"What does that mean?" Ron's head was full of confusion.
"It's a logic puzzle," Harry explained.
"What a puzzle?"
"Logic."
"Logic what?"
Harry rolled his eyes, too lazy to keep playing this "Ma Dongmei" back-and-forth game with Ron. He switched to a simpler explanation Ron could understand:
"Think of it as a kind of riddle game."
He had realized by now—wizards had almost no concept of this kind of reasoning.
Muggle children, on the other hand, were trained in logical thinking from an early age.
Cultural differences, plain and simple.
Whoever designed this trial must've been a teacher who liked dabbling in the Muggle world.
If Arthur had heard Harry's thought just then, he would've burst out laughing.
Snape? A good teacher? Interested in Muggles?
Well… in a twisted way, not entirely wrong. Those two biologists were still locked up in that countryside warehouse Snape was keeping.
"Oh! I get it now. Sounds fun. Let's give it a try," Ron said with interest.
Harry didn't reply. He just raised his hand and began a countdown.
"…"
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"I've got it!"
The last line didn't come from Harry, but from Hermione.
Ron stared at her, dumbfounded. He hadn't even understood the riddle, and Hermione had already cracked it.
Harry finally spoke up: "Leave professional work to the professionals."
Ron nodded in deep agreement.
Hermione began to explain:
"The meaning is simple. Out of the seven bottles, one lets you go forward through the fire, one takes you back, and the rest are poison.
Rule three says the biggest and smallest bottles aren't poisonous. So the large black one isn't poisonous. Rule four says the second from the left and second from the right are the same… and since…"
She launched into rapid-fire reasoning, her words weaving back and forth like a web. Not only did Ron lose the thread completely, even Harry was getting dizzy.
"Hold it! Hermione, just tell us which ones aren't poisonous." Harry cut her off.
"Fine. The first purple one on the right is the return potion, and the smallest blue bottle, third from the left, is the forward potion."
For a moment, Hermione missed her cousin. He would've understood her whole explanation.
Harry uncorked the smallest bottle. Inside, there was barely a sip—certainly not enough for two wizards.
"So only one of us can move forward. You two drink the return potion, go back, and send word to Dumbledore. Tell him to come back here as soon as possible." Harry's tone was resolute. He had decided he would stop Snape himself.
The scene was so dramatic that even Arthur, watching from afar, would've stood up and applauded.
Brilliant. Truly brilliant.
They had made it all the way to the last chamber before thinking of writing to Dumbledore.
No wonder foreign police arrive late—when the crowd only calls them after the show is over!
"I have a way through the fire," Hermione said suddenly, looking at Ron.
Harry turned toward him too.
Ron, sensing their gazes, ventured weakly, "I… go back and send the message?"
Both nodded in unison.
"Alright then. Be careful."
Ron grabbed the return potion and downed it. Before he could even put the bottle down, his body started hurtling backwards at incredible speed—straight back to Fluffy's room.
A bizarre sight indeed. First time anyone had seen "recall" triggered by drinking a potion.
What, no one here uses Hearthstones?
"Okay. Our turn."
Harry drank the forward potion, stepped up to the wall of fire, and—with a deep breath—charged through.
Hermione, however, was more cautious. She had already recognized the spell.
This wasn't ordinary fire. This was Enchanted Fiendfyre.
She wasn't entirely sure whether the protective charm on the bracelet her cousin had given her could hold against it. But having come this far, to back down now would've been unbearable. And besides, she worried about Harry.
"Alright… Cousin, watch over me."
Hermione drew a deep breath, activated the bracelet's warding spell, and dashed forward.
A translucent shield shimmered into place, batting away the raging fire as she crossed.
She remembered her cousin's words when he gave her the bracelet: The enchantment can repel hostile curses.
She never imagined it would block enchanted Fiendfyre as well.
Past the flames, she saw Harry had already gone down the stairs.
From below, faint voices drifted up. Hermione slowed her steps and crept down quietly.
Soon she heard it clearly.
"Yes, yes! Everyone thinks Snape is the villain. Nobody would ever suspect poor stammering Professor Quirrell!"
Hermione instantly recognized the voice. Quirrell.
Listening to his smug tone, she almost laughed out loud.
With all his shady behavior, at least five people in Hogwarts had suspected him already.
Her cousin had pegged him from day one.
(Arthur: Don't praise me. I was cheating.)
"That's impossible! At the Quidditch match, Snape tried to kill me!" Harry's voice rang out.
"That was me trying to kill you! Snape was chanting a counter-curse. If my turban hadn't caught fire, you'd be long dead."
"And that night at Christmas, when Snape threatened you?"
"That was only because your meddlesome classmate spoiled my troll plan! I never even got the chance to enter, and Snape grew suspicious of me."
"The troll was yours too?"
"Yes! All of it was me!"
Hermione was left speechless.
Quirrell, you're a villain. You even tried to kill Harry. Why are you suddenly giving him a full confession, question by question?
When Harry stopped asking, Quirrell turned back to the Mirror of Erised.
"What is this thing? I see what I want inside, but how do I get it?"
"Use the boy…"
A third voice echoed in the chamber, low and dripping with malice.
Even Hermione, listening in, felt her skin crawl.
"Harry, come! Now!" Quirrell barked.
"What do you see?"
In the mirror, Harry watched his reflection pull a red stone from his pocket and slip it back inside.
He knew instantly—that was the Philosopher's Stone.
Before he could answer, Hermione's shout rang out:
"Harry! Get down!"
"Quirrell! Here's your Philosopher's Stone!"
Harry remembered Hermione's antics earlier. Getting down here might not be safe, so instead he bolted behind the mirror and ducked.
Quirrell spun around at the sound.
And saw it—an egg-sized stone flying straight toward him.
He instinctively reached to catch it—then froze. Wait. The Stone he had just seen in the mirror… didn't look like this.
"Oh no—!"
BOOM!
This wasn't one of Hermione's small pigeon-egg grenades with a one-meter blast radius.
This one's explosion sent the giant Mirror of Erised—taller than two grown men—crashing across the chamber.
It landed squarely on top of Harry.
Harry: ???
What did I do this time to deserve this?!
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