The challenges behind the trapdoor weren't much of a hassle for Sean.
Before Fluffy could even blink, Sean had transfigured a plank into a flute and lulled the three-headed dog straight to dreamland.
Behind the beast yawned a bottomless pit. Sean was just about to jump when he heard noises behind him.
"Sean…"
A shaky whisper. Hermione and Harry—they must've seen the signal on the Marauder's Map and followed.
They looked like they'd seen a ghost.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, voice trembling.
"What do you think? Hermione, come on—three-headed dog knocked out cold. You really think I did that?"
Harry's brain kicked into overdrive, even in panic mode. Maybe too fast.
"Dumbledore's gone… Professor Quirrell's after the Stone…"
Hermione muttered under her breath.
Fluffy had been awake minutes ago. That meant Quirrell was already deep inside. Sean had no idea how far along they were.
He had to move. Fast.
"See you on the other side."
He didn't wait for a reply. He stepped into the void.
Cold, damp air roared past his ears. Down, down, down—
Thump. He landed on something soft with a weird, muffled thud.
He lit his wand. Devil's Snare shrank back from the flame and warmth.
He extinguished the light, stood up—and thump, thump—two more bodies dropped in behind him.
The vines shot out like snakes, wrapping around Harry and Hermione.
"Don't move!" Hermione shouted. "I know what this is—Devil's Snare!"
"Great, Hermione, we've got a name for it," Harry snapped.
"We need fire. But there're no matches…"
"Are you mad? You're a witch!"
"Oh—right!"
Hermione yanked out her wand, flicked it with a muttered spell, and a bluebell flame bloamed at the tip.
That's when they finally spotted Sean, calm as ever, just a few feet away.
"Nice work."
They scrambled after him.
At the end of the corridor was a brightly lit room with a high, arched ceiling. A silver door stood at the far end. Hundreds of jewel-colored birds fluttered overhead—up close, they looked like flying keys.
Harry and Hermione barely had time to gawk before Sean flicked his wand twice:
"Impedimenta!"
"Accio Key!"
Two simple spells. Key in hand. Door open. Harry and Hermione stared, dumbfounded.
"How did he find the right one so fast?" Harry whispered as they walked.
"The door's silver. Maybe the key's silver too. But no one could've—"
Hermione trailed off.
Through the door: a giant chessboard. The pieces towered over them, carved from black stone. Across the room, white pieces stared back—faceless.
"What now?" Harry asked Sean.
So far, everything had been smooth. With Sean there, even the giant chessmen didn't seem so scary. Harry was curious now.
"We're supposed to play…" Hermione said, face tight with nerves. "But Ron's not here. He's the best at chess."
The board was dozens of meters wide. Sean looked tiny in front of it.
McGonagall's chess puzzle. But Sean didn't have time for a friendly game.
His Transfiguration wouldn't take down that many pieces. But he'd learned more than just stirring cauldrons in the dungeons…
"Reducto!"
A blinding flash. The white king exploded.
[You practiced the Blasting Curse to expert standards. Proficiency +50]
He pulled up his panel:
[Severing Charm: Expert (2000/9000)]
[Blasting Curse: Expert (100/9000)]
[Impediment Jinx: Expert (1000/9000)]
…
Expert level: silent, instant.
The white pieces bowed and parted, clearing a path to the next door.
Sean walked through without hesitation.
"We were supposed to play, right?" Hermione said.
"Maybe," Harry replied, hurrying after him.
On the floor lay a knocked-out troll, snoring like a freight train.
Sean stepped over it. Next: Snape's potion riddle. Seven bottles. He'd forgotten the answer, but he could work it out on the spot.
Only one person could pass.
Behind the final door…
Professor Quirrell was in a state no one could predict.
A professor not fully corrupted. Did Harry's "special attack" still work?
No way to know.
Sean heard owls returning outside. Dawn wasn't far.
McGonagall or Terra would arrive soon. Dumbledore's return was close.
Just a little more time. Stall just a little longer. Everything could change.
While Sean thought, Hermione cracked the riddle.
She reread the parchment, paced in front of the bottles, muttering and pointing. Finally, she clapped.
"Got it! The smallest bottle gets us through the black fire—to the Stone. But there's only enough for one person."
She frowned. "Not even a full sip."
Harry swallowed, ready to volunteer.
Then—a paper airplane shot through the wall, unfolded in Sean's hand.
[I'll be there soon, child.]
Harry and Hermione had no clue who it was from. Sean exhaled like the weight of the world had lifted.
"I'll buy some time."
He downed the potion and stepped through the flames.
To Harry and Hermione, it meant one thing:
Before the professors arrived, to stop Quirrell from getting the Stone, Sean was facing Voldemort's pawn alone.
…
In the final chamber, only low voices.
"Master, forgive your worthless servant! I failed to kill the unicorn—my magic was too weak, my will too frail… Please… one more chance. I won't fail you again…"
Sean saw Professor Quirrell circling the Mirror of Erised, groveling.
"One more chance…"
He kept repeating it. Then he sensed something and whipped around.
Bloodshot eyes bulged. Pupils shrank to pinpricks.
His lips, bitten bloodless, parted but made no sound. Only his throat bobbed uselessly.
Before anyone could react, Quirrell shoved a cookie into his mouth. His robed figure shrank into a trembling squirrel.
The squirrel scurried to Sean's feet and froze.
A notebook and quill floated out from Sean's robes.
[Y-you… how are you here… You shouldn't be. The Dark Lord will kill you… Run. Run!]
Sean stared at the words. Ideas flooded in.
The Animal Party cookies lasted. The moment Quirrell chose squirrel, he locked himself in for at least half an hour.
Sean's bag was full of squirrel cookies—practice batches.
"And you, Professor?"
Sean's eyes softened.
[Oh… oh… He'll torture me. Like when I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts. He was furious. He punished me… But this has nothing to do with you… Go, Mr. Green. Please…]
The squirrel squeaked in panic.
Sean heard a soft footstep behind him. He shivered. He knew who it was.
"Did you get the Stone?"
[The Stone… I didn't want to use it. But it wanted to come to me. I saw myself in the mirror, grabbing it… I made excuses… I couldn't look…]
Silence. Ten seconds. Twenty.
[The Stone will be taken eventually… He'll return. Of course he will. He'll leave me—this empty shell, this broken soul… Mr. Green, I won't lie to you anymore. Or to myself. I'm already dead…]
Sean watched the squirrel that was Professor Quirrell.
[You gave me a choice. I learned what hope feels like… Now, I still have a choice. Everyone gets one final choice…]
Sean knew what he meant. The great equalizer: death is always an option.
"You did enough… Professor Dumbledore…"
He turned. There stood an old wizard with a long white beard. Behind him: a gaggle of young witches and wizards.
Justin. Hermione. Harry. Ron…
…
It was over.
The moment Voldemort saw Dumbledore—after the transformation—he abandoned Quirrell.
He passed through Harry, knocking him out cold.
Dumbledore cast a strange spell on Quirrell, muttering as he worked:
"A soul not fully tainted. Still whole. Never took an innocent life. Rare…"
He glanced at the kids.
"Seems you all did pretty well while I was gone."
Hermione and Justin, still a little guilty, blushed. Ron, supporting Harry and sweating buckets, puffed out his chest.
Quirrell, weak as a kitten, confessed everything. The kids nearly dropped their jaws.
Voldemort had been on the back of his head?!
And Professor Quirrell chose death—dying as someone who, like Harry, had defeated the Dark Lord. The timid professor earned their respect.
Soon after, Harry and Quirrell were whisked to the hospital wing.
In the corridor, the kids—who'd slept maybe ten hours in two days—walked silently back to Hope Cottage.
Then Justin started clapping. For everyone.
Yeah, Dumbledore banished Voldemort. But while he was away, they protected the Forest, breached the trapdoor, and stopped the resurrection.
Like the headmaster said—they did good.
"Guys, we won!"
Ron, Hermione, and Neville looked at him, then at Sean, faces glowing with joy and pride.
Now? Sleep. Then visit Harry.
Sean had one more person to see—a brave professor.
Before passing out, Quirrell turned down Dumbledore's offer to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He couldn't face teaching at Hogwarts… His body was wrecked. Curses, Voldemort's drain on his life and soul—he'd need years to recover.
Unless… special potions. But Voldemort had bled his Galleons dry.
So who could give a broken professor a job?