Chapter 4: The Philosopher's Stone
Harry ran down the corridor, robes whipping at the back of his legs. The Death of Rats was ahead of him, standing by a bathroom door.
"Are you sure… she's in here?" Harry gasped, bending double as he tried to catch his breath.
SQUEAK said the Death of Rats, pointing to the bathroom with his scythe.
The Gryffindors were almost halfway back to their Common Room when Harry had realised that Hermione Granger was not with them. She had run off crying when that prat Ron Weasley had done a cruel, if accurate impression of her after Charms class. She had missed the Halloween Feast, with its pumpkin pie and living decorations. She had also missed Professor Quirrell's warning that a cave troll had broken into the castle, and Dumbledore's order that all students were to return immediately to their Common Rooms.
Harry had tried to tell the Gryffindor prefects but he could not make himself heard over the babbling of the other students. In desperation, he had dispatched the Death of Rats to search for her. Slipping away from the other first years had been easy; all the teachers had gone to search for the troll and the prefects were having great difficulty keeping control of the entire House.
Harry pushed open the door and stepped into the bathroom. It appeared deserted. He glanced down at the Death of Rats, who scuttled along to the furthest cubicle and disappeared through the door. There was a startled scream and Hermione burst out of the cubicle. Her eyes were very red. She was still clutching a damp handkerchief.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing, setting that… that thing on me?" she demanded of Harry, "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"
"Hermione, we've got go, now," said Harry urgently, "A troll has got in, through the dungeon. All the teachers are looking for it. We've got to get back to the Common Room."
"A troll? Really?" said Hermione, her curiosity piqued, "I wonder what genus it is, because there is considerable variety between the different types…"
"Look, does it really matter?" said Harry irritably, "Dumbledore said it was dangerous. We've got to go before…"
Harry and Hermione froze. They could hear heavy footsteps in the corridor outside, as well as something scraping across the stone.
"I thought you said it was in the dungeon," said Hermione in a voice so high it was little more than a squeak.
"It must have got out," said Harry dully.
The footsteps had stopped, right outside the bathroom door. Something was sniffing loudly, like an elephant with a cold. With a creak, the door swung open.
The troll looked like a big, grey human, although the tiny, coconut-shaped head was much too small for its body. It was dressed in a loincloth made from some sort of animal hide and dragged a huge wooden club behind it. It stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing dumbly around the bathroom.
"Hide," Harry hissed, shoving Hermione back into the open cubicle.
"What about you?" she said.
"I'll distract it. You get help!"
Harry stepped out into the middle of the bathroom. He drew his wand, desperately searching his memory for a spell that would stop a troll. Suddenly the charms for removing warts or transfiguring mice that had so entranced him seemed ridiculous. What use were they now?
"Ratty, can you get on its shoulder and…" his voice trailed off. The Death of Rats was nowhere to be seen.
The troll's cruel little eyes settled on Harry. Its lips drew back, revealing jagged, broken teeth.
"Hey… hey you!" Harry squeaked. His throat was almost too dry to speak.
"Hey! Over here!" he said, a little louder, waving his arms.
The troll trundled towards him, rolling from one foot to the other like a mariner at sea. Harry thrust his wand ahead of him like a sword. His mind went blank. He stood, frozen in panic as the troll bore down on him. The huge club rose.
Instinct took over. A stream of rainbow sparks shot from Harry's wand, spraying the troll in the face. It roared, flailing blindly with its club. It smashed through a row of sinks like teacups. Jets of water from the broken pipes began to soak it. It flailed even more wildly. Harry dropped to his stomach to avoid being squashed. He heard Hermione scream as the club crashed through the flimsy wooden cubicles.
"Hermione!" Harry shouted. He tried to stand but slipped on the tiled floor, now slick with water.
To his relief, he saw Hermione clamber out past the broken door of the cubicle. She headed for the door but the troll, now with its back to the sinks, spotted her as she tried to pass it. It swung for her. The club smashed into the floor just ahead of her. Hermione tried to turn back, tripped and fell heavily.
Harry leapt at the troll's back, reaching for its shoulder. He had some vague idea about sticking his wand in its eye but he could not get a purchase on its back. The troll turned, club raised to strike.
The Luggage hurtled into the bathroom, the Death of Rats clinging desperately to its lid. It struck the troll in the stomach, carrying them both into the remaining cubicles. There was a whirlwind of splinters, tiles and toilet paper. A long grey arm was thrust out. The fingers scrabbled frantically for purchase on the floor before being slowly drawn back into the ruined cubicles. Then silence.
"What has happened here, Mister Potter?"
Harry looked up. Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell were standing in the doorway, wearing expressions of deepest shock.
"Severus, the girl," said Professor McGonagall, her composure returning soonest.
"Troll… where's the troll…?" Hermione murmured as Snape helped her back to her feet. Instantly, McGonagall and Quirrell were on guard, their wands raised.
"Where is the troll, Potter? Have you seen it?" said McGonagall.
"Yes, Professor. I… I think it's in there," said Harry. Picking their way through the debris, they peered cautiously into the ruined cubicles. The Luggage was sitting contentedly amidst the shattered remains of a toilet bowl. The troll's club was lying beside it. There was no sign of its owner.
"Oh my," said Quirrell. He turned away and then fainted dead on the floor.
"Mister Potter, what is going on here?" demanded McGonagall.
Harry explained as best he could, while trying not to smile at his teachers' dumbfounded expressions. The Death of Rats sat on his shoulders, nodding in agreement and adding the occasional 'SQUEAK' by way of clarification.
When Harry had finished, Professor McGonagall's expression was very pale and thin lipped.
"You have been very foolish, both of you," she said to Harry and Hermione, "Five points will be taken from Gryffindor."
Harry and Hermione stared at their feet and said nothing; they had expected much worse.
"I hope you realise how lucky you both are," McGonagall continued, "Not many first years could have survived an encounter with a fully grown cave troll. Five points each to Gryffindor, for sheer dumb luck!"
Now Harry and Hermione were smiling, more from surprise than anything else.
"Mister Potter, you will accompany Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing," said McGonagall, "Tell Madam Pomfrey to give you both something for the shock. And take your… Luggage with you, if you please."
Harry and Hermione nodded and began to approach the door. As he passed, Harry could not help but notice that one leg of Snape's trousers was torn. The leg beneath was bloody, as if something had tried to bite him. Harry looked away quickly.
"Come on," he called to the Luggage. It gave a satisfied belch and waddled after them, as if very full and heavy.
"Thank you," said Hermione shyly as they walked away from the bathroom, "For coming to find me, I mean. It was very brave of you."
"What else are friends for?" said Harry.
"Only one of us can go on," said Hermione, staring at the door beyond the black fire.
"There's not enough left for two," she said, holding up the half-empty potion bottle.
"I'll do it," said Harry instantly, taking the bottle from her, "You take the other potion. Go back up to the castle. Find Hedwig, and send a message to Dumbledore. Tell him what's happening.
"Go with her," he ordered his Luggage, "in case Fluffy wakes up."
Hermione paused for a moment and then, to Harry's surprise, threw her arms around him.
"Oh Harry! You're a real wizard, you know," she said.
"Oh come on," said Harry, blushing, "You're much better than me. You can do stuff that I could never…"
"Oh, I don't mean spells and all that!" said Hermione, "I mean courage and friendship. You know: important stuff."
Ordinarily, Harry would have made a joke about Hermione considering anything more important than schoolwork but the moment was not right.
"Good luck," said Harry. He threw his head back and drained the last of the potion. It was cold, so cold that it hurt his throat to swallow it.
Bracing himself, he leapt through the black fire but the anticipated heat never came. The flames were cool and he reached the far door unscathed.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione called.
"Yes. Go!" he replied. It was not until he saw that Hermione and the Luggage were safe on the far side of the purple flames that Harry turned to open the final door.
For the first time that day, he felt truly afraid. The other rooms had been dangerous and difficult to overcome but Hermione had been with him. Hagrid's flute had lulled Fluffy to sleep; Hermione had burned away the Devil's Snare; together they had caught the enchanted key and the troll was already unconscious. The giant chess game had presented a problem. Neither of them was any good at wizard chess but deploying the Luggage Gambit (which involved battering opposing pieces to bits, before swallowing the king) had seen them through.
Harry took a deep breath and turned to address the Death of Rats, who had been riding on his shoulder.
"Ready?" he said. He froze. The Death of Rats had vanished. Harry's eyes swept the room. It was nowhere to be seen.
Harry did not linger long. Every minute he wasted, Snape was drawing closer to the Philosopher's Stone. With a heavy but determined heart, he opened the final door.
Albus Dumbledore leapt into the chamber, wand at the ready. Harry was lying on the floor, immobile, beside Quirrel's hideously burned body. The Mirror of Erised stood against the far wall.
Dumbledore hurried forward to check the two bodies, praying that Harry had survived. He stopped. He could hoof beats, coming from all around him. He drew himself up and watched as a dark rider on a white horse rode through the wall. A smaller figure, a bony snout poking out from beneath its cowl, leapt down from behind the rider and moved to Harry's side.
SQUEAK it said, pointing excitedly to Harry.
The rider in the dark robe dismounted and approached the bodies. He was carrying a scythe.
"Greetings, my old friend," said Dumbledore, lowering his wand.
STAND ASIDE, Death commanded.
"Oh, come now: an old wizard like me knows better than to interfere with your duties," said Dumbledore, a small smile playing across his face.
Death crossed over to the bodies. His gaze moved from Harry to Quirrell and back again. With a sigh like stale air escaping from a sealed coffin, he reached into the dark recesses of his robe. He drew out two hourglasses. One looked quite ordinary. Nearly all the sand had run out of it. The second hourglass glowed with a strange light. Death tapped it once or twice with his scythe.
WELL? he said, addressing the Death of Rats.
SQUEAK it replied with a shrug.
"Is there a problem?" said Dumbledore mildly.
Death replaced the hourglasses inside his robe.
I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE PROPHECY THAT'S GENERATING THIS BOY'S CARRICK TOR SHIELD?
"Oh yes. It was spoken to me."
DID IT HAPPEN TO SAY WHEN HE WILL ACTUALLY DIE?
"I'm afraid not. Prophecies tend to be rather short on details."
Death sighed again.
STAY WITH HIM, he said to the Death of Rats.
SQUEAK it said, saluting.
"You are not here for Harry?" said Dumbledore, careful to keep his voice calm and disinterested.
Death started at Dumbledore, as if not sure if he was serious or not.
IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING, YES. BUT TO BE MORE ACCURATE, NO. NOT YET.
"And the man?"
HELL IS NOT MY DEPARTMENT
Dumbledore nodded politely.
"Sherbet lemon?" he said, holding out a paper bag.
NO, THANK YOU, said Death remounting Binky, I FIND THEM A TOUCH TOO SOUR.
