We didn't speak for a while after the door shut behind us.
The corridor had fallen into deep silence, the fading groan of the chess room door echoing faintly behind us. Ron was safely propped against a wall, shielded by simple but sturdy protective enchantments Hermione had placed. He was unconscious but stable—safe, for now. Carrying him forward would've been reckless. We didn't know what lay ahead, and we couldn't afford to risk dragging him into more danger.
Still, I wasn't worried—not like the others. I had a strange calm blooming inside me, grounded in the certainty that these challenges weren't designed to kill us. Knock us unconscious? Yes. Terrify us? Of course. But kill? No. That wasn't Dumbledore's style.
But this wasn't just about making it to the end anymore.
This was about her.
Rose.
The corridor ahead narrowed into a vaulted passageway, ancient torches flaring to life as we passed. The deeper we went, the more alive the air felt. The magic here was older—more primal. It buzzed faintly against my skin, like invisible static.
"There should be three more protections before the Stone," Hermione whispered.
"How do you know?" Rose asked.
"Seven professors. Seven enchantments," Hermione replied. "Fluffy. Devil's Snare. Flying keys. The chessboard. That's four. Which means..."
"Quirrell," I said, finishing the thought.
We shared a glance just as we entered the next chamber—and the change was instant.
A foul stench hit us like a wall—meat, blood, and something old and festering. The room was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows. A few torches flickered faintly, but we didn't need light to recognize the shape crouched at its center.
The troll was massive.
And it wasn't asleep—not really.
It loomed near the middle of the room, hunched low, breathing heavily through flared, wart-covered nostrils. The club in its hand was bigger than a full-grown man, carved from broken stone and wrapped with cracked iron bands. Its skin was blotched and bruised, and it wore crude armor fashioned from what looked like scraps of dungeon doors and broken cauldrons. One of its eyes was half-closed, crusted over. The other rolled toward us as we stepped inside.
It snorted—low and dangerous.
"Another troll?" Hermione muttered. "Quirrell must have saved his worst for last…"
"I don't think we're sneaking past this one," I said.
"Too late for that anyway," Rose murmured.
The troll's good eye locked on us.
Then it roared.
It charged.
The ground trembled with every thundering step.
"Stupefy!" Rose shouted, sending a stunning spell straight at its face.
The troll flinched but didn't stop. Instead, it slammed its club down—narrowly missing Hermione, who scrambled back with a yelp as the floor cracked beneath the impact.
"Split up!" I called, darting to the left.
The troll lumbered after Rose, who rolled, spun, and fired another volley—"Expulso!"—sending an explosion of rock up around the creature's feet.
It roared again, staggering, then swung its club in a wide arc—barely missing her.
Hermione, from behind, fired a slicing hex that glanced off the creature's thick hide. "Its skin's too tough!"
"Then aim for its feet!" I shouted, already channeling power into my palm. I didn't need to name what I was doing—I barely had words for it myself—but I knew what I wanted: focused heat, tight and bright.
A small orb of white-gold fire formed above my palm—"little sun," I thought absently—burning bright and hot. I hurled it straight at the troll's knee.
The blast hit with a whoomph, searing the stone armor and making the troll bellow in pain. Its knee buckled.
"Nice shot!" Rose called, leaping up on a raised stone ledge nearby. She fired another Stupefy, this time aiming for the eye.
The troll roared, flailing wildly now, knocking over a stone column as it stumbled blindly.
"Keep it off balance!" Hermione yelled. "We need to confuse it!"
"Or bury it," I muttered, raising both hands.
I didn't need to go big—just enough. I focused on the crumbling stone above, tugging at the old magic, trying to feel the weight, the balance. The ceiling above the troll had a small crack running through it already.
"Rose, lure it to the center!" I called.
She understood instantly and fired a barrage of magical debris at the troll's face, taunting it, moving backward slowly toward the spot I was watching.
The troll roared and charged again.
As soon as it reached the middle of the room, I pushed.
Hard.
The ceiling groaned—and then gave way.
A heavy slab of stone cracked free and crashed down onto the troll's back with a deafening boom, staggering it forward. Rose used the moment and fired a final Stupefy directly at the base of its skull.
The troll collapsed with a ground-shaking thud.
Dust filled the air. We coughed, blinking.
And then silence.
"Is… is it down?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
I stepped closer. The troll lay unmoving, one leg twitching faintly. "Out cold," I confirmed. "Not getting up again."
We stood in stunned silence, letting the moment settle.
"That… was a real fight," Rose said, brushing a smear of dust from her cheek.
"We're not done yet," Hermione said, steadying her breath. "Two more to go."
We pressed on through the far doorway—hearts pounding, robes torn, wands warm from overuse. The next room loomed ahead—circular, sterile, almost peaceful compared to what we'd just faced.
The potion room.
The door behind us sealed with a low hiss, shutting out the dust and wreckage of the troll chamber. Ahead, everything was still—eerily so.
The room we stepped into was circular and symmetrical, with smooth black stone for walls and floor, polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was dimly lit, but not by fire. A soft glow pulsed from the center pedestal, bathing the space in violet hues.
There, neatly arranged on a thin slab of black marble, were seven potion bottles of varying shapes and sizes. Some were squat and round, others tall and thin. Their contents shimmered faintly—violet, ruby, clear, pitch black, and emerald green. Each one caught the low light differently, almost daring us to touch them.
Two doorways faced us on opposite ends of the room—both blocked by magical flames.
To our right, flames of brilliant orange crackled with dry, consuming heat. The exit back.
To our left, flames of icy purple flickered without warmth, sending a coldness crawling down my spine just from looking at them. The way forward.
Rose moved cautiously toward the pedestal, eyes scanning everything. "This has to be Snape's," she said. "A test of logic. He's a Potions Master."
Hermione was already beside her, picking up the rolled parchment that sat between the bottles. She read aloud:
"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 transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line…"
Her eyes lit up as she lowered the scroll. "A logic puzzle. No wandwork. No brute force. Just reason."
I leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "Definitely not my kind of magic."
But in truth—I already knew the answer.
The moment she read the riddle, something old stirred in me. A memory. From before this life. From a time when Hogwarts was fiction and puzzles like this were printed on yellowed pages in schoolbooks or logic workbooks from the corner store. I had solved this exact riddle once before, years ago.
It was almost funny, in a surreal way. Here I was, in a magical castle filled with living shadows, mythical creatures, and ancient enchantments—and it was a simple logic test that felt the most familiar.
But I said nothing.
Hermione was in her element. She didn't need my answer. She needed to solve it. And she would.
Rose came to stand beside me, arms crossed as she watched Hermione's intense focus.
"Finally," she said under her breath, "a test that doesn't require spellwork or some ridiculous magical trivia. Logic's something wizards are severely lacking."
I smirked. "Magic tends to make people lazy thinkers."
Hermione had crouched beside the bottles now, her eyes moving rapidly between their shapes, colors, and positions. She didn't touch them—just observed. Calculated. Her brain clicking into place like clockwork.
I found myself admiring her focus. She wasn't guessing. She was deducing. Following rules, mapping options. It was... grounding, in a way. Amid all the chaos and danger, this was something with clear parameters. Clear answers.
"She's close," Rose murmured.
"Yeah," I said. "I wouldn't interrupt her."
The firelight—if it could be called that—played across the floor in ghostly reflections. The orange fire behind us hissed quietly, dry and furious. The purple flames ahead crackled without sound, sending out waves of unnatural chill. My skin prickled.
"I can't believe we're nearly there," Rose whispered. "After everything…"
I glanced at her. "Are you ready for what's behind that last door?"
She hesitated. "No. But I won't back down."
I gave her a small smile. "Didn't expect you to."
A beat later, Hermione stood up, her expression confident.
"Got it!" she said. She pointed to the smallest bottle—thin, with clear liquid inside. "This one lets one of us go forward. And this one"—she tapped a round bottle with a dark green hue—"takes someone back."
"And the rest?" Rose asked.
"Nettle wine. And poison," Hermione replied, lips pressing into a tight line. "So… no experimenting."
She uncorked the greenish one without pause. "I'll go back," she said. "Check on Ron. Try to reach McGonagall or Dumbledore. If something goes wrong… someone has to know."
Rose nodded. "Be safe."
"You too," Hermione said, then stepped into the orange flame.
She vanished—silent, instant.
I exhaled slowly and looked at the clear vial still resting on the pedestal. It was barely a mouthful of liquid.
Rose picked it up and held it between us. "Together?"
I nodded.
We each took a sip.
It was cold—so cold it stung—and then the icy flame loomed before us.
We didn't hesitate.
We stepped through.
The flame touched us without heat or pain—just an eerie sensation, like moving through thick mist while standing still. The world shifted, rippled, bent around us.
Then—
Stillness.
A new chamber.
We had arrived.
But what waited in the next room… that was a mystery for another moment.
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