The sight in the next room left them speechless. A gigantic chessboard covered almost the entire floor, the stone pawns as tall as the children and the major pieces nearly twice that height.
"What now?" Hermione asked, shivering slightly at the sight of the faceless chessmen.
"There's a door behind the opposing pieces," Harry replied, pointing. "I think we have to play our way across." The chess pieces snapped to attention at his words, the black contingent, which was closest, facing them intently.
"Ron, I think this is your challenge," Harry said.
"Me?" Ron asked, looking nonplussed.
"Yes, you. You're the best chess player here - if anyone can get us through, it's you."
"I...alright, then." Ron turned his attention to the black king. "Do we, er, join you?" The black king nodded. "Right..." Ron paced the length of the board slowly, studying the pieces before sending off the black rooks and a bishop and having his friends take their places. He himself replaced one of the black knights. They waited for the first move, but the white pieces stayed put, and it was with chagrin that they realized Hermione would have to play as well. Ron directed her to take the place of the other bishop, and the game began.
The tension in the room was almost palpable. It didn't take them long to realize that this was definitely a game of wizard's chess – the shattered remains of one of their pawns made it quite clear that the white pieces would show no mercy, and Ron was almost visibly shaking as he directed his troops around the board, doing his best to keep his friends out of harm's way without compromising the integrity of the game.
After over a half hour of intense play, Ron studied the board for several long moments before shaking his head grimly.
"That's not good," he muttered, "but it has to be done."
"What has to be done?" asked Neville, who was nearest. Ron bit his lip.
"I've got to go," he replied. "If I let that bishop take me, Hermione can move three squares that way and end the game."
"Ron, are you mad?" Harry asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The bishop might kill you if you do that!"
"There's no other way!" Ron replied angrily. "You know perfectly well you can't win at chess without making some sacrifices. We're running out of time, and we could very well lose if I don't make this move!" Before any of the others could protest, Ron walked two squares forward and one to the right. Immediately, the bishop attacked, smashing Ron across the side with a cold limb and sending the redhead flying across the room, where he hit the wall and lay motionless.
"RON!" Harry yelled.
"Don't move!" Draco said quickly. "The game isn't over yet! Lotte, go ahead – three squares that way." He pointed to where Hermione was supposed to go, and she hobbled her way into the correct square.
"Checkmate!" she cried.
The white king threw his crown on the ground at her feet, and the four friends immediately rushed off the board to Ron. He was definitely alive, but he was unconscious, and he'd have a wicked headache when he woke up.
"I'm going to stay with him," Hermione said.
"What?" Harry asked, looking at her incredulously.
"Listen – we're wasting time," Hermione said firmly. "I can barely walk, and my leg's hurting more the further we go. I'll stay with Ron; you three go on ahead. There should only be two challenges left."
"How do you figure that?" Draco asked.
"Easy – there's something from each of the four Heads of House, plus I'd assume Dumbledore contributed as well. I had my suspicions when we got to the key room, and this chess game only confirmed it – who else could Transfigure something like that but Professor McGonagall? Professor Sprout provided the Devil's Snare, and Flitwick obviously charmed the dots and concealed the key. All that's left is Professor Snape's, plus whatever Dumbledore did."
"I'm staying too," Neville said once Hermione had finished. Harry made to protest, but Neville stopped him with a look. "It makes sense – Hermione and Ron are both hurt; they need somebody to stay with them just in case. Besides, we've already faced what I'm best at – I'm absolute rubbish at Potions, so I'll only hold you up if I go on."
"I really don't like the idea of us splitting up, but there isn't really a better way to do it, is there?" Harry asked, looking slightly worried. Hermione hurried to him as fast as her injured leg would allow and embraced him tightly.
"We'll be fine," she assured him. "You go on ahead, and we'll see if we can get some help." She turned to hug Draco as well, resolve hardening in her brown eyes. After several more hugs and apprehensive looks all around, Harry and Draco walked off the chessboard and into the next room.
The door slammed shut and barred itself behind them the instant they were in the chamber, its twin on the far wall doing the same. This room was much smaller than the previous one and contained nothing but a lone wooden table, on top of which sat seven bottles of various shapes and sizes. A scroll of parchment sat next to the bottles. Thinking the scroll might help them, Harry and Draco hastened to read it:
Seven flasks of liquid ice
Or are they liquid fire?
To navigate a deadly maze
These clues you will require:
Five choices will not help you
If onward is your call
Three will bring disaster
And two do naught at all
One shall send you forward
The last lets you go back
Just pour your choice upon the door
And watch the bolts go slack
Death waits for you in bottle one
And four won't help, it's true
The contents of flask seven
Are not in bottle two
Six finds its twin in middle ground
Likewise to one and five
Choose wisely which will send you on
Even thoughts keep you alive
Far right, we say goodbye
Far left, we bid adieu
And now I give your final quest:
Which flask's the one for you?
"Oh, man," Harry muttered. "That doesn't sound good."
"It's a logic puzzle," Draco replied, studying the paper intently, "but I don't fancy the outcome if we choose wrong."
"Well, let's not choose wrong, then," Harry said. "I am glad we don't have to brew anything, though." Draco agreed, and they flattened the scroll on the table, reading the poem to themselves as they studied the bottles.
"It seems like the bottles are numbered in the clues," Draco said, pointing at several lines. "It would make the most sense if they went left to right, so let's start there." Silence reigned for several minutes as the two boys attempted to solve the puzzle.
"I wish I had a quill," Harry said after some time. "Maya could probably do this in her head, but I'm all confused."
"I've almost got it," Draco replied. "The seventh bottle will let us go back the way we came."
"How do you figure that?"
"Well, for starters, these two lines – 'far right, we say goodbye, far left, we bid adieu' – both suggest some sort of departure. The poem's already told us here" – he pointed to another line further up – "that bottle number one, a.k.a. the 'far left', brings death, and somehow I think the two bottles are different. If we interpret the line 'the last lets you go back' literally, that also fits the theory that seven unlocks the door to the chess room. Five is a twin to one, so that's also bad, and four 'won't help' – that wording leads me to think that four isn't deadly, merely useless."
"What about this line – 'six finds its twin in middle ground'?" Harry asked.
"That's easy – there are seven bottles, and the fourth is in the middle. We've already determined four is no good, so six won't do anything either."
"We still have two bottles left, though," Harry pointed out. "How do we determine if number two or number three will send us forward? The other one will kill us."
"That, I'm not sure," Draco admitted, "and fifty-fifty odds make guessing a terrible idea." They were silent for several more minutes before Harry spoke.
"I think it's bottle two – the one we want, I mean," he said.
"How so?"
"Well…for starters, the poem says absolutely nothing about bottle three. Somehow, I don't think it would make the correct answer the only bottle that's left out. That would be too obvious. And second, I'm looking at this line here – 'even thoughts keep you alive'. It's kind of weird wording, isn't it? What if it doesn't mean even as in levelheaded, but even as in even numbers? Two is an even number, three isn't – two will get us through, three won't."
"Hmm…it's a bit of a stretch, but it's the only guess we've got," Draco said. "Shall we give it a go, then?" He handed the second bottle to Harry, and the two stepped forward to the far door. Harry cautiously uncorked it and stared at it for a moment before pouring the bright blue liquid within onto the lock. It hissed ominously before the entire door melted away.
"I guess that worked, then. You ready?" Harry asked with a sideways glance at Draco.
"Not really," the blonde admitted, "but go for it. I'm right behind you."
However, Draco never got a chance to follow Harry – as soon as Harry crossed the threshold, the door solidified once more. Bottle two, the only way forward, had vanished with him, and there was no replacement on the table. If Draco wanted to leave the room, the only way he could go was back the way he'd come.
Harry heard the clank of the door behind him and knew he was alone – somehow, something had prevented Draco from following him. This terrifying thought left his mind as he took in his surroundings. He was in a final stone chamber, the only visible exit being the door he'd just come through, and a magnificent mirror stood in the center of the room. The mirror appeared to be made of solid gold and had a curious inscription carved across the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Harry didn't recognize the language – was it some sort of spell? He thought not – all the spells they'd learned thus far had Latin roots, and he couldn't pick out any Latin amongst the strange words. Even if it was a spell, he had no idea how to go about pronouncing it, and Professor Flitwick's lectures about the perils of improper pronunciation kept him from trying anything.
Before Harry could decide on a further course of action, a movement in the shadows made him realize he wasn't alone. He whirled around to face the intruder and found himself looking into the terrified face of Professor Quirrell.
"P-Professor?" Harry stammered. "What are you doing down here?" The young man had his wand trained on Harry, and he was shaking uncontrollably. His obvious distress scared Harry – what was wrong?
"Professor?" Harry tried again. "What's going on?"
A jet of light hit Harry square in the chest, and he collapsed in a heap. Whatever the spell was, Harry was still fully aware of his surroundings, but he couldn't move a muscle. In an instant, Quirrell was crouched beside him, fumbling with something in his pocket. The young professor pressed something into Harry's palm and whispered, "I'm so sorry."
The last thing Harry felt before the world went black was an icy cold liquid slithering down his throat.
He saw the boy go limp and grinned – perfect. Certain people would be very pleased to hear of this development. A moment later, he saw the professor slump as well. Even better – less work for him to do. The stupid man was a weakling anyway, a liability. Satisfied that all had gone according to plan, he crept into the shadows and slipped through a concealed hole in the wall. His work here was done.
A/N: Just keeping things interesting... ;) Please R&R! Hope you enjoyed. :)