Ch151- Hubris

Ch151- Hubris

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Back at Hogwarts, Harry, now standing defiantly at the edge of the chessboard, bypassed the life-sized chess pieces that awaited a player's command. "Stop me if you can," Harry said, as he walked forward. The pieces, giant and intimidating, brandished their weapons, but Harry raised his wand and cast, "Depulso." At the point he aimed, which was the center of the white pieces, a big black ball appeared, then exploded outward, sending giant pieces all around. Walking unperturbed, Harry arrived at a door. Opening it, he saw a dozing-off Troll on the ground, and the smell made him nauseous. Frowning, Harry walked, "Quirrell's test, but beaten by him. Ironic." He then moved again.Fiind updated novels at novelhall.com

As he saw a table with seven vials containing different liquids inside, Harry chuckled, "Snape's test. How quaint." Fires started to blaze behind and in front of him—purple behind, black fire ahead. Reading the riddle on the paper next to the vials, Harry snickered, "Why do I feel like Snape took ideas for the riddle from my Easter Hunt?" Nigel laughed in his mind, "Seems like he did." The smallest vial was the potion to go forward, and drinking it, Harry felt he could walk through the black fire. So, donning his cloak, he walked in.

Within, he saw Professor Quirrel pacing in front of a mirror. "Finally caught up to the real test," Harry muttered, pulling the cloak tighter around him. Quirrel seemed oblivious to Harry's presence, engrossed in his dialogue with the mirror. "Curious, he doesn't seem to have found what he's looking for," Harry observed.

Harry studied the mirror closely, allowing his Observe skill to take over. The System message appeared promptly in his vision:

[System Message: Mirror of Erised - An ancient magical artifact that shows the deepest, most desperate desire of one's heart. Caution: Prolonged exposure may lead to obsession. Not to be used as a guide for decision making.]

This was Harry's first encounter with such a powerful artifact, but upon reading the description, he couldn't help but frown. "That's one way to get lost in your dreams," he thought, intrigued yet wary of the mirror's capabilities.

Quirrell, still unaware of Harry's presence, continued his frantic mutterings, seemingly trying to coax the mirror into revealing its secrets. Harry watched silently, a plan formulating in his mind.

Nigel chimed in, "I'd wager you're seeing something quite fascinating in that mirror, Quirrell. A new turban, perhaps?"

"Oops, did I do that?" Harry quipped, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. Nigel's laughter echoed in his mind, "Marvelous! Though, I'm sure he's not appreciating the humor right now."

The cold voice rebuked, "Useless! I will control your body." As Voldemort took over Quirrell's body, the wand zipped back to his hand with an unseen force. Harry's face hardened in response; he was now confronting Voldemort himself, a dark lord rumored to be Dumbledore's equal. With his wand at the ready and his other hand poised behind his back to summon the Dagger of Serpent's Fang at a moment's notice, Harry prepared for what he knew would be a formidable duel.

However, before he could act, his wand was inexplicably pulled from his grasp, leaving him stunned. "You are still wet behind the ears," Voldemort hissed contemptuously. "Get him."

As the wand slipped from Harry's grasp, stolen by an unseen force wielded by Voldemort, a chilling sense of vulnerability washed over him. Cold sweat traced the outline of his spine, marking the sudden, stark realization of his precarious situation. His prior confidence, bolstered by his quick disarm of Quirrell, crumbled under the weight of his current helplessness. Anger and frustration seethed within him, not just at Voldemort's intervention but at himself for being caught off guard so easily. "Careless," he chastised himself silently, recognizing the folly of his overconfidence.

Despite his growing prowess and the accolades he had earned for being ahead of his peers, this moment laid bare a crucial truth: raw power, experience and cunning often trumped talent. The ease with which Voldemort had disarmed him served as a harsh reminder of the vast gulf that lay between his abilities and those of a dark lord.

His resolve hardened, Harry mentally berated himself for his lapse in caution. Being at the forefront of his peers had inadvertently led to a certain complacency, a dangerous mindset when facing an enemy as formidable as Voldemort. "I've become too comfortable," he acknowledged internally, the bitter taste of humility tempering his spirit. "This isn't a classroom challenge or a friendly duel. It's life or death."

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