THUD.
SPLAT.
SQUISH.
The gang crash-landed into what could generously be described as "Mother Nature's Death Trap" and, less generously, "a rejected audition tape for The World's Dumbest Deaths."
Immediately, green, slimy tentacle-vines (the kind that absolutely scream "bad touch") slithered around their arms, legs, and a few places best left unnamed.
"AAAH! IT'S GOT ME!" Ron bellowed, thrashing like one of those wacky inflatable tube men outside a wizard pawn shop.
"Stop moving!" Hermione hissed, clawing at the vines, somehow managing to tangle herself worse. "You're making it ANGRY!"
"GOOD! I'LL FIGHT TO THE BITTER END!" Ron howled dramatically, kicking and punching the air like a dying spider on roller skates. "TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER! TELL FRED AND GEORGE I WANT MY BED BACK!"
Meanwhile, Harry — who, let's be honest, was pretty used to getting strangled by dark forces before breakfast — simply sighed. One arm somehow free, he fumbled for his wand like a man trying to answer his phone underwater.
Catpool, on the other hand, was absolutely thriving.
"FREE HUGS! COME ONE, COME ALL!" Catpool squealed, letting the vines cocoon him like a human burrito. "TOUCH ME HARDER, YOU FILTHY, DIRTY, GREEN VINE THING! WHO KNEW NATURE WAS INTO KINKY BONDAGE?!"
Somewhere inside their heads, Jim's voice rang out, giddy and unhinged as ever.
"LADIES AND GENTS, WELCOME TO LEVEL TWO OF YOUR DEATHLY ESCAPE ROOM EXPERIENCE! YOUR THEME: MURDEROUS BOTANICAL HUGS! YOUR PRIZES: CRIPPLING TRAUMA AND THERAPY BILLS!"
Harry's eye twitched.
"Jim," Harry gritted out, "if you're done playing Discount Gameshow Host, maybe you can tell us how to not die?"
"Oooohhhhhh," Jim crooned like a drunk karaoke singer. "Now you want my help. I see how it is, Chosen One. First it's all 'No, Jim, we don't need a god-tier monkey staff!' Now it's 'Oh save us, Jim!' WELL GUESS WHAT, PRINCESS SPARKLEPANTS, YOU'RE—"
"DEVIL'S SNARE!" Neville gasped suddenly, his eyes wide.
Everyone froze — or tried to, because, well, tentacles.
Harry, mid-strangulation, choked out, "That's…great…Neville…what does that mean?!"
Neville, bless his green-thumbed heart, puffed up like a Gryffindor balloon.
"It likes the dark! It likes the damp!" he shouted. "And it HATES movement!"
Hermione froze immediately, a look of supreme I-should've-known-that horror crossing her face.
"Oh gods," she muttered. "It's Herbology 101! If you panic, it crushes you!"
"YOU DON'T SAY!" Ron wailed, still thrashing like a salmon on a trampoline.
"Oooh, fish reference," Jim snickered telepathically. "Nice. Ten points to House Dumbass."
Neville, sounding surprisingly authoritative, bellowed, "EVERYONE STOP MOVING! RELAX! GO LIMP!"
Ron, voice climbing an impressive three octaves, screeched, "I CAN'T RELAX, NEVILLE, IT'S VIOLATING MY PERSONAL SPACE!"
Catpool, still happily being snuggled like a psychopath, added cheerfully, "I AM FULLY RELAXED! I'VE BEEN TRAINING FOR THIS MY WHOLE LIFE! I'M BASICALLY A PROFESSIONAL VINE SUBMISSIVE NOW!"
Jim, deadpan: "This is why aliens don't visit us."
Harry, because he was the designated problem child and low-key the Monkey King incarnate, simply dropped all tension from his body like he'd been hit with a taser.
The effect was immediate — the vines sagged around him like deflated balloons.
Harry grinned lazily. "Boom. Winner. Suck it, Devil's Snare."
"YES!" Neville cheered, pumping a fist so hard he nearly uppercut himself. "THAT'S IT! JUST… GO LIMP!"
"YOU GO LIMP!" Ron howled.
Neville ignored him with the calm serenity of a man who had finally found his weird niche.
"Think of something relaxing!" he urged.
"I AM THINKING OF BACON!" Ron bellowed.
Jim's laugh exploded in their brains. "Bacon is valid. Bacon is the answer to all existential crises. 11/10, no notes."
Hermione, muttering something about "stupid devil plants" and "I'm surrounded by idiots," forced herself to relax. She dropped like a sack of angry potatoes through the Devil's Snare and landed with a squelchy splop.
Harry, already mostly free, wiggled one foot loose and called down, "Ron, seriously, mate. Think greasy breakfast meats. Picture the bacon."
"I AM! I AM!" Ron whimpered, finally going limp with the grace of a drunken starfish. He plummeted through the vines and crash-landed next to Hermione.
Catpool, however, was another issue entirely.
"This is like being in a naughty salad!" Catpool cackled. "I'M THE OLIVE, BABY!"
"CATPOOL," Harry barked, "LET. GO."
"But I like it here!" Catpool whined. "It's cozy! And it's the closest I've gotten to second base in months!"
Without waiting, Harry grabbed Catpool by the scruff of his weird hybrid neck and yanked. Hard.
They fell together, Harry first, Catpool slapping into his back like an overenthusiastic octopus.
They hit the floor in a glorified heap, covered in slime and smelling like someone had tried to microwave seaweed.
The Devil's Snare above them quivered one last time, probably flipping them the botanical equivalent of the bird.
"Congratulations," Jim sang in his best manic ringmaster voice. "You survived the Vine Orgy of Death! NEXT UP: CERTIFIED MAN-EATING MONSTERS! STAY TUNED, FOLKS, IT ONLY GETS DUMBER FROM HERE!"
Neville scrambled to his feet, face glowing like a Christmas tree. "I knew it! I knew it was Devil's Snare! I'm not useless after all!"
Harry clapped him on the back. "You're our official Plant God now, Neville. You shall be worshiped with offerings of compost and Miracle-Gro."
Neville turned so red he practically achieved orbit.
Hermione stood up, dripping goo, looking like a soggy librarian from hell.
She shot Harry the Look. "Next time, Monkey King, maybe tell us when we're about to get eaten alive?"
Harry shrugged, managing to look both innocent and deeply proud. "Eh. I trusted the power of friendship. And gravity."
"And sheer bloody dumb luck," Catpool added, licking slime off his paw. "Mmm. Tastes like spinach and regret."
Ron lay face-down on the floor, mumbling into the stone, "I miss detentions. Detentions don't strangle you."
Jim spun lazily above them, doing donuts in the air.
"READY FOR LEVEL THREE, YOU BEAUTIFUL, STUPID CHILDREN?" he boomed.
From up ahead came the sound of wings. Big wings. Angry wings. Like Mother Nature's own personal flying sledgehammer.
Harry cracked his knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Bring it on."
Because if there was one thing Harry James 'Monkey King' Lokison Potter was really, really good at — besides bad life choices and epic one-liners — it was surviving.
And making sure he roasted whatever came next while doing it.
—
The door slammed shut behind them with a noise that screamed, Congratulations, you're idiots!
A thousand glittering things filled the air like a swarm of caffeinated bees armed with knives.
Keys. Flying keys. Some big, some tiny, some looking like they moonlighted as medieval dental equipment. All flapping furiously around a hulking iron door with an equally terrifying keyhole.
Ron squinted at the sky of doom and said, "Well, that's festive."
Neville, still trying to wipe leftover Devil's Snare slime off his face, muttered, "I vote we go back to the man-eating plant. It seemed...less stabby."
Hermione, ever the general among the brain cells, marched up to the door and inspected it with a sharp, assessing glare, hands on her hips like she was about to ground the entire castle. "Locked. Obviously."
Ron, channeling the spirit of Captain Obvious, pointed to a sad pile of broomsticks sagging in the corner like broken dreams. "Look! Brooms!"
"Brilliant!" Ron grinned. "We'll just—"
Harry casually stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle so loud that somewhere, three ghosts probably died again out of sheer shock.
For a second, there was nothing.
Then—WHOOSH!
A white, fluffy cloud spiraled down through the stone ceiling, barking like a deranged Pomeranian on a sugar high.
"WHAT THE—?!" Ron yelped, leaping back like Aether had sprouted fangs.
Neville gawked, eyes huge. "Is... is that a dog? Or a cloud? Or a—?!"
"Aether!" Harry grinned, swinging a leg over the bouncing, tail-wagging cloud. "Best boy in the sky."
Aether zoomed in loops around Harry's head, leaving behind trails of misty, glittering excitement. His tail (yes, he somehow had a tail) wagged so fast he looked like a blender about to achieve liftoff.
Catpool cackled in their heads like a gremlin on helium. "LOOK AT HIM! HE'S LIKE IF COTTON CANDY AND A GRENADE HAD A BABY!"
Jim dramatically sniffled. "IT'S... SO... BEAUTIFUL. IT NEEDS A SOUNDTRACK. SOMEBODY GET CELINE DION ON THE LINE. THIS CLOUD DESERVES A POWER BALLAD."
Ron opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then decided to just point accusingly at Aether. "You have a... you have a pet cloud."
"Jealous?" Harry smirked.
Ron blinked. "A little."
Hermione was already crouching down to scritch Aether's "head," because priorities. "Good boy, Aether! Yes you are!"
Aether wiggled so hard he nearly dissolved into mist.
Meanwhile, Hermione straightened up, tapping her chin. "Harry, the key we need—it's older. Bigger. Silver, with ornate wings. Look for something... distinguished. Like the Dumbledore of keys."
"Got it," Harry said, nudging Aether upwards with a command that was basically Up, up and away, Fluffball!
As Harry ascended, Catpool sang loudly and badly in their heads, "IIIIIII BEEEELIEVE I CAN FLYYYYYYYY—!"
Jim chimed in, "IF YOU DIE, I AM CLAIMING YOUR ROOM AND YOUR CHOCOLATE STASH, MONKEY KING. BY DIVINE RIGHT."
Ron cupped his hands and hollered, "GO, HARRY! YOU'RE THE KEY MASTER!"
Neville chimed in too, a little late and way too dramatic, "UNLOCK YOUR DESTINY!"
Ron blinked at him. "Mate, you okay? You're one inspirational speech away from joining a cult."
Up above, Harry swerved through the buzzing swarm like a pro quidditch player possessed by ADHD.
He muttered under his breath, "Alright, where are you, you overgrown lockpick? Come to Papa Monkey King."
Aether barked excitedly, somehow spinning midair like a misty Beyblade of joy.
"There!" Harry spotted it—a key larger than the others, battered silver, and flapping its wings like it needed a long nap and maybe a therapist.
Harry leaned low, urging Aether into a dive.
Instantly, the rest of the keys lost their minds.
A metallic screech filled the air as they shot toward Harry like a thousand angry drones at a Taylor Swift concert.
Catpool screamed gleefully, "IT'S AN AERIAL RUMBLE! GRAB YOUR POPCORN, KIDS! THIS IS GONNA BE BETTER THAN FAST & FURIOUS: HOGWARTS DRIFT!"
Jim whispered ominously, "PULL UP, HARRY! PULL UP! YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME A SINGLE MOM!"
Harry banked hard, ducking a stabby key that aimed right for his eye. "Too slow, you steampunk mosquito!"
Another key whizzed by, nicking his ear.
"OW! YOU LITTLE METAL SPORK!"
Hermione cupped her hands and shouted, "Use Aether's speed, Harry! Think momentum and inertia!"
Harry yelled back, "THANKS, EINSTEIN! MAYBE YOU CAN DO A TED TALK WHILE I'M GETTING SHANKED!"
Neville shouted encouragement. "YOU'RE AMAZING, HARRY! BELIEVE IN THE HEART OF THE—"
Ron clapped a hand over Neville's mouth. "Don't you dare finish that anime speech."
Above them, Aether yipped, determined, and tucked into a nosedive that would have made Maverick from Top Gun weep with envy.
Harry stretched out—and snatched the right key in a victory grip so savage it deserved its own slow-mo replay.
The key squeaked indignantly (yes, keys can squeak when traumatized) but Harry clutched it triumphantly.
Catpool shrieked, "HE'S GOT IT! HE'S GOT THE ONE KEY TO RULE THEM ALL!"
Jim bawled dramatically. "I'M SO PROUD I COULD EXPLODE INTO CONFETTI."
Harry piloted Aether down in a glorious, corkscrewing descent, landing in front of the door with enough style points to qualify for the Olympics.
He hopped off, tossed the key into the air, caught it again, and winked at his gaping friends.
"Lesson of the day: why ride brooms when you can fly a sentient snuggle-puff? Stay winning."
Aether panted happily, wagging his cloud-tail so hard the air shimmered.
Ron looked between Harry and Aether like he was recalculating his entire life. "I want one."
Neville nodded solemnly. "Me too."
Hermione chuckled, scratching Aether behind his ear-puffs. "Good boy, Aether. Best good boy."
Catpool sniffled in their heads, "IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO THIS CLOUD, I'LL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS CASTLE AND THEN MYSELF."
Jim added, "We should form a religion around him. Worship the Sacred Fluff."
Harry turned, inserted the key into the lock, and twisted.
Click.
The massive door groaned open.
A gust of cold, foul-smelling air blasted them in the face, bringing with it the unmistakable sound of...
...something clattering.
Bones.
Lots of bones.
Catpool perked up, delighted. "WELCOME TO LEVEL FOUR, KIDS: NOW WITH 99% MORE SKELETONS AND 100% LESS SANITY!"
Jim added gravely, "Hope you brought your anti-zombie underwear. Things are about to get spicy."
Beyond the door, they could just barely make out a massive stone floor divided into black and white squares.
Wizarding Chess.
Big, dangerous, punch-you-in-the-spleen Wizarding Chess.
Harry turned to the others, cracked his knuckles, and smirked.
"Let's go make some bad life choices."
—
The door creaked open, and the moment it did, Harry felt the air shift—like something ancient, evil, and probably way too eager to crush them was just waiting for them to make a move. The scent hit them first—stone, dust, and... was that blood? No, probably just the smell of ancient doom. But, hey, at least they weren't walking into a room full of killer plants again.
"Great," Ron muttered under his breath, stepping into the room, "As if this wasn't going to end with all of us screaming and running for our lives. But hey, at least it's not another man-eating plant, right?"
Hermione was squinting into the darkness, her hand tightly gripping her wand. "I don't know, Ron. I'm getting bad vibes here."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Hermione. What's the worst that could happen?"
As if on cue, Catpool's voice—loud, brash, and completely unhelpful—filled their heads. "Oh, I don't know. How about the fact that you're about to face an ancient magical version of chess, where the pieces could crush you into paste? Sounds fun, right?"
Jim followed up with his usual mix of dry humor and doom. "Yeah, and if you lose, you might become part of the board. At least then the pieces would finally have some character, right?"
"Fantastic," Harry said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Anyone got a snack for after we inevitably end up in the hospital wing? Or maybe some kind of shield charm that works on crushing death traps?"
Neville swallowed loudly. "I'm pretty sure I didn't sign up for this when I thought 'wizarding school' meant drinking butterbeer and learning spells, not... this."
Hermione took a deep breath, mentally preparing for battle. "Alright," she began, as calm as ever. "This is Wizard's Chess. But not the version you think. If we want to get past it, we have to play the game. For real."
Ron's eyes widened. "Wait—we have to play? As in... actually play chess? Like with us as the pieces?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, Ron. But the Black side is the one that actually moves. And I think we'll be the ones replacing their pieces."
Ron blinked at her, trying to piece this all together. "So, you're saying I'm... I'm a knight?"
Hermione shot him a look that said, "Of course you're a knight, you literal disaster." "Yes, Ron, you're a knight. And Neville—you're the rook. Harry... you'll be the queen." She paused, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I'll be the bishop."
"Hold on, hold on," Neville piped up, sounding like someone who was about to protest. "Why can't I be the knight? I want to be the knight!"
Hermione gave him a level stare, her eyes narrowing. "Because knights are for people who think in circles. You, Neville, are solid and dependable. You're a rook—no questions."
"That... actually makes sense," Neville muttered, looking touched by the compliment.
Ron, always the optimist, grinned. "And I'm the knight, huh? So I get to prance around like a circus act. Great. At least I'm not the pawn, right?"
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "Well, you do have to be somewhat strategic, Ron."
"Strategic?" Harry shot back, crossing his arms. "Right, because nothing screams 'hero' like being the most vulnerable piece on the board. Sounds like I'm definitely gonna get squashed first."
Catpool's voice rang out, louder and even more obnoxious than usual. "I don't know, man. You've got the dramatic entrance, and you can pull off a cape. You're practically destined to be the king of the whole thing!"
Jim's voice chimed in with a bit of an evil chuckle. "The king's the most vulnerable, genius. No pressure, though. Just think of it like walking into a room full of angry chess pieces—oh wait, you are."
Harry smirked at the mental image of an angry chess piece. "This is fantastic. I can't wait to be squished by a magical rook that's probably ten times my size."
Hermione, ever the strategist, ignored their banter and got back to business. "Okay, so here's the plan. We take our places on the board, we play the game, and we do not die."
"Yeah, sure, Hermione," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Let's just hope the Black side doesn't have a personal vendetta against us. If they do, well..." He paused dramatically. "At least we'll be the coolest chess pieces ever to exist."
The pieces on the Black side began to stir, and Harry couldn't help but feel like this was the kind of thing that might not end well. But when had things ever been normal around here?
With one last dramatic eye-roll, Harry stepped onto his square—his position as the queen, ready to save the day, or at least try not to be flattened by a huge, angry rook.
Catpool's voice filled their minds again, much too chipper for the situation. "Guys, don't forget the rules! Checkmate or get squashed like bugs. Your choice!"
Jim added, as ominous as ever, "And remember, if you fail, I'm sure your bones will make for a lovely souvenir collection. Gotta leave something for the next generation of idiots."
"Gee, thanks, guys," Harry grumbled, feeling like he was going to need a vacation by the end of all this.
As the Black pieces moved into position, Harry couldn't help but feel like the next few minutes were going to be either the most exciting game of his life or the last.
—
The room was like something straight out of a bad nightmare—or maybe the sort of thing you'd expect if you accidentally wandered into a wizarding-themed escape room on crack. Harry squinted at the massive chessboard in front of them, all ominous stone pieces staring back like they were just waiting to crush him and his friends underfoot. It looked like something straight out of Jumanji, but, you know, way more dangerous and way less charming.
"Okay, so, uh, Hermione," Ron started, his voice shaky as he eyed the towering, stone pieces with suspicion. "Are we really about to play a game of Wizard's Chess on a board that could literally kill us?"
"Well, Ron," Hermione said, sounding way too calm considering they were moments away from becoming actual chess pieces. "It's either that, or we fail and... I don't know, get crushed like squashed bugs. Your choice."
Ron blinked. "Great. Just what I needed. Dead by chess."
"Honestly, I was hoping for a bit more fun than a simple board game, but here we are," Harry grumbled, already feeling the tension building in the air. He could practically taste the looming disaster on the wind. It was thick with the smell of old stone and the faintest trace of magic—magic that screamed "DO NOT TOUCH, YOU WILL REGRET THIS."
Jim's voice popped into Harry's mind like a caffeinated squirrel on speed. "Oooh, boy! Buckle up, kids, 'cause this is gonna be one wild ride! You know, this is basically a giant game of chess, but with real stakes. Like, you know, getting squashed by a giant rook or having a pawn turn you into a pancake. It's like playing Monopoly, but if you lose, you end up in a deep, dark pit of despair. Or, you know, crushed."
Catpool piped up right on cue, her telepathic voice dripping with sarcasm like honey in a jar full of sarcasm-flavored syrup. "Oh, Harry! You're so dramatic! I mean, who needs a boring ol' game night when you could have death traps? Seriously, is it even worth playing if you're not at least in danger of being turned into goo or squashed into oblivion? Gotta keep things spicy, right?"
"Thanks for the pep talk, Catpool," Harry muttered, casting a side-eye at the pawn that had just shuffled across the board with a noise that sounded like a rusty hinge. "That was really, uh, reassuring."
Hermione, of course, was already in the zone. She was staring down the board with that laser-sharp focus she had whenever she knew things were about to get serious. "Alright, here's the plan. We'll counter with a simple pawn advance. Nothing fancy yet. Keep it clean."
"Simple?" Jim's voice cackled in Harry's head. "That's adorable. You guys are gonna play it safe, huh? That's cute. But let me just remind you: this is wizard's chess, not a Sunday afternoon tea. You're playing with magic here, kids. And let's be honest—if you play it safe, you're gonna get absolutely destroyed by those pieces. It's like a mouse trying to outwit a bear. Not gonna end well, trust me."
The black pawn moved forward in response to Hermione's strategy. A subtle shift, but the thrum of energy in the room made Harry's skin prickle. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing in the middle of a trap—a trap that was about to spring at any second.
"You know," Neville said, his voice cracking a little, "I was really hoping for a more calm adventure, but I guess I'll settle for this. Just—just make sure we don't turn into a puddle of goo, alright?"
"Goo puddles, crushed bones, turning into stone—same difference," Jim chimed in gleefully. "You're gonna love it, Neville! It's like a build-your-own-death-trap buffet. Choose your fate, folks!"
Catpool, ever the optimist (in the weirdest possible way), added, "Don't worry, kiddo! No one ever dies the boring way. No one remembers the boring deaths, trust me. You want to go out in style, right? Like, say, riding a flaming dragon into a pit of lava while you scream your name out like a true legend?"
Ron shot her a look. "Somehow, that's not comforting."
Catpool's telepathic voice took on an exaggerated tone. "Oh, I know, Ron! I know! You're not dead yet! But you will be if you don't stop talking and start fighting—you know, chess-style, with a whole lotta 'kill the pieces and dodge the trap' energy!"
"Alright, focus!" Hermione snapped, cutting through the chatter like a sword through butter. "We're in this now. Every move matters. And we can't afford to mess up."
Harry was already thinking several moves ahead, mentally assessing the pieces, plotting his own strategy. With Hermione at the helm, it was clear that the game wasn't over yet—but the next move would be crucial. They had no time for hesitation.
Then, without warning, the black pawn Hermione had moved suddenly let out a low, ominous groan. The stone began to shift, growing taller and more imposing, as if it was alive. The ground beneath Harry's feet trembled slightly, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a game. This was the beginning of something real. Something dangerous.
"Okay, things just got a little more real," Harry said under his breath, staring at the animated piece with wide eyes. "That's... not supposed to happen, right?"
"Uh, yeah, you're definitely not hallucinating, H-Pot," Jim replied with unsettling enthusiasm. "Those pawns? Yeah, they're waking up and getting all pissed off. You know, like that time I accidentally woke up a dragon in a cave and then ran for my life—same vibe here. Enjoy the ride, kids!"
Neville, looking a little green around the gills, muttered, "I think I'm about to be turned into a puddle of goo..."
"Just... focus, Neville!" Ron said, attempting to lighten the mood with his usual brand of Ron humor. "No goo puddles until after we win, alright?"
Catpool, being Catpool, couldn't resist. "Oh, you guys are definitely gonna need more than focus to survive this mess. You might wanna pray to any gods that'll listen, 'cause if that pawn is waking up, you know things are about to get way worse."
The room grew colder. A chill ran down Harry's spine as the air seemed to thicken, like the very walls were closing in. The pieces on the board stirred. There was no turning back now.
Harry cracked his knuckles. "Alright," he said, cracking a grin. "Let's make some noise."
The game was on. And there was no way they were walking out of here without really earning it. The pieces were coming to life. And Harry? Well, he was ready to make his move.
—
Hermione stepped forward, her eyes glued to the chessboard as though she was facing down the toughest exam of her life. If there was one thing Hermione Granger—daughter of Athena—was good at, it was solving problems under pressure. And this? Well, this was just another Tuesday. A magical chessboard that could turn you into a pile of mashed potatoes if you messed up? Totally her jam.
"I've got it," she said, voice unnervingly calm for someone who was about to play an actual life-or-death game of wizarding chess. "We can't just follow the obvious moves. We need to think ahead. I've been analyzing the board since we got here."
Harry raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "And here I thought you were just here for the snacks and sarcastic commentary."
Hermione didn't even look at him. "This isn't a normal chessboard, Harry. It's alive. The pieces aren't just moving according to some textbook strategy. They move based on intent. We have to outsmart them."
Neville, who had been nervously bouncing on his heels like a firecracker about to go off, raised his hand as though he were in class. "So… you're saying that these pieces can read our minds?"
"Not exactly," Hermione replied, stepping closer to a black bishop. "They anticipate what we'll do. They act on what they think is coming next. If we seem weak, they'll go for the kill. If we get too aggressive, they'll play it safe and hold back."
Ron, who was already backing away from a twitching knight, muttered, "So basically, we're all gonna die."
Hermione shot him a look that could freeze lava. "We're not going to die, Ron. At least not if you stop thinking like we're doomed."
Ron blinked. "That's... oddly reassuring?"
Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples as if trying to summon the patience of a saint. "Focus, guys. Every move on this board is part of a larger plan. And if we don't see that, we're toast. So let's stop pretending we're on some kind of bad reality show and get to work."
Jim—whose voice had a tendency to appear out of nowhere and often seemed to originate from a point in space where it should not have been—popped up in Harry's mind with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated squirrel.
"Just imagine, guys! If this were a movie, you'd be the brave but slightly dumb hero who's about to get his face squashed by an oversized chess knight. Very cinematic, don't you think? I mean, who wouldn't want to see Harry Potter's noble face smooshed by a giant stone foot?"
"Thanks for that mental image, Jim," Harry muttered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I've had worse. Believe me."
"True! True!" Jim said, clearly not bothered by the fact that Harry had just made his dramatic comment sound like a bad sitcom. "But let me tell you, I'm practically vibrating with excitement over here. You know what this reminds me of? The part in every movie where the characters think they're screwed, but then—BOOM! Big twist, they pull it off! I can already see the credits rolling, the soundtrack swelling. It's so good, I could cry."
"Can you not?" Catpool piped up, practically oozing sarcasm. "Look, if the pieces want to make this interesting, I've got some ideas. You know, like a katana, or maybe a giant rocket launcher. I mean, what's a chess game without a little bit of destruction, right?"
Hermione shot her a look so cold that Catpool flinched. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Oh, I'm so serious," Catpool replied with an exaggerated wink. "Maybe a flamethrower. You know, for dramatic effect."
"I love how you're not even pretending to have any sense of strategy," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just full-on 'kill it with fire' mode, huh?"
"Hey, I'm a Merc with a Mouth. What else do you expect from me?" Catpool grinned like she had just dropped the hottest mic in the universe.
Hermione, not having time for the chaos that was her friends, shook her head. "Let's focus. No one's dying today, but we're going to have to sacrifice a few pieces to bait them. It's the only way we'll gain the upper hand."
Ron looked like someone had just told him he had to drink a gallon of pumpkin juice while riding a broomstick upside down. "Sacrifice? What, like throwing someone into the jaws of death to save the rest of us?"
"Exactly," Hermione said with a pointed look at Ron, as if he were the one who had just suggested playing Operation with a live electric eel. "We'll need to be strategic about this."
Jim suddenly telepathically appeared in Harry's head again. "Hey, Cloud Puff! I've been watching this whole chessboard thing play out in my head. Spoiler alert: it's not pretty. I'm talking broken bones, squashed skulls, and—"
"Jim, we get it. You think we're doomed," Harry cut him off, half-laughing, half-panicking. "What else do you think is going to happen?"
"Oh, that's easy, H-Pot. Everything is going to go wrong. But don't worry, I've got your back—mentally, of course. That knight over there? It's got a nasty habit of charging the king when you least expect it. Keep your eyes peeled, buddy."
"I will, I will," Harry grumbled, positioning himself near a white rook, just waiting for the inevitable "attack move" from a piece that was clearly itching to bash him over the head. "I've survived worse."
"Yeah, and who wouldn't want to survive that face of yours?" Jim mused. "All those heroic glares. Ugh, I might start shedding tears soon. I'll make sure to save you a spot in the hero's montage when this all ends."
"Enough, Jim," Harry said, wincing. "Can we just, like, actually focus for five seconds?"
"Right," Hermione snapped, already way ahead of everyone. "Harry, move your piece. You're up. Now."
Harry stared at the board, then at Hermione's steely expression. He wasn't sure if he wanted to move or just throw his hands up and say, "You know what? You move."
But, no. This was his game. He moved the piece. And as soon as he did, the entire room shuddered. The floor trembled like the world was on the verge of splitting in two. The pieces on the board groaned and shifted like they had a life of their own. Harry had half a mind to apologize to the board.
"Nice move, H-Pot," Jim piped up telepathically again. "But just remember, you've got a very angry queen coming for your king. And trust me, the last thing you want is that queen making her move."
"I swear," Harry muttered, staring down the glowing-eyed chess queen. "If this ends badly, I'm blaming you, Jim."
"Oh, sure. Blame the helpful, sarcastic, mentally unstable guide," Jim said, a hint of mock hurt in his voice. "Don't mind me. I'll just be over here, cheering you on. Or not. Whatever works."
"Just—focus, Jim," Hermione hissed from across the room, already plotting the next move. "We're getting out of here, alive."
The tension in the room was unbearable, but Hermione had a plan. She was the daughter of Athena, after all. And no magical chessboard—or any of their ridiculous antics—was going to stop her from saving the day.
"Alright," she said, eyes gleaming with the fire of a thousand strategists. "We stay sharp. The next move is everything."
And if they survived this, maybe Hermione would let Harry gloat for, like, five minutes.
Just five.
And only if Jim kept his mouth shut.
—
Aether, who had been sitting loyally by Hermione's side this whole time, gave a gentle woof and nudged her leg, as if to say, "We've got this." And really, with a good boy like him on their side, what could possibly go wrong?
---
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