Chapter 84: Finale
“We must get ahead of him and grab the Philosopher’s Stone first!”
“You’re crazy!”
“You’ll get expelled!”
“So what?”
“…”
A slightly immature voice came from the Projection Mirror.
Inside the Hogwarts Castle Great Hall, the little wizards had quieted down, staring intently at the Projection Mirror, their eyes reflecting the flickering light and shadow, the entire Great Hall so quiet it seemed only the film’s sound remained; someone wanted to go to the toilet, holding it until their face turned red, but no one wanted to leave.
“What’s that thing at its feet?”
“It looks like a harp; we must speed up!”
“…”
The story neared its end, the film quietly picking up pace: the Devil’s Snare at the bottom of the passage, the keys fluttering everywhere with wings, the Transfigured chess pieces and endgame, one obstacle after another, making thousands of wizards across England adventure alongside the three first-year students, their emotions stirred by the actions—restless, urgent, tense…
“Burn the Devil’s Snare with fire! Oh, why only think of it now!”
“Accio! Why doesn’t anyone use Accio?”
“What? First Year doesn’t learn Summoning Charm! Doesn’t the school teach it or family at home? Granger is Muggle-born, but there’s still Harry… isn’t there still Weasley? What are Arthur and Molly doing?”
“Wizard Chess? I get a headache just seeing this; why did Professor McGonagall make it so complicated?”
“Guarding the Philosopher’s Stone didn’t work either; it even blocked the kids. I don’t know if they can make it in time.”
In the remote village of Ottery St Catchpole in Devon, the small tavern was noisy, wizards chattering with ideas, even cursing; seeing them hindered, they wished they could go in and guide them personally.
Facing the carefully designed endgame, the red-haired little wizard’s face was grim: “Yes… there’s only this way; I must be eaten.”
“Oh, no!”
“This is chess! Sacrifices always have to be made!”
One red-haired witch watched her son on the screen, still unable to believe it, eyes wide, holding her breath, her heart pounding so hard it nearly jumped out of her chest.
The red-haired little girl beside her was even more excited, eyes sparkling at the mirror surface, but without her own brother in them, all Harry beside him.
Each hurdle hard to pass but passed, each clearance tugging at the audience’s hearts; the story in the Projection Mirror like an invisible hand, stirring the emotions of countless wizards—depressed at difficulties, excited after passing.
Down once, up once.
The intense emotional swings constantly bombarded the viewers’ brains; this brand-new entertainment method shook their souls, making them unable to stop.
In the film, Harry also reached the last room, the picture showing his small, lonely back. Stumbling all the way, companions leaving one by one, Ron at the chessboard hurdle, Hermione stopping at the flames, Harry back to facing it alone.
Just as the atmosphere sank low, the film’s tone suddenly shifted, showing Quirinus Quirrell repeatedly failing in the Chamber of Secrets, while Harry followed effortlessly dodging all traps.
The story became cheerful again.
In the closed, eerie dark room, visibility extremely dim, the first-year little wizard quietly followed an adult Dark Wizard, trying to protect the precious Philosopher’s Stone, alone and helpless, small and pitiful… It should have been a heavy, oppressive plot, but the picture shown in the Projection Mirror made the audience chuckle.
A sudden statue choking the neck, ropes in the water wrapping the neck, Quirinus Quirrell struggling bitterly, Harry eager to try. The absurd scenes on the evil Dark Wizard added unexpected comedy.
This was another way to toy with emotions.
“…”
In taverns and screening halls everywhere, the atmosphere lightened a bit.
The audience’s suspended hearts slowly settled; this story didn’t seem so heavy.
“It’s just kids playing house.”
One wizard suddenly said softly: “I thought it would be a fierce battle; didn’t expect it to be play. As I said, the earlier hurdles weren’t effective defenses.”
“Can’t say that; they’re only first-year students, doing this well is already great. We can’t judge by Auror standards…”
The persuading voice beside abruptly stopped; they noticed the Projection Mirror’s light music disappear, Quirinus Quirrell reaching the room’s end.
“When I came here, I was still wondering if I’d meet you before leaving school, Potter!”
A sinister voice appeared abruptly; Quirinus Quirrell turned his head, a chilling cold smile on his face, the earlier trap marks making that face even more sinister and strange.
Wand waved, Harry helpless, immediately bound before the Mirror of Erised.
Facing the powerful Dark Wizard, Harry tried hiding the Philosopher’s Stone’s existence but was quickly exposed; facing the charging Quirinus Quirrell, he gritted his teeth, broke free of the ropes, and swung his fist fiercely.
Quirinus Quirrell’s state was very strange, his wail shrill and terrifying; the immature fist landing on him like a red-hot iron, and Harry’s state off too, as if enduring great pain.
The picture and music conveyed a tragic beauty.
After a struggle, Harry lost consciousness, while Quirinus Quirrell’s body disintegrated into ashes.
“…”
The viewers’ emotions rose and fell again; the wizard who called it playing house fell silent, eyes wide staring fixedly at the Projection Mirror.
Malcolm and Tucklot’s brows furrowed tightly; they exchanged a glance, passing information with eyes in the dim lights, understanding each other perfectly.
Quirinus Quirrell’s confrontation and battle with Harry concluded, answering many prior doubts: the out-of-control broomstick at the Quidditch match, the Mysterious Wizard attacking the Unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, the strange glances in class.
But greater doubts followed.
How could a first-year student pummel an adult Dark Wizard?
They didn’t think the story in the moving picture was fabricated nonsense; anyone could see Harry and Quirinus Quirrell’s states were off, clearly under some magic influence.
What magic was it exactly?
The Projection Mirror showed Harry’s perspective: fainting in battle, opening his eyes in the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore smiling by the bedside.
The mystery of defeating the Dark Wizard was revealed.
“The charm is an ancient wizard’s protective magic; the exact casting method lost, only a few wizards master it. Your mother was one; she gave her life as the price, leaving you a charm to protect you from evil harm until you turn 17…”
A corner of that night’s secret eleven years ago was unveiled.
In the Hogwarts Great Hall and dozens of wizard taverns in England, all viewers’ emotions were stirred.
“Woo woo…”
Many mothers with children were crying; witches wiped tears, wizards’ eyes welled up too; the red-haired witch ached for that child, holding her teary daughter sobbing.
In Hogwarts’ Great Hall, faint sobs rose between house tables; the burly half-giant quietly wiped his eye corner, Peeves watching warily, not daring to provoke such a gamekeeper.
Human joys and sorrows may not connect, but the purest family love touches everyone.
The mother sacrificing her life in the story reminded many of their own selfless mothers.
Above the Ravenclaw long table, the translucent ghostly figure stared straight at the Projection Mirror, seeing the protagonist and mother, Helena Ravenclaw recalled her own mother—always wise and steady, all-powerful in memory, solving any puzzle.
Unnoticed when it started, that figure aged, stooping, face haggard.
Returning as ghost to school, only hearing of her grave illness and death.
“…”
《Jingle Bells》 The light, cheerful melody rang again, the story truly reaching its end.
On screen, students staying at school ran and played on the pitch, snowballs flying everywhere; the view pulled back, winter Hogwarts Castle in full view, behind silver-clad forest and hills.
The mirror surface showed a line: 「This story is pure fiction; any resemblance is coincidence」
“It started saying based on true events adapted, now it’s fiction?”
Just as all wizards thought the story ended here, the picture suddenly shifted to a scene deep in the Forbidden Forest.
Firenze with platinum hair walked the snow-buried path, the silver-maned horse’s hooves light and nimble; he looked at the Projection Mirror like at the viewers outside, eyes like two sapphires:
“Unicorn blood can extend life, but killing a Unicorn is extremely cruel; the culprit must pay a heavy price. Only desperate, mad Dark Wizards would think to extend life this way, then scheme for the Philosopher’s Stone.
“Can’t you think of it? Who has waited silently for so many years, longing to return? Who clings tightly to life, awaiting the chance?”
“…”
These words like a giant stone into the Black Lake, splashing waves stirring the viewers’ calmed emotions again; some wizards had the answer but dared not say the name, only widening eyes in horror.
In Tintagel’s high-end tavern, dead silence; many restless editors and reporters eyed the front row, where a wizard in old pinstripe suit sat—Cornelius Fudge.
Fudge’s fat face flushed purple like liver, as if air sucked from around, suffocating him; minutes later, he recovered, forcing a stiff smile:
“This is just Dum… Lavent’s little trick; didn’t you notice, it said earlier it’s just a fictional story.”
“Exactly right!” A shrill female voice immediately agreed from beside.
“Yeah, yeah, how could it be that person…”
The screening hall gradually buzzed; some echoed the Minister, some sneered, some pondered; wizards of different stances reacted differently.
A few wizards anxious, always assuming the worst.
Lucius Malfoy was one; the Inner Circle Death Eater knew Voldemort long studied ways to cheat death, witnessed his countless evil, powerful magics.
On the other hand, as Dumbledore’s opponent, he knew this old headmaster didn’t do meaningless things.
Lucius sat quietly in his chair, unmoving.
Examining his situation, he realized Malfoy seemed at the cliff edge again, like eleven years ago, but this time he couldn’t tell which side was the bottomless abyss.
Most ordinary wizards thought it just fictional dramatization; after ten years of peace, they wanted to believe it would continue.
One film finished, emotions up and down, heads dizzy but still wanting more.
Some energetic young wizards already asked for the second screening time, ticket prices; original tavern customers, seeing the viewers’ reactions, joined the ticket rush.
“Old Tom, another ticket!”
“Kingsley, come quick, I grabbed one for you too.”
“This movie is really great, better than Muggle films.”
“Call Moody? No way!”
The Wizarding World hadn’t had such novelty in years; encountering fun, everyone wanted to drag colleagues and friends.
Some planned midway explanations spoiling for those who hadn’t seen, no malice, just thought it fun.
“I’ll tell you, Quirinus Quirrell is that Dark Wizard.”
“Right, right, he cast on the broomstick at the match too.”
“Trapdoor below is the Philosopher’s Stone, Nicolas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone.”
Some chattered nonstop, feeling great; listeners frowned, feeling annoyed—clearly exciting plot, but spoiled, much fun lost.
Especially the final Chamber of Secrets part, originally tense and heavy, but the person beside spoiled everything.
“Don’t worry, nothing dangerous inside; Quirinus Quirrell keeps having bad luck.”
“Harry has a charm from his mother; so touching!”
Second-screening wizards silently resolved: next time grab premiere tickets, let others taste spoilers.
…
Meanwhile, Hogwarts screening ended; students silent seconds, then thunderous applause, heated discussions, Great Hall lively.
After Ron’s story baptism, they had basic understanding of Philosopher’s Stone events, but didn’t expect Projection Mirror’s vivid presentation; Muggle-born movie-seen students fine, untouched TV-film little wizards flushed and excited, chattering about the images.
Near Gryffindor long table, students crowded; Harry tried not gloating but couldn’t control his smile; Hermione buried her head on the table; Lavender and Parvati beside chattered questions.
“That’s our brother!”
“Weasley children!”
George and Fred more excited, flanking Ron, parading him down the aisle.
Ron feet off ground like a lamb to slaughter, but he didn’t mind, face red enjoying cheers and praise.
At high table side, professors watched the lively Great Hall, smiles appearing.
“Phew…”
Dumbledore’s deep blue eyes profound, turning to this film’s creator; Melvin sat quietly, faint smile, silver-white light flickering in eyes, like Projection Mirror reflection.
The old headmaster knew: traces of magic power surging.
Dumbledore didn’t disturb Melvin, cleared throat, addressed all: “Everyone now knows their contribution to Hogwarts; to commend their courage and wisdom, I have points to award.”
Great Hall instantly quiet; Gryffindors eyed headmaster expectantly.
“First, Mr. Ron Weasley, for the most brilliant chess game in decades at Hogwarts, fifty points to Gryffindor House.”
“Second, Miss Hermione Granger, calm before fire and poison… fifty points.”
“Third, Harry Potter, showing extraordinary courage… sixty points.”
“Yay!!”
The first night of 1992 Easter Holiday ended amid Gryffindor’s thunderous cheers.
