Snape never hated his colleague Minerva McGonagall more than he did today. This was half because she was working on such an extremely time-wasting project as wizarding chess in the level she was responsible for - the pieces on the chessboard automatically reset after Harry and the others passed through the room before, they didn't embarrass Hermione on the way back, and even dragged Ron to the side where it was not too much of a problem before she returned, but for Snape who was going to move on, the stone-headed guys didn't have that much sympathy.

As for the other half of the reason...... Well, let's be a little more personal, let's talk about it here: he tried to cheat and undo the magic that McGonagall had put on the pieces, but it didn't work, proving that the opponent was superior to him in Transfiguration. I think...... Maybe...... Probably...... This may have made him a little jealous - I mean...... You know, people like them are going to be a little bit, uh, arrogant...... Don't tell him it's what I said, okay?

But Severus Snape was a strong-willed man who didn't give up until he got his way, and he knew he didn't have a second to waste here, so he didn't hesitate to choose the most radical method - pull out his wand like a real wizard and blow up everything in his way.

We don't know if the puzzle was originally designed with brute force as an option in the so-called correct answer, but after Snape blew his wand and blew all the pieces to pieces, nothing strange jumped out to stop him from moving on.

That's right, he threw the confused Granger and the half-dead Weasley in the previous room and hurried forward, saving no time to deal with the boring traps.

This huge chessboard room is the penultimate of all the trap puzzles, and further on, stay with him and Quirrell (what?). And Potter? You say you have it...... There was only an area of Snape's own design. It was a simple matter of logical reasoning, and the riddle had been copied from a Muggle children's initiation book, with a few symbolic changes to certain terms - his pride did not allow him to put too much effort into Dumbledore's "Potter's Playground".

Just when he thought he was only one step away from his destination, a strong feeling of dizziness suddenly hit him, making him fall to his knees. He felt a burning sensation in his left forearm, a sight that made the cold hairs on Snape's back stand on end.

Everyone who has embraced a dark fate will have that person's mark on their left arm—a skull pattern of a snake emerging from its mouth, which is both a means of interconnection between servants and a proof of the master-slave relationship. Since the last time the Dark Lord lost power, the imprint known as the Dark Mark has begun to fade, and many people have lost their original form on their hands

But now it's back.

Cold sweat ran down Snape's forehead, and he rolled up his sleeves, afraid to see the skull's hollow eyes staring at him again as he had been for more than a decade. Thankfully, the most terrible thing he had imagined didn't happen, and all that was left of the place where the Dark Mark had once been imprinted on his arm was a vague red mark. And in the moment, the dizziness and burning sensation gradually subsided—coming and going as fast as it had never been.

Snape staggered back to his feet, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand, and he noticed in shame that his hands were shaking. What's going on here?

It was obvious that the Dark Lord was not really dead, but he was not fully resurrected, and the momentary reaction of the mark was likely to indicate that he had just taken a big step to the left from the ambiguity between life and death, but strangely, at that moment, along with the burning pain, there was clearly an extremely painful cry of rage.

Whatever that person wanted to do, or was doing, it was clearly not going well.

Snape shook his head palely, trying to cheer himself up. He has a speculation that may be extremely close to the truth, but it cannot be said to be very optimistic, and it needs to be verified immediately. Fortunately, he is the only one here, and he will not be seen by others when he limps desperately forward.

"Wait a little longer, I'll remember it in a minute...... I'm sure I can remember! I—I must have remembered it!"

Despite the fact that Neil himself was a little unconfident as he spoke, Matt did not leave his post because of this, and continued to fly around the troll in circles, constantly attracting it to swing its club at him.

It's not that it has any deep trust or loyalty to its owner, it's just that after the two evils, it feels more important to keep its broom shed.

However, Neil is not deliberately stalling for time. It had been so many years since the corpse puppet makers had appeared in front of people, and everyone, including the sect's education policy, felt that instead of wasting time learning how to deal with such an evil art that might not be encountered in a lifetime, it would be better to focus on those more practical skills—even if it was to use the effort to chop two more bundles of firewood.

Under such a premise, Neil felt that if he could still remember the existence of such a spell, it was already worthy of a collective meeting of the whole sect to commend him.

"Uh, what's that? Jieyu ...... No, it's not true, it's used to drive away female ghosts."

He vaguely remembered that it was supposed to be a snowy day, and the three elders held a wine glass in one hand and a chicken leg that he got from somewhere in the other (he now subconsciously thought of Ron when he mentioned the word chicken leg, which interfered with the normal flow of memories to a certain extent), and pointed at the old yellowed legend with a greasy index finger...... He was very disgusted by the monks who did not hesitate to dig their own ancestral graves in order to find high-quality corpse puppet materials, and insisted that not disturbing the remains of their ancestors and only digging up the funeral goods to sell them was the bottom line that people should adhere to. Then he recited the mantra written in the corner of the legend to himself.

Memories go this far. He could even remember the strange gestures that the master had made that day in order to be able to use his tongue to remove the chicken bones that had been stuffed between his teeth, but he couldn't remember the most crucial part.

Matt was still restrained, but the hallways were too narrow and there was no one to alternate, and the troll was getting used to its speed little by little - yes, I know what you're trying to say, it's hard to imagine that this thing could learn, but it's an invention in the service of killing enemies efficiently. I could take an hour or two for you to explain in detail how it works, but I don't want to do that, because I don't want to spend twice as much time explaining to the Dao Masters afterwards why I knew so much about a forbidden technique.

The troll raised the club high above its head and swung it diagonally downwards with all the strength of its body. Matt made a sharp stop in the air to dodge, but the castrated stick slammed into the base of the wall, and the cracked wall, which had been affected many times, was finally overwhelmed, and the whole wall fell down with a thud. Matt, who had just come to the brakes, didn't have time to accelerate again, and was crushed by the rush of bricks and earth and rock.

"Hell! Matt, hold on!" Neil gritted his teeth fiercely, not bothering to recall the ethereal spell, and rushed forward as he pulled out another piece of yellow paper with words written on it from his pocket, "I hate to use this indoors—in a hurry!"

Large balls of flame erupted from the talisman he had thrown, engulfing the troll's massive body entirely. Its festering skin quickly began to carbonize, and the excess subcutaneous fat was so rich that it sizzled under the burning of the flames, while an unimaginably terrifying smell wafted out.

But even so, the monster was not dead, and the flames did not even affect its movements, and it turned slowly, clenched the stick with its boneless hands, and pressed towards Neil again with a menacing approach. The huge figure looked even more hideous under the billowing black smoke.

"Excellent." Neil struck up in an angry position, "Just give me two more minutes......

Before he could finish speaking, the approaching troll suddenly stopped, and the fire charm almost burned it to the ground, but with Neil's knowledge of the corpse golem, it was certainly not enough to be the reason for it to stop moving.

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then the charred club fell silently from the troll's grip and fell to the ground to pieces—like a signal, and the next second, the troll itself fell straight to the ground.

Neil slowly walked over to the fallen troll

In front of him, he cautiously poked it on the head with his sword. However, such an examination was no longer necessary, and the soul sting needle on the top of the troll's head that sealed the acupuncture points had completely turned black and lost its luster, which was a sign that the connection with the caster had been completely severed.

If there were no accidents, Quirinus Quirrell would have been dead—but it was not known who exactly had done this good thing, Mr. Potter and Professor Snape.

At this time, the grizzled Matt also came out of the rubble on his own, and his body was full of scratch marks, looking extremely miserable.

"Are you alright, old horse?"

Matt writhed in mid-air as if to say you could see for yourself.

"Alright, alright...... I'll admit, I did it this time!" Neil spread his hands weakly and smiled at it, "But I have good news for you."

Matt took a wary step back, but could not overcome his curiosity, and cautiously leaned in to hear what he had to say.

"And guess what? I remember how to pronounce that mantra!"

Broomsticks smashed their sticks at the top of his head in a fit of rage.

Harry had a nightmare.

He dreamed of a hideous-looking Quirrell grabbing his neck, and he tried desperately to break free, but to no avail. At that moment, Quirrell's head spun back one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a twisted human face on the back of its head, and it swallowed itself with its mouth wide open.

Then he sank into darkness and fell downward, and fell, and fell...... Suddenly, a glittering golden object appeared above his head. It's the Snitch! Without even thinking about it, Harry reached out to him, trying to grab it, but it didn't feel right, it didn't feel like a snitch, it looked like a ...... A pair of glasses?

He blinked vigorously again, and the snow-white ceiling of the school hospital ward gradually appeared in front of him. Harry then noticed that he had woken up, lying on a floppy hospital bed, his right hand clutching his glasses in an awkward position.

He put his glasses on, propped himself up from the bed, and suddenly realized that he was not alone in the room—Dumbledore was sitting on a chair beside the bed, looking at him with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Harry."

Harry stared at him blankly, then suddenly remembered.

"Sir! Philosopher's Stone! It's Quirrell! He's got the Philosopher's Stone! Sir, quick—"

"Don't get excited, dear child, these words are a bit outdated." Dumbledore said, "Quirrell didn't get the Philosopher's Stone."

"So who got it? Sir, I remember in the mirror I put it in my pocket, I tried to fool him, but it didn't work—"

"Harry, I know your memory is a little confused, but please calm down, or Madam Pomfrey will kick me out."

Harry swallowed and looked around. Yes, this is indeed the school hospital, and the last time Neville nearly blew himself up with a failed levitation charm, he visited the room with Ron and Hermione. It's just that compared to the time I came, there were more gifts piled up on the table next to me as high as a hill, as if Christmas was making a comeback.

"All from your friends and admirers." Dumbledore noticed his puzzled gaze and said with a smile, "Everything that happened between you and Professor Quirrell in the dungeon is a complete secret, and the secret always spreads, so naturally all the teachers and students in the school know about it. Everyone is busy right now because of the trolls, but it seems that there are still a lot of people who want to show their admiration for you."

"Got it all? How long have I stayed here?" Harry jerked his head up, Dumbledore was right, his head was now a mess.

"It's been three days. Mr. Ron Weasley and Miss Granger would be relieved to know that you woke up, they've been worried about you, Harry."

Ron and Hermione's names sent a shudder in Harry's heart, but luckily they were safe. But the mystery remains unsolved.

"But sir, what happened? All I remember is that Quirrell found something in my pocket, and we scuffled over the Philosopher's Stone,

I banged my head on the steps and ...... And then ......."

Dumbledore shrugged helplessly, "I can't seem to distract you. Well, let's make a long story short. Professor Quirrell was unable to take it away from you, and Professor Snape arrived just in time to stop him. But I have to say, you're actually pretty good alone."

"Snape!?"

"Professor Snape, Harry." Dumbledore corrected amicably, "You could be polite to your savior."

Harry sat on the bed in a daze, his shattered memories beginning to fade into clear.

"I-I see ...... underneath Quirrell's turban"

Dumbledore retracted his smile and nodded solemnly.

"Yes, I do owe you an explanation on this issue, don't I?"

He stroked his beard, his expression a little bitter.

"First of all, I have to admit that I didn't expect things to come to this point, and I have to apologize to you for that - but trust me, I paid enough for it before I came here...... You've made a lot of good friends, Harry."