"Ow—damn it!"
Ron clutched his leg, face drained of color. The giant chess pieces had gone berserk the second they stepped into the room, like they'd already been smashed around by someone else.
"So this is what happens when you don't study," Hermione snapped, equal parts furious and exasperated. "If you'd bothered to cast a Shield Charm you wouldn't be bleeding on the floor right now."
"I couldn't!" Ron shot back through gritted teeth. "First-years don't even learn the Shield Charm!"
Harry gave him a look that said not the time, mate. Hermione's expression darkened instantly.
Ron realized his mistake too late. "Look, the important thing is stopping whoever's after the Stone. Harry, go. I'll catch up."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, then took off toward the next door without another word.
"Hope you two make it," Ron muttered. He tried to stand and immediately collapsed again with a hiss. "Bloody brilliant. Just my luck."
They reached the troll's chamber. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Oh my God…"
Harry didn't slow down. The massive corpse of the troll lay sprawled where someone had already dealt with it. He kept moving.
The next room was almost empty—just a narrow path leading to a table and a wall of black fire beyond it.
"Potions?" Hermione murmured, stepping up to the table. Seven bottles of different sizes sat in a neat row. She picked up the scrap of parchment and read the riddle aloud.
"Danger lies before you, safety lies behind…"
She paced, muttering to herself, brow furrowed in concentration. Harry stood nearby, useless. Riddles had never been his strong suit.
"Seven bottles, numbered one to seven from left to right…" Hermione's steps quickened. Her eyes suddenly lit up. "I've got it!"
"The smallest bottle lets you go forward. The largest one sends you back."
Harry didn't hesitate. He snatched the tiniest bottle and downed it in one gulp.
"Harry, wait!" Hermione lunged too late.
"Are you insane? That was just a guess!"
Harry closed his eyes, feeling the potion work through him. Then he opened them and gave her a small, tight smile. "You were right."
"Listen to me," he said quickly. "Drink the big bottle. Go back, get Ron, and find a professor. Bring them here."
"But—"
Harry held up the empty vial. "This was the only forward potion. It has to be this way."
Before she could argue again, he turned and stepped straight into the black flames.
"Idiot!" Hermione snatched the largest bottle, hands shaking. She had no choice now.
Harry emerged on the other side and swallowed hard. The fire had licked right past his face. He forced himself forward down the short corridor.
When he turned the corner, a single room opened before him. In the center stood the Mirror of Erised. A ragged figure was already there, staring into it.
Even without the turban, Harry recognized him instantly.
Quirrell.
His stomach dropped.
Rock was right.
A cold voice spoke. "Finally…"
The figure turned. Two faces shared the same head—Quirrell's and something far worse. Narrow red eyes burned with fury and something like triumph.
"Harry Potter."
Harry forced his feet to move. "Are you Quirrell… or Voldemort?"
The twisted face twisted further. "You're the one who traded with Hagrid for the dragon egg?"
Voldemort's expression darkened at the memory. That idiot half-giant had gotten drunk after answering a few questions and walked off with the egg. Then Dumbledore showed up and he'd been forced to flee.
What a year it had been.
The Parasitic Stabilizer had failed.
He'd been hit in the face with a snowball.
The unicorn attack had been ruined by that Scamander brat.
The exploding firework had been laced with purifying herbs that made his possession of Quirrell even more unstable.
He'd been forced to use forbidden magic just to keep Quirrell breathing, and now the body was barely holding together.
And worst of all—the boy had escaped right in front of him minutes ago.
"Enough talk," Voldemort snarled. "Get over here."
Black-green light exploded from Quirrell's body. Harry was yanked forward and slammed down in front of the mirror.
"Where is the Stone?"
Voldemort had been in this room long enough to know the Stone wasn't anywhere obvious. Only this cursed mirror remained—and even that had briefly stirred whatever was left of Quirrell's soul.
"Tell me!"
Harry stared into the glass. No parents this time. Just his own reflection… which shrugged at him.
What the hell did that mean?
"I don't know," Harry said.
Voldemort's laugh was wild. "Then you die first. After that I'll find that Ravenclaw brat—Rock."
Harry's eyes widened at the name.
The next second he was lifted into the air. Voldemort meant to drop him and let him break on the stone floor.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.
"Volaris!"
The spell cracked through the air. Instead of slamming into the ground, Harry felt something grab his collar and yank him sideways through the air.