observed Harry in front of the Mirror of Erised. The mirror reflected the deepest desires of one's heart, and seeing Harry's intense fixation, Quirrell pondered what the young wizard yearned for so ardently.
Prophecy struck Quirrell like a thunderbolt, illuminating his mind with a sudden clarity that cut through the haze of confusion like a knife. The purpose behind the cryptic traps guarding the Philosopher's Stone became clear in an instant.
Harry Potter, the chosen one destined to confront Voldemort, emerged as the linchpin of the prophecy. Yet, in the present moment, Harry lacked the maturity and experience required for such a monumental task. Dumbledore, it seemed, viewed this as an opportunity to nurture Harry's growth.
It all clicked into place.
The seemingly whimsical and easily surmountable obstacles were not mere happenstance. Dumbledore's intention was for someone to breach the defenses and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone—a realization that reshaped Quirrell's perception of the situation entirely. His previous belief that Dumbledore toyed with him and Voldemort now seemed sorely mistaken.
Dumbledore was masterfully orchestrating Harry's development.
A surge of anger surged within Quirrell, resentment bubbling up at the realization of being naught but a pawn in Harry's journey. The revelation raised unsettling questions about Dumbledore's knowledge of his true identity. Had Dumbledore knowingly kept him close to aid in Harry's training?
Contemplating his next move, Quirrell entertained the idea of fleeing. Yet, the presence of Voldemort within him rendered escape a futile endeavor. The thought of evading Voldemort's relentless pursuit held little appeal.
An icy resolve gleamed in Quirrell's eyes as he toyed with the notion of eliminating Harry in this moment of solitude. If Dumbledore sought to manipulate him to further Harry's growth, why not disrupt that plan by removing Harry from the equation?
Doubts gnawed at Quirrell. Did Dumbledore foresee this? Could he truly bring himself to harm Harry, especially when Voldemort himself had failed to end the Boy Who Lived?
"The Boy Who Lived..." Quirrell mulled over the weighty title, torn between his wrath and the intricate web of complexities surrounding the situation.
Frustrated in his quest for the elusive Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell shifted his focus toward a more tangible prize – Harry's invisibility cloak.
"The invisibility potion's effects are temporary, and I only have one bottle. Taking the cloak will prove more useful in the long run," Quirrell calculated.
Silently, he approached Harry, who remained captivated by the Mirror of Erised. With a disdainful sneer, Quirrell reached out, deftly snatching the cloak, and slipped away unnoticed.
Half an hour later, Harry, feeling a sudden chill, decided it was time to depart.
"Mom and Dad, I'll see you again tomorrow," Harry murmured, reaching for his cloak, only to discover its absence.
"Where's my cloak?" Harry muttered, scanning the surroundings. It had vanished without a trace.
"Perhaps Peeves' mischievous handiwork?" Harry wondered, though an unsettling sense of unease lingered.
Without the cloak, Harry felt exposed. It had been his shield against Filch's watchful gaze, and now, without it, vulnerability set in.
"Can't risk getting caught by Filch," Harry thought, shivering in the cold of the abandoned classroom, in stark contrast to the warmth of Gryffindor common room.
Resigned to his predicament, Harry gathered some discarded papers, spread them on the floor, and curled up, attempting to find solace amidst the swirl of anxiety, confusion, and anger. Sleep eluded him in the face of the unexpected loss.
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