Hermione looked guilty.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Second: Harry had the Invisibility Cloak tucked under his arm.
Third: Ron was missing.
I looked past them.
"Question."
"No," Hermione said.
"I haven't asked it yet."
"Don't ask about Neville."
I looked at Harry.
Harry looked at Hermione.
Hermione pressed her lips together.
"He's alive," she added.
"That's a very reassuring start."
"He got in our way."
"So you murdered him."
"We did not murder him."
"Even better."
Ron appeared from around the corner a few seconds later, adjusting his robes.
"Can we go?"
"Longbottom?"
"Don't ask."
I nodded.
"Good. This is becoming a tradition."
Harry spread out the cloak.
I looked at it.
Then at them.
Then back at the cloak.
"No."
"What?" Harry asked.
"We won't fit."
"We can try."
"Harry, there are four of us."
Ron looked at the fabric.
"If we squeeze together—"
"I am not walking halfway across the castle with my face pressed into your back."
Ron frowned.
"You wouldn't have to be behind me."
"That solves everything."
Hermione sighed.
"Three under the cloak. Oliver follows us."
I pointed at her.
"Finally, a sensible person."
"You said exactly the same thing when I told you to go to Pomfrey."
"I don't remember."
"You do."
"Unfortunately."
Harry threw the cloak over himself, Ron, and Hermione.
For a moment, it looked like a very poorly executed magic trick.
Then they vanished.
Only a faint ripple in the air remained, followed by a quiet:
"Ron, move."
"I am moving."
"You're standing on my foot."
"That's not me."
"Then who is it?"
I looked down the empty corridor.
"This is going to be a long night."
We set off.
Following three invisible eleven-year-olds was harder than it should have been.
Not because I could not see them.
Because they whispered.
Constantly.
"Stairs."
"I know."
"Ron."
"I can see."
"You can't see your own feet."
"I can feel."
Then something hit a suit of armor.
Metal rang out.
We all froze.
A portrait nearby opened one eye.
I stood several meters away, pressed into a recess in the wall.
The portrait looked around.
Saw nothing.
Then saw me.
It frowned.
"What are you doing out at this hour?"
I put a finger to my lips.
The portrait frowned even harder.
"I am not your accomplice."
"I didn't ask."
"It looked like you were asking."
"You misunderstood"
He turned away inside the frame.
"I hate students."
"Must be a difficult workplace."
I continued.
Around the corner, I heard a quiet snort.
"That wasn't funny," Hermione whispered.
"I wasn't talking to you."
"We know."
Hogwarts at night had its own atmosphere.
During the day, the corridors were full of people, voices, moving staircases, and stray magic.
At night, everything was too large.
Every footstep echoed farther.
Every torch seemed brighter.
Every shadow looked as if it were hiding something.
I knew the way.
So did they.
That did not make me feel better.
I also knew what we would find at the end.
That helped even less.
In the book, Harry survived.
In the book, Ron was knocked unconscious by a chess piece.
In the book, Hermione turned back.
In the book, Quirrell did not know that Harry knew about his involvement.
In the book, Voldemort had not been briefly halted mid-step by an eleven-year-old Peverell.
Too many things were already different.
We reached the third-floor corridor.
Empty.
The door was ajar.
I stopped.
The cloak shifted in front of me.
Harry's head appeared beneath it.
"It was locked last time."
"I know."
Hermione poked her head out too.
"So someone's already been here."
"No."
Ron appeared between them.
"Snape."
"Quirrell," I said.
Ron rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes."
"Glad you're keeping up."
Harry pushed the door open.
Music reached us immediately.
Quiet.
Repetitive.
Strings.
We went inside.
Fluffy was asleep.
Three enormous heads rested on his front paws. Each breath shifted the fur around his neck. Drool gathered around one mouth and dripped onto the stone.
Beside him stood a harp.
Playing by itself.
Ron slowly removed the cloak.
"That wasn't here before."
"No," Harry said.
Hermione stared at the harp.
"Someone enchanted it."
I looked deeper.
I did not need much.
The magic was fresh.
Not as fresh as the trace around the unicorn, but fresh enough to stand out clearly from the rest of the room.
Spellwork.
Movement.
Someone's presence.
I focused a little harder.
Familiar.
Not identical to what I had seen before.
But close enough.
Quirrell.
I did not try to look any further.
My left eye had long since recovered from the forest.
That did not mean I had forgotten what happened the last time I decided that "a little more" was a sensible plan.
"He was here," I said.
Harry looked at me.
"Quirrell?"
"Yes."
Ron opened his mouth.
"How—"
"Ron," Hermione said.
"What?"
"Not now."
Harry approached the trapdoor.
One of Fluffy's heads moved.
We all froze.
The harp kept playing.
The head lowered again.
Harry exhaled.
"The flute."
Hermione looked at him.
"You have it?"
Harry reached into his robe pocket.
He pulled out a wooden flute.
For a second, I stared at it.
A small gift from Hagrid.
Completely ordinary.
Currently one of the most important objects in the castle.
"That's your plan?" Ron asked.
Harry looked at the harp.
"In case it stops."
As if on cue, one of the strings sounded a wrong note.
Then another.
The music slowed.
One of Fluffy's heads rose a few inches.
"Harry," Hermione said.
"Yeah."
He put the flute to his lips.
The first sound was awful.
Fluffy opened one eye.
Harry tried again.
This time, the melody was at least recognizable as an attempt at music.
The eye closed.
Ron looked at me.
"He's terrible."
"Don't tell the dog."
Hermione was already lifting the trapdoor.
A black hole.
Nothing else.
"I can't see the bottom," she said.
Ron leaned over the opening.
"We have to jump."
"Of course we do."
I did not remember reading this book as involving quite so much jumping into darkness.
Ron went first.
Disappeared.
A few seconds.
"It's fine!" came from below.
Hermione looked at Harry.
"You keep playing."
She jumped.
I looked at the hole.
Then at Fluffy.
Then back at the hole.
"This is definitely one of the stupider things I've done."
Harry kept playing.
He pointed at the trapdoor with his chin.
I could not argue with him while he had a flute in his mouth.
Clever.
I jumped.
Something soft caught my back.
Then my leg.
Then my arm.
"Damn."
"Don't move!" Hermione said.
Very easy to say.
A vine wrapped around my ankle.
Another slid over my arm.
I recognized the plant almost immediately.
Devil's Snare.
I relaxed my body.
The vines loosened.
Beside me, Ron did the exact opposite.
"Get off me!"
The plant tightened.
"Ron."
"What?!"
"Stop fighting."
"Brilliant!"
"Seriously."
"It's strangling me!"
"Because you're thrashing."
Hermione was already sinking lower.
"Oliver's right!"
Ron looked at us like traitors.
"Wonderful!"
Harry dropped from above.
The plant caught him immediately.
The flute disappeared somewhere into the leaves.
Above us, Fluffy shifted.
"Harry, don't move!" Hermione shouted.
"Easy for you to say!"
"It's Devil's Snare!"
"I know!"
"Then stop!"
"I'm trying!"
Hermione freed herself first.
She disappeared downward.
A few seconds later, I felt the vine release my ankle.
I fell.
Not far.
Far enough.
I hit the stone floor with my back.
"Ow."
Harry dropped a moment later.
Ron did not.
From above came:
"HELP!"
Hermione looked up.
"I knew they liked darkness and damp..."
Ron screamed.
"Then do something!"
"We need light or fire."
"Then make fire!"
"I don't have any wood!"
A second of silence.
Ron shouted:
"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"
I looked at Harry.
Harry looked at me.
We said nothing.
Hermione turned red.
She pulled out her wand.
A few moments later, blue fire licked across the vines.
The plant recoiled violently.
Ron fell to the floor.
He lay there for a moment.
Then looked at Hermione.
"You didn't have wood?"
Hermione pressed her lips together.
"People forget things under stress."
"You're top of the class."
"Ron."
"I'm saying nothing."
We continued.
We heard wings before we saw the keys.
Hundreds.
Maybe more.
The room was tall and full of flickering movement.
Tiny metal wings reflected the light.
Keys flew in every direction.
At the opposite wall stood a door.
And beside us were brooms.
Ron looked up.
"No."
Harry smiled.
"Oh yes."
"Of course you're happy."
Hermione went to the door.
"Alohomora."
Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
"Enchanted."
I looked at the keys.
I opened Death's Sight just a little.
Mistake.
The entire room exploded into structures.
Hundreds of enchanted objects.
Every one moving.
Every one leaving behind a tiny magical trace.
For a moment, everything overlapped.
I closed Death's Sight.
"No."
Harry looked at me.
"What?"
"Too much."
He did not ask further.
Good.
Harry was already looking at the door.
"We need the key that looks like it fits."
Ron looked upward.
"There are a thousand of them."
"They haven't all been used."
I looked at Harry.
He was already searching.
Several seconds.
Then he pointed.
"There."
It took me another moment to see it.
A large silver key.
One wing bent.
"Damaged," Hermione said.
"Someone already caught it," I added.
Harry grabbed a broom.
So did we.
I will not pretend I was good.
I did not fall.
That was enough.
Harry was something else.
The moment he left the floor, everything about the way he moved changed.
He did not think.
He simply knew.
Ron and Hermione tried to herd the key from the sides.
I flew higher and blocked its path.
"Now!"
Harry dived.
The silver key tried to turn.
Too late.
Harry closed his hand around it.
"Ha!"
Ron raised a fist.
"Got it!"
Harry immediately turned back.
He landed.
The key struggled in his hand.
"Door."
Hermione opened it.
Harry inserted the key.
It fit.
He turned it.
The lock clicked.
The key tore itself free and flew away.
Its second wing now looked little better than the first.
"At least we know we're going the right way," Ron said.
"Was that supposed to be reassuring?"
"A little."
"It wasn't."
The chessboard was larger than I remembered.
Not the board.
The room.
Black and white pieces stood on opposite sides, each almost as tall as a person.
Some taller.
Stone faces.
Stone swords.
Stone axes.
Ron entered first.
Stopped.
And for the first time that night, his face did not say:
What now?
It said:
I know this.
"Chess," he said.
"We noticed."
He looked at me.
"Wizard chess."
"That was the part I missed."
Hermione stepped onto the board.
A white piece turned its head.
Hermione immediately stepped back.
Ron watched.
"We have to play."
Harry looked at the pieces.
"What?"
"We have to replace four of them."
"Four?"
Ron pointed one after another.
"You'll be a bishop. Hermione, a rook. Oliver..."
He looked over the board.
Then at me.
"...the other bishop."
"Sounds dignified."
"And I'll be a knight."
"Less dignified."
"Shut up."
The black pieces stepped off their squares.
We took our places.
I looked across the board.
The white queen held a sword.
The sword looked very real.
"Ron."
"What?"
"Are they actually going to hit us?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful."
The game began.
For the first few moves, I understood nothing.
Not because I did not know chess.
I did.
Enough to lose to someone good.
Ron was good.
Really good.
He looked at the board in a way I had never seen from him before.
He did not react.
He planned.
"Harry. Two squares."
Harry moved.
"Hermione, stay."
Hermione stayed.
"Peverell, left."
I looked.
"If I go there, I'll open a line for them to—"
"In four moves."
I shut up.
Ron pointed to the square.
"Go."
I looked again.
I did not see it.
That meant he probably did.
I moved.
A white piece smashed our pawn a few seconds later.
Fragments scattered across the floor.
Hermione flinched.
Ron did not even blink.
"Good."
"Good?" Harry asked.
"Yes."
"It smashed our pawn."
"It had to."
Ron moved another piece.
Five moves later, I understood.
"You little bastard."
Ron looked at me.
"What?"
"You saw that from the beginning."
He smiled.
"Only five moves?"
"Don't ruin the moment."
The game sped up.
Stone cracked.
Pieces fell.
Once, a sword passed so close to my shoulder that I felt the air move.
I did not use pressure.
I could have tried.
I did not want to find out whether McGonagall's protections considered manipulating the pieces cheating.
Besides, Ron had it under control.
Until his expression changed.
He looked at the white queen.
Then at Harry.
Then at the king.
"Ron?" Hermione said.
He did not answer immediately.
I knew.
I remembered.
Damn.
"I have to let her take me."
Hermione took a step.
"No."
"I have to."
"We'll find another move."
"There isn't one."
She looked at me.
As if expecting me to say something different.
I looked at the board.
I did not see a better move.
That did not mean there wasn't one.
But Ron saw this board much better than I did.
"If you do that," Harry said, "she'll hit you."
"I know."
"She could kill you."
Ron swallowed.
"I know."
He did not look brave.
He looked terrified.
That mattered more.
He moved.
The white queen turned.
Took one step.
Then another.
The stone sword rose.
Hermione screamed:
"RON!"
Impact.
Ron fell from the horse.
Harry started toward him.
Ron twitched.
With difficulty, he lifted his head.
"The game..."
That was all.
His head dropped.
He did not move again.
Harry stopped.
Looked at the board.
Then at Ron.
And understood.
A few moves later, he stepped onto the correct square.
The white king went still.
Slowly removed his crown.
The path opened.
Hermione immediately ran to Ron.
I followed.
He lay on the floor with his eyes closed.
I crouched.
Two fingers against his neck.
Pulse.
"He's alive."
Hermione looked at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Harry knelt on the other side.
"We can't leave him here."
"We're not."
I looked at the open doorway.
Then at Ron.
"One of us should stay."
Hermione was already shaking her head.
"No. If Quirrell is close, every minute—"
Harry stood.
"We'll get him on the way back. Or bring help."
Hermione looked like she hated that plan.
So did I.
The problem was we did not have a better one.
"He won us the way through," I said.
Harry looked at Ron.
Then nodded.
We continued.
A troll lay on the floor.
Large.
Gray.
Unconscious.
We stopped in the doorway.
Hermione raised her wand.
"That's..."
"A troll," Harry said.
"Yes."
"Dead?" she asked.
I looked.
No.
It was breathing.
Slowly.
"Alive."
Harry looked at me.
"Again?"
"In this case, its chest is moving very visibly."
Hermione looked.
"Right."
Ron would have been delighted.
I stepped closer.
Did not touch it.
I opened Death's Sight only as much as I needed.
A remnant of a spell still clung around the troll.
Fresh.
Much fresher than most things I usually tried to read.
I studied it.
Something about the way the magic settled around the target was familiar.
Not identical to the curse on Harry's broom.
It did not have to be.
Different spell.
Same wizard.
Probably.
"Quirrell."
Harry heard.
"You're sure?"
"Fairly."
"How far ahead of us?"
I looked at the trace again.
I could not tell.
Fresh did not mean five minutes.
I was not that good yet.
"I don't know."
Annoying.
We continued.
The next room was small.
A table.
Seven bottles.
And fire.
Purple flames sprang up behind us a moment after we entered.
Harry turned sharply.
"Back!"
No need to tell me.
Black fire rose on the other side.
Not ordinary.
Too even.
Too calm.
A wall of flame from ceiling to floor.
Hermione immediately approached the table.
A roll of parchment lay on it.
"Potions," she said.
I remembered.
Not exactly.
I remembered the riddle.
I remembered Hermione solving it.
I remembered the small bottle.
I did not remember the arrangement of all seven.
That was irritating enough to keep me quiet.
Hermione read.
Once.
Twice.
Harry stood beside her.
I watched the black fire.
My left eye pulsed faintly.
Not with pain.
More like a reminder.
I ignored it.
Hermione began moving the bottles.
"Three are poison."
Ron had definitely chosen a good moment to be unconscious.
"Two are wine."
Harry looked at her.
"That leaves two."
"One will take us back through the purple flames."
She looked at the smallest bottle.
"And one through the black."
Harry reached for it.
Hermione grabbed his wrist.
"Not yet."
"But you said—"
"I want to be sure."
She read again.
A minute.
Maybe two.
Then nodded.
"This one."
The small bottle.
Harry held it up to the light.
There was not much liquid inside.
Hermione grimaced.
"Enough for one person."
Of course.
Harry looked at me.
I looked at him.
"No," Hermione said.
No one had suggested anything yet.
"We are not splitting up."
Harry pointed at the black fire.
"We don't have a choice."
"We can go back."
"Quirrell is on the other side."
"Then we get a professor."
"By the time we come back, he could have the Stone."
Hermione clenched her jaw.
Looked at me.
"Say something."
I was staring at the fire.
"Oliver."
"I can see it."
"What?"
I stepped closer.
The heat was strange.
I could feel it against my skin, but it did not behave like ordinary flame.
The fire was only what we could see.
Underneath was the spell.
I opened Death's Sight deeper.
The structure appeared almost immediately.
Layers.
Anchors.
Several elements tied together.
And something else woven deeper within.
A condition.
Probably connected to the potion.
I did not understand the whole structure.
I did not need to.
Hermione stood beside me.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking."
"That's usually the point where I start worrying."
"Nice."
I pressed.
Gently.
Not on the whole spell.
I was not trying to destroy it.
Only one thing.
The space occupied by the flame.
Move.
The black fire twitched.
Harry took a step.
Hermione froze.
So did I.
The flame shifted away from the stone frame by maybe two centimeters.
That was all.
I let go.
It returned.
No one spoke.
I felt something inside me become very, very interested.
Well then.
I tried again.
This time I knew a little better what to look for.
Not the whole structure.
Only that one part.
Move aside.
The flames trembled.
Three centimeters.
Four.
A narrow gap appeared beside the wall.
My left eye stung.
Not badly.
More.
"Oliver," Hermione said.
"One second."
I pressed harder.
The gap widened.
Maybe the width of a hand.
Harry stared.
"Are you doing that?"
"No, the fire decided to cooperate."
"Oliver."
"Yes."
The pressure behind my eye increased.
The spell was not like the broom.
It was not a simple charm cast on something moving.
It was stable.
Anchored.
Designed to last.
Snape was damn good.
That was irritating.
Move.
The flame yielded a little more.
Then the resistance increased sharply.
Like trying to pull something away from a wall only to reach the end of the slack.
I released it.
The fire snapped back into place.
My left eye throbbed.
Hermione looked at the gap that had already vanished.
"A few centimeters."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"You opened the passage by a few centimeters."
"But I opened it."
"You can't fit through a few centimeters."
"You have to start somewhere."
Harry was still looking at the fire.
"Can you open it?"
I looked again.
Probably.
That was the worst answer.
"Not quickly."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"Five minutes?"
"No."
"Ten?"
"Harry."
He understood.
Quirrell was already ahead of us.
Time mattered.
Hermione looked at the smallest bottle.
Then at Harry.
"You go."
He did not argue.
That was probably worse.
She chose another bottle.
"This one will take me back."
"To Ron," Harry said.
"And for help."
She looked at me.
"You too."
"No."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Oliver."
"Harry shouldn't be alone."
"And you can't get through."
I looked at the black fire.
"Yet."
Hermione made that face.
That specific one.
A mixture of irritation and the awareness that I had just said something very stupid.
"That is not an argument."
"It is to me."
"You barely made a gap."
"But I did."
"The width of a hand."
"Like I said. A start."
Harry sighed.
"Stop."
We both looked at him.
He was holding the small bottle.
"I'm going."
He said it calmly.
Too calmly.
That was strange.
All year, Harry had thrown himself into things through some mixture of courage and lack of self-preservation.
Now he knew what might be on the other side.
Quirrell.
Voldemort.
And he was still going.
"If you see Quirrell," I said, "don't try to fight him."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"You did."
"Yes. It was a mistake."
Hermione looked at me.
She said nothing.
Good.
Harry was still watching.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Good question.
I knew the answer.
In theory.
The Mirror.
Desire.
The Stone would appear in his pocket.
Quirrell would try to take it.
He would touch Harry.
Burn.
Dumbledore would arrive.
Simple.
Except things had also been supposed to be simple in the Forbidden Forest.
In the book, Harry survived.
I could not tell him that.
I also could not trust that events would remain so accommodating.
"Don't let him get the Stone."
Harry snorted.
"Great advice."
"I'm trying."
"If Voldemort really is with him..."
"Then don't give him a reason to get any closer to you than necessary."
That was more useful.
Maybe.
Hermione handed Harry the bottle.
He drank.
Grimaced.
"Cold."
"It should be," Hermione said.
He approached the black fire.
Stopped.
Looked at us.
"Ron..."
"He's alive," I said.
"Hermione will get him."
Hermione nodded.
"I'll bring help."
Harry looked at me.
"And you?"
I looked at the flames.
"I have a problem to solve."
"Don't do anything stupid."
For a second, I genuinely did not know what to say.
Hermione snorted.
Harry smiled.
"Yeah. I know."
He turned.
Walked into the black fire.
The flames passed over his body.
Did not burn him.
A second later, he disappeared on the other side.
Hermione picked up the bottle that led back.
"I'm going back for Ron."
"Good."
She looked at the black fire.
Then at me.
"You too."
"No."
"Oliver."
"Harry is alone."
"And you can't get through."
I looked at the flames.
"Yet."
Her eyes narrowed.
"That's exactly what I was afraid of."
"Get help."
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue.
Then she looked at the purple fire.
"Do not touch that spell."
"Of course."
"That did not sound convincing."
"It wasn't."
She pressed her lips together.
"I'm getting McGonagall."
"Good."
She drank the potion and walked through the flames.
I was alone.
Purple fire behind me.
Black ahead.
Seven bottles on the table.
Silence.
For a moment, I did nothing.
Really.
I stood and watched.
My left eye was still throbbing faintly from the previous attempt.
I should wait.
Hermione would bring help.
Harry knew the danger.
Dumbledore was probably already on his way back.
All I had to do was stand there.
That was sensible.
I hated it.
I approached the black fire.
Death's Sight opened slowly.
The structure returned.
Now I had time to look.
Not at the whole thing.
I did not need the whole thing.
The anchors sank deeper into the stone.
Beneath them was the part I still did not understand.
The condition for passage.
The potion was tied to it somehow.
How exactly?
I did not know.
I left it alone.
I could try pressing on the condition.
No.
Too complex.
For now.
I could try weakening the whole spell.
That was stupid too.
I did not need the whole spell.
I needed only one thing.
Where you are.
Move.
The fire twitched.
Easier than before.
Not because the spell had grown weaker.
I simply knew where to press now.
A few centimeters.
I let go.
It returned.
Again.
This time not harder.
More precisely.
The flame parted beside the wall.
A gap.
Narrow.
But real.
I felt a stab behind my left eye.
I did not stop.
A little more.
The gap widened.
Five centimeters.
Six.
Then I hit the same resistance.
I released it.
The fire closed.
I touched the skin beneath my eye with one finger.
Dry.
Good.
I looked at the flames.
I could affect them.
That was the important part.
It did not mean I could pass through yet.
It did not even mean I could open them wide enough.
But the potion was not the only way to move the spell.
Behind the wall of black fire, Harry was alone.
I looked at the structure again.
This time, I was not trying to understand all of it.
I was looking for the place where it resisted being moved the most.
I found it.
I smiled faintly.
"Alright."
I pressed again.