Chapter 226: Voldemort, Treasure Chest of Dark Secrets
The small room was in utter chaos, marked everywhere with scorch marks from Fiendfyre. Even the Mirror of Erised hadn't been spared; its golden frame had melted, its surface now gray and cracked.
Quirrell was gone.
When he had touched Harry, his body had begun to blacken rapidly, like a statue melting away, until he was reduced to nothing but ashes. Voldemort, too, had transformed into a ghostly apparition, fleeing the room the instant Quirrell died.
Now, only Harry, Kyle, and Dumbledore—who had just arrived—remained in the room.
...
As Dumbledore entered the room, he frowned slightly, casting a thoughtful look in Kyle's direction. But after a brief pause, he turned away, a gentle smile crossing his face. "If I'm not mistaken, you were about to use Finite Incantatem just now. It seems Professor Flitwick was right—you've mastered that spell, which is no small achievement."
"I just happened to read about it in the library over the holidays," Kyle replied, helping Harry up from where he had collapsed on the ground. "I can't say I'm able to pull it off every time, but I'm glad you're here..."
"No need to be so modest, Kyle." Dumbledore winked. "Have I ever mentioned that you are one of the finest young wizards I've encountered? You never cease to amaze me."
"You're too kind," Kyle said, a bit embarrassed. "If you hadn't refined the Charm, I'd never have had the chance to learn it. You're the true master here."