Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts

Chapter 29: Another One Bites the Dust

"I need your help. I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it after we're done, and you could get expelled if we get caught."

Fay and Neville looked up from their card game; it was one of the things they had picked up from Harry they used to pass the time, and Harry had given them a deck of cards freely, knowing the small gesture would earn him some goodwill with the Gryffindors after the way the matter with Liv's extraction had resolved.

It had taken Harry and Hermione several hours and what amounted to a wild goose chase to track down the two juvenile stoners; they had tried Gryffindor tower first, only to be told the twosome had wander off, giggling to themselves like maniacs. From there, they followed the sightings through the castle, interviewing eyewitnesses wherever they could find them, until the trail finally led them to the abandoned classroom Fay and Neville had taken up residence for the afternoon, smoking and playing rummy, a card game the Indian twins had one day broached during gaming club and then proceeded to teach an interested audience to play.

"I'm in," said Fay brightly, tossing her hand of cards onto the table between the two Gryffindors.

"You're only saying that because you're losing," Neville groused, though there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Putting down his cards, he asked, "What do you need us to do?"

"Come with, cause a distraction when given the signal, and alibi us if we don't get caught."

Fay and Neville shared a glance, then hastily grabbed the cards between them, fumbling to get them back into their box in their hurry to pack. In a few short moments, they were ready to depart the abandoned classroom.

"Let's go," said Faye, and Neville nodded in agreement.

It only took them a few minutes to get to their destination; as Harry had expected, there were students passing through the corridor, not enough to crowd the hall but still enough for there to be eyewitnesses. Pulling his associates aside, Harry drew them into a huddle.

"All right, here's the plan: Dunbar and Longbottom, go to the far end of the hall, and one my signal, cause a disturbance so Danger and I can slip in unnoticed," Harry said.

"What's the signal?" asked Neville.

"This is where Fluffy is, isn't he?" asked Fay at the same time.

"You'll know it when you see it," Harry said to chubby boy, before nodding at the pigtailed girl, who twitched an eyebrow upwards, not quite sure if he meant it as the signal or if he was answering her question. "All right, let's get in position."

Fay looked like she wanted to protest, but Neville was already heading off, so she followed him, though not without fixing the Hufflepuff with a stare for a long moment. Meanwhile, Harry wandered over to the door behind which was the cerberus, leaning against it. Pulling out his friction folder, opened it and slipped the blade between the door and the frame, hiding what he was doing behind his cloak; pressing down, he felt the mono-edge blade slice through the latch bolt without even the slightest of resistance.

Closing and pocketing his knife, he pulled two spray bottles out of his haversack and passed one to Hermione, who gave Harry with a quizzical look.

"It's for the dog," he said shortly, before nodding to Fay and Neville, who were in place.

"I can't believe you did that me!" shrieked the pigtailed Gryffindor, shoving her chubby friend hard with both hands, sending him stumbling backwards.

In an instant, all eyes turned towards the noise, and Harry grabbed Hermione by the hand, yanking the door open and pulling her inside before shutting the door behind them.

Turning, they saw the three-headed dog growling at them, fangs bared and drool dripping, a broken harp at its feet.

Without hesitation, the boy stormed towards the cerberus, squirting the contents of the spray bottle directly at the creature's heads.

Five million Scoville heat units is more than a million higher than any existing pepper, and two million more than the world's hottest commercial pepper spray.

The canine never stood a chance.

The instant the liquid struck the cerberus's nose, it jerked back as it struck, whimpering in pain even as the other two heads loomed ever-closer to the boy, who tore forward, spraying jets of the liquid at the remaining two heads, striking eyes and snouts and sending the dog scurrying backwards, cowering as far away as its collar and chain would allow it to all while whimpering in pain as it coughed, blinked, wheezed, cried and drooled all at the same time.

Hermione had followed her friend cautiously, not wanting to be bitten, but the sight of the cowering creature made her feel pity in her heart. She had imagined the boy would have a solution for getting past the canine, but she had never imagined it would have involved Fluffy being hurt in such a way.

"What'd you do to it?" she asked, as the boy pulled open the trapdoor.

"Pepper spray," said the boy shortly, peering down through the trapdoor. "The dog comes near, spray the damn thing."

"What'd you see down there?" Hermione asked, and the boy gestured for her to take a look; peeking over his shoulder as he turned his attention back at the dog, pointing his spray bottle at it and making it shrink back, she saw nothing but darkness. "I can't see anything."

"I know," the boy said, pulling a handheld torch from his haversack. Pointing it down, he lit it, and the beam of light illuminated the chute, revealing a straight drop with a plant at the very bottom.

"That's a Devil's Snare," said Hermione, recognizing it from the exam they had taken that week. "What's it doing down there?"

"Same thing the dog's doing up here," said the boy, digging through the pouches in his belt and retrieving a small vial holding a fragment of stone submersed in a translucent off-yellow fluid and dumping it into his palms.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Killing it with fire."

The boy made a gesture, which she recognized right away as the Kali mudra; instantly, she knew it was a destructive spell, and she wracked her brain, trying to remember what spell he could possibly be casting.

"Creo ignem."

Before her very eyes, balls of flames formed in the boy's hands, and he hurled them through the opening one after another, one, two, and three. On impact, the plant caught alight, writhing and flailing its long vines in pain as the blaze spread; from above, she could see just how much it struggled against the pyre burning it alive, and she felt a knot in her stomach as she realized just how much plants could suffer.

Then again, looking at the boy, face hard as he continued to spritz pepper spray at the cowering canine, she couldn't help but wonder if the real monstrosity in all of this was the human.

As the Devil's Snare ceased its death throes, the boy gave Hermione a look, saying, "Remember, feather fall," then allowed himself to fall backwards through the hole in the floor, arms and legs spread eagle.

"Muto auram."

The girl watched as the boy's rapid descent suddenly slowed and he wafted to a landing on the floor below. Taking one last look at the miserable dog, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then followed the boy down the opened trapdoor, whispering "muto auram" as she fell.

Hermione Granger had never cast feather fall before, as she had never felt an urge to fall from high places, but there was a reason why the spell was only first level: the name of the spell was also exactly what the effect was, and it was easy to visualize an image that the spell's name already put inside her head.

Thus, she drifted to the floor like a feather in the wind.

Looking up, she realized they had descended at least several stories from the previous floor, putting them underground, possibly below even the dungeons where Potions was taught.

"How are we going to get out?" she asked Harry, suddenly feeling trapped.

"Have you learned fly?" he asked, and Hermione shook her head. "Then you'll have to climb into my bag and I'll fly you out."

She wasn't happy with the answer, but she had no retort; even though Harry had advised her to not put off the research and development of Hermetic magic just because exams were looming, she had ignored his suggestion in favor of revising, and now she did not have a spell he had previously impressed upon her as being one of the most important.

"There's the door," she said, changing the subject so the silence wouldn't linger.

The two proceeded into the passageway, following as it opened into a luminous room with a high, domed ceiling; above them were a flock of small winged creatures, while a trio of brooms rested against the nearby wall.

"Grab a broom, it'll be your ticket out on the way back," Harry said, as he pulled a pair binoculars from his bag, looking upwards towards the ceiling. "Huh."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, broom in hand.

"Those are keys with wings," said Hufflepuff, before looking across the room at the heavy wooden door with a silver handle. "Bet you the key for that door is up there."

"But there must be hundreds of keys," Hermione said. "How are we going to find the right one?"

"We're not," the boy said, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flipping it open as he strode across the room, the girl right on his heels. Trying it and finding it locked, he slid the blade between door and frame, then pushed downwards before withdrawing it and pulled the door open; from what she could see, he had cut the latch bolt cleanly.

"How did you do that?" she asked, as Harry carefully folded the knife close and pocketed it even as he started down the corridor.

"Monoknife," he said simply, as though that explained everything.

"What's a monoknife?" Hermione pressed, quickly following after him.

"A knife with an edge that's one molecule wide," he explained, continuing down the hallway without pausing, forcing her to follow a stride behind at his flank. "Blade will cut pretty much anything because the edge is so thin, it'll slip between molecules."

"That sounds dangerous," she concluded, and the boy shrugged, making the light given off by the torch bobble up and down momentarily.

The room the passageway led to was darkened, but the torch in Harry's hand illuminated it well enough, revealing a giant chessboard that spanned the width of the room mounted with playing pieces far taller than either of the children.

Beyond the chessboard was another door.

Stepping into the room suddenly lit it up, filling the high-ceilinged chamber with light, and Hermione almost stepped onto the game board, only to be stopped by Harry putting a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she asked.

"Cerberus? Devil's Snare? Flying keys? Those were all meant to be tests, which mean this is one too."

"What're we going to do? I'm not very good at chess."

"The solution's right in front of you, if you know where to look," Harry said, taking off his robe.

As Hermione continued to take in the surroundings, trying to understand what her friend meant, Harry continued to disrobe; his vest followed, then his necktie and his shirt. By the time she turned back towards him, he was down to the last of his upperwear, a white T-shirt emblazoned with three letters in red across the chess.

"What's 'N.W.A.'?" Hermione asked, then gasped as Harry started to pull off the shirt as well, quickly covering her eyes and starting to turn away. "Why are you taking off your clothes?"

"Rap group out of Compton," Harry said. "I'm growing wings; don't want ruin my favorite T-shirt."

"What, why?" Hermione asked.

"High ceilings," the Hufflepuff answered, as if that explained everything.

It took the Ravenclaw a moment to understand what he meant. "With the high ceiling, we can just fly over it," she reasoned, finally understanding what her friend meant.

"Not if you keep covering your eyes, you can't," Harry said. "Muto corporem."

As Hermione let her hands fall away from her face, she saw Harry for the first time without his shirt on and found herself impressed by what she saw; with his lean, athletic physique, it was clear he exercised regularly, and she could see clear muscle definition along his torso and arms, giving her the impression he could be a young underwear model. Before her eyes, large wings began to sprout from his back, the black feathered pinions giving the raven-haired boy with the dangerous emerald eyes the look of a fallen angel.

Hermione Granger couldn't help herself; she gulped and blushed at the sight, averting her eyes. She had never thought of Harry like that before, but she felt a tightness in her chest all at once, something she had only heard the girls in her previous school mention when they talked about their favorite stars but had never felt before herself. Suddenly, she became aware of just how dry her mouth had become, and she swallowed, trying to moisten her throat.

"Come on, we need to go," Harry said briskly.

And just like that, she snapped out of it; Harry Potter just was not that kind of person, and she chastised herself silently for even having thought it in even a moment of weakness. He wasn't the brave knight on the fearsome stallion or the bright shining star, but the assassin in the night or the black hole from which nothing escaped.

"All right, I'm ready," said the girl, mounting the broom and kicking off from the floor, slowly rising up into the air. As she watched, the wings on the boy's shoulders flapped once, twice, and then he dropped into a crouch before sudden springing upwards, borne aloft by feathers and muscle.

They crossed over the chessboard without incident, touching down on the other side and striding over to the door, which, as she had come to expect, opened into another long, dark corridor; as they traversed it, something struck her.

"We know Fluffy is Hagrid's," she said. "The Devil's Snare must have been planted by Professor Sprout, and if that follows, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall must have provided the keys and the chessboard. That leaves Professors Quirrell and Snape."

"Yeah," said Harry, without even a hint of shock.

"Wait, how long have you known about this?" Hermione demanded.

"After the Devil's Snare," he said. "They don't grow in the middle of nowhere for no reason, so someone must have put it there, and the only person who could do it without really being in danger would be Sprout. Once you realize the first two obstacles were devised by staff, it's pretty clear the whole thing is made by them."

Hermione considered her friend's words, but before she could formulate a response, Harry had pushed open the door to the next room, suddenly filling the air with an unmistakable stench.

"Troll," said Harry sharply, tensing; besides him, Hermione drew her wand, though she was not sure if she knew any spells that could help in the situation.

Their alarm was unnecessary; on the floor before them laid a creature even larger than the one Harry had burned to death on Halloween, a lump on its head oozing blood.

As Harry reached for his knife, Hermione stopped him. "We don't have to kill it," she said. "It's already unconscious."

"What if it wakes up when we're on the way back?" Harry argued.

"We can deal with it then, but right now, it's not a threat to us."

Harry frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as if fighting back a snarl. After a moment, he sighed and reached into his bag, pulling out a roll of matte gray tape. "Fine, but we duct tape its hands and feet together, so even if it wakes up, it won't be able to do anything. Now help me push its feet together."

Hermione wanted to protest, but Harry shot her a glare and she gave up; his relenting from killing the creature was already a small victory, and she decided to enjoy the win instead of trying to push her friend further.

It took them a good ten minutes, but they managed exactly what Harry had said they would do: taping the creature's hands and feet together through binding its feet together by wrapping both of its big toes tightly together with layers of the adhesive before doing the same with the creature's thumbs. Hermione, unused to the level of physical exertion, found herself sweating profusely and breathing hard, while the boy seemed no worse for wear than before.

"You know whoever set up this test almost got you killed during Halloween, right?" asked Harry, drinking from a bottle of water before passing it Hermione, who took a long slug from it.

"I know," Hermione said with a sigh. "I'm trying not to think about it."

"Depending on the next test, it's either Quirrell or Snape," Harry said.

"I said, I'm trying not to think about it," Hermione repeated forcefully, and the boy shrugged.

"We should go," he said, and she nodded, letting him help her back to her feet, finishing the water before tossing the bottle into the haversack, which he held open for her. "She scores!"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at the moment of childish enthusiasm.

As they stepped into the next room, a violet flame sprang up behind them, blocking their retreat; at the same time, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.

Between the two doors was a table and a line of seven different bottles. Hermione rushed over and immediately began reading the rolled parchment there.

"This must be Snape's," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "It's a logic puzzle."

"Perdo ignam."

She spun back towards Harry, who had the finger of one hand in the fist of the other.

The flames at both doorways were gone.

"We should go," said the boy, and Hermione wanted to say something but stopped herself; despite being somebody who seemed to put a value on thinking, he had ignored the puzzle in favor of using magic to solve the problem, and she wanted to chastise him for that, until she realized he had just saved them the time it would have taken to solve the puzzle.

Together, the two descended the steps, stopping only when they entered the room to find Quirrell standing before a giant mirror.

"Oh, it you," said Harry, without a hint of surprise, pushing Hermione behind him.

She didn't protest.

Quirrell smiled calmly. "Me. I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"Yeah, figured as much," said the boy.

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed coldly. "Yes, Severus does seem… wait, what?"

The man had stopped mid-sentence when he realized what the boy had just said.

"Pretty obvious, actually," Harry said with a shrug. "That stammer you have? You sometimes forget you have it and go a while without a single stutter, then suddenly remember you're supposed to have one and try to make up for it by stuttering too much. Dead giveaway, that one; you should have spent more time working on the craft if you're going to build a cover like that.

"Besides, once the potions were on the table, the troll was obviously you."

"I certainly have a special gift with trolls," said the Defense professor, snapping his fingers.

Ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping tightly around the boy and the girl, binding them together.

"Now, Potter, wait quietly. I need to examine this mirror."

"Sure, take your time," said the boy calmly. "Let me guess, you did the unicorn too, didn't you?"

"Quiet, Potter."

"Seriously, though, if you're here, means you're trying to extend your life, because that's really the only thing I can think of that links unicorns and the Stone."

Quirrell didn't answer, staring longingly at the mirror.

"You know, staring at a mirror all day isn't going to make you any better looking," Harry called out, mockingly. "If you want to be a pretty, pretty princess, you're going to need a lot of makeup and a brand new dress to show off your assets."

"Stop it!" Hermione whispered, pinching Harry as hard as she could, to no reaction. "You're not helping."

The boy ignored her and continued taunting the Defense professor.

"What's with you being a fashion disaster, anyways? That great big turban does not go at all with the rest of what you've got on, and it definitely doesn't go with your eyes. Of course, your eyes are shit brown, so I guess nothing would go with them."

"Quiet!" Quirrell shouted. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

"You couldn't concentrate if you were orange juice," Harry jeered.

"I don't understand, is the Stone in the mirror? Should I break it? Help me, Master!"

"Use the boy…"

"All right, either I'm hallucinating because those potions are some really good drugs, or you should have gotten a job as ventriloquist; you'd be great at it."

Quirrell spun back around to glare at the tied-up boy, clapping his hands. As the rope fell away from Harry, he barked, "Come here, look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

"Yeah, you're going to have to do better than that," Harry said, crossing his arms.

"What?!" said Defense professor, clearly shocked by the boy's defiance. "Impossible!"

"Reality clearly begs to disagrees," Harry said lightly. "You know what's really impossible? Having just one Pringle."

"Cease your inane blatherings!" Quirrell shouted. "Come here!"

"I'd really rather not. My aunt always said to never go near suspicious adults, and a grown man who spends this much time eye-fucking a mirror is just, you know, really kind of creepy."

"Let me speak to him, face-to-face..."

"But master, your strength…"

"I am strong enough…"

"And now he's talking to himself, like a nutter."

Quirrell ignored the boy as he reached up an unwound his turban; as it fell away, he turned in place, and where the back of his head should have been was instead another face, one with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, not unlike a snake.

"Eugh, Two-Face, you're not at all like how the comics made you out to be," said the boy glibly.

"Harry Potter…"

"The fuck are you supposed to be?" Harry said. "A sapient parasite that ate Quirrell's brain?"

"I am Voldmort," hissed the face, snarling.

"Fucking who?" asked Harry again. "Never heard of you."

"Lord Voldemort," said Quirrell still facing away. "You know who he is."

"I really don't," Harry said. "Unless you mean 'You-Know-Who'."

"That's who."

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who."

"Oh. Wait, I don't know who."

"I think he means Voldemort is 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named'," chirped Hermione, trembling.

"Thanks, that makes so much more sense," said Harry blithely. "Leave it to a twelve-year-old to explain what a grown man and a Dark Lord can't.

"But yeah, no, I decline. There's nothing in it for me."

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "You'll meet your end, same as your parents… They died begging for mercy."

"Tell that to somebody who cares," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, after we're done, you're just going to have to kill us anyways, right? We've seen both your faces, and since wizards can read minds, they'd just read our minds and know about you being back."

"Potter, there are ways to die, and there are bad ways to die," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Actually, that's a fair point," said Harry, seemingly thoughtful. "All right, I'll help you."

"Harry! No!" shouted Hermione, grabbing him by the arm. "You can't!"

"I can, and I will," said the boy, turning towards her face and winking. "Tie her up, would you?"

Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes instantly bound the girl.

Hermione watched in horror was Harry pulled away and walked across the room; time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the knot at the pit of her stomach tightened until it felt like her insides were twisting apart.

How could she have been so wrong? How could she have believed in him? Harry had never been a hero, and now, the Dark Lord would have everything!

She could only watch as the boy kept walking, until he was by the Defense professor with the Dark Lord in his head.

Suddenly, there was a blur motion, a flash of silver. Then, the once-turbaned man collapsed bonelessly and the boy stood over the thrashing body, bloody knife in one hand and a vial from his belt in the other.

Hermione recognized the Kali mudra and saw the boy's mouth move, but what he said sounded distant, like she hearing him through water.

"Perdo corporem."

A ray of green light shot forth from his pointed fingers, striking the fallen man, who was flailing his arms about and sputtering, seemingly not understanding what was happening. The body glowed white for a moment, then suddenly exploded into a pile of dust, a black mist with an angry face rising from it and floating upwards, into the air, before wafting away.

"Well, guess this isn't over," said the boy, wiping the blade of the monoknife by folding the flap of his haversack over the spine of the blade and drawing the knife through gathered cloth before closing the knife and pocketing it. Quickly, he walked back to where Hermione stood, still bound in lengths of rope, cutting her free.

The first thing she did was slap him across the face.

"I deserved that," he said, then caught her by the wrist as she tried to slap him a second time. "I'm not giving you a second one for free."

"You could have told me!" Hermione huffed. "I thought you were going to help him!"

"That's the point," the boy said. "I needed you to sell it. Besides, there was no way I could tell you and not have them overhear it."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Severed his spine about halfway up his back, then disintegrated him while he was panicking and not quite realizing what had happened," said the boy calmly.

"You killed him," Hermione said, her tone accusatory.

"Had to," the boy said, sounding every bit like the fallen angel he looked like. "It was self-defense; you heard him say he would kill us when we finished."

The girl tried to understand what had just transpired, and more importantly, her own reaction towards it. Her best friend had just murdered a man in cold blood, she had witnessed it with her very own two eyes, and yet, instead of anger, disgust or even fear, all she felt was relief.

She realized, just because the Defense professor's death had been less horrifying to witness than watching the troll be burned alive, it somehow made it easier for her to stomach. That was a realization she found chilling, and she didn't like how it made her feel about herself.

The boy, her best friend, Harry Potter, was a stone cold murderer, and somehow, she was all right with that. And she was not all right with that.

Feeling torn, she wanted to question Harry more, but he was already walking back to the mirror.

"Quirrell said the Stone's inside the mirror, but it's just a mirror," the Hufflepuff said.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, as she joined him at the mirror; in its reflection, she saw herself as the head girl, with perfect scores on every exam, surrounded by friends who sought her help and advice, while Harry looked on in the background approvingly.

"I mean, it's just a mirror," he said. "What's so special about it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked again. "What do you see?"

"Just my reflection, like any other mirror," Harry said. "Why, what do you see?"

Hermione swallowed, unsure she wanted to tell him what she saw. "It's… Are you sure?"

"All right, now I'm curious. Spill."

"I see myself, but I'm head girl, and I've got the best marks in the history of Hogwarts," she said. "People are asking me for help, and I'm giving them advice."

"Huh," Harry said. "Must be the tattoo."

"What tattoo?" Hermione asked, confused.

"I've got a tattoo," the boy said. "Blanks my mind. Makes it impossible to intrude upon, including controlling, reading or changing."

"Is that why he couldn't make you help him?" she asked.

"Probably," he said, rapping his knuckles against the mirror, which echoed a dull noise. "Well, only one thing to do."

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"You might want to take a step back," Harry advised, and she did he suggested.

She recognized the mudra, Ganesha, for invoking the god who removed obstacles, as he made it, and she suddenly realized what he was trying to do.

"Wait!" she called out, but she was too late.

"Perdo vim!"

As she watched in horror, Harry's brows furrowed in concentration, and blood began to drip from first his nose, then his ears, and finally the corners of his eyes as he visibly clenched his jaw. She recognized it immediately, realizing he was doing what she had done the first time she had tried to use Hermetic magic.

Suddenly, the mirror exploded into countless pieces, and Harry crumpled limply to the floor and laid in an unmoving heap, blood flowing from every hole in his face even as his wings withdrew back into his body. Instantly, everything she had been taught about heal wounds flooded back to mind despite her panic, she rushed over to her fallen friend, kneeling by his side and pressing her ear against his chest.

Hearing the sound of his heart beating and feeling the rise and fall of his chest, she calmed just a little bit, but it was enough for her to understand what she needed to do.

First was the prana mudra, both hands palms upwards at waist level, thumbs touching curled right and little fingers, index and forefingers extended together.

"Creo corporem," she incanted, and though she had no visualization in mind, all she could think of was stopping her best friend's bleeding.

She wiped away the blood that had flowed from Harry's eyes with a hand and let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding when no more blood seeped forth.

Still, he was not moving, and they could not stay there, where they weren't supposed to be.

For a moment, her eyes fell on the shards of glass, and she suddenly noticed the paper-wrapped package laying just at the edge of where the broken mirror ended. It had not been there before, and she could only guess at what it was, but if she was right, it was what they had come for.

Picking it up, she dropped it into a pocket in her robe, then stood up.

They needed to leave.

Author's Notes: Once again, Harry uses Fay and Neville as assets. He might not trust them with his secrets, but he does know he can use them in ways that won't put them at risk.

I've always loved the conversation from The Town between Ben Affleck and Jeremy Renner's characters, and the line, "I need your help. I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it after we're done, and you could get expelled if we get caught." is my tribute to it.

I had fun with Fay play-acting; I almost had her knee Neville in the twig-and-berries, but decided that was a little too far for the little diversion.

Switching narrative perspectives from Harry to Hermione as soon as they start the gauntlet was something I thought was necessary to demonstrate just how far apart the two are in thought processes; Harry considers this entire venture an acquisition run, while Hermione doesn't quite know what she's getting into.

At his level, Harry had a couple solutions for Fluffy, but I ultimately went with the one that didn't involve him killing the cerberus, mostly because nobody wants to see the main character kill a dog. Still, with five million SHUs sprayed directly into its snouts, Fluffy would probably have preferred being dead.

If it had happened later in their lives, the experience of seeing both Fluffy and the Devil's Snare suffer would probably have driven Hermione Granger to trying to invent an artificial food supply that could be grown in vats, or maybe even Soylent Green; as it stands, I don't think she's quite ready to take that kind of moral stance yet, so instead, all this turns into another somewhat traumatic memory.

I wanted there to be repercussions to Hermione choosing to study for exams over working on her knowledge of the Hermetic arts, and not being able to cast fly seemed like a good place to start, since it was something they had previously discussed, and it was something Harry had emphasized was essential to know. That the problem is then solved in the next room doesn't change the fact the experience create some changes to Hermione's character as a whole, mostly in her realization that she's going to need to do more than just revise for exams.

Sometimes, simple solutions are best, and this version of Harry is a proponent of that. Why spend ten minutes on something when you can solve it in a couple seconds?

Hermione seeing Harry without his shirt and suddenly realizing there could be more between them is something I feel plants an interesting seed that can be watered over time, even if, in the moment, she realizes he's not exactly the type.

It's a testament to his experience in Shadowrun that Harry still considers the troll a threat despite it being unconscious; the same way you'd never leave CorpSec just laying around because they're incapacitated, he wasn't going to leave the troll unrestrained just because it was knocked out.

Being out of shape would normally be a wake up call were it not for the fact magical society doesn't really seem to put a premium on being in-shape. A couple more times, though, and Hermione would probably realize she should do something about it.

Again, simple solutions. Why solve the logic puzzle when you can just put out the fire?

Once again, expectations and reality don't quite match for the adults. Harry running his mouth to try to get Quirrell to tilt fits the more mercurial, fast-talking parts of his character. The fact Harry doesn't even know Voldemort's name and it turns into a bit of "Who's on first" seemed like a fair callback to when he was reading about himself and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's name never ever comes up; I felt like Voldemort introducing himself was a really great time to finally have Harry put a name to the reputation.

Harry not caring about his dead parents is typical Harry; he's already moved on, bringing them up doesn't quite work out the way people unfamiliar with him would expect it to.

Momentary heel turn seemed appropriate to keep his cover long enough to commit an act of extreme violence, as is his wont. I also like to think Harry's green beam of light spell is way more useful than the one used by Voldemort and his compatriots.

Hermione having to hear Harry justify a pretty casual (on his part) murder two and experience her own muted reaction it felt like an appropriate development as she slowly becomes desensitized to the violence of war. The fact it wasn't nearly as horrific as watching a creature being burned to death probably helped in that regard.

As always, things Harry does in the past has unintended consequences in the future; the Mirror of Erised can't read his mind, so as far as he's concerned, it's a normal mirror. Really, he couldn't have helped Quirrell and Voldemort in the way they expected, but neither of them knew that.

Harry almost fragging himself in the pursuit of his goal might seem a little bit reckless and out of character, but for something as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone, it was a risk that made sense to him, particularly given he was in the company of Hermione Granger, who he had traumatized so she would have a healing spell burned into her memories.

Hermione saving Harry's bacon at the end of this chapter felt appropriate; in Rowling's original novels, she always felt like she was there but had little agency of her own, whereas having her make her own decisions and be integral to Harry's continued survival makes her feel much less like set dressing and much more like a character of her own to me. Going forward, I want her to have more self-determination, even if Harry doesn't quite witness it because he's too focused on his own problems.

One more chapter to go before book 1 wraps. I've run out of clever ways to say it, but please review, PM, etc.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.