Having escaped the Devil's Snare, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left Zabini behind and pressed forward. With Lumos illuminating the room, Harry felt his stomach churn with unease.
(Zabini's survival was pure luck.)
The traps guarding the Stone were proving formidable. The Devil's Snare thrived in darkness, its vines mercilessly constricting their throats. Whatever lay ahead could be even more daunting.
"Hold on, you two," Harry said.
"What's wrong, Harry? Let's move! Zabini's waiting," Ron urged.
Harry hesitated, cautious. He scooped up the Snare's charred remains, transfiguring them into a blue-winged butterfly.
"Let's send this ahead to check. If it doesn't return, there's likely another trap like the Snare."
"Ugh, so slow!" Ron grumbled, showing his first sign of impatience.
"No, Ron, I agree with Harry," Hermione said. "It's a good idea. Ron, can you cast Revelio?"
"Sure, but what's Revelio for? Cleaning your face?" Ron teased.
"It's not for cleaning!" Hermione snapped.
Harry chuckled at their banter, earning damp glares from both. He coughed to cover it. "If the butterfly doesn't return, Ron, cast Revelio ahead. It's either a trap or something like Fluffy."
Harry desperately wanted them all to reach the Philosopher's Stone before that man's followers. In this moment, he channeled not Gryffindor bravery but Slytherin self-preservation, slowing down to minimize the risk of death.
The butterfly returned safely, and they entered the next room. Ron tilted his head. "I hear… something like wings cutting the air."
Stepping inside, they saw countless shimmering birds darting through the air.
"The butterfly was fine, so these birds probably won't attack," Harry said cautiously. "Let's move. Ron, Hermione, cover me if they do."
With vague instructions, Harry dashed toward the far door. Passing the birds, he noticed they had no beaks—just feathers on enchanted rods.
(They might attack when I open the door…)
"Hermione, Ron, heads up!" Harry warned, wand ready.
"Alohomora!"
Nothing happened. The door was locked, requiring an unusually large key.
"No key! Ron, Hermione, any ideas where it is?"
"Maybe we're meant to find it here," Ron said, spotting five old brooms in a locker, like the ones from Madam Hooch's lessons. "We'll have to search."
"Let's fly," Harry said.
"I'm better than Hermione at this!" Ron boasted.
As they mounted the brooms, Hermione offered insight. "I've been watching the birds. The larger ones sometimes form patterns, like constellations. Right now, they're moving like Orion."
"Maybe the key's with the brightest star," Harry suggested.
Skeptical but determined, they soared, searching. Hermione shouted, "Not Rigel, Ron! I checked there. Go left!"
Recalling astronomy, Harry spotted it. "There! Bellatrix!" A large silver key fluttered awkwardly. With Ron and Harry's help, Hermione, less skilled on a broom, cornered it. Harry seized the key, missing Zabini's agility in that moment.
"Got it! Perfect, right, Harry?" Ron cheered.
"Yeah, let's hope that's the last trap," Harry said, opening the door, relieved they were unscathed.
"This must be Flitwick and Sinistra's design," Hermione mused. "Devil's Snare was Sprout, Fluffy was Hagrid…"
"Snape and McGonagall's traps are next," Harry said.
"They'll definitely try to kill us," Ron groaned.
"We're the ones charging in," Harry replied. "Better to be prepared."
The butterfly flew ahead through the door and returned intact. Relieved, they stepped into the next room. The darkness vanished under Lumos, revealing a shocking sight.
"Chess!?" Harry groaned. He was terrible at it, barely winning against Zabini, his weakest opponent.
Ron explained wizard's chess meant becoming pieces. If your piece was taken, the consequences were grim.
"Should we each try? I'll go," Harry said, resolute.
"No, Harry, I'll handle it," Ron said. "No offense, but I'm better than Hermione."
"Impressive!" Harry said, meaning it.
Ron's ears reddened. "Alright, Harry's Bishop, Hermione's Rook."
Under Ron's command, the game unfolded. When Ron's first piece was taken, the opponent's piece obliterated it with troll-like force.
Hermione gasped. Harry trembled, imagining his Bishop—or Ron's piece—destroyed.
"Trust me," Ron said, moving pieces with calm precision, outpacing Harry and Hermione's thoughts.
"It's close to checkmate," Ron said suddenly.
"No!" Hermione cried.
Harry wanted to scream, to blast the enemy with Bombarda, but that risked ruining Ron's strategy—or worse, triggering a magical penalty.
"When my piece moves, it'll be taken. Harry, check the King," Ron said.
"Ron, what if I use Bombarda—"
"No, Harry. This is chess. The enemy might already have the Stone, past Zabini. We have to move forward, no matter how scary."
Pale but brave, Ron advanced. Hermione prayed silently, but Harry, reminded they were wizards, knew no god would help.
A merciless blow shattered Ron's piece. Harry checked the King, then rushed with Hermione to Ron, buried in rubble but miraculously uninjured.
"Probably a Stunning Spell," Hermione said, noting the magic spared physical harm.
"Ron, I'll get the Stone," Harry vowed, sending the butterfly ahead.
It didn't return.
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