Under the eager gazes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Lucian Thornwick finally stepped away from the wall.
He walked calmly to the wooden table holding the seven strange bottles.
He didn't even pick up the parchment containing the logic riddle.
Instead, he simply glanced across the bottles.
Just one look.
With the combined effects of Master-Level Potion Mastery and the Eyes of Truth, the potions before him were instantly analyzed and reconstructed.
In Lucian's vision, the mysterious bottles that baffled others were like objects scanned by the most advanced instruments.
All hidden information transformed into streams of precise data that flooded his mind.
Bottle One (far left): Nettle wine. Harmless.Bottle Two: Deadly poison. Contains powdered African tree-snake skin. Lethal within three seconds.Bottle Three (smallest bottle): Potion for passing through the flames (forward). Main ingredient: frozen salamander blood. Formula contains three flaws. Energy conversion rate: ~78%.Bottle Four: Poison. Composition...Bottle Seven (round bottle): Potion for passing through flames (backward). Main ingredient: powdered sopophorous bean.
The entire analysis process took less than a second.
Without hesitation, Lucian reached out and picked up the third bottle from the left—the smallest one.
He handed it to Harry and said calmly, in a tone that simply stated a fact:
"Drink this. It lets you move forward."
Then he pointed at the round bottle on the far right.
"That one sends you back."
After that—
Silence filled the room.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at him with identical expressions.
That's it?
No logical deduction?
No step-by-step elimination?
No brilliant puzzle-solving process?
He just… looked once?
Before the three of them could process the enormous mental whiplash, Lucian casually added a "professional comment," as if discussing something trivial.
"Professor Snape's skill is quite good."
The trio instinctively nodded.
But Lucian continued.
"Unfortunately, both potions have at least three proportions in their formulas that could be optimized."
"If improved, the effectiveness could increase by at least twenty percent."
Ron nearly choked on his own breath.
Harry and Hermione both wore extremely strange expressions—half wanting to laugh, half afraid to.
At the same time, they felt a surge of sympathy for Professor Snape.
The same ridiculous thought appeared in all three of their minds:
If Snape heard that… he'd probably lose his mind.
Typical Lucian.
They exchanged glances and saw the same shock reflected in each other's eyes.
One glance—
And he not only identified every potion's function but even analyzed the flaws in the formulas and possible improvements.
This wasn't just unbelievable.
It was absurd.
Lucian didn't care about their reactions.
He picked up the small bottle and drank the icy liquid inside in one smooth motion.
Then he calmly stepped forward into the curtain of black magical fire, which flowed like dark silk and radiated a chilling aura.
Harry followed immediately.
He drank the portion that allowed one person through and hurried after Lucian.
"Hermione, Ron—go back," Harry said before stepping into the flames.
"Go to the owlery and send a message to Dumbledore. Hurry!"
Though Hermione and Ron were extremely reluctant, they knew it was the best choice.
They took the backward potion and watched anxiously as Harry and Lucian disappeared into the black flames.
Beyond the fire was a short descending staircase.
At the bottom waited for the final chamber.
When Lucian stepped calmly into the stone room, Harry entered nervously behind him.
The room was spacious and almost empty.
The only object inside stood quietly in the center—
A massive, ornate mirror they had seen not long ago.
The Mirror of Erised.
Standing before it was a thin figure in black robes.
He faced the mirror, motionless, as if completely absorbed in whatever it showed.
Professor Quirrell.
Harry's heart instantly leapt into his throat.
Hearing the footsteps behind him, the figure slowly turned around.
It was indeed Quirinus Quirrell.
But the timid stutter and nervousness he usually displayed were gone.
Instead, his face carried a cold, malicious calm that Harry had never seen before.
"You… it was you!" Harry exclaimed in shock.
Quirrell didn't answer.
He simply stared at Harry with the indifferent gaze one might give a corpse.
Then he slowly raised his hands and began unwrapping the large purple turban wrapped around his head.
One layer.
Two layers.
When the heavy cloth finally slid off—
What appeared was not the bald back of Quirrell's head that Harry expected.
Instead—
There was a face.
A horrifying face.
It had no nose, only two thin slits like those of a snake.
Its skin was pale like chalk.
Its lips were thin as blades.
The face seemed grotesquely parasitic, growing from the back of Quirrell's head.
And those eyes—
Burning crimson with hatred and cruelty—
Harry Potter would recognize them for the rest of his life.
Voldemort.
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