Chapter 14: Form prayers to broken stone.

Chapter Text

He, Hermione and Neville were basking in the late May sunshine, thrilled that as first years their tests were over before the rest of the school could truly go mad with nerves. The History OWL was currently taking place in the Great Hall, which had given the three friends a great excuse for a picnic by the lake.

They'd told Hermione very firmly that she was not to talk about anything exam-related. She kept drawing breath, only to catch herself before she got the first word out. If they hadn't all been so exhausted, it would probably have been funny.

Harry had just bitten into his second sandwich when Neville pointed in the direction of Hagrid's hut.

The wooden door was swinging shut behind Ronald, whose pockets were visibly bulging with rock cakes. They watched as he glanced around and, upon catching sight of the trio by the lake, began to jog towards them.

There was a strange hunger in Ronald's expression. Harry couldn't place it, but made sure to close the lid of their picnic basket just in case.

"Harry, Harry," he cried out, flinging himself onto their blanket with enough force to break the Sticking Charm, rumpling it. "Harry, you have to do something."

For his part, Harry hadn't even realised they were on speaking terms. Somehow, over the course of the past year they'd just...never really talked. "I have to do what?" he asked.

The boy was still panting. "You have to save the stone, it's in danger!"

Neville and Hermione weren't any more helpful in clarifying what Ronald was on about. "Sorry?"

"You don't need to apologise, you need to do something," he yelped.

Harry was reminded of the centaur's words. He looked up, searching. "Mars is bright," he realised.

"That's impossible," Hermione said.

She was right; there was no way the planet should be visible during midday. "I don't get it either," Harry said. He checked again: there it was, entirely out of place. "I'll ask Professor Sinastra about it later."

"Who cares about Mars," Ronald said, still thoroughly riled. "The stone is in danger and McGonagall won't listen to me, you have to save it Harry!"

The logic of a twelve-year-old was entirely incomprehensible to him. Somehow, on the chain of authority figures suitable to save random rocks, McGonagall ranked first, and Harry came second?

But Harry liked Ronald, despite the fact they'd barely exchanged a handful of words. He respected that the boy had snuck a dragon partway to Romania to help Hagrid out. He wasn't the best in class but he was loud, present, Gryffindorish in a way that Harry never could be. Ronald reminded him of Sirius and James a bit, but—

There was something burning in Ronald, an urge to make something of himself, coupled with a complete lack of direction for where he wanted to go.

—most of all he reminded Harry of himself.

Harry hadn't been overshadowed by five older brothers, but he deeply understood the desire to become someone more, someone else .

"Alright," he decided. "Tell us about this stone, and we'll see what we can do."

"Snape is going to steal it, it's on the third-floor corridor behind Hagrid's massive dog. But Dumbledore's not in the castle now, so he's going to do it tonight, I just know it."

"How could you p-p-possibly know that?" Hermione said. Her scowl was hardly an upset one, Harry knew. This was a Hermione who was interested. For a second Harry imagined Not-McGonagall's beaming smile as she held up her little cards of faces. Pride flushed through him—he'd come a long way from the boy who couldn't see a difference between a grin and a sneer.

"The Weasleys did have some seers a few generations back," Neville chimed in. "Might be a premonition."

Apparently, this was news to Ronald. "Look, does it matter how I know?" He was gesturing wildly with his arms as he spoke. "It's the truth, and if the our head of house isn't going to take me seriously you're the next best thing. Everyone knows you defeated You-Know-Who when you were just a baby. You're a hero, Harry."

Nobody had really said it to Harry like that before, as if it was a call to arms. The words were making him feel odd, all floaty and energetic. Was he a hero?

Ron, Neville, Hermione, and Mars watched him as he thought it over.

"I think we should go," he decided after a few minutes. This would be his chance to finally do something instead of just watching them happen, like an observer of his own life.

Ron was already punching the air in celebration, but Harry turned to Neville, eager to hear his friend's vote. "It's the Gryffindor thing to do," Neville said, nodding. He'd come out of his shell a bit since September.

As one, they turned to Hermione.

"Worst case scenario," Harry coaxed, "the stone isn't in danger, so we turn around and go back to bed. Maybe we'll lose some house points, but Slytherin's a shoo-in for the House Cup anyway."

"It's a terrible idea..." Hermione said slowly. Harry could tell when she had folded as a beautiful smile lit up her face. "...let's go."

Ronald whooped, unperturbed by Neville's wincing. He shrugged his pointy shoulders. "What? I'm just glad you listened to me. This is going to be great. We're going to save the world."

When he put it like that their endeavour sounded a lot stupider. Hermione's words hung poignantly between them: this was a terrible idea. "If it all goes wrong," Harry told her, "you get to say 'I told you so'."

For the three actual eleven-year-olds, it hadn't taken very much to grow their determination on the matter.

For Harry, it wasn't as simple. He spent the hours until nightfall sitting by the window, watching as the birds took off over the forbidden forest only to land again amidst the boughs. He dithered , thinking of Mars, of being a main character in his own life instead of a victim to whom things just…happened.

He thought of a life so saturated with regrets that he couldn't even appreciate having died for a good cause.

He thought of bodies, too many bodies, and last words that would echo through him forever. 'Please, no, not Harry, take me instead.'

The bell to curfew chimed. He could almost hear McGonagall's clock counting down the seconds, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick.

'I thought you were a Gryffindor.'

Harry gathered James' invisibility cloak and went to meet with his co-conspirators downstairs.

xoxox

With Ron's added height they couldn't all fit under the cloak, but it wasn't a problem—Harry knew the castle like the back of his hand.

That metaphor still didn't make sense to him: if someone would show him a hundred pictures of hands he'd be hard-pressed to pick out his own.

Harry knew the castle better than the back of his hand, and exactly as well as one could know a magical building after spending over seven years living in and exploring it. He led his companions through tapestries and over finicky staircases until they were on the third floor.

"I'm scared of dogs," admitted Neville.

"I'm allergic to cats," Hermione added.

"Fluffy likes music," Ronald supplied.

"Leave it to me," Harry said, casting Alohomora.

There was a harp already playing lullabies when they stepped into the room. Gryffindor to the core, Ronald volunteered to go down the trap door first. Harry admired and respected that about him.

"Don't worry, magical animals are different when it comes to pet hair allergies," he said to Hermione as they watched Neville scrunch up his face and jump. "No idea how that works." And with a last pat to Fluffy's giant paw-pad, he took the plunge.

The Devil's Snare made for a pleasantly springy landing. Neville coaxed the plant off them, his wandtip glowing gently.

The next room contained a swarm of flying keys. "Look, brooms!" Ronald grinned.

"Don't touch them," Harry said sharply. If this maze of rooms was meant to keep intruders out, there'd likely be some kind of trap in the most obvious solution.

On top of that, he didn't know who between him and his friends hated flying the most. Even if Ronald was decent he likely wouldn't be able to find and catch the right key all by himself.

Harry studied the door carefully, tuning out Neville and Ron's growing argument.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked him.

Harry had set up a lot of doorway-related pranks in his time. Sirius and James had come up with the solution to getting around an unopenable door in their third year.

"When one door closes," Harry recited, "that means there's an open window causing a draft."

"That's not right," Hermione said, but Harry had already pointed his wand at the stretch of wall separating them from the next room. " Zhelatinizify ", he cast.

The wall slowly began to turn translucent purple. James had never been able to explain the colour, and if a transfiguration prodigy almost on par with Dumbledore in his youth didn't know, Harry wasn't going to pretend to understand it either. All that mattered was that it worked, even with his own limited and half-trained magical core. "Go," he gritted out.

Hermione touched the wall, her hand sinking through the stone. The wall wobbled a bit. Ron and Neville pushed through while she was still exploring the texture.

"Now ," Harry ordered. He let himself lean backwards against the slimy structure and fell through to the other side, landing on his arse with an 'oof.'

He waited for his breathing to even out before bothering to get up. By then, Ronald had discerned that they had to play their way across the massive chessboard. Harry settled into his position as the queenside bishop , happy to follow Ronald's lead on this one.

In the common room, Ronald was known as a very good chess player. In a cold hall filled with looming statues, things were rather more difficult.

Though Harry wasn't much of a chess player, it seemed like Ronald was doing alright, until—

"When the queen takes me, Harry, you have to move forward."

Ronald was doing alright until he suddenly wasn't. They could all hear only Neville's stuttering breath, and the sound of stone screaming against stone as the queen dragged the broken knight away.

Checkmating the white king didn't feel like any sort of victory.

The three of them huddled around Ronald's groaning form. Harry's diagnostic spells promised that the boy would be fine, probably, though he really shouldn't be falling asleep.

"I can wait with him," Neville said, voice quivering but tears wiped away. He looked like his father had after Order raids, all his emotions tamped down to form him into a resolute, no-nonsense young man.

He added Frank Longbottom to the list of old friends who must now hate him. Harry stomach clenched painfully with guilt and regret — it had seemed like a harmless adventure to indulge his friends and Ronald in, but things had gone seriously wrong.

Hermione was miraculously still by Harry's side. Opening the next door, the stench hit him like a punch to his lungs. The troll was unconscious, and if Harry didn't get out of there fast he'd be unconscious too from the smell. He had to drag Hermione across to the next room like a corpse.

He barely noticed the flames in the archways because Hermione's face was so deathly white.

Harry stepped aside just in time for her sick up on the marble floor. "Evanesco," he cast quietly.

"Ssssorry," Hermione said. Her breathing was lopsided.

Concerned, Harry cast a few diagnostics. "You're physically fine, or you will be once you calm down," he announced.

"Great."

Flitwick had tried to teach him about sarcasm this past year. Harry hadn't gotten very good at it, but given their situation he was fairly sure that Hermione was not, in fact, great.

He plopped down beside her on the floor, bumping their shoulders. "Try to focus on your breathing," he suggested. Then he waited. Hermione was extremely clever, she'd figure this out, too.

It took a few more minutes before she opened her eyes. "The stone," she urged.

"You're more important," Harry reminded her. Besides, it was Ron who had been so determined to go looking for the stone. They should have listened to Hermione when she'd said it was a horrible idea.

Somehow Harry hadn't thought the tasks would be this dangerous. He'd pictured something a lot more harmless, like one of James' prank ideas. This was turning out to be a lot more like something Sirius had cooked up: mad, malicious, and only funny to a sadist.

He imagined Dumbledore sitting with the professors around a grand table in the staff room, brainstorming what obstacles they should put in a school full of children to protect a legendary rock. Hound from hell? Check . Man-eating plant? Great idea. Chess set that will maim, concuss or kill? Oh yes, absolutely.

Giant bloody troll? Of course, sentient creatures tended to do very well confined to small spaces for extended periods of time. What could possibly go wrong?

Harry looked around, examining the flames that trapped them here. He could already feel himself sweating from the heat. The room was small, and they were big fires; it was only a matter of time before they ran out of air.

Perhaps it was some sort of measure to force a speedy decision? It was perplexing, yet another task easily overcome with the simplest of magics. Casting a bubble-head charm for each of them, and a few cooling charms for good measure, Harry waited for his friend to recover. When Hermione got up, he followed her over to the far wall.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find…

It was a blessing that the hat hadn't put Harry in Ravenclaw when he'd asked. Harry likely wouldn't have lasted a week before asking to be transferred to a more accessible sleeping place.

"This one," Hermione announced, holding up the smallest bottle.

It had to be the smallest bottle.

There was only enough for a single mouthful. Harry sighed, holding it up to the light. It was full, despite someone definitely already having passed through. He cast a determining spell at the bottle. "Which one is to go back?"

When Hermione handed him that flask he poured out half onto the flagstones. As soon as he stoppered the flask it refilled itself. Harry grinned, dropping the bubble-head charms and offering the small bottle to Hermione.

"No plan?" she asked pointedly.

That explained the feeling that had been dragging down his shoulders, a sensation like he was forgetting something. "Well…"

Hermione's Stern Lookwas uncanny.

"I'll go through first. Maybe it's another task, but based on the riddle it'll probably be the final room. If there's someone there, Snape or whoever else, I can try to stop them from getting the stone. You will be my invisible backup. Once you're past the flames, move to the side so you don't get caught in any crossfire."

He watched Hermione think, and finally nod. "It's not Snape," she said.

Harry smiled back. "I know," he said simply, draping the invisibility cloak over her. He scraped together every speck of Gryffindor in him and downed the mouthful of potion that would take him onward. "Best of luck to us both." He tossed her the bottle, closed his eyes, and stepped through the purple flames .

xoxox

Coming up: Peter Pettigrew meets the Dark Lord Voldemort. It goes approximately as well as an eleven year old versus a wraith might.

There's a lot of guilt on that conscience.

I'll be posting every day in December, bookmark me here and on AO3 to get notified about a whole bunch of new stories.