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The Restricted Section of Hogwarts library felt different at night. Harry had visited the library countless times during daylight hours, but under the soft glow of his wand, the towering shelves cast long shadows that seemed to reach for him like grasping hands. The silence was absolute except for the occasional settling of ancient bindings and the whisper of parchment.
"Are you sure we're allowed to be here?" Anna Bones whispered, her pale face ghostly in the wandlight.
"Professor Flitwick signed my permission slip," Harry replied, holding up the parchment with their Head of House's elaborate signature. "Though he did raise an eyebrow when I said it was for 'supplementary defense research.'"
Anna tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear as she scanned the shelves. At fourteen, she moved with the quiet confidence that came from being raised by the formidable head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Aunt Amelia would have kittens if she knew we were researching Occlumency because we suspect a professor of being able to read minds."
"Which is exactly why I didn't mention that part in my last journal entry," Harry admitted, pulling a heavy tome from the shelf. The Mind's Fortress: Principles of Mental Defense.
"Clever," Anna smirked. "Sometimes I forget you're only eleven."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt at the compliment. If only you knew how much help I've had, he thought, aware of Anakin's presence inside his head.
They settled at a small table tucked between two towering bookcases, spreading out their findings. Harry had managed to gather three volumes on Occlumency, while Anna had found a particularly promising text called Shields of Thought: A Practical Approach to Occlumency.
"This looks promising," Anna said, flipping through the pages. "It says here that the foundation of Occlumency begins with meditation and emotional control."
Harry leaned over to look at the illustrated page showing a wizard sitting cross-legged, concentric circles emanating from his head. "That doesn't seem too difficult."
"Says the boy who can sit perfectly still for an hour," Anna teased. "Some of us haven't mastered the art of looking like a statue."
"It's not that hard," Harry protested, though he knew his ability to remain motionless stemmed directly from Anakin's training. "You just have to focus on your breathing."
"The initial stages are quite similar to what I've taught you," Anakin commented. "Though their visualization techniques differ somewhat."
Harry nodded absently in response, causing Anna to give him a curious look.
"Sorry," he covered quickly. "Just agreeing with what I'm reading here. Look at this passage."
He pointed to a paragraph describing the sensation of an attempted mental intrusion. The skilled Occlumens will feel a foreign presence as a pressure against their mental barriers, often accompanied by an unusual focus on specific memories.
"That's disturbing," Anna muttered, eyes widening. "You mean someone could be reading through my thoughts?"
"Not your thoughts exactly," Harry clarified, still reading. "More like... accessing your memories. Bringing certain ones to the surface."
The illustration showed a wizard with two faces, one superimposed ghostly over the other. The text described the signs of magical possession: personality changes, lapses in memory, unusual knowledge or skills appearing suddenly, and periods of uncharacteristic behavior.
"Quirrell's transformation," Harry whispered, the pieces clicking together in his mind. "It wasn't just that his stutter disappeared... his entire demeanor changed."
"You think he's possessed?" Anna asked, her voice dropping even lower.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But it would explain a lot."
He turned back to his own book, finding a passage on beginning Occlumency exercises. The instructions described clearing one's mind, visualizing a barrier, and gradually building it into an impenetrable shield.
"Let me try this," he murmured, closing his eyes.
Harry settled into the familiar meditative state Anakin had taught him, focusing on his breathing until the world around him faded. Instead of reaching for the Force as he usually would, he followed the book's instructions, imagining his mind as a tranquil pool of water, then slowly freezing its surface into ice.
"Your meditation technique is already advanced," Anakin observed. "Try connecting your Force awareness to this visualization. Feel the boundaries of your mind as you would sense the limits of your Force presence."
Harry followed the guidance, extending his Force sensitivity inward instead of outward. To his surprise, he could perceive something like a luminous barrier already in place—not solid, but definitely present.
"I think it's working," he whispered, eyes still closed.
"What's working?" Anna asked.
Harry opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented by the shift back to physical awareness. "The meditation technique. It feels... familiar somehow."
"You look like you've done this before," Anna observed shrewdly.
"Just similar to some focusing exercises I taught myself while living with the Dursleys," Harry deflected. It wasn't entirely a lie; many of Anakin's lessons had begun during those lonely years.
Anna nodded, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "This book mentions that natural Occlumens exist—people who instinctively shield their minds without training. Maybe you have some innate talent for it."
"Maybe," Harry agreed, grateful for the explanation.
They continued reading in companionable silence until Anna gasped softly.
"Harry, look at this," she whispered, pointing to a heavily footnoted passage. "It mentions the creation of protective objects that can enhance mental shields. Listen: 'Nicholas Flamel's research into alchemical protections included several devices designed to ward against mental intrusion.'"
"Flamel?" Harry frowned. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
Anna's eyes widened. "Nicholas Flamel is only the most famous alchemist in history. He created the Philosopher's Stone."
"The what?"
"The Philosopher's Stone," Anna repeated, looking shocked at his ignorance. "It's supposed to transform any metal into gold and produce the Elixir of Life, granting immortality. We learned about it in History of Magic last term, but you are still a first year, so you wouldn't hear about him until then."
Harry was about to protest when a connection sparked in his mind. "Wait... Quirrell was seen at alchemical sites in Paris. You don't think—"
"—that he's after something related to Flamel?" Anna finished his thought. "It would explain his interest in those locations."
"And why he was heading to the third-floor corridor during the troll incident," Harry added. "What if... what if whatever's being hidden there is connected to Flamel?"
Anna looked thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, I overheard Aunt Amelia talking to someone about increased security measures at Hogwarts this year. She seemed concerned about something valuable being kept here."
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Harry whispered, the implications dawning on him. "A stone that grants immortality would certainly be worth stealing."
"And worth protecting," Anna agreed. "Which would explain the forbidden corridor and whatever defenses lie beyond it."
They stared at each other, the pieces falling into place with disturbing clarity.
"We need to tell someone," Harry said firmly. "Dumbledore should know about this."
Anna gave him a measured look. "Harry, don't you think Dumbledore already knows? Whatever's being guarded in that corridor, the Headmaster and the professors must be the ones who set it up."
Harry blinked, realizing she was right. "So they've put traps in place... protections to keep people like Quirrell from getting to it."
"Exactly," Anna nodded. "Aunt Amelia mentioned something about each of the senior professors contributing a protection. I think that's why she was concerned—because of how many people knew about it."
"That still doesn't explain why Quirrell would risk going after it," Harry pointed out. "He has to know it's well-protected."
"Unless he thinks he can get past everything they've set up," Anna said grimly. "Which doesn't bode well for the rest of us." Her expression suddenly lightened as she added, "But don't worry, Tonks is keeping an eye on Professor Quirrell."
Harry's head snapped up. "What do you mean she is keeping an eye on him?"
"Tonks told me that she followed him last night," Anna explained with a casual shrug. "She wanted to see where he would go. Said that he stopped before a door in the forbidden third corridor, he just stood there, but didn't go in." She twirled a strand of auburn hair around her finger. "You know Tonks—can't resist a good mystery. Or the chance to show off her non existent sneaking skills."
"She should not follow him, he can be dangerous," Harry said, feeling his concern deepen with every word. The memory of his nightmare flickered through his mind—Tonks suspended in the air, blue energy crackling around her. "I will speak with her tomorrow."
Anna leaned against the stone wall, studying Harry with a knowing look that made him decidedly uncomfortable. "I told her the same, but maybe you can convince her. You seem to have a certain..." she paused dramatically, "...charm with girls. Potter Charm." A teasing smile spread across her face as she winked at him.
Harry felt heat rush to his face, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don't—that's not—" he stammered, only making Anna's smile widen.
"Ah, the famous Potter Charm," Anakin commented dryly in his mind, amusement evident in his voice. "Your father had it too, from what I've gathered watching your interactions with Hogwarts staff. Must be genetic."
"Not helping, Master," Harry thought back furiously, which only seemed to increase Anakin's amusement.
"Consider it part of your training, Padawan," Anakin replied with what Harry could swear was a mental smirk. "Maintaining composure in ALL situations."
Harry turned even redder, and he was sure he could hear his Master laughing in his head. The sound was rare enough that under different circumstances, Harry might have appreciated it—Anakin rarely displayed such genuine mirth.
"I don't have any special... charm," Harry finally managed to say, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.
"Of course not," Anna agreed with exaggerated seriousness. "It must be pure coincidence that half the first-year girls sigh when you walk past, and Tonks suddenly has all this time to teach you advanced dueling techniques." She pushed herself off the wall with a grin. "Just like it's coincidence that you're blushing redder than a Remembrall right now."
"She's got you there," Anakin commented, and Harry could practically feel his Master's ghostly hand patting his shoulder in mock sympathy.
"Don't we have more important things to worry about?" Harry asked desperately. "Like Quirrell and whatever he's after?"
Anna took pity on him, her expression sobering. "You're right. But remember, Harry—sometimes a little laughter helps in dark times." Her voice softened. "Just be careful, alright? And when you talk to Tonks... maybe suggest she takes someone with her next time? Safety in numbers and all that."
Harry nodded, grateful for the change in subject even as Anakin's amusement continued to radiate in his mind.
"The legendary Jedi composure," Harry grumbled internally.
"Even Jedi Masters are allowed to appreciate a well-executed tease, Padawan," Anakin replied, his tone lighter than Harry had heard in weeks. "Besides, your reaction was... educational."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Anna would notice. Instead, he focused on the serious matter at hand—finding Tonks before his nightmare could become reality.
Night
Harry didn't remember falling asleep. One moment he was staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed, and the next... darkness enveloped him, heavy and thick like oil slicking over his consciousness.
He found himself in a corridor, the stone walls of Hogwarts unmistakable even in the dim torchlight. Ahead of him, a flash of movement—purple hair disappearing around a corner. Tonks, walking with uncharacteristic stealth, her wand held low at her side, its tip dimly illuminated.
Harry tried to call out but found his voice muted, as if the very air swallowed his words. He followed, his dream-self moving with the weightless glide of the unconscious mind.
Tonks paused at the corner of another hallway, checking carefully before proceeding. Harry recognized their location with a spike of dread—the third floor corridor. The forbidden one.
Ahead of them both, Professor Quirrell stood before a massive wooden door, his back to Tonks as he murmured incantations Harry couldn't quite hear. The Defense professor's turban seemed to shift subtly, as if something beneath it was stirring.
Tonks pressed herself against the wall, her Disillusionment Charm making her outline shimmer faintly in the torchlight. She was good—almost invisible—but not perfect.
"Not good enough, I'm afraid, Miss Nymphadora Tonks."
Quirrell's voice sliced through the silence without him turning around. Harry felt his stomach drop as the professor slowly pivoted, his face caught in shadow—except for his eyes, which were bright yellow.
"Following a professor after curfew? Ten points from Hufflepuff," Quirrell said, his voice layered with a second, deeper tone that made Harry's scar prickle even in the dream. "Though I suppose house points will be the least of your concerns shortly."
Tonks dropped her Disillusionment, recognizing the futility of hiding. Her wand snapped up. "I know what you're up to, Quirrell. You're trying to steal whatever Dumbledore's hiding."
"Such bravado," Quirrell replied, advancing with measured steps. "Quite fitting for someone who wants to be an Auror. Your mother would be proud... momentarily."
Tonks fired off a Stunning Spell, but Quirrell deflected it with a casual flick of his wand, the red jet of light sizzling into the wall beside him.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Incarcerous!" Tonks cast in rapid succession, each spell meeting the same effortless defense.
"Your technique is admirable," Quirrell commented, still advancing. "But ultimately... insufficient."
He moved with sudden, inhuman speed, closing the distance between them. His face contorted. For a moment, his features smoothed into something serpentine and alien, a smile spreading that was too wide, too knowing.
"Expelliarmus," he whispered, and Tonks's wand flew from her grasp with such force that it clattered down the corridor.
Harry struggled desperately to move, to help, but remained frozen, a helpless observer.
Quirrell circled Tonks like a predator, his wand now pressed beneath her chin. "You will be useful, child. A perfect lure for the boy."
"Harry won't fall for it," Tonks spat, her hair cycling through angry reds despite her fear. "He's smarter than you think."
"Oh, I'm counting on his intelligence," Quirrell replied, that unnatural smile returning. "Someone like
With a violent gesture, thin cords erupted from Quirrell's wand, wrapping around Tonks with cruel efficiency. She struggled as he levitated her bound form, directing her toward the wooden door.
"Let me show you what awaits your young friend when he comes for you," Quirrell said, flicking his wand. The massive door swung open to reveal...
A monstrous three-headed dog, each head the size of a bear's, with slavering jaws and yellowed fangs. The creature lunged forward but stopped abruptly at a gesture from Quirrell, whimpering as if in pain.
"Merely the first guardian," Quirrell explained conversationally to the struggling Tonks. "A simple melody subdues the beast. Beyond lies a sequence of... challenges. Garlick's little botanical trap, Flitwick's charmed keys, McGonagall's chess set, and a rather clever logic puzzle from Severus."
He guided Tonks's floating form past the cowering dog, through a trapdoor in the floor. Harry's perspective followed, glimpsing flashes of what lay below—writhing tendrils of some enormous plant, a chamber filled with flying, glittering objects, giant chess pieces standing sentinel.
"But the final chamber," Quirrell continued, approaching a doorway wreathed in black flames,
They passed through the flames unharmed, entering a chamber dominated by an ornate mirror. Quirrell positioned Tonks near the center of the room, her body suspended several feet above the floor, much as Harry had seen in his previous nightmare.
"And now, we wait," Quirrell said softly, raising his hand. Blue lightning crackled between his fingers, making Tonks flinch away. "The boy will come for you. And when he does..."
The scene began to dissolve, darkness creeping in at the edges of Harry's vision. From this encroaching shadow, a voice spoke—not Quirrell's, but the deeper, colder voice that had haunted his previous dream.
"You see now what awaits," it said. "She suffers because you lack the strength to save her. The power is there for the taking, young Potter... if only you would reach for it."
An image formed in the darkness—Harry himself, standing in the mirror chamber, hand extended. But not toward Tonks. Toward the crackling blue energy that now danced between his own fingers, power radiating from him in palpable waves.
"This is your true potential," the voice whispered. "Not the watered-down teachings of your spectral mentor. Real power. Power to save. Power to protect. Power to reshape destiny itself."
"I don't need dark power," Harry tried to say, but his dream-self merely smiled, the blue lightning intensifying until it illuminated the entire chamber.
"We shall see," the voice replied, fading as the vision dissolved completely.
Harry sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, his pajamas soaked in cold sweat. His scar burned fiercely, a sensation like hot needles dragging across his forehead. Outside, the sun greeted him, it was morning.
The Great Hall was already bustling with students when Harry burst through the doors at precisely 7:32 AM. He'd barely taken time to splash water on his face and pull on his school robes before rushing downstairs, heart hammering against his ribs. His eyes scanned the Hufflepuff table frantically, searching for a shock of vibrant hair that should have been impossible to miss.
No Tonks.
"She could be sleeping in," Harry told himself, though the knot in his stomach tightened. "Or already finished breakfast. Or studying in the library."
But even as he formed these rationalizations, the certainty of his nightmare vision gripped him. The emptiness he'd felt when reaching through the Force for her presence had been too real, too absolute.
"Check with her friends first," Anakin advised. "Maintain calm. Drawing attention prematurely will only complicate matters."
Harry nodded imperceptibly and made his way to the Hufflepuff table, where he spotted Anna's younger sister Susan chatting with Hannah Abbott.
"Morning," he greeted, trying to keep his voice casual despite the panic clawing at his throat. "Either of you seen Tonks today?"
Susan looked up, mild surprise crossing her face. "Not since dinner yesterday. She said something about patrolling with Professor Sinistra for extra credit."
"Patrolling," Harry repeated, knowing Tonks had invented this cover for her surveillance of Quirrell. His eyes drifted toward the staff table, where Sinistra sat calmly eating her porridge.
"She wouldn't be that calm if Tonks had been scheduled to patrol with her and never shown up," Harry thought grimly.
"Everything alright, Harry?" Susan asked, concern creeping into her voice.
"Fine," he lied, already backing away. "Just needed to ask her something about our practice. I'll catch her later."
He spun around and nearly collided with Anna Bones, who was approaching the Hufflepuff table to speak with her sister.
"Whoa, collision course there, Potter," she said, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. "You look like you've seen an Inferius. What's wrong?"
Harry hesitated only briefly before pulling her aside, lowering his voice. "Have you seen Tonks since yesterday?"
Anna's brow furrowed. "No...she is not here?!"
Anna bit her lip, glancing toward the staff table. "Quirrell's not here either," she noted, her voice tight with concern.
Harry followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop. The Defense professor's seat sat conspicuously empty, the absence like a gaping wound in the otherwise complete faculty.
"We need to tell someone," Anna decided, her prefect instincts kicking in. "Professor Garlick first—she's Tonks's Head of House."
They found Garlick coming out of Greenhouse Two, her arms full of freshly harvested mandrake leaves. The normally cheerful professor's expression turned grave as Anna explained their concerns.
"Miss Tonks did not return to her dormitory last night," Garlick confirmed after sending a quick message to the Hufflepuff prefects. "Her bed hasn't been slept in."
"Professor," Harry said urgently, "I think Professor Quirrell has something to do with her disappearance. Tonks was investigating him, and now they're both missing."
Garlick's eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. "That's a serious accusation, Mr. Potter. What evidence do you have?"
Harry struggled to find an explanation that didn't involve dreams, the Force, or Anakin. "Tonks told me herself she was planning to follow him to the third-floor corridor last night. She suspected he was trying to get past whatever's being guarded there."
Something flickered in Garlick's eyes—recognition, perhaps concern—but her professional composure quickly returned. "I'll notify the Headmaster immediately. You two, return to your classes. The staff will handle this."
"But Professor—" Harry began.
"That's final, Mr. Potter," Garlick said firmly. "The best thing you can do for Miss Tonks now is to allow the professionals to do their work."
As Garlick bustled away, Anna placed a restraining hand on Harry's arm. "She's right, Harry. We need to let the professors handle this."
"She's won't stop you when the time comes," Anakin observed. "But for now, appearing to comply is the wisest course."
Harry nodded reluctantly, but inside, his mind was already racing ahead. If Tonks had been taken as he'd seen in his vision, every minute counted.
The Ravenclaw dormitory was mercifully empty when Harry burst in, his fellow first-years still in their afternoon classes. He dropped to his knees beside his trunk, flinging it open with trembling hands. The hour he'd promised himself was nearly up, and every second that passed tightened the knot of dread in his stomach.
"Think, Harry," he muttered to himself. "What do you need?"
His invisibility cloak was the first item he grabbed, the silvery fabric flowing like liquid between his fingers. Next came Quirrell's book on advanced shield charms—the irony wasn't lost on him that the professor's own gift might now be used against him.
"You're really doing this, then," Anakin said, not a question but a resigned statement.
"You know I have to," Harry replied, stuffing the items into his school bag.
"We should wait for Dumbledore and the others," Anakin insisted, his spectral form pacing beside the window. "If your vision was accurate, what lies beyond that corridor isn't just Quirrell—it's a series of magical defenses created by Hogwarts' most powerful professors."
Harry paused, withdrawing Amelia's communication journal from beneath his pillow. "I'm not stupid, Master. I'm going to get help."
He yanked a quill from his nightstand drawer and hastily scrawled his message:
Lady Bones,
URGENT. Tonks missing since last night. I believe Professor Quirrell has taken her to the forbidden third-floor corridor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore and staff searching but not moving quickly enough. Believe he's after something valuable hidden there—Philosopher's Stone? Tonks in immediate danger. I'm going after her. Please send help immediately.
—Harry
The ink shimmered briefly before sinking into the page, confirming the message had been sent. Whether Amelia would receive it in time was another matter entirely.
"That's not an adequate plan," Anakin said, his voice stern. "What about Flitwick? Or McGonagall?"
"They'll just stop me," Harry argued, tucking his wand into his sleeve where he could access it quickly. "And every minute we waste is another minute Tonks is in danger."
He snatched his communication journal, adding it to his bag. If he survived this, he'd need to know if Amelia responded.
"I won't try to stop you," Anakin conceded, "but be prepared for what awaits. If Quirrell has truly been possessed, he's not the same person who taught your classes. He will be dangerous, unpredictable."
Harry nodded grimly, checking that his trainers were tightly laced. "What should I expect from the obstacles?"
"From your vision, it appears the first is a three-headed beast," Anakin recalled. "Quirrell mentioned music subdues it. Beyond that, plant tendrils, flying objects, chess pieces, and a logic puzzle. Each designed to test different skills."
Harry stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder and unfolding the invisibility cloak. "If you were me, what would you do?"
Anakin's expression grew distant, as if looking into his own past. "I would remember that strength doesn't always mean power. Sometimes it's restraint. Sometimes... it's knowing which battles not to fight."
"This isn't one of those battles," Harry said firmly.
"No," Anakin agreed, a strange sadness in his eyes. "But Harry—when you confront Quirrell, beware the darkness. It will offer you power, especially in moments of desperation. It will feel justified, necessary. That's how it always begins."
Harry paused, struck by the intensity in Anakin's voice. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"Just heed my warning. There are worse fates than failure."
With that cryptic statement hanging between them, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak over himself and slipped out of the dormitory. The Ravenclaw common room was nearly empty, just a couple of seventh-years deeply engrossed in their N.E.W.T. studies, oblivious to the invisible first-year passing by.
The castle corridors seemed unusually quiet. Professors who would normally be teaching were now part of the search effort, leaving only prefects to monitor hallways. Harry dodged them easily, using the Force to enhance his awareness of approaching footsteps.
The third-floor corridor loomed before him, its entrance conspicuously unguarded. Harry hesitated for only a moment before drawing his wand and approaching the massive wooden door his vision had shown him.
"Remember your training," Anakin said softly. "Stay centered. Trust your instincts. But be mindful of your feelings—they can betray you."
Harry nodded beneath his cloak, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
The three-headed dog was even more terrifying in reality than in his vision. Each massive head swiveled toward the door as it opened, nostrils flaring despite Harry's invisibility. Three pairs of eyes narrowed, and a rumbling growl built in three separate throats.
"Music," Harry remembered, fumbling in his panic. He had nothing to play, no instrument—but perhaps...
He began to hum, softly at first, then more confidently, a lullaby Anna had been singing to herself in the common room last week. The effect was almost immediate. The creature's eyelids began to droop, its growls softening to rumbling snores.
Harry maintained the humming as he edged around the beast, spotting the trapdoor beneath one massive paw. With a careful application of the Force, he slid the paw aside just enough to pull the door open, revealing a dark pit below.
"No way to see what's at the bottom," he thought to Anakin.
"Take a leap of faith," his mentor replied. "The Force will guide you."
With one last look at the sleeping guardian, Harry dropped silently into the darkness.
He landed with a soft thud on something that felt alive and writhing. Instantly, tendrils began to snake around his ankles.
"Devil's Snare," Harry identified, remembering Professor Garlick's lessons. "It hates light and heat."
"Lumos Solem!" he incanted, and a powerful beam of sunlight erupted from his wand. The plant recoiled, its tendrils retreating enough for Harry to slip through to a stone passageway below.
The next chamber hummed with motion—hundreds of keys with wings fluttering near the ceiling, and a broomstick hovering expectantly in the center.
"We're meant to catch the right key," Harry realized, eyeing the heavy door on the far side. "But that could take forever."
"Use the Force instead," Anakin suggested. "Reach out with your feelings. Find the key that's different."
Harry closed his eyes, extending his awareness into the swarm above. One key resonated differently—older, used, its energy signature matching the ancient lock.
With careful concentration, Harry reached through the Force, gently guiding the key downward to the lock. It resisted slightly, but Harry's control had grown significantly since his early lessons. The key slid into place with a satisfying click, and the door swung open.
A giant chessboard dominated the next chamber, imposing stone pieces standing at attention. Harry remembered Quirrell mentioning that this was McGonagall's obstacle.
"We're supposed to play our way across," he thought, eyeing the black king.
"Or..." Anakin said meaningfully.
Harry nodded, understanding. With careful concentration, he wrapped himself in the Force, enhancing his natural invisibility. Then, stepping lightly, he simply walked between the pieces and across the board. The stone sentinels remained motionless, their magical awareness unable to detect what their eyes could not see.
The next room contained a table of differently shaped bottles and a roll of parchment. Flames sprang up behind Harry as he entered, and more appeared at the doorway ahead. The parchment contained a riddle—a logic puzzle determining which potion would allow safe passage through the black flames.
Harry read it carefully, working through the clues methodically as Hermione had taught him during their study sessions. After triple-checking his logic, he confidently selected a small black bottle barely containing a single swallow.
"This is it," he told Anakin, uncorking the vial. "Beyond this is the final chamber. And Tonks."
"And Quirrell," Anakin reminded him gravely. "Remember your promise, Harry. The dark side offers quick power, but at a terrible price."
Harry nodded, downing the potion in one gulp. An icy sensation spread through his veins, and he stepped forward into the black flames, feeling them lick harmlessly against his skin.
The final chamber opened before him, circular and dominated by the ornate mirror from his vision. Standing before it was Professor Quirrell, his turban neatly aligned, his posture relaxed as if he'd been patiently waiting.
And suspended in the air, just as in his nightmare, was Tonks. Her unconscious form floated several feet above the ground, surrounded by flickering blue energy that bathed her face in an eerie light. Her hair, normally vibrant with color, had faded to dark like a crow.
"Good to have you here, young Potter," Quirrell said without turning. "I've been expecting you."
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