The penultimate chapter. A rather short one, too.

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The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.


Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate

The Serpentine Stone

IX. The Third-Floor Again

"Lumos!"

Harry watched with satisfaction as the tip of his wand lit up far brighter than it ever had before.

It was the evening of the thirteenth, or perhaps the morning of the fourteenth - Harry didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't care in the slightest. A myriad of emotions flooded his mind, pressing against his skull with every step he took. Harry grit his teeth, and his grasp around his wand tightened.

Daphne, of course, had warned him against doing anything. She was probably right - almost definitely right - but both his curiosity and anger had easily outweighed the traitorous thought that just perhaps there was some wisdom in what the Greengrass heiress had told him.

Two more floors.

Harry made his way up the staircase, his body hidden beneath his invisibility cloak. Were it any other day, the task of walking through the halls of Hogwarts in the dead of the night might have been a bit more nerve-racking; every statue's shadow looked like Filch, and every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on him.

But today was not such a day. Harry's heart pounded loudly within his chest, it was true - but it had nothing to do with the possibility of being discovered by Filch.

Alive. She's alive.

How that could be, Harry had no idea. He wasn't even sure it was true. Harry still had much to learn about magic, but he was painfully aware that those lost to death would always remain so.

But according to three first-year Gryffindors, that isn't the case.

A part of Harry found it all to be nothing but sick. She was gone - that was his one reassurance, that the one who had taken everything from him was gone. It was why he had been able to think at least somewhat straight during Halloween, why he had managed to look his parents in the eyes when he had seen their reflections in the Mirror of Erised. At least, he had reasoned with himself, at least they had not died in vain.

But perhaps they had. It was unlikely, Harry thought, very unlikely - but he wanted to be sure. He had to be sure.

"Here we are." whispered a nervous voice from in front of him.

Harry looked up. He was in the third-floor corridor again. Before him, standing just beside a door that was already ajar, were Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom.

"Hermione, h-he's been here!"

He?

"Nev's right." said Ron, taking a look inside the door, "But we've still got a chance. We have to stop him before he can give the stone to y-you - well, -"

"- you-know-who." finished Hermione.

"Yeah." breathed Ron heavily.

"Well, let's get a move on." said Hermione uncertainly. Ron nodded, slowly pushing the door open. The three of them slowly made their way into the room. Harry quickly followed after them, making sure to remain hidden beneath the soft fabric of his cloak. He managed to get in just before the wooden door slammed shut.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron slowly, "Snape must have left it there."

Harry paused, the ends of his eyebrows scrunching together.

They think Snape's trying to steal something?

It wasn't impossible - Harry wouldn't have found it particularly hard to believe. But as far as Harry knew, Snape didn't care about anything enough to steal it.

Unless it's like they said. Maybe he wants to give it - that stone - to her. To Voldemort.

Shaking his head, Harry forced himself to watch as Ron cautiously inched closer to the golden harp that lay by the feet of the -

It took everything Harry had not to jump in surprise - or, perhaps more accurately, yell with fright. He was looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at him. It was a long moment before Harry remembered that he was invisible. When he did, he nearly sighed with relief. That relief, however, slowly began to fade away as the thunderous growls of the ginormous creature grew louder.

"R-Ron." Neville stuttered, his hand tightly wrapped around the edges of his own robes, "It's awake!"

Several things happened at once - Harry wasn't quite sure what happened first. Weasley practically dived for the harp as the monstrous dog pushed itself up. Hermione screamed, Ron swore, and then -

The sound of music floated gently through the air. The back legs of the three-headed dog buckled. It stumbled for a moment before falling back upon the wooden floors, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Hermione warned Ron nervously as they slowly crept toward the trapdoor. Harry could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as he approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back, "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right, all right." Ron breathed heavily, quickly handing the harp to Hermione. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep. Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing - just black - there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop."

Neville, Ron, and Hermione all glanced at one another. There was a short moment of silence, and then -

"I-I'll go." muttered Neville nervously. His skin was pale, his body shivering. His voice had been rather high as well, and he looked as though he regretted his words the moment they came out of his mouth.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" muttered Ron. "I don't know how deep this thing goes."

"Gryffindor b-bravery, right?"

Ron nodded slowly, holding the trapdoor open. Neville slowly but surely made his way towards the door, Harry following behind him. Ron was right; there was no sign of the bottom.

Neville was breathing heavily now. He closed his eyes - both of which had begun to water - as tightly as he could, took a deep panicked breath, and jumped.

Ron and Hermione shuffled nervously as the silence pierced through the air. For a moment, they heard nothing, and then -

Flump.

"It's a-alright!" Neville called up, unable to hide the relief that flooded his voice, "It's soft - a plant, I think!"

Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Neville.

It was just Hermione and Harry up top now. Harry was beginning to grow uncertain now - there was absolutely no way the three Gryffindors wouldn't notice a fourth body falling into the pit with them. He would have to jump with Hermione.

But what if it isn't enough? What if they still hear me?

A loud shriek drew Harry from his thoughts.

"Devil's Snare!" screamed Neville frantically, "It's Devil's Snare!"

Hermione's eyes widened, as did Harry's from beneath his cloak.

Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare . . . what did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp, that's it . . .

Harry looked up. The beautiful song of the harp was gone now, replaced by growls far less calming. Hermione jumped in through the trapdoor, and Harry, having no other choice, followed after her.

Thump.

"Bloody hell!" swore Ron.

He and Neville were both covered in snakelike vines. The vines slowly wormed their way upwards, pulling the two boys deeper within. Ron was panicking now; he fought ferociously against the plant, swatting it away as quickly as it could. His attacks were doing less and less as every next second passed by.

Harry, however, paid them very little mind, far too preoccupied with what was happening to him.

Or, to be more specific, what wasn't happening to him.

The plant had not so much as begun to attack him. Not a single vine snaked its way towards him, not a single vine reacted to his presence. It was as though he weren't there.

Harry could feel the adrenaline begin to fade away now, a near infinite number of questions taking its place. What was going one? Invisibility cloaks were meant to simply render the user invisible, why didn't the plant simply sense him?

Harry shook his head, returning his attention to the scene before him. Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is - it's Devil's Snare!"

"Funny, Nev said the same thing!" snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

"Burn it!" yelled a panicked Neville at Hermione, "It's afraid of fire, we need fire! Burn it!"

"Yes - of course - but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of bluebell flames at the plant. In a matter of seconds, Harry felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from Ron and Neville's bodies, and they were able to pull free. Harry quickly straightened himself, making sure he was still hidden behind the invisibility cloak.

"T-thanks." muttered Neville, shivering slightly as he pushed himself off the floor.

"Anytime." Hermione panted, pointing down a stone passageway, "This way."

"What are they playing at, leaving a plant like that locked up in a school?" breathed Ron as the trio (and unbeknownst to them, Harry) made their way down the passage.

To be fair, there's also the Whomping Willow. They haven't even locked that one up.

"We're not supposed to be here, Ronald." noted Hermione quietly.

That too.

All Harry could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of his heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon . . .

"Can you hear something?" Neville whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a g-ghost?"

"I don't know." replied Hermione quietly, "It sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead - I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" asked Ron.

"I don't think so." said Hermione uncertainly, "If they were meant to hurt us, they'd have done so by now."

Ron nodded slowly before cautiously making his way down the room. Hermione followed after him, a frantic Neville bounding after them. Harry, still hidden beneath his cloak, followed as well.

Sure enough, they reached the door untouched. Ron pulled the handle, but it was locked. Ron, along with Hermione and Neville tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried unlocking it with a neat flourish of her wand.

"Now what?" said Ron.

"These birds . . . they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione. They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering - glittering?

They're not birds! They're keys!

Hermione's eyes widened, as did Neville's. They had clearly come to the same realisation as he had.

"They're keys! Winged keys - I'm serious Ronald, look carefully. So that must mean . . ." Hermione looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys, "Yes, look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"But there are h-hundreds of them!"

Ron examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one - probably silver, like the handle."

Ron and Hermione each seized a broomstick, the former picking up a second one and handing it to Neville. The plump Gryffindor gulped slightly, looking at the broomstick with poorly hidden fear.

"It's alright, Neville." said Hermione, quickly taking the broom from him, "Ron and I can do this one."

She and Ron kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Harry took a seat on the cobblestoned floor, watching as the duo continued in their attempts. It had been quite some time now . . . if they took longer, she might escape.

But she isn't the one here. They said Snape.

Harry's eyes widened. He nearly facepalmed himself beneath his cloak, though he thankfully managed to stop himself just in time. He hadn't been paying attention - he had been far too lost in what was going on, far too lost with the fact that it all involved her.

I'll get to Snape first. Harry decided eventually, If it's even him who's here. It's more likely to be her. It has to be her.

Something cold pressed against the inside of his chest. Harry shifted, his head tilting slightly to the side. He felt something cruel swirl through his veins - it boiled, bubbling like hot, molten lava. Harry felt his palms ball into fists as his eyes forced themselves shut - his nails were cutting against his skin like sharp daggers -

"YES!"

Harry's eyes flew open. Ron and Hermione were both flying down, each grinning from cheek to cheek. They landed quickly, and Ron ran towards the old-fashioned door off to the side. Harry glimpsed something in his hands - it was a silver key, one sporting large, battered wings. It struggled violently as Ron rammed it into the lock, but a moment later the door clicked. Harry pushed himself off the ground, watching as the key flew back into the air. It hobbled slightly, looking an awful lot like those drunkards Aunt Petunia would complain about.

"Ready?" Ron asked Neville and Hermione, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. Harry watched as Ron, sweating slightly, took a timid step forward. At once, light flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than Harry himself and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Neville, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly - the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Hermione whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron, "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces Harry could see another door. It was large, made of aging wood that had already begun to fall apart.

"How?" asked Neville nervously.

"I think," said Ron, shivering, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we - er - have to join you to get across?"

The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other two.

"This needs thinking about." he said, "I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces . . ."

Neville and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Harry, however, did not join them. He was beginning to grow restless now. The large oak doors stood at the other side of the board, taunting him with the knowledge that valuable time was being lost. Harry could feel his heart beat faster in his chest.

Calm down . . . deep breaths, three, two, one . . .

Harry grit his teeth before forcing his eyes open. Weasley, it seemed, had managed to get himself, Longbottom, and Granger each a space upon the chessboard. He, however, did not have one. He would not be able to play his way across the board with the three Gryffindors. He would either have to wait for them to finish or . . .

This had better work.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took a tentative step onto the chessboard. He paused, half expecting the knight to his right to swing its sword through his neck. The board, however, was eerily quiet. Nothing had happened.

Harry didn't wait, immediately making his way across the chessboard under his cloak. A short moment later, Harry stood before the grand oak doors. He gently pried them open, the sound of Ronald Weasley ordering chessmen around fading into the distance. Having pushed it ajar, Harry stepped through the door and into the next room.

Harry clenched his eyes shut at once. A bright blue light shined from the middle of the room, separating the front from the back. It spanned from the ceiling to the floor, one wall to another; Harry would not be able to pass the strange shield-like light without passing through it. It whispered something, and strange, soft voices pressed against his ears, replaying again and again in his head -

Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum.

Harry took a small step forward, his eyes roaming across the strange shield. They narrowed slightly, and Harry muttered darkly under his breath.

He knew what this was - or, at the very least, had a good guess. Professor Baker had told him all about it.

A very, very powerful ward.

Harry swore, his entire body shaking. This would be far more difficult than the previous obstacles. He knew next to nothing on the art of ward-breaking, and he highly doubted whoever had cast it - most likely Professor Baker herself, Harry quickly realised - had personally allowed the wards to permit him.

As for the cloak . . . something told Harry the cloak wouldn't be very useful at the moment.

"Depulso!" Harry chanted uncertainly. Sure enough, the spell splattered harmlessly against the glowing blue shield, dissipating into nothingness.

What to do, what to do . . .

Harry paced back and forth through the room, his wand held loosely in his hand. For the first time in quite some time, he was trapped. Not a single idea popped into his mind, nothing of use made its way into his thoughts.

There has to be something. Anything at all. Maybe I'm overthinking . . . that's it, maybe it's something simple.

Harry turned back to the shield, tenderly holding out his hand. He slowly edged closer, his hand outstretched. Closer, closer, closer, and then -

Harry just barely managed to stop himself from falling face-first into the cobblestone floors of the strange room. He hastily pushed himself off the ground, turning back to the shield. It shined just as brightly as ever.

That shouldn't have worked.

Not that Harry cared. After a quick moment Harry spun around, making his way towards the door on the other side. He had to be faster . . . he couldn't let her get away, he couldn't risk not seeing her . . . he had to know.

Harry pulled open the next door, no longer caring what came next - but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

Snape.

Harry stepped over the threshold. Violet flames sprang to life, blocking the doorway behind him. Like the shield, voices wafted from it - but these ones felt cruel, oppressive, and angry. At the same instant, pitch black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They loomed over him, doing their best to claw at his feet. Harry shivered as they too whispered at him, the voices sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

A single roll of paper lay upon the table beside the bottles. Harry carefully picked it up and began to read.

'Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.'

Harry shook his head, rereading the riddle once more. Puzzles were not something he was particularly gifted at, Harry was beginning to realise.

I'll have to practice when this is over.

Either way, it didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was that Harry had a safe way through the black flames that burned before him. He had to get through, he had to see her.

Several minutes later, Harry stood before the bottle he desired. It was the smallest of the lot - there was hardly enough for one swallow.

It was also blatantly obvious that someone else had already drank from it.

Harry was starting to get wary now. There was something off about these obstacles. They had all been far too easy. The giant three-headed dog had barely noticed him - the same could be said about the Devil's Snare and the chessboard.

The strange shield hadn't been a problem either, although Harry wasn't entirely sure why. The potion from this riddle was very obviously the one in Harry's hand. It was the only one someone had drunk from, after all. Why hadn't she at least mixed up the order, or perhaps refilled the bottle.

Or maybe she has, and I'm about to die.

As for the flying keys . . . Harry hadn't done anything during that one, it was true . . . but if he had wanted to, it would have been remarkably easy. Despite his relative disinterest in Quidditch, Harry was a very good flier.

Harry took a deep breath, picking up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It felt as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward. The darkened flames leered at him, but Harry couldn't feel a thing. The voices went deadly silent as he passed through the fire - it was like they had been choked lifeless. Harry shuffled uncomfortably as the flames retreated fearfully from him, pressing against the sides of the room.

Suddenly, they were all gone. Harry wiped his glasses on his robes, slowly replacing them upon his face. A second later he wished he hadn't.

The cold, oppressively feeling had returned. It coiled violently within his chest, cutting at his insides like shards of broken glass. His heart pounded violently, and Harry's wand nearly fell from his grasp. It felt like his scar was on fire; if it had a mouth, Harry was almost certain it would be screaming. But for once, he didn't notice it. Harry didn't feel it at all.

His eyes fell upon the one standing in the center of the room. It wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.

"Good evening, Harry." said Professor Baker with a soft smile, "It's been a while."