Confrontation

Sal, Tulip, and Tonks had a plan. They had each other's backs, and with Sarah's assistance, they had an advantage no one else in the castle possessed. But the revelation that there were three dark signatures instead of just one changed everything.

Tonks held up the map, scanning the layout of Hogwarts. "Alright, Quirrell is moving fast—he's definitely headed to the third floor. That means he's going after the Sorcerer's Stone."

Tulip frowned. "We need to get there first."

Sal shook his head. "No, we don't. Harry's not with him. That means he doesn't know yet. If we act now, we'll give Quirrell a reason to drag Harry into it. We need to move carefully."

Tonks traced a finger over the map. "Alright, so what's the plan?"

Sal took a deep breath. "First, you follow Quirrell. Stay hidden and tell me if anything unusual happens. Tulip, you cover my shift. If anyone asks, say I'm meeting with McGonagall."

"What about you?" Tulip asked.

Sal glanced back toward Sarah's map. "I want to investigate this other dark signature—the one near here. If we're dealing with more than just Quirrell and Riddle, we need to know what we're up against."

Tulip and Tonks nodded, trusting his judgment.

"Alright," Tonks said, gripping the map. "I'll tail Quirrell. I'll keep you updated through the runes."

Tulip gave him a small smile. "Be careful, Sal."

Sal turned away, gripping his own rune tightly as he moved through the castle corridors. If Sarah's magic was right, then something—or someone—dangerous was hiding in Hogwarts.

And it was time to find out what.

Sal followed Sarah's guidance, his every step filled with anticipation. He knew dark magic when he felt it, but what he had been expecting—a hidden adversary, a cursed artifact—didn't prepare him for what he actually found.

A diadem.

Resting atop a stone pedestal, dust-covered, forgotten, yet humming with magic so powerful it nearly made his head spin.

Sal cautiously stepped forward, his fingers tingling as he reached toward it. The ancient artifact shimmered in the dim light, the delicate silver filigree encasing a large, blue gemstone.

Sal inhaled sharply. This wasn't just a relic—it was one of the most fabled treasures in Hogwarts' history. The legend went that the diadem enhanced the wisdom of its wearer, yet it had been lost for centuries.

But Sarah had sensed dark magic here. And as Sal looked closer, he understood why.

The magic was wrong. The air around the diadem felt thick, corrupted, like it was infused with something unnatural.

Something evil.

"Sarah," he whispered, pressing a hand against the map she had enchanted for him. "What is this?"

The ink on the parchment shimmered as her voice echoed through the runes.

"That diadem… it was Rowena's. But something has changed it. It's tainted."

Sal swallowed hard. He could feel it now—Voldemort had been here. This wasn't just an artifact.

This was a Horcrux.

His heart pounded. If what he suspected was true, this was a piece of Riddle's soul, sealed inside Ravenclaw's diadem and hidden away inside Hogwarts itself.

But why here? And why now?

Before he could think further, his rune pulsed with Tonks' message.

"Quirrell's just gone past the third-floor trapdoor."

Sal cursed under his breath.

He had to act fast.

But what should he do? Destroy the Horcrux now, or leave it and focus on Quirrell? If he left it, it could still be a danger, but if he destroyed it now, he might be wasting time they didn't have.

His next decision could change everything.

Sal knew that he didn't yet have the skill to destroy a Horcrux, so he decided to focus on the immediate threat—Quirrell.

"Sal, Harry and his friends have made it to the third floor," Tonks' voice came through the rune communicator.

"Right. I'm heading there now. Keep an eye on any movement from the professors," Sal responded.

As he sprinted toward the third-floor corridor, he activated the enchanted map that Sarah had provided, tracking the movements of everyone inside the castle. Quirrell was already deep within the restricted area, his dot moving rapidly, while three other dots—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—were following closely behind.

"Sal, be careful," Tulip chimed in. "If Quirrell really is working for Riddle, he's more dangerous than he looks."

Sal gritted his teeth. "I know. But I have to make sure Harry doesn't face him alone."

He arrived at the third-floor corridor just as the enchanted door shut behind Harry and his friends. Swearing under his breath, Sal reached for his wand and focused. With a whispered incantation, he managed to unlock the door and slip inside.

The first challenge—the massive three-headed dog, Fluffy—was already asleep, thanks to the enchanted harp playing beside it. Sal carefully stepped past the slumbering beast and jumped through the trapdoor just as the music slowed.

He landed in a tangle of Devil's Snare. Reacting quickly, he summoned a small flame to scare the plant into releasing him. Rolling free, he took a moment to regain his breath before pressing forward.

The chessboard chamber loomed ahead, but Sal saw that the pieces were already in mid-game. He must be catching up to them. With a careful maneuver, he slipped around the board's edge, avoiding confrontation with the enchanted chess pieces. As he entered the next room, the scent of potions and fire met his nose.

Hermione was standing over an arrangement of potions, her sharp mind clearly working through the logic puzzle Snape had left behind. Ron was sitting off to the side, rubbing his head, likely injured from the chess game.

"Sal?!" Hermione exclaimed in shock.

"No time for questions. Which potion lets me pass through the fire?" Sal demanded.

Hermione hesitated for only a moment before handing him a small vial. "This one—but there's only enough for one person!"

"Then I'm going. You two take the other potion and go back—find a professor!" Sal ordered.

Harry had already gone ahead. If he was right, then he would be facing Quirrell alone.

Sal downed the potion in one gulp, feeling the chill spread through his veins as he stepped into the black flames. His vision blurred for a moment, then cleared as he entered the final chamber.

Harry was already there, standing before the Mirror of Erised, his expression locked in confusion. And opposite him stood Professor Quirrell—his meek stammer was gone, replaced by a smooth, chilling voice.

"Tell me, boy… what do you see?" Quirrell hissed.

Sal didn't wait. He raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!"

The spell shot toward Quirrell, but with inhuman speed, the professor twisted aside, his eyes locking onto Sal.

"Ah… another one…" Quirrell sneered. "How very… irritating."

Sal's heart pounded as he realized something. Quirrell wasn't alone. A presence—dark and vile—lingered in the air around him.

"Voldemort," Sal whispered.

A slow, cruel chuckle filled the room. "How delightful… another meddlesome child."

Sal clenched his wand tighter. He might not be able to destroy a Horcrux yet—but he wasn't about to let Harry face this alone.

Sal didn't take his eyes off Quirrell as he moved to stand protectively in front of Harry. He could feel his heart pounding, his body aching from the exertion of the fight. The oppressive presence in the room grew stronger as Voldemort's voice hissed through Quirrell.

"Get the boy! He has the Stone!"

Quirrell lunged, but Sal flicked his wand, sending a barrage of spells. He knew he couldn't hesitate—not against Voldemort, even as a shade.

"Protego Maxima!" A shimmering golden barrier erupted in front of him, halting Quirrell's advance. Sal pushed forward, his mind racing for a strategy.

"You've been a thorn in my side all year," Voldemort sneered. "Acting like you are the true heir of Slytherin."

Sal gritted his teeth. "I'm not just Slytherin's heir. I'm all four. And people like you have only brought shame to that name."

Voldemort let out a cold, cruel laugh. "Let's see if you can duel as well as you claim."

Quirrell raised his wand, and Sal barely had time to block the incoming curses. The chamber filled with bursts of light, hexes colliding midair, sparks flying as stone cracked under the force of their magic. Sal fought with everything he had, weaving in spells he had perfected over years of study. But no matter how skilled he was, Quirrell was faster, stronger. This wasn't just Quirrell—Voldemort was lending him power.

Sal's mind raced. He needed to end this fast.

With a quick motion, he sent out a bolt of raw energy, aiming to throw Quirrell off balance. The spell struck him, sending him stumbling back, but it wasn't enough.

"You fight well," Voldemort admitted. "But you grow tired, and you cannot win."

Sal knew he was right. His limbs were growing heavy, his magic draining fast. He needed a way to—

Before he could finish his thought, Quirrell seized his moment and struck.

"Expulso!"

The force of the explosion sent Sal flying across the room. He crashed against the stone wall, the impact stealing the breath from his lungs. His vision blurred, pain shooting through his body. His wand slipped from his grasp, rolling across the floor.

He struggled to rise, but Quirrell was already moving toward Harry.

Sal watched in horror as Voldemort's voice echoed through the chamber. "Take the Stone from him, fool!"

Quirrell lunged for Harry—but the moment his fingers touched Harry's skin, a horrific scream erupted from his throat.

His flesh began to burn, his skin blistering and cracking. He recoiled, eyes wide with terror.

Sal forced himself to move, dragging himself toward his wand. What's happening? he thought. Why is Quirrell reacting like that?

Harry, realizing what was happening, grabbed Quirrell's face, pressing his hands against his skin. Quirrell let out a strangled cry as his body started to crumble into ash, disintegrating before their eyes.

A chilling wail filled the chamber as a shadowy, spectral figure rose from the remains—Voldemort's shade. It loomed for a moment before rushing toward Harry.

Sal didn't think—he acted.

With the last of his strength, he summoned the magic he had left and cast a powerful Shield Charm around Harry. Voldemort's shade slammed into it with a furious scream, unable to penetrate the barrier.

Then, as quickly as he came, Voldemort fled, vanishing through the walls.

Silence filled the chamber.

Sal forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain, and staggered over to Harry, who had collapsed. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

Sal let out a shaky breath, lifting Harry into his arms just as the doors to the chamber burst open.

As Sal struggled to lift Harry, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle in his limbs. His magic was drained, his body ached from being thrown across the room, and the adrenaline that had kept him fighting was rapidly wearing off. Just as he adjusted his grip on Harry, the doors to the chamber burst open.

Dumbledore strode in first, his blue eyes surveying the chaotic scene with an unsettling calm. Behind him, McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick followed, wands drawn and eyes scanning for threats.

"Salazar," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but filled with concern. "Are you hurt?"

Sal, breathing heavily, gave a weak smirk. "Just another day at Hogwarts, Professor."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the pile of ash that had once been Quirrell and then to Harry, unconscious in Sal's arms. His expression darkened for just a moment before he nodded to McGonagall. She hurried forward and cast a diagnostic spell over Harry, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"He's alive," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Just magically and physically exhausted."

Snape, meanwhile, had stepped closer to Sal, his dark eyes scrutinizing him. "What did you do, Cross?" His voice was unreadable, but Sal could detect a sharp edge to his words.

Sal adjusted his grip on Harry. "I fought him. I lost." He didn't feel the need to elaborate—Snape had likely already pieced together enough.

Flitwick, who had been studying the room, finally spoke. "Professor, the magic in this chamber… something powerful happened here."

Dumbledore gave a slight nod, then turned his gaze back to Sal. "Come, my boy. Let us get both of you to the hospital wing."

Sal didn't argue. His legs were beginning to shake from the effort of holding Harry, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer on his feet. As he took a step forward, his vision blurred, and the last thing he felt was strong hands catching him as the world faded to black.

When Sal woke up, he was met with the all-too-familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling. He groaned slightly, shifting in the bed, and immediately felt a sharp soreness throughout his body.

"About time you woke up," a familiar voice said from beside him.

Sal turned his head slightly and saw Tonks and Tulip sitting nearby, looking relieved but also exasperated.

"You had to go and fight a possessed professor, didn't you?" Tonks said, shaking her head. "Couldn't just have a normal school year?"

Sal smiled weakly. "Wouldn't be Hogwarts if I did."

Tulip sighed. "You know, I thought the prank war with the twins would be the most exciting thing this year. But no. You had to go and duel Voldemort."

Sal winced at the name but let out a breath. "Wasn't much of a duel… I lost."

Tonks scoffed. "If you lost, then what does that make Quirrell? You're still alive, and he's… well… dust."

Before Sal could respond, the doors to the hospital wing opened, and Dumbledore stepped inside, walking toward him with that same unreadable expression.

"Mr. Cross," Dumbledore greeted. "I am glad to see you awake."

Sal pushed himself up slightly, ignoring the soreness. "Professor."

Dumbledore took a seat beside his bed, folding his hands. "You did something remarkable tonight."

Sal's smile faded. "I lost."

"You survived," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And more importantly, you ensured that Mr. Potter survived as well. That is not a loss."

Sal looked away. "I wasn't strong enough."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice softer. "Strength is not merely measured in victory, Salazar. It is measured in the choices you make, the sacrifices you are willing to endure. You faced something many fully trained wizards would not dare to, and you did so to protect another."

Sal exhaled, rubbing his temples. "What happens now?"

Dumbledore leaned back slightly. "Now? You rest. And then… we talk."

Sal glanced at him, sensing the weight behind his words. He had a feeling that conversation would be one of the most important of his life.

But for now, he let himself relax, knowing that, for the moment, the fight was over.