The chessboard looked less like a civilized game and more like the aftermath of a magical demolition derby. Statuesque pieces lay toppled, some smoldering, others cracked like bad ceramic knockoffs from a cursed HomeGoods. The air was thick with dust, magical residue, and, rather unfortunately, the sharp scent of burnt goblin hair. No one had the courage to ask why.
Hermione stood at the edge of the board like a war goddess out of Greek mythology—which, fair, since she literally was. Her eyes blazed with the fury of Athena in a group project gone wrong. She jabbed her finger forward.
"Ron, knight. Three spaces right. And no, you may not question it."
Ron blinked. He was pale, sweaty, and looked like he'd just walked out of a horror movie marathon. "That's suicide!" he squeaked.
Hermione didn't blink. "No, Ron. That's strategy."
Ron groaned like a man headed to his own funeral and moved the knight. The stone figure lumbered into place with a mechanical thud.
"Neville," Hermione snapped, "left flank. Guard the rook."
Neville, already missing half a sleeve and one eyebrow (thanks, overly aggressive pawn), saluted weakly. "Right. Sure. Guarding. I love flanks. Great flanks. Big flank fan."
Harry, AKA Monkey King, AKA Son of Loki and Artemis, was already on the move.
"King's bishop square," Hermione ordered. "Now."
Harry didn't need telling twice. His red-and-gold cloak flared behind him like a superhero landing in slow motion. He slid into position with all the casual grace of someone who could, at any moment, punch reality in the face.
And then came the sass hurricane.
Jim, his ever-snarky staff spirit—and possibly a magical fever dream voiced by Jim Carrey—exploded into their heads via mental Wi-Fi.
"Ohhh, girl," Jim's voice drawled, like a jazz singer doing stand-up. "Queen incoming. She looks MAD. Like, full 'I-just-found-out-my-favorite-soap-was-cancelled' mad."
The white queen towered above the board, glowing eyes locked on Harry like a laser-guided ex-boyfriend detector.
Jim clucked. "Seriously, Monkey Buns, did you sleep with her sister or something? That is a look of vengeance. That is a 'you-left-the-toilet-seat-up-again' level of rage."
"Jim," Hermione hissed.
"Whaaat? I'm just here for commentary. Adding color. Energy. Existential dread."
And just when you thought things couldn't get more insane, a rip in reality tore open with the subtlety of a tuba solo in a monastery.
Catpool.
Because, of course.
The foul-mouthed, fourth-wall-breaking chaos gremlin herself popped into existence like a glitter bomb filled with ADHD and sass.
"Okay, first of all," Catpool said, voice echoing in their heads, "who gave Barbie over there a laser stare and an attitude problem? And second, Harry-kins, are you just gonna stand there lookin' sexy, or are you gonna go full chaos god and start drop-kicking logic into the sun?"
Harry arched a brow. "I'm saving the drop-kicking for after brunch."
Catpool did a slow clap, complete with fireworks that were definitely not part of the physics engine.
"Respect. Also, if you don't let me DJ your apocalyptic glow-up, I'm gonna riot. I've got a killer Norse death metal remix of 'Shake It Off.'"
Aether, Harry's magical spirit wolf and certified goodest boy, let out two short barks that sounded like equal parts amusement and 'please stop talking.'
Neville was now nervously shifting behind a rook statue, whispering to himself. "I miss plants. Plants never tried to murder me. Plants don't scream when they explode."
Jim piped in again. "Neville! Buddy! If you die heroically, do I get to narrate your life story in slow motion with sad violin music and sepia flashbacks? Because I have notes."
Neville screamed.
And that was when it happened.
The queen lunged.
It wasn't a move so much as a divine blitzkrieg. She tore across the board with the fury of a caffeinated banshee. Lightning cracked. The air warped.
And then—
Harry moved.
Not his piece. Himself.
One second he was standing there, looking vaguely unimpressed. The next, he was airborne—cloak billowing, staff spinning, face lit up like Christmas at Loki's house.
He landed in front of the queen mid-lunge. Extended one glowing hand.
"Checkmate, sweetheart," he said.
The queen froze. Shook.
And exploded.
Like. Literally. Exploded.
White shards flew. The board shattered into ancient runes. The shockwave blasted the surviving pieces back like a magical mic drop.
Everyone stood in stunned silence. The dust settled.
Jim, after a beat, said in a soft, reverent tone:
"...Did we just win?"
Catpool did three backflips, shouted "CHAOS REIGNS, SUCKERS!" and threw glitter confetti made of tiny screaming bananas into the air.
Ron sank to his knees. "I think I peed a little."
Neville just fell over.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear to all the gods, old and new, I am never doing that again."
Harry grinned like the trickster prince he was.
"Hey," he said, clapping dust off his cloak. "On the bright side, at least the next room can't be worse, right?"
The next door creaked open.
It growled.
There was lava. Probably.
Jim moaned. "You had to say it, didn't you."
Catpool gasped. "Ooooh! Is this where we meet the lava sharks? I've been waiting three story arcs for lava sharks!"
Aether barked once.
Translation: "Bring it on."
—
The next room was not, as some might have hoped, a lava-filled shark tank.
Which is honestly a tragedy, because Catpool was already wearing shark-themed board shorts and emotionally committed to the idea.
"No sharks?" Catpool howled—mentally, of course, since actual sound might have been useful, and we can't have that. "I'm sorry, did the universe just lie to me? Where's the lava? Where's the aquatic doom-fins? I was told lava sharks with goggles! And floaties! This is slander! You hear me, narrative structure?! I demand a refund and at least one gratuitous explosion!"
"Catpool, shut up!" Ron hissed, ducking behind a cracked stone arch. "You'll wake it!"
Which was fair. The "it" in question was a Mountain Troll that had apparently been bulk-ordering protein shakes and steroids. The thing was the size of a sideways Hogwarts Express and currently curled up in the center of the chamber like a napping kaiju. Its snores sounded like a malfunctioning leaf blower in a thunderstorm. The ground trembled with every exhale, and its breath smelled like a dumpster fire made of expired cheese.
Aether, Harry's faithful spirit wolf-slash-floating cloud of divine smugness, padded forward and sniffed the air. He gave a low, rumbling growl that Harry immediately translated as:
"This smells like a trap dipped in sewage and sprinkled with poor life choices."
"Agreed," Harry muttered, eyes narrowed.
"Do not engage," Hermione whispered. She moved like a shadow, hand gripping her dagger, eyes locked on the troll like she was about to take it to court and win the case before it even woke up. "We go around. Single file. No talking. No sudden movements. No chaos."
"Oh wow," Jim snarked directly into everyone's brain like the world's snarkiest Bluetooth speaker. "Hermione's in Full Greek War Goddess Mode. Somebody get the laurel wreaths and the battlefield PowerPoint."
Neville, already sweating buckets and missing an eyebrow (don't ask), whispered from behind a column. "I really, really miss Herbology class. Plants never tried to flatten me with a tree-sized meat club."
"Give it time," Jim stage-whispered telepathically. "You haven't met Venus Mantrap. She bites."
As if this wasn't enough chaos marinating in disaster sauce, Catpool floated down, now somehow wearing aviator goggles, a Hawaiian shirt, and dual katanas covered in what looked suspiciously like glitter and regret.
"I say we wake him up," Catpool offered cheerfully. "Give him a coffee. Tell him he's late for his shift at the 'Murder, Mayhem, and Massage' spa. See if he wants to join the team! I'll name him—wait for it—SnuggleMurder. Trademark pending."
"Absolutely not," Hermione snapped.
"I second Hermione," Ron said, face pale. "And I third her. And I infinity her. No waking up the murder-beast."
"Killjoys," Catpool muttered. "Next you'll tell me I can't bring my glitter bombs to funerals."
"You brought them last time," Harry said, voice dry. "You got banned from three dimensions."
"I regret nothing," Catpool said proudly, then looked over at Aether. "Right, Fluffy?"
Aether barked once in a way that very clearly said, "Your chaos is giving me indigestion."
The troll snorted.
Everyone froze.
Its eyes didn't open—yet—but its body shifted. The floor groaned. Something somewhere cracked that definitely shouldn't have.
Neville made a noise like a tea kettle under pressure.
"I swear," Jim whispered, "if this thing wakes up, I want my last words to be: 'I told you idiots so.' Followed by a tasteful jazz number."
"Shut up, Jim!" Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Aether all whispered at once.
And for a heartbeat, there was silence.
And then—
Catpool pulled out a kazoo.
"Don't you dare—" Hermione began.
HONNNK.
The kazoo wailed like a dying goose doing karaoke.
The troll's eyes snapped open.
Everyone froze.
The troll sat up, slow and seismic, blinking once… twice…
And then its gaze locked directly on the party.
"Welp," Harry said, stepping forward, cloak flaring behind him, "guess I'm the distraction."
Jim popped into his head so hard Harry almost staggered. "Oh sure, big hero moment time. Harry the Monkey King, Son of Trickster Gods, Sassy Cloak Model #87—go ahead, make me look useless. Again."
"I do what I can," Harry replied, smiling like a guy about to insult your mother and steal your lunch.
The troll roared—a full-throated sonic boom of morning breath and bad vibes.
Catpool squealed with delight and slapped on his popcorn bucket helmet. "YES! It's happening! Punch it in the pancreas, Harry-kins!"
"I am not punching a troll in the pancreas," Harry muttered.
"Then kick it in the self-esteem!" Jim yelled. "Use a burn so savage it thinks twice about waking up tomorrow!"
"Oh, I've got one," Harry said, grinning, then raised his staff. "Hey, buddy! Your face looks like a Mandrake root married a baboon's butt and their honeymoon was inside a sewage pipe!"
The troll blinked.
Then roared louder.
Aether barked once, which translated roughly to, "WHY DO YOU MAKE ME LOVE YOU?"
Neville promptly fainted.
Ron screamed.
Hermione raised her sword with a sigh. "I told you all: no sudden movements."
Jim clapped mentally. "Well, guess we're doing this the hard way!"
—
To be perfectly clear, there were definitely better ways to handle a thirty-foot-tall murder-troll with the physique of a gym-addicted mountain and the brain of a concussed grapefruit.
But Harry Potter—son of Loki, Artemis, and at least one half-decent punchline—had never been a fan of better ways. He was more of a "throw glitter on a volcano and see what happens" kind of guy.
"Harry," Hermione said slowly, clearly weighing the pros and cons of bashing her best friend over the head with a nearby rock. "What. Are. You. Doing?"
"Improvising," Harry said, with a grin that really should've come with a warning label.
If you see this smile, please evacuate the nearest dimension.
Inside his mind, a voice cackled like someone had just spiked the sacred scrolls with espresso.
"FINALLY," shouted Jim, a.k.a. Ruyi Jingu Bang, a.k.a. Harry's semi-sentient shapeshifting staff-slash-weapon-slash-most-unhinged-life-coach. "LET'S GO LOUD, BABY! I WANNA SEE SWEAT, BLOOD, AND AT LEAST THREE SHATTERED EGOS!"
Aether—the cloud with the personality of a golden retriever and the judgmental stare of a grandma who'd seen one too many TikToks—rumbled in excitement.
Harry's body began to glow. No, not shimmer. Not sparkle. This was the kind of glow that caused rogue demigods to spontaneously develop allergies and monsters to rethink their life choices.
Golden light exploded outward, shaking the chamber like someone had just dropkicked the laws of physics. Harry's robes evaporated into particles of divine chaos. Muscles rippled. Bones stretched. And then—
BOOM.
Where Harry had stood now towered a thirty-foot-tall wrestling god: Brock Lesnar, if he'd had a glow-up sponsored by Asgard and Monkey Kingdom. Tattoos of Norse runes and celestial monkey symbols glowed along arms thicker than most tree trunks. His eyes blazed gold. His boots had fur. Literal celestial fur.
Catpool's jaw hit the floor like a dropped anvil.
"Holy radioactive taco Tuesday," Catpool whispered. Then, louder: "I take back everything I said about monkey magic. This? This is ART. Someone frame this. Someone animate this. Someone marry this. Actually, wait, ME. I CALL DIBS."
Neville, lying on the floor and still not fully awake, squinted up blearily. "Is that... is that a god of protein powder?"
Ron was halfway behind Hermione, who looked like she was calculating exactly how many laws of metaphysics her best friend had just violated.
The troll blinked. Roared. Charged.
Harry met it head-on like a sentient avalanche made of dumb decisions and childhood trauma.
He slammed into the troll with the force of every bad review on a Percy Jackson movie adaptation. The troll stumbled. The ground exploded.
"YES!" Jim shouted in Harry's head. "BREAK THAT UGLY'S SPINE LIKE IT OWED YOU RENT!"
"If this was a pay-per-view," Catpool said, telepathically, because why not break the fourth wall and the fifth, "I would sell my spleen for front row seats. I would invent another spleen just to auction it."
The troll roared again and swung its club—more like a small redwood tree glued to a bowling ball.
Harry caught it. With one hand.
"Really?" Harry said, voice booming like the subwoofer in Hades' man cave. "This thing? You're compensating for something, right? I mean, I know trolls aren't famous for their dental plans, but c'mon, dude. That club is just sad."
SNAP.
He broke the club over his knee like it was made of stale breadsticks.
Catpool screamed in glee. "YES! SNAP INTO A SLIM JIM, BABY!"
Aether boofed from above, circling the scene like a proud storm-puppy, occasionally zipping in to snatch flying debris out of the air before it hit anyone.
Hermione turned to Ron. "Did he just insult a troll's weapon and masculinity in the same sentence?"
Ron nodded slowly. "He really is Loki's kid."
The troll lunged.
Harry sidestepped, grabbed the troll by the arm, and suplexed it so hard the floor gave out.
BOOM.
The chamber rumbled. A few ceiling stones gave up and fell. Aether yipped and zapped one mid-air with lightning.
Jim cackled like a caffeinated banshee. "YOU JUST SENT THAT OVERGROWN NUGGET TO THE SHADOW REALM! HARRY, MY MAN, THAT WAS A WHOLE-A** DRAGONBALL Z MOMENT!"
Harry stood above the crater, now normal-sized again, brushing dust from his shoulders like a man who hadn't just suplexed a kaiju through bedrock.
Catpool floated down with hearts in his eyes. Literal hearts. The cartoon kind.
"Marry me," he said. "Or adopt me. I'm not picky. That was... that was poetry. That was violence dipped in sex appeal and sprinkled with bad decisions."
Ron opened and closed his mouth. "You—you turned into Brock Lesnar."
Harry winked. "But, like, mythologically enhanced."
Hermione finally sat down. "We're going to get expelled from the pantheon, aren't we?"
Neville groaned from the floor. "Worth it."
Aether landed next to Harry, wagging his entire body, then licked Harry's face with a tongue made of mist and stardust.
"Good boy," Harry said.
"So," Jim said brightly, still glowing faintly in his staff form, "what's next? We wrestle a hydra? Fight the Minotaur in a cage match? Flip off Zeus again?"
Harry cracked his neck. "Let's see who else wants to get suplexed."
Catpool was already scribbling in a floating journal titled Big Boy Punchy-Punch: The Musical.
"We need merch," he muttered. "And a theme song. And someone to animate the suplex in IMAX."
And somewhere, deep below the chamber floor, a troll groaned in shame.
The real MVP? Aether.
Who boofed proudly, curled into a cloud-bed beside the crater, and promptly farted a lightning bolt.
Because even in the divine realm of chaos, some things never changed.
—
The dust hadn't even settled from the suplex-of-the-century, when the walls of the chamber groaned like they were auditioning for a haunted house.
A stone archway ahead shimmered into view, sliding open with a hiss that screamed: "Welcome to the Next Level, suckers. Enjoy the fire."
Harry flicked a pebble out of his hair and looked at the group with the deadpan calm of someone who had wrestled dragons, debated with deities, and still had time to roast people with Loki-grade sarcasm.
"Well," he said, dusting his hands, "boss battle: suplexed. Puzzle room: incoming. Let's hope this one doesn't try to make us play 4D chess with our lives."
Jim popped up beside him—literally popped, like an overcaffeinated jack-in-the-box in a kung fu bathrobe—hands flailing and face contorting with cartoonish glee.
"Ooooooh baby, do you feel that?" Jim declared, twirling his staff like a baton. "That's the sizzling sizzle of a riddle room, seasoned with extra trauma and lightly roasted IQ points! Mmm! Spicy!"
"Great," Ron muttered. "He's monologuing again."
The gang stepped through the arch.
FWOOOOSH.
Suddenly—because of course it was suddenly—the door behind them slammed shut and erupted into violet flames. Not warm campfire cozy flames. No. These were purple infernos of doom, licking the ceiling like they were trying to order takeout from Hades.
At the same time, the exit ahead roared to life with black fire—the kind of fire that didn't just want to burn you, it wanted to emotionally damage you first.
"AH-HA! A classic death sandwich!" Catpool shouted, arms spread. "Burnt toast behind, cursed jam ahead, and our collective sanity as the filling!"
He landed in a crouch, striking a pose that was somewhere between action hero and male stripper.
"Previously on: Hogwarts Tries to Kill Us Again!" he declared, doing finger-guns at the flames. "Harry 'Monkey Boy' Potter and his band of questionably sane misfits enter the Room of Flaming Death, where—spoiler alert—everyone probably dies. Except me. I regenerate."
"Catpool," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we're already traumatized enough without you turning this into an R-rated Disney ride."
"Too late, sunshine. This ride goes all the way down to Hell's gift shop!" Catpool shouted. Then, very seriously, he turned to the purple flames and said, "By the way, these smell like burnt candy canes and betrayal. Ten outta ten. Would run screaming again."
A low, delighted bark-woosh echoed overhead as Aether, Harry's loyal flying cloud and proud chaos puppy, swooped in a lazy circle above them. He puffed out a mini thundercloud in excitement and settled beside Hermione, vibrating like a corgi on Red Bull.
"Good boy," Hermione said, scratching his side without looking. "No smiting until we solve the logic trap."
Then her eyes locked on something ahead.
"There," she said, pointing to the table in the center of the room. "Look!"
Seven bottles sat there like they were waiting for a magical AA meeting. Each was a different shape—one squat, one thin, one that looked like it held demon tears on weekends. And in front of them? A single scroll of parchment, just sitting there, bold as brass and probably judgmental.
"Oh boy," Jim said, rubbing his hands together with the glee of someone about to narrate a train crash. "Is it a riddle? Is it a trap? Is it a riddle and a trap?!"
"Is it a recipe for tequila shots?" Catpool added hopefully. "Asking for a friend. That friend is me."
Neville inched closer to the table. "This is either going to test our brains… or poison us. Or both."
"Either way, it's a step up from Fluffy," Ron muttered. "At least these don't bite. Right?"
As they approached, Jim tilted his head and started singing in a ridiculous high-pitched voice:
"One of them kills you, one sends you through, one lets you go back, the rest eat your soul like fondue!"
"That is not how the original goes," Hermione said.
"Doesn't mean it's not accurate," Harry said dryly.
Aether gave a low cloud-rumble of agreement and fluffed up proudly.
Hermione stepped forward, eyes sharp and analytical. Her demigod aura kicked in—daughter of Athena in full "battle-puzzle-mom" mode. She waved her hand carefully above the parchment, scanning for magical traps. Nothing.
She picked it up.
Everyone gathered around like kids listening to a bedtime story read by a particularly suspicious babysitter.
"Alright," she said. "Let's see what Dumbledore's death-trap poetry club cooked up."
Catpool leaned in between Harry and Ron, muttering in his and Jim's telepathic link:
"Place your bets, boys. I'm guessing the small purple bottle's pure vodka. Jim thinks it's liquefied regret. Hermione thinks it's an elixir of logic. I think Hermione is wrong and also probably secretly Batman."
Jim added in a flamboyant tone that echoed in their heads:
"WHOEVER DRINKS THE WRONG BOTTLE FIRST WINS A TRIP TO THE AFTERLIFE, ALL EXPENSES PAID! WOOOO!!"
Harry rolled his eyes so hard he almost unlocked the Sharingan. Out loud, he said, "If I die, I swear I'm haunting every one of you with ghost bananas."
"You say that like it's a threat," Catpool whispered, licking his lips. "Mmmm. Ethereal potassium."
Hermione cleared her throat.
And read.
—
Hermione's voice echoed through the firelit chamber, bouncing off the stone walls like a magical mic drop from Olympus itself.
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind—
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find…"
The black and purple flames crackled in rhythm, flickering like they were doing interpretive death-dancing to the tune of impending doom.
Catpool, currently lounging atop Aether's belly like a foul-mouthed cat on a flying marshmallow, groaned.
"Oh fantastic, it rhymes. You know what else rhymes? Doom. And tomb. And 'whom,' which is what nerds say right before dying dramatically in Latin. This is definitely how Taylor Swift writes her horcrux breakup albums."
Jim—also known as Riyu Jingu Bang, golden monkey staff of chaos, caffeine, and cosmic ADHD—uncoiled from Harry's back like a caffeinated slinky with boundary issues.
"HELLOOOOOOOOO, CONTESTANTS!" Jim's voice exploded telepathically through their skulls like a psychic rave with free Red Bull. "Welcome to another thrilling episode of Pick Your Poison! Sponsored by Hogwarts: Where Every Room Is A Deathtrap and All the Teachers Are Legally Insane!"
Harry crossed his arms and tilted his head with the kind of smirk that could probably kill a basilisk.
"Thanks, Jim. Next time I want a migraine and a seizure, I'll just stick my head in a beehive and scream."
"I am the beehive, Monkey Boy," Jim beamed. "Buzz buzz, baby."
Meanwhile, Neville Longbottom—Hufflepuff core in a Gryffindor onesie—was staring at the seven bottles like one of them was going to jump up and pants him.
"I don't know about this," he muttered, running through multiplication tables under his breath like they were holy mantras. "Couldn't we just… wait for help?"
Ron snorted, one eyebrow arching so far up it threatened to break atmosphere. "Yeah, and maybe Dumbledore will show up on a unicorn playing jazz flute. That man left us in a kid-sized murder dungeon and dipped. He's probably upstairs playing Wizard Chess with Death."
"Or getting a mani-pedi with the ghost of Merlin," Catpool added. "I hear they do great cuticle work in the afterlife."
Hermione, ignoring the chaos tornado behind her, began pacing in front of the table like a war goddess surveying a battlefield of dumb.
"We can solve this," she said, eyes blazing with divine clarity. "There are clues. Logic. Pattern. Strategy."
"Ooooooh, logic puzzles," Catpool squealed telepathically. "Just what I wanted today—math murder with a side of 'Who Wants to Die First!' Honestly, I live for this. Just kidding, I live for tacos, trauma, and breaking the fourth wall like it owes me money."
Aether, sweet cinnamon roll of sentient mist, floated lazily toward Harry and curled protectively around him, letting out a soft woof of encouragement that smelled vaguely like rainclouds and heroism.
Harry scratched behind the cloud's tufted ear. "You're the only sane one here, bud."
"Speak for yourself," Jim said, flopping dramatically in the air like a psychic inflatable tube man. "I am beyond sanity. I am the chaos. I am the quiz show host of your nightmares. I am what happens when Loki and Artemis have an espresso-fueled baby and give it sentience."
"You're also a stick," Ron muttered.
"RUDE," Jim gasped. "I'll have you know I once dated a wand. Things got weird."
Hermione ignored them and pointed to the parchment on the table.
"Clue one," she read aloud. "'First, however slyly the poison tries to hide, you will always find some on nettle wine's left side.'"
"Translation," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "If a bottle has wine to its right, it might be poison. But if it's to the left of wine? Safe. Probably. Maybe. Fifty-fifty. Classic Hogwarts odds."
Ron blinked. "Wait… so poison is on the left of wine?"
"No, to the left of the wine bottle is where poison is hiding," Hermione corrected. "So anything immediately right of wine is danger juice."
"Like Ron's cooking," Catpool added. "One time I saw him make spaghetti and it came out with tentacles. True story."
"Second clue," Hermione said sharply, clearly resisting the urge to smite them all. "'Different are those who stand at either end, but if you would move onward, neither is your friend.'"
"Meaning the first and last bottles aren't the same and definitely won't help us move forward," she added.
"So don't chug either unless you want a one-way ticket to Vomitville," Harry quipped.
"Or the Phantom Zone," Catpool offered. "Do not pass go, do not collect your eyebrows."
"Third clue," Hermione pressed on, tapping the parchment. "'As you see clearly, all are different size; neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides.'"
Neville perked up. "So the smallest and biggest bottles are safe!"
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "From poison, at least. One of them lets us move, the other sends us back."
"Ah," Harry said. "Classic 'Hogwarts Logic Maze: Now With Extra Mortal Peril' mode. Love that for us."
Jim spun in a circle like a disco noodle on a sugar high. "Oh, but wait! There's more! Final clue, baby!"
Hermione read it aloud. "'Fourth, the second left and the second on the right are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.'"
Ron scratched his head. "So they're the same potion, different bottles?"
"Exactly," Hermione said. "Which means one sends you forward, the other sends you back. But which is which…"
Aether barked once, helpfully.
"Thanks, boy," Harry said. "Didn't quite catch your telepathic input, but I love the energy."
Jim snapped into game show host mode, a glittering spotlight of golden aura shining off his elongated form.
"TIME TO PLAY WHICH BOTTLE WON'T KILL YOU! Featuring: You sad little mortals, a flaming hallway of certain doom, and your host—me! Your sparkly, fabulous, high-key unhinged narrator of nonsense!"
"Can I get a lifeline?" Neville squeaked.
"Sure," Catpool said. "It's called dying! Works every time!"
Hermione had had enough. "Everyone shut up or I'm going to shove you all into the purple flames and let fate sort you out."
Even Jim paused.
Harry raised a brow. "She's the daughter of Athena. She will do it."
"Understood," Jim whispered. "Proceed, brain queen."
Hermione stepped forward. "Alright. Bottle three is the smallest. Bottle six is the largest. They're safe from poison. One of them moves us forward."
She pointed to bottle two. "This one's to the immediate left of wine—bottle three—so bottle two is poison."
She nodded to bottle five. "And this one's next to wine on the other side. So that's poison too."
Ron pointed to bottle four. "That one's wine. I recognize it. It's the same kind Slughorn drinks when he's trying to impress people."
"So," Harry said, grinning. "Bottle three and six are safe. One of them gets us through the black flames. The other sends us back. Bottle four is wine. Bottles two and five are poison."
"That leaves bottle one and seven," Hermione added. "Different sizes. Different contents. But neither of them gets us forward."
Jim gasped theatrically. "Oh my gods, she solved it. Somebody get this girl a crown and a Netflix spinoff!"
Catpool clapped. "Let's hear it for Murder Hermione, Slayer of Logic and Destroyer of Dumb!"
"Okay," Harry said, stepping forward. "Bottle six gets us through. Three sends us back."
"How do you know?" Ron asked.
"Because I'm the Monkey King," Harry said, picking up bottle six with a flourish. "And I cheat."
Jim whooped. "HE'S BACK, BABY! Monkey King in the house!"
Aether wagged his misty tail and let out a soft, proud woof.
Harry raised the bottle in salute. "Bottoms up. If I die, someone delete my browser history."
Then he drank.
And walked into the black flames like a snarky, sarcastic god-king.
Because he was.
And Jim followed, screaming, "TO ADVENTURE AND POSSIBLY THIRD-DEGREE BURNS!"
—
The moment Harry swallowed the contents of the bottle, it felt like every cell in his body ignited in a blazing whirlwind of magic, fire, and chaos. The world around him stretched and warped like a bad acid trip mixed with an ancient curse, leaving his head spinning faster than a blender full of cursed potion and poorly-aimed firewhiskey.
Ron, having some serious second thoughts about any of this, quickly followed behind. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Yup," Harry said, giving him a thumbs-up as he stumbled through the swirling black flames. "But let's face it, at this point, what's the worst that could happen? I mean, other than dying horribly, getting turned into a rat, or having my limbs spontaneously combust."
Ron gave him a look like he wanted to throw himself off a cliff. "That's really comforting, mate."
"Thanks, Ron! Here's a little pep talk: Don't Panic. You've got this—probably."
As they walked, the flames seemed to pull at them, like they were made of living, angry darkness. The temperature spiked—then froze—then returned to lava-level warmth like a cruel joke from a sadistic god who got his kicks from messing with mortals.
"Oh, I so hate this," Ron grumbled.
"Me too," Harry said, his voice strangely light. "But look on the bright side. We're definitely getting paid in adrenaline, and maybe in a few cool scars. You'll have stories to tell at your wedding—assuming you live through this, of course."
"Great," Ron said, tone drenched with sarcasm. "Is that your idea of fun, Potter?"
Harry just winked, feeling the tingling rush of power surge through him. He knew the magic was working, the riddle solved, but that didn't make the experience any less weird. The black flames parted as they approached, like they'd sensed the magic in the bottle. Hermione's voice echoed faintly in his mind: One step forward. Don't stop. You'll know the way.
Aether, the goodest of cloud boys, nudged Harry with a puff of encouragement, a soft woof that sounded like it had been soaked in cinnamon and rainwater.
"Let's do this," Harry said, feeling the sheer force of his past lives—his Monkey King legacy, his Quidditch skills, and now his rising cosmic power. If any place was going to test him, it was this damn dungeon.
Then, with a sudden, dramatic whoosh, the black flames split and revealed a narrow passageway, glowing faintly with ancient runes. The moment they stepped through, a voice rang out, one that sounded like it had been coming from the very stone beneath their feet for centuries.
"To advance, to proceed, you must prove your worth, One must be tested, and the other must wait, to serve their birth."
Jim, who had appeared mid-screeching out a bad impression of a bumblebee, froze in mid-air. "Whaaaaaat? Did it just—did it just rhyme? NO ONE GETS OUT OF THIS PLACE WITHOUT RHYME, HARRY POTTER?!" He floated around in a circle like a hyperactive moth on crack. "THE RHYME OF DOOM! THE LYRICS OF THE APOCALYPSE!"
"Yes, Jim, that's definitely what I needed to hear right now," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "That, and possibly some Pepto-Bismol."
Ron groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Let me guess. One of us has to stay behind while the other proceeds, right?"
"Exactly," Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "But no worries, Ron. I'm sure the room won't literally eat you alive."
Jim, meanwhile, was bouncing off the walls like a hyperactive rubber ball on too much sugar. "Oh, it's definitely gonna eat you alive, mate! And then it'll make a sandwich out of your entrails and serve it as a delicacy at Hogwarts. You know, the usual."
Ron stared at him. "This is why I'm not taking you out on a field trip ever again."
Harry, ignoring the chaos behind him, took a step toward the glowing runes. A brief flash of light surrounded him, and a strange sense of rightness washed over him, as though this was a test he was born to take. He could feel his past lives stirring inside him, the legacy of the Monkey King giving him both strength and clarity.
"Alright, so here's the deal," Harry said, turning to Ron. "You hang out here with Jim. I'll go forward, fight whatever monstrosity this dungeon has in store, and hopefully return before you've somehow summoned an army of angry cats."
Ron looked like he was about to protest, but Harry gave him a look—a look that said, Trust me, mate. This is what we do now. We die together. Or I do, and you get to watch me fight my way out of it.
Ron sighed, resigned. "Great. Just don't die in some spectacularly embarrassing way, okay? I'd like to be able to hold my head up at Hogwarts."
"I'll try my best," Harry said, offering a smirk that could've been a cross between a smirk and a grimace. "But, no promises."
Ron stepped aside and motioned toward the narrow path ahead. "Go on then, Monkey King. Do your thing."
Harry nodded. "Will do, Weasley. Will do."
He stepped forward into the glowing corridor, where the runes shifted and hummed with a deep, ancient magic that made every hair on his neck stand up straight.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the door behind him slammed shut with a bone-rattling crack.
And then… silence.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!