"Merlin's bloody underpants!"
Ron skidded onto the fourth floor and froze when he saw Harry and Hermione standing there like statues. He followed Harry's stare and let out a strangled yelp.
"Someone actually broke in!"
Harry's face was grim. "We need to get a professor. Right now."
Hermione grabbed his arm, already pulling. "Yes. Let's go find one before—"
Harry didn't budge. She yanked harder, panic rising in her voice. "Harry?"
"It's too late, Hermione." Harry's eyes were hard. "By the time we find anyone, the Stone could already be gone."
Ron looked between them, clearly wanting to run for help, but Harry cut him off before he could speak.
"You saw it in the Great Hall," Harry said. "Snape wasn't there. Neither was Dumbledore."
He still didn't trust Snape. Not after the headmaster had dodged every question in his office.
"Hermione, Ron—go get a professor. I'm going in."
Harry shook off Hermione's grip and sprinted toward the open door.
"Harry! Wait!" Ron bolted after him.
Hermione stamped her foot once, swore under her breath, and chased them both.
"Reckless," Snape's voice was ice.
"Severus, this isn't recklessness." Dumbledore's tone stayed mild.
Snape stepped out of the shadows, robes snapping. "I don't care about the rest. Why did you stop me from acting?"
"Because you cannot be seen yet," Dumbledore said quietly. "And even now, you cannot truly harm him. Not while he wears Quirrell's body."
Snape's black eyes were cold. "And you? You could have ended it. Instead you let Rock be dragged inside."
Dumbledore was silent for a long moment.
"He is possessing Quirrell," he finally said. "A body that has already burned itself out."
Voldemort's greedy gaze stayed locked on Rock as they cleared the fifth obstacle.
Rock ignored the constant, oily attempts at conversation. Ever since the Devil's Snare, the voice behind Quirrell's head had been trying to seduce him—promising power, legacy, greatness.
"How about it?" Voldemort purred. "Swear yourself to me and I will make the Scamander name greater than it has ever been. Your family is one of the few true pure-blood lines left."
He loomed over Rock in Quirrell's ruined frame, those narrow red-tinged eyes glowing in the dark room.
Rock took two steps back, disgust plain on his face. "Can you look at yourself before you open your mouth?"
Voldemort went still.
Then understanding hit.
The laugh that followed was low and dangerous. "Rock, was it?"
A crushing force slammed around Rock's throat. He was yanked off the ground, feet kicking uselessly.
"Ravenclaw pride is not permission to look down on me," Voldemort hissed, voice echoing through the chamber.
Rock clawed at the invisible grip. His breathing turned ragged, vision spotting.
"Dobby!"
The name tore out of him.
Voldemort had half a second to look confused before a blast of raw magic slammed into him like a charging bull. The choking spell shattered. Rock dropped—only to be caught by a pair of small, strong hands.
"Little master!" Dobby's voice was frantic in his ear.
"Dobby, that was brilliant!"
Rock didn't waste time. He whipped his wand toward the recovering Voldemort. "Incendio!"
Flames roared across the space.
"Move!"
He grabbed Dobby's hand. The house-elf snapped his fingers and they vanished just as Voldemort lunged through the fire with a furious snarl.
"No!"
The scream that ripped from Quirrell's distorted face shook the walls. Raw magic pulsed outward in a shockwave.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had just fought free of the Devil's Snare when the sound hit them.
Ron's eyes went wide. "Did you hear that?"
Hermione shivered. "Yeah. That voice… it didn't sound like Snape."
Harry kept moving. "Doesn't matter. I'm going."
Ron hesitated only a second before following.
Hermione lingered half a step, frowning. Something had felt off since the music box. The transfiguration on it had been too clean, too advanced. It reminded her of Rock's work.
She shook her head hard and ran to catch up. "Wait for me!"
Rock collapsed against the stone wall of the hidden corridor, chest heaving.
Dobby hovered beside him, twisting his ears. "Thank you, Dobby," Rock managed, voice rough. "You saved my neck back there."
"No thanks needed, little master! Serving you is Dobby's honor!" The house-elf looked ready to cry. "But… how did you know Dobby was following?"
Rock reached out and patted the top of Dobby's head. "My eyes saw you. The moment Voldemort grabbed me, I spotted you in the shadows."
He gave Dobby's thin shoulder a squeeze. "Smart move, staying hidden instead of charging in. You probably saved both of us."
Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby was scared… but Dobby couldn't let that bad wizard hurt little master."
"You did perfect." Rock leaned his head back against the wall and let out a long breath. "Can you do me one more favor? There's a candy tin in my trunk back in the dorm. The round one with the silver latch. Bring it here?"
Dobby's eyes lit up. "Dobby will fetch it right away, little master!"
He vanished with a crack.
Rock stayed where he was, fingers digging into his bruised throat. The anger that had been simmering finally boiled over.
Voldemort had been patient. Hiding. Waiting until the very last moment to return.
Rock had been careless. He should have been ready.
He stared at his left hand. The pendant Dumbledore had given him glowed with soft silver light. His irises shifted, filling with slow-turning silver-gray nebulae.
Voldemort wanted the Stone?
Fine.
Rock would let him take it.
But whether the bastard could actually use it… that was going to be a very different story.