As they left the chess chamber behind, a thick, rancid stench assaulted their senses. Neville gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve, while Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. The source of the odor became clear as they stepped into the next corridor
Lying sprawled across the stone floor was the massive, lifeless body of a mountain troll.
Its enormous limbs were twisted at odd angles, its club discarded nearby, and its head bore a deep wound. The sheer force needed to kill such a creature was staggering.
Harry took a wary step forward, eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. "Quirrell must've done this," he muttered. "There's no way this thing just dropped dead on its own."
Hermione crouched beside the fallen troll, her sharp eyes analyzing every detail. "It looks like magic did most of the work," she noted, pointing at the scorched marks across its chest and the faint smell of burnt flesh. "He didn't just knock it out—he made sure it stayed down."
Neville shuddered. "I don't like this. If he's powerful enough to take down a troll this easily, what chance do we have?"
Harry didn't have an answer for that. He swallowed, clenching his fists. "We keep going. Carefully. If Quirrell's ahead, he's close to whatever he's after."
Stepping over the troll's outstretched arm, they pressed onward, their resolve steeling with each step.
The next chamber loomed before them. The moment they stepped inside, a cold draft brushed against their skin, the flickering light of wall-mounted torches barely illuminating the space ahead.
A long, narrow table stood in the center of the room, lined with seven bottles of various shapes and sizes. In front of them lay a neatly rolled parchment, sealed with an unfamiliar crest. Beyond the table, a shimmering violet flame blocked the only exit forward, while black flames danced at the entrance behind them.
Neville paled. "This doesn't look good."
Hermione stepped forward cautiously, picking up the parchment and unrolling it. Her eyes darted across the page, her expression shifting from apprehension to concentration.
"It's a riddle," she breathed. "A logic puzzle."
Harry frowned, glancing at the paper over her shoulder.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will take you back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three are killers, waiting hidden in a line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay,
Here forever on this day.
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line as she reread it. "It's clever. There's a pattern here."
Harry eyed the bottles warily. "And if we choose wrong?"
"I'd rather not find out," Neville muttered.
Hermione turned her focus to the bottles, carefully analyzing their placements. "Alright, based on the clues, we know that two of these are safe—one will let us go forward through the purple fire, and the other will let us go back." She pointed at three others. "These must be the poisons."
Neville swallowed. "That still leaves four."
Harry studied the parchment again, something clicking in his mind. "It said two are wine, so those won't help us either."
"Right." Hermione moved methodically, comparing bottle sizes and positions, her mind working faster than Harry had ever seen. Then, with a decisive nod, she pointed to a small bottle on the far left. "This one lets you move forward."
Neville hesitated. "Are you sure?"
Hermione exhaled sharply. "Not completely, but the logic adds up. And look—" She pointed at a larger bottle in the middle. "That one should let us go back."
Harry eyed the tiny bottle warily. "There's barely enough for one person."
Hermione bit her lip. "That makes sense. Only one person is supposed to get through."
A heavy silence fell over them.
"I'll go," Harry said finally.
Neville stepped forward. "No way, we're in this together—"
But Harry shook his head. "If this leads to whatever Quirrell's after, I need to be the one to stop him." He looked at Hermione. "You and Neville take the other potion and go back. Get Snape. Get Dumbledore. Anyone."
Neville scowled. "We're not just leaving you here alone—"
"You're not," Harry insisted. "But someone needs to warn them. If Quirrell's ahead, we don't have time to argue."
Hermione hesitated, but the logic was undeniable. With a reluctant nod, she grabbed the larger bottle and handed it to Neville. "We'll be back as soon as we can."
Harry took the tiny bottle in his hand, the liquid inside clear as water. He exhaled, then tipped it back, the taste like ice sliding down his throat.
The effect was immediate. A deep, biting chill settled into his bones, but he remained unharmed.
"I'll be fine," he assured them, stepping toward the violet fire. "Now go."
With a final glance back, Hermione and Neville turned toward the black flames, disappearing into the darkness as Harry stepped forward alone.
The air grew heavier as Harry stepped past the shimmering barrier, his hurried footsteps echoing through the stone corridor. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, every nerve on edge.
Then, at the end of the passage, a final door loomed before him.
It was different from the others. Older, darker, its wood etched with faint, worn symbols. A deep, unsettling chill radiated from it, the kind that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.
His fingers twitched slightly as he reached out, hovering just above the handle.
And then...
A sharp, searing pain erupted behind his eyes.
Harry gasped, staggering backward as his vision twisted violently. The corridor around him warped, flickering between reality and something else, something darker.
A figure stood in shadow, wand raised. A dark reflection in a mirror. A soft gasp then only darkness. Blood, pooled across the floor.
A death. Someone would die if they stepped forward.
The force of the vision sent Harry crashing to his knees, his breath ragged. His hands clutched at his head as it clawed its way through his mind, leaving behind nothing but terror.
Voices yelling out his name as he slowly started to get up and the sound of hurried footsteps came closer
"Harry!"
Hermione and Neville were suddenly beside him, gripping his shoulders. "What happened?"
Harry forced himself to look up, his breath coming in short gasps. "We— we can't go in," he croaked. "Someone dies if we do."
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
Harry nodded. The headache was fading, but the lingering dread remained.
Neville swallowed. "Then... maybe we should go back."
Harry tried to stand "We can't. Quirrell will get the stone."
A third voice cut through the silence, sharp and ice-cold.
"Why did you come down here... Did you truly think you stood a chance?"
Professor Snape emerged from the shadows, black robes billowing as he strode toward them. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes burned with a fury that sent a chill down Harry's spine.
With a flick of his wand, Snape conjured a stretcher beneath Harry. "Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, his voice laced with warning, "escort Potter back immediately."
Hermione clenched her fists.
"What are you waiting for. Leave. Now."
As they turned to leave, Harry cast one last glance back. "You can't go in there, you'll die..."
Snape stood before the door, his face unreadable.
Then, just before darkness fully pulled him under, he heard Snape mutter something under his breath. Barely more than a whisper.
"So be it."
And then, the world faded to black.