Chapter 223: Voldemort’s Recruitment
After about half an hour, Quirrell finally staggered through the Troll-infested room and arrived at the checkpoint Snape had set up. He looked like he'd aged decades—his face pale and drawn, his skin wrinkled, and his entire body reeking of blood. Every step he took seemed agonizing, forcing him to grit his teeth.
Once he entered the room, the extinguished magic flames sprang back to life, encircling him. Quirrell shuffled over to the table with the potions, picked up the parchment, and carefully read Snape's riddle.
"...Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; Fourth, the second left and the second on the right Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.."
A small, triumphant smile spread across Quirrell's face. Snape, he thought with contempt, actually believed he'd be stumped by this simple logic puzzle? It was laughable. Quirrell was a Ravenclaw alumnus, a top student with eight "O"s on his N.E.W.T.s. Compared to battling keys, playing chess, or fending off Trolls, deduction was his specialty.
He conjured a feather, dipped it in a bloody patch on his robes, and carefully worked through the riddle.
"I've got it!" Quirrell announced gleefully. "The smallest bottle—it'll get me through the black flames to the Philosopher's Stone!"
Without further hesitation, he picked up the unassuming little bottle and tipped it back, taking a quick gulp.
The potion hit his tongue, and he gagged immediately. He'd thought nothing could be worse than facing the swarm of Chomping Cabbages. He was wrong. An intense bitterness overtook him, flooding his mouth like a storm. It felt as though hundreds of Trolls were dancing on his taste buds. Even the compost in the greenhouse tasted sweeter!
"Ugh... Snape!" Quirrell groaned, disgusted, and threw the potion back onto the table after one miserable sip. Covering his mouth and clutching his stomach, he stumbled through the black flames.