It was Samhain night, way after curfew. The Corsairs were approaching the third floor, each with a strong invisibility charm upon them. After an easy 'Alohomora,' they were inside, facing Fluffy. It only took a moment of fast thinking for the three to break into song, singing an angelic ballad to calm the Cerberus , who fell asleep, docile. They were suddenly glad Uncle Pollox had insisted they learn Greek mythology, as well as several other mythologies. They opened the trapdoor that had been hidden beneath Fluffy's paw and dropped down.
Now, most, when confronted with Devil's Snare, most would conjure sunlight or fire, to destroy the plant. However, logic dictated that this would clue whoever set such a trap into the fact that somebody had broken in. But, fortunately, the trio was smart enough to not use either tactic, but instead of that using a simple blood payment to be dropped through, a single drop of Dumbledore's blood freeing them instantaneously. They dropped once more, a quick cushioning charm saving their fall.
The next obstacle was damn right stupid. Flying keys and a broom. While Draco and Harry bickered over who ought to catch the key they had determined was the correct one, Hermione took out a wand, remembering that she, in fact, was a witch.
"Accio Rusty Key." She intoned, glaring at her brother and cousin, who flushed, appropriately embarrassed at their idiocy.
They unlocked the door, to only be greeted by a chess set. They could play and have white in check with Scholar's Mate, or...
"Imperio!" Draco said, using his soul magic to enhance the curse. The chess pieces stood down on a mental command. The three walked past, smirking. This was too easy.
Next was a troll. It didn't even take two seconds for the troll to be trapped in a series of fast written runes. Sniggering, the children walked into the next room.
There was a riddle, and seven bottles of potions.
The riddle went like this : "Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, Two of us will help you, whichever you would find, One among us seven will let you move ahead, Another will transport the drinker back instead, Two among our number hold only nettle wine, Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line. Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore, To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: First, however slyly the poison tries to hide You will always find some on nettle wine's left side; Second, different are those who stand at either end, But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend; Third, as you see clearly, all are different size, Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; Fourth, the second left and the second on the right, Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."
The trio wasn't even put off.
"Vinum Revelare. Fel Revelare." Harry intoned. Light flared above the nettle wine and poison. Five down, two left. After a moment, they determined it was the third from the left. They cast a refilling charm on the bottle and each drank.
They walked through the fire calmly, setting the bottle back, already refilled.
And they were met with the final and most difficult challenge. The Mirror of Erised. The children had read about it. Calmly, Harry stepped in front of the mirror and stared at it.
Following his reflections directions, he pulled the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket, grinning. The three grabbed onto one another and used their emergency portkeys to return to Dragonblood.
It didn't take long for something to happen.
The very next day, they found out why Quirrell was such a stuttering moron.
"P-Potter, s-stay behind." The teacher stuttered.
Convinced that Professor McGonagall would understand if they were late, Hermione and Draco hung behind outside the classroom, wondering if Quirrell knew they had the stone.
Harry, inside, smiled innocently at Quirrell, who growled, pretences dropping.
"Give me the stone." He said in a no-nonsense tone, glaring at the young Potter Heir.
"What stone?" Harry asked, feigning confusions. Quirrell scowled.
"The Philosopher's Stone, you dimwitted boy!" He snarled.
Harry sighed. "I don't have it." He said fairly honestly. His scar was burning... He tried to focus through the burn.
Quirrell snarled wordlessly.
"Let me ssssee him." A serpentine voice hissed.
"B-but Master..." Quirrell protested feebly.
"LET ME SSSSEE HIM!" The same voice boomed. Harry recognised it to be speaking Parseltongue. He faltered. There was only one other wizard who could speak Parseltongue: Voldemort.
"Show yourself, Voldemort!" Harry snarled. Quirrell unwrapped his turban hesitantly and turned.
The face of Voldemort glared at him from the back of Quirrell's head.
"Kill him." The face screamed in English.
Quirrell turned and began firing spells.
Harry was quick to defend himself and shoot back.
The two duelled, protected by a locking enchantment, while the two Corsairs trapped outside screamed, desperately trying to open the doors, the seventh year classes that were to be taught by Quirrel next aiding them.
Harry James Potter-Black was powerful. Extremely so. But, Lord Voldemort was more powerful. Harry was nearly dead, being held under the Crutiatus, a large slash across his chest from a very dark cutting curse.
It was then the Corsairs got through, blasting the door down with the aid of the entirety of the Gryffindor and Slytherin 7th years.
Hermione and Draco roared a battle cry, running forwards, both casting their 'special' spells.
The body of Quirinus Quirrell was deceased to ashes, and Harry Potter-Black was taken to the infirmary. Hermione and Draco both broke down sobbing.
AN: Another short chapter, sorry! Hope you enjoyed!