Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The fear of the Dark Lord's return still echoed in Harry's mind as he paced restlessly across the Gryffindor common room, his hand pressed tightly to his forehead. His scar throbbed beneath his skin, burning with sharp, stabbing pulses that blurred the edges of his vision.

Hermione noticed first. "Harry… your scar—"

"It's worse," Harry muttered through gritted teeth, fingers trembling. "It's worse than it's ever been."

Ron frowned, shifting uneasily. "Could it be—?"

Harry nodded, the pain intensifying with every heartbeat. "It's him. He's close. I… I can feel it."

Hermione's expression darkened. "The Stone…"

Without another word, the three exchanged grim glances, their unspoken agreement hanging thick in the air.

"We have to go," Harry said firmly, pushing himself to his feet. "If Dumbledore's not here… they'll go for the Stone tonight."

Ron hesitated, casting a glance toward the common room door. "We can't just—"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, voice low but fierce. "If we don't stop them, no one will. And if he returns all of our lives will be lost as there won't be a single Muggle student in Hogwarts "

Moments later, they slipped through the portrait hole, hearts pounding, the castle eerily silent around them. The torches along the walls flickered weakly, their light casting long, ominous shadows.

The closer they drew to the fourth floor, the sharper Harry's scar seared across his forehead. His breathing grew ragged; each step sent another spike of pain radiating through his skull.

"Harry—are you alright?" Hermione whispered urgently.

He waved her off, jaw clenched. "It's him. I know it is , the only time I felt like this was when I was in front that creature at the Forbidden forest ."

They reached the forbidden corridor, the towering door to Fluffy's chamber looming at the end like a monument to danger. The faint sound of music drifted through the cracks — a haunting, eerie melody.

They crept forward, slipping inside. Fluffy's three massive heads lay slumped on the ground, snoring loudly, the enchanted harp beside them still playing its tune.

"We're too late here is already here ," Hermione whispered.

Without hesitation, they descended through the trapdoor, one after another plunging into the darkness below. The sequence unfolded just as Harry had feared — the Devil's Snare tightening around them, the room of flying keys, the life-sized chess match. Trial after trial, they pressed on, determined.

The logic puzzle with the potions came last — Hermione solved it with quick precision, her mind cutting through the riddle as if she'd prepared for this her whole life.

"Ron, stay with Hermione," Harry instructed, gripping the small bottle. "As I'm the only one allowed to go ahead."

"Be careful, mate and if something you couldn't handle then run back to us," Ron warned, eyes filled with worry.

Harry nodded, swallowing the fiery liquid. The flame barrier parted, and he stepped through.

The final chamber stretched out before him, dim and oppressive, lit only by faint candlelight. At its center stood Professor Quirrell — pale, twitching, his trembling hands reaching toward the Mirror of Erised.

Harry's stomach turned cold.

So it really wasn't Snape… it's Quirrell…

As Harry approached, Quirrell's head jerked around, his eyes wide with surprise — then amusement.

"So… the famous Harry Potter finally arrives,I have been waiting for you HARRY POTTER " Quirrell sneered, his usual stutter absent, replaced by unnerving confidence.

"Hermione kept saying it was you, but I never believed her… I thought you were one of the good ones," Harry said, his fists clenched at his sides. "All year, I thought it was Snape trying to steal the Stone…

Quirrell let out a low, cruel chuckle, his voice dripping with malice. "And yet… here I stand. Who would ever suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?" He sneered. "No one — except that insufferable Granger. She always had that suspicious look in her eyes during lessons… but it doesn't matter now. Once my master rises… she'll be the first to die."

A low, chilling voice rasped from beneath Quirrell's turban, sending ice down Harry's spine. "Let me speak to him."

Quirrell's hands trembled as he reached for the knot of fabric. With shaking fingers, he unwound the turban, revealing the hideous, disfigured face of Voldemort, twisted grotesquely into the back of his skull.

The face sneered, its red eyes burning into Harry's.

"Harry Potter…" Voldemort hissed, voice echoing in the chamber like smoke. "You look so much like your father… but your mother…" His lips curled into a cruel smile. "Ah, your mother…"

Harry's breath caught in his throat, hatred boiling in his chest.

"Did you know… she begged me to spare her?" Voldemort continued, voice dripping with mockery. "She clung to my robes like a sniveling coward… offered me her child… pleaded for her miserable life."

"You're lying," Harry spat, fists trembling.

"Oh, she tried to run," Voldemort sneered, eyes gleaming. "She wept, Harry. She groveled. Kissed the floor, kissed my boots. Begged for mercy. But I ended her, like the weak, pathetic creature she was."

A searing wave of fury ignited within Harry's chest. His scar throbbed with unbearable heat, but the rage burned hotter.

"You're lying!" Harry roared, every word laced with raw hatred.

Voldemort's grin widened, relishing the torment. "And now… you'll follow her."

Quirrell lunged, the Stone shimmering within the Mirror's depths — but Harry's fury surged, his body reacting instinctively. His hands met Quirrell's, and a brilliant, searing light exploded outward.

Quirrell screamed, his skin blistering, burning under Harry's touch. Voldemort's face contorted with fury as Quirrell staggered back, writhing in agony.

The chamber filled with screams and the crackling hiss of dark magic unraveling — but Harry stood his ground, his mother's real sacrifice blazing in his memory.

"You'll never win," Harry shouted, his voice steady despite the pain. "Not while I'm here."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as the truth settled over him — he couldn't get the Stone. Worse, Dumbledore was likely already on his way. Without the body he had possessed, he was weak… vulnerable. Perhaps this had all been a trap — maybe Dumbledore had been waiting, hoping to catch him exposed. But the old fool had no idea what parting gift I've left behind, Voldemort thought darkly. When he returns, he'll see what his precious students have done to each other.

With that, Voldemort's form unraveled into black mist, hissing across the chamber. He surged toward Harry, striking him with a wave of cold, and the boy collapsed, unconscious, where he stood.

Voldemort's shadowy form slipped through the stone walls, vanishing into the night — toward the Forbidden Forest. Behind him, only Quirrell's crumbled ashes and Harry's still body remained.