The staircases were already filled with people by the time the Defence Against the Dark Arts class arrived. As Hermione got on, an older student – a Hufflepuff that looked like he was a fifth-year, at least – elbowed her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She nearly collapsed – and probably would have, had Neville and Dean not grabbed her at the last minute.

'Be careful,' Dean hissed at the older student before turning to Hermione. 'All right?'

Hermione nodded, rubbing her stomach. 'Fine, fine.'

They were already down one flight of stairs when Hermione realised that there was something off. She looked around, seeing Neville, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, and the rest of their Defence section. The only one she did not see was…

'Where did Harry go?' she asked Neville in a whisper.

Neville looked around himself, too. 'Wasn't he right with us in the classroom?'

'Professor Quirrell called him back for something,' Hermione said. 'I think he dropped his bookbag.'

'Where's Professor Quirrell, then?'

Hermione turned her head, searching for the turbaned head of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. To her surprise, he was nowhere to be found. She had not noticed his absence, and it seemed like the rest of the class had not, either, for they continued slowly moving down the staircase as if nothing was out of place, following the higher-year class in front of them.

'They probably haven't caught up yet,' Hermione suggested. There was, of course, another explanation already forming, but she tried as hard as she could to ignore it, not allow it to come to the fore of her mind. 'Maybe we should wait for him,' she proposed in an attempt to reassure herself.

Neville, who looked rather ill at ease – had he had the same thought that she had? – nodded. 'Yeah…we should…'

The two of them stood to one side on the centre landing of the fourth floor. Directly below them was the forbidden corridor, dark and ominous in the otherwise bright afternoon. The rest of their class passed, none of them paying any attention to Hermione and Neville and continuing on their way, chattering, no doubt about what was happening. There was a hold-up as the staircases first moved to accommodate a group of professors, including Professors Flitwick, Cauverina, and Sprout, who passed, rushing towards the left-hand-side landing, where the fire was burning. During the whole time, Neville and Hermione – who was now standing on a bench, looking over the heads of the other students – looked for any trace of Harry or Quirrell, but neither could be found.

The staircases moved back into position for the students, and the congestion quickly cleared. Now that the class behind them passed, though, Hermione and Neville suddenly found the staircases deserted, yet still no sign of Harry. In one, both thinking the same thing, the two of them peered down over the railings, looking down at the staircase below for Harry, but as the stairs to the second floor cleared, then the stairs to the first floor, neither of them spotted the distinctive black hair of their friend.

'Do you think…do you think…'

'What?' Hermione demanded, a little too harshly.

Neville gulped. 'Do you think…Snape…'

Hermione swallowed, too. 'I…he couldn't have…right? Harry was with Quirrell. We saw them.'

'What if…if Snape got to them…them both?'

Hermione suddenly felt irrationally angry at Neville's doomsaying – rather unfairly, her rational mind thought, but she was anything but rational now. 'Stop it,' she snapped. 'It's like you want Harry to be in danger.'

Neville looked taken aback, but Hermione, instead of feeling sorry, felt a sort of savage satisfaction that he was getting his due for his theorising. 'What do you mean?' he asked. 'Of course I don't want Harry to be in danger! I'm just…I'm just…'

Hermione was about to rebut, but the sounds of footsteps echoing from the third-floor landing below interrupted her. She and Neville dashed down several steps, hoping – willing – that it was Harry, that he was okay, that he had been with them all along, and they had simply not seen him.

But to Hermione's disappointment, it was not Harry. Instead, it was Professor Vesnova – or Anna, as she and Harry had finally convinced her to address her as. Her face was bright red and her wand out in her hand, while her clothes looked a little dirty, with leaves and grass clinging to the bottom of her robes.

She stopped the moment she saw them. 'Hermione? Neville? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be outside with your Houses.'

'Have you seen Harry?' Neville blurted out, just beating Hermione to the question.

'Harry?' Anna replied, blinking. 'No, I haven't. Shouldn't he be with the rest of the Gryffindor House outside?'

'Is he?' Hermione asked, hopeful. 'Have you seen him?'

'No, I haven't.' Suddenly, a concerned look came over her face. 'What, have you not seen him?'

Hermione shook her head. 'He was with us in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but then, he disappeared, along with our teacher. He was with Professor Quirrell…you know, the man with the turban. Have you seen him?'

Anna thought for a moment, then shook her head. 'No, I don't think I've seen Quirrell.'

'What about Snape?' Neville asked.

Another pause. 'I don't think I've seen him, either. Maybe they're down there now. I was only there for a little bit before Minerva told me to go up to the fourth floor.'

Hermione gulped, her worst thoughts of doom flashing into her mind, and she could not suppress them. 'Do you know what's happening on the fourth floor?' she asked, more to distract herself. 'How did the fire start?'

'I don't know how it started,' Anna said. 'Minerva said that it looked like Greek Fire. It might have been an accident – '

She was interrupted mid-sentence by Professor McGonagall's voice, echoing magically off the castle walls. 'Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, if you are in the castle, leave through the Entrance Hall immediately. There is a fire in the left-hand corridor on the fourth floor. Avoid the area. Quirinus, if you are in the castle, please meet me outside.'

The meaning of Professor McGonagall's announcement took a moment to settle in, but when it did, Hermione's heart stopped. Her eyes darted to Neville for a moment, and by his gaunt, mask-like face, he had realised it, too.

'Harry's missing,' Hermione breathed. 'And so is Professor Quirrell.'

Anna blinked. 'What?'

Hermione wondered if she should tell Anna what they knew, but in a second, she had decided in the affirmative. She and Harry had some kind of relationship that Hermione never quite understood – and Harry was not exactly forthcoming, either – but it was evidently something rather profound. If there was any teacher who might jump to help Harry without question…it was her.

'Snape kidnapped Harry,' Hermione said, her voice shaking more than she anticipated. 'Snape's going after the Philosopher's Stone, and he has Harry!'

Anna blinked again. 'The Philosopher's Stone?' she demanded. 'How do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?'

'Does it matter how we know?' Neville replied, sounding somewhat desperate. 'Snape's been after it all year! He used the fire as a distraction, just like a few weeks ago with the intruder! And remember how he tried to poison Harry? Now he's taken him! He's going to…he's going to…'

'Where's the headmaster?' Hermione asked, trying to keep calm but failing miserably. 'Does he know what's happening?'

Anna shook her head. 'Albus left this morning for an emergency session of the Ejwent Zehwolt. There was an explosion in Xewel Cuznawtecot this morning – that's a street near Diagon Alley in London. He had to attend, since he's an Overseer.'

'When will he be back?'

'I don't know,' Anna said. 'It might not be for some time.'

She suddenly drew her wand. 'Expecto Patronum,' she breathed, and out of the end of her wand materialised a majestic silvery-blue bird. 'Go to Albus,' she told it. 'Tell him that there is an emergency at Hogwarts, and Harry Potter is missing. Go!'

Without a second's delay, the bird flew off. 'Patronus,' she explained. 'It'll bring the message to Albus. I don't know when he'll get it, though.'

'Where is Snape?' she asked as it flew away. 'Where is the Philosopher's Stone?'

'Don't you know? Haven't you been working with it?'

Anna looked surprised once again at them knowing that particular fact. 'No, Albus brought it to me,' she answered a second's hesitation later. 'Would I ask you if I knew?'

'The last room in the right-hand corridor on the third floor. That's where the Stone is,' Hermione told her, pointing at the corridor that was almost directly behind them. 'I don't think Snape arrived yet, though. I haven't seen him go through the door…'

'There're teachers' staircases,' Anna said. 'If Snape had really taken Harry…he would've used one of those.'

She looked at Hermione and Neville for a moment. 'You two go. Join the rest of your House outside. If Albus – '

'We'll go with you,' Neville said.

'No way.'

'He's our friend, too!'

'Absolutely not,' Anna said firmly, fingering her wand in an unmistakeably menacing way. 'You're first-years. Go join everyone else outside, and tell Albus what happened when he returns.'

Without another word, she turned around and rushed down the stairs to the right-hand landing before turning the corner and disappearing down the corridor, the sounds of her running footsteps echoing off the wall. Hermione and Neville, after a split-second, both ran off after her, chasing her down the corridor, their wands out.

Anna did not – or pretended not to – notice them as they neared as she pointed her wand at the lock on the door. She waved it several times, muttering spells under her breath, before trying the handle, only to find it locked. She growled in frustration as she took a step back, raising her wand to aim directly at the centre of the wooden door.

'Bombarda Maxima!' she yelled. There was a short flash of white light, and then an explosion. Hermione jumped to the side of the corridor as the door blew inwards, the wood disintegrating into tiny pieces. At the same time, a second siren joined the alarm already sounding over the school, no doubt meant to alert the staff of a break-in of the like that Anna had just done.

Just as the dust began to settle, she spun around on her heels, and the moment she caught sight of Hermione and Neville, her face grew furious. 'I told you to leave!' she yelled. 'You should not be anywhere near here! Go!'

'We can't just leave Harry!' Neville protested.

'You're not leaving him!' Anna shouted. 'I'm going for him! Albus knows what's happening!'

'Three is better than one, isn't it?' Hermione argued.

'Not when two of them are first-years!'

'We can do magic, too!'

'I didn't say you can't!' Anna cried, raising her wand. Without thinking, Hermione and Neville did the same. 'But you should absolutely not be here!'

'Yes, we should!' Hermione snapped back. 'Harry's our friend, just like he's yours!'

'And I'm nineteen, with seven years of schooling! You, meanwhile, have studied magic for less than a year! You cannot!'

'We've been learning on our own, too!' Hermione argued back. 'We've learned a bunch of defensive spells. We can – '

From somewhere behind and above them – perhaps from the fourth floor – suddenly came a rumble of an explosion. 'The more time we spend here arguing, the more likely Harry is to be in danger,' Hermione said. 'Just let us come with you! How would you feel if we went after Harry and told you to go away?'

'That's not the same. You're first – '

'First-years whose friend has just been kidnapped by a dark wizard!' Neville cried. 'You can't just tell us to go away now!'

Anna opened her mouth, then closed it. She shut her eyes, a pained look twisting her face. 'Fine,' she said finally through gritted teeth, still not opening her eyes. 'Come.'

Without waiting for a response, she turned around and stepped over the threshold into the room. 'Oh…Ich werde mich so sehr dafür hassen…' Hermione heard her mutter to herself as she did.

Hermione and Neville followed her into the room, and as they did, Hermione could hear the faint sound of music emanating somehow from the very walls of the room, drowned out by periodic loud snores. She looked into the centre of the room and saw the Cerberus fast asleep, the loud blast of the door's destruction and the flying shrapnel not having shaken it at all. The music, Hermione realised, recalling what she had read in that book long ago, must be keeping it in its slumber.

They walked over to the trap door, and Hermione and Neville knelt down next to it, lifting the surprisingly heavy piece of wood open. Hermione raised her wand over the opening and cast a Wand-Lighting Charm, trying to see what was inside.

In the cold light of the wand, Hermione could see a rather dirty ladder running down from the top of the shaft. It was perhaps ten metres in height, and at the bottom, it seemed to open up into a room of some kind, though other than that, it was impossible to discern anything in the dim light from this far away.

'Under there?' Anna asked.

Hermione nodded. 'It must be.'

'You two really shouldn't go. You can still – '

Without waiting for her to finish, Neville jumped into the shaft and began climbing down the ladder. Hermione followed closely after him, ignoring the slippery, slimy feeling of the ladder's rungs as she climbed. Anna, seeing that she was not going to stop them now, climbed in after them, shutting the trap door tightly behind them with a thud.


Harry woke to a bright light and a splitting headache. It took him many long moments to remember what had happened before he had been knocked out. There had been a fire inside Hogwarts, and they had all been told to evacuate. Quirrell had told him to take the teachers' staircase instead of the main one…and then he had blacked out.

Had he fallen down the stairs? He must have, but then, he remembered seeing a red flash of light just before his world went dark. It had been a spell that had knocked him out – it had to be. But who had cast it? Had Snape been waiting for them in the teachers' staircase? Or perhaps, did he have some accomplice waiting for him? Harry wondered what happened to Professor Quirrell. Snape had been pretty clearly tailing him – would he have tried to capture both of them in one go?

Harry stirred a little. He was lying on hard, stone ground. He tried to look around him but found his vision disoriented, spinning, and cloudy. He moved his arms, trying to feel where he was, and found that the ground around him was even. He was no longer in the teacher's staircase – that was for certain – and judging by the ground, sounds, and feeling of the air around him, he was not outside, either.

Next, he tried to reach for his wand. He had no idea what he would cast with it – or even if he should cast anything – but he simply wanted the comfort of having it in his hand. When he reached down into his pocket where he knew his wand was, however, he found that it was completely empty. As he felt for his wand, he instinctively drew up his magic, but strangely, he felt his transcendental energy behave in the same chaotic way that it did in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He inhaled sharply, trying to see if he could detect the smell of garlic in his air – but he only picked up a musty scent, mingled with the light accent of wood smoke.

'Our guest has finally awakened,' came a voice that Harry recognised as belonging to Quirrell, yet, at the same time, it was not his. He spoke quite clearly, with no trace of a stutter, and something about the sound was different, too. It was deeper than it usually was, and there was some quality to it that sounded unsettling.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Harry's vision cleared, and he was finally able to see around him. He was lying in a rather expansive, high-ceilinged room. It was roughly round in shape, perhaps the size of two Hogwarts classrooms. The walls were plain and unfurnished, and the space was dimly lit by torches placed every metre or so along them.

'Where am I?' Harry asked the natural question that came to his mind.

'Right where you need to be,' Quirrell's voice replied.

'What happened? Did I pass out?'

'In a manner of speaking, yes,' Quirrell answered. 'Now, stand up and come over here.'

Harry managed to struggle with difficulty to his feet, hindered by the pain in his legs, no doubt sustained by his earlier impact with the stairs. When he was back on his feet, he found Quirrell standing in the middle of the room, right before a large mirror, but it was not just any mirror. It was the Mirror of Erised, the very same one that he had seen his parents in months earlier.

'Where are we?' Harry asked again, more confused than ever.

'Right where we need to be,' Quirrell repeated. 'Come over here.'

Harry limped over to where Quirrell was standing. 'Such an intriguing magical object,' he said quietly. 'Tell me, Harry, what do you see in it?'

Harry, of course, already knew what he would see in it, but he had no desire to tell Quirrell about his parents. He thought about what to reply to Quirrell with – what was something that he wanted, but not so much so that he might see it in the Mirror of Erised?

'Step over and look,' Quirrell ordered more harshly, reacting to Harry's silence.

Unsure of why Quirrell wanted him to look in the mirror so badly, but obeying his command anyway, Harry stepped in front of the mirror, just in front of Quirrell. He braced himself to see 'his parents' again, and in preparation, he told himself over and over again, silently, that they were not real, and his parents were not going to come back, despite what he had seen in the mirror…

But instead of his parents, when Harry stepped in front of the mirror this time, he saw something altogether different. He saw…himself, but it was not himself, exactly. His reflection in the mirror struck a different pose, and its face bore a smile – which his own certainly did not. Harry watched as his reflection in the mirror reached towards his right pocket, patting it twice before looking back up and winking at him.

Suddenly, Harry felt a foreign weight in his actual right pocket. Shocked and curious by the display, Harry thrust his hand into his pocket, and there, he felt a hard, solid object, wrapped in a rough sort of cloth. Carefully, he pulled it out, noticing that it was surprisingly heavy for an object of its size, undid the strings holding the cloth together, and unwrapped it.

Inside the cloth, he found a reddish, translucent crystal. It was pointed at one end, and rather jagged along its bottom edge. One spot along the top appeared chipped, as if someone had dropped it particularly hard. What was more astonishing, though, was what he felt. There was a sort of indescribable magic radiating from the stone, one that made him feel suddenly powerful.

And Harry, suddenly, understood. He knew why he was here, and he knew what he was holding. It was Hagrid's 'strawberry jam', what he had thought Snape had been trying to steal all year. Yet, now, he realised that it had never been Snape – it had, all along, Quirrell.

'You were the one after the Stone,' Harry breathed. 'You. Not Snape. It was you all along.'

'That's right,' Quirrell said, a leer evident in his voice. 'Severus provided a convenient cover – who would suspect anyone else next to him? – but he is far too weak to act…no, Harry…it was me. It was me all along. Now, why don't you hand me the Stone?'

Harry gulped as he tried to process the realisations. Quirrell – not Snape. Quirrell was the one who wanted to become the next dark lord, not Snape. Quirrell was the one who had tried to kill him, not Snape – and of course, now that he knew, the connection was obvious. Quirrell had seen the Potions classroom – he knew where Harry sat and where to place the poison, even if he missed in the end. Quirrell had been absent during the entirety of the last Quidditch match, and would have had the perfect chance to go into the forest. Both 'emergencies' in the last month had happened when Harry was in Defence Against the Dark Arts – and Quirrell must have planned them specifically to get at Harry. And after Dumbledore had acted to prevent the cloaked figure from going into the forest, it was Quirrell who appeared weakened. Evidently, it was him who had been prevented from accessing whatever he kept in the forest, not Snape.

'Hand me the Stone!' Quirrell insisted. 'Or we can do this the hard way.'

Harry felt a sudden resolve, his would-be murderer standing right behind him seemingly giving him courage instead of fear. 'No,' he said. 'I won't.'

'You won't…' Quirrell breathed dangerously. 'Well, then…Expelliarmus!'

Harry felt the force of a soft punch hit him in the back – a spell, it must have been – but nothing happened. The Stone in his hand stayed in his hand, and other than the light pressure of the spell hitting, he felt nothing else.

'Expelliarmus!'

Another soft punch, but once more, nothing happened.

'Expelliarmus! Exp – '

'Stop!' another voice hissed, and for a moment, Harry hoped that it was Dumbledore's, coming to the rescue, but the voice could not have been Dumbledore's. It was high, cold, and hissed in an almost snakelike way. There was something evil about it, something that seemed to suggest that it had not told Quirrell to stop out of mercy, but rather because it wanted to do something worse.

'Master, I'm simply – '

'You are wasting your energy using a useless spell,' the new voice said. 'The Philosopher's Stone will not respond to the Disarming Charm. Allow me to take over, Quirrell.'

'But Master, you are weak – '

'I still have enough strength to do this,' the voice replied. 'In any case, this is no matter. My strength will soon be restored with an Elixir.'

'Are you sure, Master?'

'Yes, Quirrell. Make way.'

Harry did not dare turn around as Quirrell let out a sudden cry of agony. The cry quickly subsided, but he continued letting out pained groans. Then, as suddenly as the sounds of pain started, they ended, and the room fell silent once again.

'Turn around, Harry,' the second voice said.

Harry slowly turned around, expecting to see someone else standing in Quirrell's place. To his surprise, however, standing behind him was…Quirrell. Yet, it was also not Quirrell. The blue, frightened-looking eyes of his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher were replaced by red, slit-like eyes that resembled almost those of a snake. His posture, too, had changed, and instead of slouching slightly, his shoulders rounded, he was now standing tall, as if he was assured of his control.

'Recognise me?'

Harry blinked, a fear welling up inside him and replacing any courage that he had earlier felt. 'N-No?'

'Ten years is certainly time enough to forget,' Quirrell – or whatever he was now – replied, raising his wand. Harry, whose own wand was nowhere to be found, could do nothing but stand and watch, cold sweat erupting over his back. 'Perhaps this will help you remember. Crucio!'

Suddenly, Harry felt his entire body burning. It felt like his limbs, his face, his torso, and his organs were all simultaneously being cut apart, stabbed, scalded, and lit on fire. Harry tried to open his eyes, but could not as his muscles twitched and spasmed. In a fraction of a second, he had collapsed, writhing on the floor, the Philosopher's Stone falling out of his hand.

The pain continued for what seemed like an eternity before it finally, suddenly, stopped. It took a while for Harry to gain control over his body again, and when he did, he opened his eyes. Quirrell's form was now standing over him, his wand in his right hand, the Philosopher's Stone in his left. Harry, driven by some mad force, tried to stand up and contest the Stone, but his body ached and refused to move in protest.

'Quirrell, start making the Elixir of Strength,' the voice said. 'We do not have long.'

There was another ghastly shout of pain as Voldemort made way for Quirrell to take over his own body again. When the pain ended, Quirrell hastily took out a small, stopped vial from inside his robes, contained inside which a bright, pearl-coloured liquid. He set it down on the ground before removing a flask, which already was filled with a layer of ingredients along the bottom. Harry watched as Quirrell held up the Philosopher's Stone and pointed his wand at it, muttering an incantation that Harry could not hear. As the Stone glowed brightly for a moment before returning to its normal colour, a small smile came over Quirrell's face. He lifted the Stone again, holding it above the flask, then unstopped the vial and began to pour. As the pearly liquid flowed down across the Stone, it instantly changed, taking on a deep, golden colour.

'Who are you?' Harry spluttered. 'What're you doing?'

'Quirrell here is making for me the Elixir of Strength that I will need to return to my…old form,' the incorporeal voice said. 'As for who I am…I believe we last met on October thirty-first, more than ten years ago.'

Harry was confused for a moment, and then, understanding hit him like a train. 'You're…you can't be…you're…you're still alive?'

'Yes, Harry. Did you think that a one-year-old boy could really defeat Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard who ever lived?' the voice said, giving a single high laugh. 'No, Harry, you did not. You could not then, and you will never be able to. I have control over life and death itself! And now, in short time, when I have taken the necessary Elixirs, I will be restored to my old form once again. This time, not you, nor Dumbledore, nor anyone else, will stop Lord Voldemort.'

'Are you going to kill me?' Harry asked, cold sweat breaking out. 'Is that why I'm here? You already tried once, didn't you?'

'I will finish what I started, Harry, you can be assured of that,' Voldemort said. 'Because of Quirrell's idiocy, the poisoning in November failed, but it was perhaps for the better. Quirrell, in a foolish attempt to avoid being punished, suggested that I take you alive and study what it was about you that led to what happened ten years ago before I killed you. Lord Voldemort does not forgive failures so easily, but he also does not ignore his followers.'

'I-I'm happy to serve, Master,' Quirrell said shakily as he stirred the contents of the flask, which had now turned silvery and begun to glow slightly.

'Quiet, Quirrell,' Voldemort snapped. 'You were simply a coward trying to get out of your rightful punishment. Nonetheless…I will know your secrets, Harry Potter, and I will learn to defend against them. This time, you will have no defence.'

'The Elixir of Strength is ready, Master,' Quirrell said, holding up the flask.

'Step aside,' Voldemort ordered.

Quirrell screamed in pain again as Voldemort took over his body. When his eyes reopened, they were, once more, red slits. Without looking at Harry, Voldemort bent down, picking up the flask of elixir from the ground. He lifted it to his lips and downed it in one gulp.

Instantly, Quirrell – or rather, perhaps, Voldemort – straightened up, his head held higher than ever, and his wand hand hanging confidently at his side. Slowly, he turned to look at Harry, unmistakeable power mixed with undeniable malice in his eyes.

'Now, you will tell me all that I need to know, Harry Potter,' Voldemort hissed. 'What happened that night? Tell me.'

'I…I don't know,' Harry stammered, panicking. He truly had no idea, and even if he did, his mind, distracted by the sure knowledge that Voldemort was alive and standing right in front of him, would not have been able to recall it. 'I…I don't remember…I don't remember anything.'

'Perhaps this will help,' Voldemort whispered, raising his wand, and Harry shut his eyes, knowing what was going to happen. 'Crucio!'

And Harry felt himself on fire again.


Hermione found a small, sooty room at the end of the ladder. The space smelled like smoke, and in the dim light produced by the three wands, she could see some kind of scorched plant material littered across much of the floor.

'Man-Eating Pitchers,' Neville said, kicking a large, cup-like husk across the floor in Hermione's direction. 'They eat anyone who gets too close for too long. Gran said people used to use them for protection back when You-Know-Who was powerful.'

'And this looks like Devil's Snare,' Anna added, pointing her wand light at a group of vines. 'Older ones. The young ones used to be a popular assassination weapon. Those look just like regular flowers – until they strangle you to death.'

Hermione could not help but shudder a little. 'I guess it's good that Snape came through before us, then.'

'I'd have enough trouble dealing with those if I were alone,' Anna said. 'With the two of you, we might've been plant food. This is why you shouldn't have come. Who knows what's after this room?'

Hermione ignored her last sentence – she was not going to have this argument with her again. 'Where do we go now?' she asked, changing the topic and trying to return some sense of urgency that they seemed to have forgotten.

'There's a door here,' Neville said, pointing at the side wall. 'It must lead towards wherever the Stone is being kept.'

He tried the door handle, and to Hermione's relief, it was open. The door opened into a short, narrow corridor, on the opposite side of which was yet another door. He stepped through, and Hermione and Anna followed after him. To their surprise, they found nothing in the corridor – no trap, nor any evidence that someone had been there.

'Do we just go across?' Hermione asked.

Neither of the others answered, and Hermione decided to go – they could not afford to wait here forever. She took a step forward, intending to cross to the other side, but just as she did, Neville put an arm out, stopping her in her tracks.

'What?' Hermione asked, irritated.

'Something doesn't feel right,' Neville answered, his face screwed up in concentration.

'What do you mean "doesn't feel right"?'

'The magic,' Neville replied. 'It feels different from the previous room. There's something here. It feels like enchantments… They feel different than the ones around Hogwarts. Like…cold…or angry…'

'I don't feel anything different,' Hermione said.

'Neither do I,' Anna echoed.

'No, there's something there,' Neville insisted. 'Let me try something.'

Hermione watched uncertainly as he drew his wand and cast a shower of red sparks. All seemed normal at first as they flew in an arc through the air, but at less than half a metre in front of where he stood, the sparks suddenly died out, with only a single wisp of smoke to signal their extinguishing. Neville cast again, this time with green sparks, and they, too, went out.

'What's going on?' Hermione asked, feeling perplexed. 'What did you just do?

'A test for enchantments,' Neville answered with a shrug. 'It's what Gran used to do when she worked on the enchantments around our house to test if they work. Looks like there really are some here.'

'Something's definitely there,' Anna affirmed, her wand held in the air. 'I can detect it now. Let me try something…. Oppugno.'

A single bird materialised out of thin air at the tip of her wand, and with a wave, she sent it forward, into the centre of the room. The bird flew straight ahead for a split second, but then, at the same exact place where Neville's sparks went out, the bird disappeared into a puff of smoke, Hermione letting out a gasp of horror at its death.

'It wasn't a real bird,' Anna said, sensing perhaps what Hermione was thinking. 'Conjured animals are never actually alive. Don't worry.'

Hermione nodded, reassured. 'What did that mean?' she asked. 'The bird…disappearing?'

'Static enchantments,' Anna answered. 'Several of them – complex and dangerous ones, by the looks of it.'

'Can we get through?' Hermione asked, nervous. Had Snape set these enchantments to stop anyone from catching up to him? If they could not get through them, how would they rescue Harry?

'We could apparate,' Neville suggested.

Hermione looked at him, confused. 'Apparate?'

'Magically disappearing from one place and appearing instantly in another,' Neville explained. 'It's what a lot of wizards do to get around. Maybe we can apparate right in front of the door?'

'I can try it,' Anna said. 'But I'll bet that there are apparition-inhibiting enchantments here. Take my hands.'

Despite not knowing what was going on, Hermione reached for Anna's hand and took it, Neville doing the same. When she held both of their hands in hers, Anna turned on her heels on the spot. Hermione closed her eyes, expecting something to happen, but she felt nothing. When she opened them again, she was still standing exactly where she was, not having moved a hair.

'There're anti-apparition enchantments,' Anna confirmed.

'What do we do now?' Neville asked. 'Can we…can you remove the enchantments?'

Anna raised her wand, examining the enchantments again. 'I think I can get us through,' she said after a minute of silence, sounding rather uncertain. 'I can try, at least…'

She stepped forward, raising her wand and starting to cast, muttering under her breath. Hermione and Neville watched on, anxious, but they could see no visual cues of the progress that she was making – or perhaps lack thereof. Uninvited, Hermione's mind began thinking of all the worst scenarios. What if Snape had already gotten to the Stone when they finally made it? What if Harry was already dead? What if Dumbledore never got Anna's message, and the three of them would have to face Snape alone, when he inevitably returned, his magical abilities no doubt bolstered by alchemical elixirs?

'I think I managed to…make an opening,' Anna said breathlessly after many minutes of working, and Hermione's heart leapt in relief. 'I can't remove it completely, but we'll be able to pass.'

She turned around to glance at Hermione and Neville, who nodded with conviction. 'Follow me,' she commanded. 'Step exactly where I step.'

Anna started slowly across the room, her wand held out in front of her. Hermione held her breath as she watched her step across the threshold where Neville's sparks and the bird had disappeared, half dreading that she would suddenly burst into smoke, too.

But thankfully, that did not happen, and she continued moving slowly across the room, occasionally waving her wand and muttering incantations. Hermione stepped carefully after her, taking care to land each step where Anna landed hers. Neville, following right behind her, seemed to be trying to do the same.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached the other side. 'We're past,' Anna said as they reached the opposite wall, lowering her wand and panting a little. 'Those were strong enchantments. Albus must have set them. It seems like his style.'

Hermione looked over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief – there was still hope that they would be able to reach Harry in time. 'Let's go on,' she said decisively, swallowing to gather her courage as she reached for the door and pushed it open.

To Hermione's shock, the next room was flooded halfway to her knees. The moment the door opened, a torrent of water rushed at them through the opening, threatening to wash them into the lethal enchantments less than a metre to their backs. Hermione shrieked in terror, grabbing at the door frame to steady herself. Behind her, Neville and Anna were doing the same.

'Hold firm!' Anna cried. 'I can drain it. But it won't be instant. Not with this much water.'

She held out her wand in front of her and began waving it in a spiral. Suddenly, a vortex began forming in the centre of the room, which quickly rose to form a sort of reverse waterspout. The cyclone began extending, all the way to just before the tip of Anna's wand, where the water disappeared into thin air.

Slowly, the water level in the room fell. The surface dropped to above their ankles, then just covering the feet, then to as high as the soles of their shoes, and finally, the water was gone, leaving nothing but damp stones behind.

Anna led the way into the room, her wand out and looking for any enchantments. They did not seem to encounter any, though – it seemed that whatever had been in this room, Snape had destroyed on his way through. The next room, too, was demolished, the ceiling partially caved in, the walls cracked, and a layer of bubbling mud on the floor. Whatever enchantments that may or may not have been there were gone, too, and they passed easily, Anna transfiguring fallen stone blocks into a makeshift bridge across the mud.

They entered the next room, and Hermione was surprised to find that in it was…absolutely nothing. She blinked and looked again, but still saw the same spotless room. The walls were completely bare, without even a single blemish visible in the torch light. The ceilings and floors, meanwhile, were unlike the ones in the previous rooms, were pristine and undamaged. The door on the other side beckoned invitingly, and Hermione had half a mind to simply make a dash for it, but an eerie caution, an intuition that there had to be something, rooted her to where she stood.

'Do we just…go across?' Neville asked, evidently thinking the same thing as her.

'Don't move,' Anna said harshly, her wand out and a look of concentration on her face.

'Is there something?' Hermione asked, almost wanting to hear her answer in the affirmative. Somehow, it would comfort her more if Anna had indeed found something than if she had not. If they knew what it was, they could work through it, after all, but if they did not…

Anna shook her head. 'No… I'm not finding everything. I can't find any trace of magic.'

Hermione gulped, not reassured but hoping that, perhaps, Snape had removed whatever the defences in this room had been. 'We can go, then?' she asked, her voice trembling a little.

'Stay,' Anna said. 'Don't move until I tell you to.'

She took a cautious step forward, and nothing happened except Hermione's heart beginning to beat in her throat. Anna took another small step forward, and again, nothing happened.

'You can come up,' she said over her shoulder. 'But not ahead of me.'

Hermione and Neville, without another thought, moved up to directly behind Anna's back, close enough that their noses were almost touching the fabric of her robes. She walked up another half-step, and Hermione and Neville followed accordingly, going as far as they could without violating her order to stay behind her.

Suddenly, as Anna took her fourth step, there was a loud whooshing sound. A fraction of a moment later, four great horizontal streams of blue flames erupted in front of them from wall to wall, forming a barrier of pure fire just millimetres in front of where Anna was standing, so close that it looked like she was going to be incinerated right before Hermione's eyes. She and Neville, in a sort of unplanned coordination, grabbed her robes and pulled her back, but not before the very front of her robes by her feet caught fire.

'Aguamenti!' Anna cried, pointing her wand at her own feet, quickly putting out the fire. The fire extinguished, she turned her wand towards the wall of flames, redirecting the jet of water that she had created to try to put out the blue flames in front of her. Hermione watched as the water impacted the top stream of flames, punching a tiny hole through immediately around the point of impact, but doing nothing to put even that one stream out.

'What is this?' Hermione shrieked.

'What does it look like?' Anna yelled back. 'It's fire!'

'I know! What kind of fire?'

'I have no idea! But I can't put it out!'

'Can you…I don't know…part it?' Neville asked. 'There's a spell to do that, right?'

'There is, but I don't know if it'll be enough.'

'Well, try it!'

Anna raised her wand, aiming it directly between the middle streams of fire and slashing it through the air horizontally. A tiny gap appeared in the fire, and Anna began moving her wand downwards, slowly widening the gap. Little by little, the gap widened. Soon, it was approaching a size where a person might begin to fit through. Hermione looked through the gap and in the space in between the streams and saw more 'walls' of fire beyond, each separated from one another by a short distance that allowed them to be distinguished but not enough for a person to stand in safely. Peering through the gaps in the streams, she counted five of them in total. It would be a lot for them to push through, but it looked like Anna could do it…

Hermione's hopes were dashed, though, as the growth of the gap suddenly stalled. Anna continued pushing her wand down – and by the look on her face, straining herself more than ever – but nothing happened. The gap, stubbornly, would not grow, no matter how hard she tried.

Then, to Hermione's dismay and horror, the gap began to collapse in on itself. She watched, helpless, as the two sides of the flames closed in on one another. Slowly, whatever magic that had created the flames was erasing the little progress that Anna had made, and soon, it had been undone altogether.

Anna turned around, her face red and sweaty. 'I…I can't,' she said, completely out of breath. 'It's…the fire is too…too strong…'

Hermione stared helplessly at the rows of fire blocking their path. They were now, truly, stuck. Anna could not part the flames to get them through, and neither her nor Neville had any other lead on how they might be able to get past them. She pondered their options, but found that they had no other but to retreat – and possibly find another teacher to help. Still, even then, there was no guarantee that they would be able to pass, and even if they could, it might be too late.

Suddenly, Hermione saw, between the streams of fire, that the first, second and fifth rows of fire had extinguished, leaving only two still burning. Several seconds later, the third row went out, but the second and fifth rows re-lit. Then, the second and fourth rows extinguished, followed soon after by the third and fourth rows lighting up again. Some seconds later, the third row extinguished again, followed by the fourth row. The second and third rows then lit up, and then the fifth row extinguished…

She continued watching the fire, hoping that, perhaps, through its strange behaviour, some clue might be given about how to get past them. All five rows flared up again, and remained burning for a minute or so. Then, the first, second and fifth rows went out, just like before, followed by the third row's extinguishing and the lighting of the second and fifth rows…

'There's a pattern,' Hermione breathed, suddenly realising what was happening. 'It's not random. The fires go out and light up in the same order each time!' She thought for a few moments, drawing out a diagram in her mind and working out the pattern. 'I think I know what to do,' she said confidently, looking up at Neville and Anna.

'A pattern?' Neville asked, looking unsure.

'Yes!' Hermione said excitedly. 'There is! We don't have to break through the flames. We can just go around them. Go up to the third row, backtrack to the second, then wait for the third row to extinguish and go all the way to the end. It's really simple.'

'I trust you,' Anna said, putting a hand on her shoulder, while Neville looked still confused. 'Whoever designed this obstacle is a genius. A lot of wizards don't observe or use logic – they just rely on their magic. But Hermione, I know you're good at both. I trust you.'

Hermione fought down a self-satisfied blush – now was not the time. She waited for their opportunity – they needed to wait until the first, second, and fifth rows went out…

The first row of flames went out. 'Come on!' Hermione shouted, running up to just in front of the third row, close enough to feel the heat burning her face a little. After a few seconds of waiting, the third row extinguished – as she had expected it would, and they moved up, halfway across the room, sandwiched on either side by the fourth row of fires and the re-ignited second.

Hermione knew that it was not all that simple, though, and they would have to backtrack. Exactly like she had observed earlier, a few moments later, the second and fourth rows extinguished. Instead of taking the bait and going on to the fourth row, which would have resulted in their deaths in just a few seconds, Hermione led them back to the second. The third and fourth rows lit back up, and Hermione was not worried in the slightest. She had the pattern figured out, and there was no way that the flames could reach them now.

The third row extinguished once more, and they moved up. The second row lit up again, trapping them right in the middle of the room. Hermione felt, though, quite in contrast to their physical setting and situation, patient and unhurried as she waited for the fourth row to go out – though Neville looked anxious and frightened. The fourth row of flames vanished, and soon after, so did the fifth. They were free.

The three of them dashed to the door, and Hermione allowed herself to look over her shoulder, savouring in their success. They were one step closer to Harry, now. Perhaps he would be just beyond this door…

Neville clapped her on the back. 'Good job, Hermione,' he said, beaming. 'I…I thought I was going to get cooked alive in there, honestly, but…you were just amazing!'

Hermione smiled, now allowing herself to blush at the compliment. 'Thanks,' she replied shyly.

'Well done, Hermione,' Anna said. 'You were excellent.'

She hugged Hermione in a way that she would never have expected from an adult – lightly and with unforced happiness – laughing a little in relief. 'I…just trying my best,' she said, heat now coming up to her cheeks uncontrollably. 'We should move on.'

Anna and Neville nodded, and they proceeded into the next room. Like the first two rooms, this one looked obliterated. Whatever objects had been inside were now unrecognisable, having been thrown against the left wall and shattered into broken wood and stone by what seemed like a strong wind. Neither Anna with her wand, nor Neville with his senses, detected any magic in the room, but they proceeded with paranoid caution anyway, none of them wanting a closer call than what they had gotten in the previous room. Here, however, nothing stood in their way, and they made it to the opposite door unopposed.

Hermione opened the door into the next room. This next one, however, looked different than the others. It was no longer rectangular, but circular. It was more brightly lit, though still dim. In the centre stood a large mirror, in front of which a man with a purple turban on his head – Professor Quirrell – knelt, working with what looked to be flasks and vials right out of Potions class. A few metres away to his left – Hermione's right – laid a small, unconscious body, whose left arm was twisted at an awkward angle underneath its torso.

'Harry!' Hermione shouted in horror, unable to control herself. Next to her, Neville also had a mortified expression on his face as he opened and closed his mouth, unable to form words or even make sounds. Was Harry…was he dead? He could not be dead. Quirrell was still here. He had to have protected him… Was he making a potion to help him right now?

Professor Quirrell, alerted by Hermione's cry, looked up. 'Professor Quirrell!' Hermione called. 'What's happening? What happened to Harry?'

There was no answer, and Professor Quirrell looked at Hermione, a horrifyingly blank expression on his face, a vial of pearly-white liquid held high in his unmoving hands. 'Professor Quirrell?' she tried again, her voice shaking now.

'Make way!' came a voice that Hermione did not recognise. It was high, cold, and sounded almost like the hissing of a snake. It was certainly not Professor Quirrell's, nor was it Snape's – where was Snape, anyway? It most certainly could not have come from Harry – he was unconscious, and Hermione did not think that he could ever possibly make such a sound, even if he were not.

Professor Quirrell let out a roar of pure agony, his face twisted in pain. Hermione covered her ears, shocked and horrified at the sound. She turned to Anna, wanting to ask her what was happening, but then, suddenly, the scream stopped. When Hermione turned back to Quirrell, she saw that he had raised his wand, pointing it right at them.

'Avada Kedavra!' he boomed. Suddenly, a bolt of light, somewhat similar to what the Disarming Charm produced, except acid green, shot in Hermione's direction. Hermione, not knowing what was happening, could only look on, glued to the spot.

'Down!' Anna yelled, and the next moment, Hermione felt a huge, powerful force throw her down onto the ground. Just as she hit the ground, the green jet of light shot over the top of her chest, impacting the floor centimetres from her hand and exploding in a shower of sparks, dust, and debris. Another blast, this one larger, followed, exploding off to her left and throwing her into the air. Her head impacted the wall, making her see stars, before the rest of her body fell to the floor in a heap.

In her concussion-induced daze, Hermione felt nothing at first, and then, a horrible pain shot up her right arm. She lifted the arm to look at what had happened, and to her shock, her index and middle fingers were hanging limply at awkward angles. The explosions must have broken them.

And then, she noticed with absolute horror a huge, deep cut running vertically down the back of her hand to about a quarter of the way down her forearm. Her flesh was visible, and blood was beginning to pour out of it. Hermione watched, unable to react, as a stream of red flowed down her arm, beginning to drip onto the chest of her robes.

She was overcome by a sudden urge to retch, and unable to contain it, she turned her head to the left and threw up all over the floor. Between her vomiting, she caught sight of Anna, engaged in a duel against Quirrell. Anna was good – or at least it looked like it – but Quirrell outclassed her, and she was constantly taking steps back. A shape with straw-coloured hair was lying on the ground behind her, not moving. Was that Neville?

Hermione could not think, for she caught sight of her right arm again, and promptly threw up once more. Her vomit was mixing with her blood, now, creating a grotesque cocktail that flowed across the floor to the prone shape that she knew to be Harry. He seemed to be squirming a little… Had he regained consciousness and was trying to get up, or was that simply her illusion?

She heard a huge bang, and she snapped her head in that direction. Something else seemed to have exploded, and a part of the ceiling was falling down in a cloud of dust. There was a scream that sounded like Anna's, followed by several huge crashes. There was another explosion, and Anna's second cry of alarm ended with a loud thud against one of the walls of the room.

Her world was spinning, but in her delirium, Hermione could see that Quirrell was walking towards her now, his wand in his hand. What was Quirrell doing? What had he done with Anna? With Neville? With Harry? Why was he even attacking them? Where was Snape? She had a million questions that she wanted to ask, but there seemed to be no answers.

Quirrell was standing right over her now, his wand seemingly pointed directly at her. Behind Quirrell, Hermione could see Harry's blob moving – more now, it seemed, than it did before. He seemed to be trying to stand up – or something like that – but he kept falling down, his arms seemingly unwilling to support his body's weight.

'Foolish girl,' the voice hissed from Quirrell's body. 'Someone like you should not be meddling in things far beyond your pitiful understanding and station.'

Hermione nodded dumbly, trying to remember what Quirrell was saying for later – perhaps it would be important. 'Okay,' she said automatically.

'"Okay"?' the voice snapped. 'How dare you, you filth, taunt Lord Voldemort like that? But no matter. This will be the first and last time you insult me.'

Quirrell raised his wand, and out of the corner of Hermione's eye, she saw that Harry had stood up. 'Av – '

The form of Harry suddenly charged at Quirrell, his arms out in front of him like an undead from the movies. In her blurred and spinning vision, Hermione saw Harry's hands wrap around Quirrell's neck, choking him. Hermione thought that she should protest, tell him to stop attacking a teacher, but could not find the will or strength to even utter a single syllable.

Quirrell let out a horrible scream, and Hermione blinked hard, trying to clear her vision to see what was happening. Her world cleared a little – though it was still spinning uncontrollably – and she saw that Harry was kneeling on top of Quirrell, his face blank as he tightened his hold on Quirrell's neck. Quirrell, though, confusingly, was not even attempting to struggle, instead screaming in what sounded like horrible pain. Boils looked like they were erupting wherever Harry was touching him. Angry red blotches grew on his face, his neck, his hands, his arms…everywhere. It looked like Quirrell was being burned to death – but by what fire?

Harry was still choking him, but now, he kept only one hand around Quirrell's neck, while the other was hitting whatever part of Quirrell he could reach. With each new spot Harry touched, Quirrell's screams grew more pained, more primal, until it sounded like he was going to begin spitting his lungs out. And Harry still was not letting go – if anything, he was holding him harder.

And then, slowly, Quirrell's screams began decreasing in volume and tortured pain. His physical struggles, too, were lessening. Hermione's vision was clouding again, but she could see that Quirrell's skin was now beginning to turn from deep red to purple and grey. Soon enough, his screams became but a whimper, his struggling becoming nothing more than twitching, and even that, in a few more seconds, stopped altogether, giving way to a still silence, only punctuated by the sounds of Harry's laboured breathing.

'Hermione?' came Harry's voice.

Hermione blinked, clearing her vision again but finding it harder than ever. When she finally got a good look at her friend, she found him still kneeling on top of Quirrell's body – or rather, by the look of it, his corpse. Harry's whole body exhibited utter shock. His mouth was hanging open, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes, which were trained in her direction, were lost and unfocused. Even in her current state, Hermione still knew to be terrified by that look.

'What happened?' Harry breathed.

Hermione looked at Quirrell, then back up at Harry. 'Is he…is he dead?'

'I…I think…think so,' Harry said, his voice raspy and barely audible.

And then, before Hermione could even think about what to say in response, Harry's eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell back, collapsing on the floor with a thud. That was the last thing that Hermione remembered.