As exams began, Elian treated the first half hour of each paper seriously, then spent the rest of the time quietly sketching out how he might reach the Philosopher's Stone.
The heat didn't make things any easier. The large classrooms where the written tests were held felt stifling, and everyone fanned themselves with scraps of parchment once they were done writing. Each student was given a new quill bewitched with an Anti-Cheating charm, which left no room for tricks.
The practical exams proved just as demanding. Professor Flitwick had them charm a pineapple to tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall tested their Transfiguration, watching as they turned mice into snuffboxes—points for elegance, deductions if whiskers remained. Snape, of course, made the atmosphere unbearable, hovering close as they worked on Forgetfulness Potions. Most students sweated under his gaze, but Elian kept his wit, unaffected by the pressure.
Tailing Quirrell was no longer an option. If Voldemort truly was trying to return through him, then following alone would be reckless, even for Elian. The better plan, he decided, was to convince Harry, Ron, and Hermione to reach the Stone before Voldemort did. The problem was how. Exams were in full swing, Ron and Hermione were too busy with the revisions, and Harry already looked half-dead from the strain.
Since their night in the Forest, Elian had noticed Harry pressing his hand to his scar more and more. That mark, given to him by Voldemort, must have flared up because of the hooded figure they'd encountered. If that was indeed Voldemort, then the pain might be some kind of connection.
Elian also considered telling Harry, Ron, and Hermione about his ornaments, but the thought quickly soured. Burdening them with that knowledge now when the Philosopher's Stone already loomed over their heads felt like too much. Better to keep it to himself, at least for the time being.
Their final exam was History of Magic. An hour of scratching quills and endless questions about eccentric old wizards who had invented things like self-stirring cauldrons stood between them and freedom, a whole week of it until the results came out. When Professor Binns's ghostly voice finally drifted through the room, telling them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, the relief was almost tangible. Even Elian allowed himself to breathe easier. At last, the distractions were over. Now, he could turn his focus entirely to the Philosopher's Stone.
"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione, as they joined the crowds spilling into the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learnt about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."
"Granger," Elian said with a perfectly flat expression, "I wouldn't be surprised if you were the first witch in history to complain there's nothing left to learn after devouring a million books."
Hermione frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Elian replied, "the 1637 Werewolf Code isn't even covered until third year."
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't argue. It had been a while since they'd heard that familiar sarcasm from him. She started, as usual, to launch into a detailed recap of their exams, but Ron groaned that it made him feel sick. So instead they wandered down to the lake and collapsed under the shade of a tree. Out in the warm shallows, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were daring each other to tickle the giant squid's tentacles.
"No more revision," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."
Harry was rubbing his forehead.
"I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting – it's happened before, but never as often as this."
"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.
"It doesn't make sense for a ten-year-old scar to hurt that badly," Elian said slowly. "Unless…it's some sort of connection between you and Voldemort."
Hermione stiffened, and Ron nearly jumped.
"Please!" Ron exclaimed, wincing. "Don't say his name!"
But Harry hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on Elian, his voice low and tense.
"I think you're right," he muttered. "It feels like more than just pain, it's like a warning, like...Something's coming…"
"Harry, relax," Ron said. "Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape
found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."
Elian suddenly narrowed his eyes, as though a thought had slipped back into place.
"Wait, Weasley," he said, shutting his eyes briefly. "What exactly did you say about Fluffy?"
Ron blinked, puzzled.
"Er... I said we've got no proof Snape can get past him."
"We do have proof," Elian said, already striding off. "Come with me."
Harry hurried to catch up. "Hold on, what's got into you?"
"Hagrid got that dragon egg from some stranger, right when he wanted one most," Elian said sharply. "And think about it, how many people just happen to be carrying around an illegal dragon egg?"
Harry's eyes widened. "So you mean… Hagrid might've—"
"Yes, Potter," Elian cut in.
"What are you two on about?" gasped Ron, as he and Hermione jogged after them. But Harry and Elian were already sprinting full tilt toward Hagrid's hut, too focused to reply.
Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.
"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"
"Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut across him.
"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"
"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."
Elian, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances.
"Hagrid," Elian asked carefully, "did that stranger seem odd to you? Maybe… ask too many questions?"
Hagrid squinted, trying to recall.
"Well… yeah. He asked what I did, so I told him I was the gamekeeper. Then he wanted ter know about the creatures I look after. I said I'd always wanted a dragon. He kept buyin' me drinks, so it's all a bit fuzzy, but… oh, right. He said he had a dragon egg, and we could play cards fer it. But he wanted ter be sure I could manage. Didn't want it goin' ter just anyone. So I told him, after lookin' after Fluffy, a dragon'd be easy…"
"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –"
Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.
"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey -Where're yeh goin'?"
Elian, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't say a word until they stopped in the Entrance Hall, which felt cold and shadowed after the bright grounds.
"Well," Elian said dryly, "as always pulling it out of Hagrid was easier than expected."
"Now what?" Ron asked, looking uneasy.
"We've got to tell Dumbledore," Harry said firmly. "Hagrid gave that stranger the key to Fluffy. It had to be either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak, and getting Hagrid drunk made it simple. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up, if Bane doesn't get in the way. But… where's Dumbledore's office?"
Elian muttered under his breath, "Maybe the old man already knew."
Hermione frowned. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Elian said smoothly. "Let's just find his office."
They glanced around helplessly, as though a sign might appear to guide them. None of them had ever been told where Dumbledore lived, nor had they heard of anyone being sent to see him. Even Elian's secret passageways doesn't help them find it.
"We'll just have to—" Harry began, but a voice rang sharply across the hall.
"What are you four doing inside?"
It was Professor McGonagall, balancing a large pile of books in her arms.
"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, her voice steadier than the others expected.
"See Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall repeated, as if the request itself were suspicious. "And why would that be?"
Harry swallowed hard—what could he say?
"Because we want to," Elian interjected mock-innocently, his tone just a shade too smooth.
McGonagall's nostrils flared, her eyes narrowing.
"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry and flew to London at once."
"He's gone?" Harry blurted, panic rising in his voice. "Now?"
"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter. He has many demands on his time—"
"But this is important!" Harry cut in desperately.
McGonagall's expression hardened. "Are you suggesting, Potter, that what you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic itself?"
"No, ma'am," Elian cut in smoothly. "What Potter's suggesting is that there ought to be easier ways to reach Dumbledore than running around this maze you call a school."
"Vale, if the another word comes out of your mouth—" McGonagall began sharply.
"Professor, listen!" Harry cut in, throwing caution aside. "It's about the Philosopher's Stone—"
Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that.
The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms but she didn't pick them up.
'How do you know –?' she spluttered.
"Professor, I think – I know – that Sn– that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."
She looked at them with a mix of shock and stern suspicion.
"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said at last. "I don't know how you learned about the Stone, but I assure you it is far too well protected to be stolen."
"But Professor—" Harry began, his voice rising in panic.
Elian placed a steady hand on his shoulder, cutting him off.
"Understood, Professor," he said smoothly.
McGonagall's eyes lingered on them for a moment longer before she swept past after gathering the fallen books .
Once she was safely out of earshot, Elian drew the others aside, his expression hard.
"Telling any of the professors except Dumbledore is a waste of time, Potter," said Elian.
"Then what do we do now, if Dumbledore's not here to protect the Stone?" Ron asked, worried.
"We can—" Harry began, but Hermione suddenly gasped. The three of them spun around.
Snape was standing there.
"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.
They froze under his gaze.
"You shouldn't be skulking indoors on a day like this," Snape went on, lips curling into an odd, twisted smile.
"I believe it's the same day for you as well, Professor," Elian shot back dryly.
Snape's eyes flicked to Elian, sharp and cold, before turning back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"You ought to be more careful," he said softly. "Spending too much time with Vale will make people think you're plotting something. And Gryffindor can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"
Elian tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Oh, I'll take that as a compliment, sir," he replied, voice dripping with mock innocence.
Snape's expression tightened, but before he could retort, the four of them slipped away, not wanting to cause any problem with him.
"Right, here's what we've got to do," Harry whispered urgently. "One of us has to keep an eye on Snape—wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves. Hermione, you'd better do that."
"Why me?" she demanded.
"It's obvious," said Elian, matter-of-fact. "Snape despises Potter, so he'd spot him straightaway. Weasley's too oblivious for tailing anyone, and as for me—well, let's just say people already expect trouble when I'm around. That leaves the only one here with a level head: you, Granger."
Hermione blinked at him, half-annoyed, half reluctantly convinced.
"That… somehow makes sense," she muttered, and after a pause, nodded.
"And we'd better stake out the third-floor corridor," Harry told Elian and Ron. "Come on."
As they turned to go, Elian leaned toward Hermione.
"Keep an eye on Quirrell too."
"Quirrell? Why?" she asked quickly.
"He might still be trying to stop Snape," Elian said smoothly. "Could be useful to us."
In truth, he only wanted to keep Quirrell under quiet surveillance and Hermione was the perfect cover.
But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again, and this time, she lost her temper.
"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" she stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Vale, from my own house!"
Harry, Elian and Ron went back to the common room. Harry had just said, "At least Hermione's on Snape's tail," when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.
"I'm sorry, Harry!" she wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away. I don't know where Snape went."
"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.
"Of course not, Potter," Elian replied, almost lazily.
The three of them stared at him, unsettled by how unfazed he looked.
"What do you mean?" Harry pressed. "Dumbledore's gone, none of the professors trust us—how could we possibly do anything now? Wait…" His eyes widened. "You don't mean—"
"Oh, you catch on quicker than I thought," Elian interrupted with a smirk.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, then turned back to him.
"Er… what exactly are you planning, Elian?" Ron asked nervously.
"Oh, nothing dramatic," Elian said as if discussing the weather. "Just a late-night stroll to the third-floor corridor. I'll reach the Stone before Qu—before Snape does."
Hermione gasped, Ron's jaw dropped, and both looked at him as if he'd gone completely mad.
"You're mad!" Ron burst out.
"You can't!" Hermione cried. "After what McGonagall and Snape said? You'll be expelled!"
"Do you really think I care about being expelled?" Elian shot back. His voice was calm, but his eyes were hard. "Tell me what's worse? Me getting thrown out, or Voldemort coming back?"
Ron and Hermione fell silent, both turning to Harry as if he might talk sense into him.
Instead, Harry straightened. "I'm coming with you."
"Harry! Not you too!" Hermione's voice cracked with disbelief.
"He's right, Hermione!" Harry shouted, his fists clenched. "If Voldemort comes back, he won't just take Hogwarts, he'll take everything. I'd rather be expelled than let that happen. He killed my parents, remember?"
He glared at them.
"You're both right," Hermione admitted in a small voice.
"Me and Elian will use the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said. "Lucky I got it back."
"But will it cover all four of us?" Ron asked.
"All—four?" Harry echoed.
"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?" Ron said firmly.
"Of course not," Hermione added briskly. "How else do you think you'd reach the Stone without us? I'd better check my books—there might be something useful…"
"But if we're caught, you two will be expelled as well," Harry warned.
Elian shrugged. "Oh, come on, Potter. I already risked it with you and Granger in front of McGonagall, and you gave me that whole confrontation about friendship in the Forbidden Forest, remember?"
"He did what?" Ron asked, curious.
Elian smirked. "Didn't tell them, eh, Potter?"
Harry flushed. "Oh, knock it off."
But the matter was settled. All four of them would go to the third-floor corridor together, even if it meant expulsion.
*
After dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat apart in the common room. Elian had gone up to the dormitory, promising to bring the Invisibility Cloak once the room was empty and everyone was asleep. No one bothered them. None of the Gryffindors had much to say to Harry anymore—he still hadn't left Elian's side, and this was the first night he didn't feel stung by it. Hermione bent over her notes, flipping through page after page, desperate to find some clue about the enchantments they'd soon face. Ron and Harry sat in silence, each lost in thought, their nerves coiling tighter with every tick of the clock. One by one, the common room emptied, the fire burning lower as students drifted upstairs, until only the three of them remained.
"We better get ready, Elian will soon be here," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, yawning and stretching.
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to pick their wands, which they had hidden next to the fireplace, a voice from the corner of the room said, "What are you doing?"
Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.
"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, as they clutched their wands behind their backs.
Neville stared at their guilty faces.
"You're going out again," he said.
"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"
Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time; Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.
"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."
"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."
But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.
"I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll – I'll fight you!"
"Neville," Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot –"
"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. "I don't think–"
"Petrificus Totalus!" A voice came from behind Neville.
Neville's arms snapped to his sides, his legs locked together, and he toppled forward like a felled tree, landing face-first with a dull thud.
It was Elian, slipping the Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders.
"Move. Now," he said curtly.
Harry stared at Neville's motionless form. "What did you do to him?" he whispered.
"A full Body-Bind," Hermione answered miserably before Elian could. "We could've reasoned with him—"
"We don't have time to reason," Elian cut in, his tone sharp. "Every second we waste brings the Stone closer to Voldemort. Neville will forgive us later. Right now, he'd just get us all caught."
Hermione knelt briefly by Neville, her face twisted with guilt. "I'm sorry, Neville," she whispered.
Together, the four of them drew the Cloak over their heads and hurried toward the portrait hole, leaving Neville frozen and wide-eyed on the common room floor.
But leaving Neville stiff and helpless on the floor felt like a bad omen. In their nervous state, every flicker of torchlight became a lurking figure, every creak of stone sounded like Filch on their heels, and every sigh of wind felt like Peeves swooping in. At the foot of the first staircase, they froze. Mrs Norris crouched at the top step, her lantern-like eyes gleaming in the dark. The cat's gaze locked onto them, and for a moment no one dared breathe. Then Elian slipped his hand out from beneath the Cloak and gave a casual wave. To their astonishment, Mrs. Norris gave a low purr, blinked lazily, and curled up as if settling down for a nap.
"I'll never get it," Ron muttered under his breath as they crept past. "Why doesn't she rat you out like the rest of us?"
"Take it as proof animals love me," Elian murmured, his lips twitching with the faintest smirk.
They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.
"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed towards him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"
He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.
"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a creeping around unseen."
Harry had a sudden idea.
"Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."
Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.
"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake – I didn't see you – of course I didn't, you're invisible – forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."
"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."
"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."
And he scooted off.
"Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron.
A few seconds later, they stood outside the third-floor corridor—and the door was already ajar.
"Well, there you are," Harry muttered. "Snape's already got past Fluffy."
"Best case, we save the Philosopher's Stone," Elian said, half-sarcastically. "Worst case… we die. Except for Granger—her worst case is getting expelled."
"Oh, shut up," Hermione muttered, but all four shared a brief, nervous laugh before stepping inside.
As the door creaked open, low, rumbling growls rolled toward them. The dog's massive nose sniffed frantically in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.
"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.
"Looks like a harp," Ron muttered. "Snape must've left it there."
"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well… here goes."
He raised Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't a tune, more a shaky stream of notes, but from the first sound, the beast's eyelids began to sag. The growling faded to a heavy snore. With a thud, the massive body collapsed against the floor, dead asleep.
"Keep playing," Ron whispered sharply as they slipped out from under the Cloak. They crept forward, the dog's foul breath washing over them.
"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron said, leaning over its massive back. He glanced nervously at the trapdoor. As they pulled open the trapdoor, there was nothing but pitch dark. "So… who's going first?" Ron asked.
"You can do it, Weasley," Elian said in a mock-cheerful tone.
"Wha—"
Before Ron could react, Elian gave him a shove, and he vanished through the trapdoor with a startled yelp.
"And there he goes," Elian said calmly, dusting off his hands as though nothing had happened.
"Are you mad?!" Hermione hissed.
"He'll be fine," Elian replied without a hint of concern. Harry, still puffing into the flute, edged closer to the trapdoor. A moment later, Ron's voice drifted up from below.
"It's all right!"
Harry let out a breath of relief.
"Told you he'd be fine," Elian said smugly.
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "And how exactly did you know?"
Elian shrugged. "Just a hunch."
Harry gave Hermione a quick pat on the shoulder, then gestured that he'd go next. She reached for the flute to keep the tune going—only her fingers, slick with nerves, fumbled.
Tukk. The flute slipped from her hand and clattered against the floor.
Fluffy's eyes snapped open, glowing with sudden fury. With a thunderous jolt, the three-headed dog lunged straight at them.
Before Harry or Hermione could react, Elian hurled himself forward, planting himself between the beast and his friends. He threw his arms wide and clamped onto the middle head's neck, teeth bared, refusing to let go even as Fluffy reared up and shook him violently. Hermione and Harry yanked out their wands, panic in their faces.
"NO!" Elian roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. He clung tighter to the thrashing head, forcing it down.
Elian slowly reached a hand toward the center head, his movements steady and deliberate.
"Shhh," he whispered, his palm pressing gently against the coarse fur of Fluffy's brow. "You're safe. No one's here to hurt you. You've done your duty well. Rest now."
The monstrous growls rumbled into silence. All three heads blinked, their ferocity ebbing into something almost childlike. With a low whine, Fluffy eased back, lowering Elian carefully to the ground.
Elian turned back to find Harry and Hermione staring at him in shock.
"Let's go," he said briskly.
"How—how did you do that?" Harry stammered.
"I'd explain, Potter, but we don't have the time. Let's just say I've spent more hours with Hagrid than you lot." And before either of them could press further, Elian swung himself down through the trapdoor.
Harry and Hermione followed, landing with a soft, muffled thump. Harry pushed himself up, brushing dirt off his robes, then froze.
"Where's Ron?" he asked, glancing around. They were surrounded by thick, coiling vines that pulsed faintly in the dim light.
Hermione's face drained of color. "Oh no… no, no—"
"What is it?" Harry demanded.
"Don't move!" Hermione barked.
Harry blinked. "Why—"
But Elian didn't hesitate. He had already noticed the vines tightening like snakes around their ankles and wrists.
"Do as she says, Potter!" he snapped.
Harry froze, and at once the vines loosened their grip, slithering away just enough for them to slip free.
Harry gasped, horrified. "But what about Ron? He's been here longer—what if—"
"Then we don't have much time," Elian urged.
"It's Devil's Snare!" Hermione gasped, rifling through her memory. "Professor Sprout said it thrives in the dark and damp—"
"Then we need fire!" Harry shouted. "Elian, make some!"
"I can't control it yet, Potter!" Elian snapped. "One wrong spark and Weasley's done for."
Hermione's eyes lit with sudden realization. "Oh—of course!" She yanked out her wand, muttered an incantation, and a jet of bluebell flames burst forth, licking harmlessly at their robes as it devoured the vines. The plant writhed, recoiling from the light, and with a heavy thud, Ron dropped to the ground. He lay there gasping, eyes wide, coughing as if he'd been strangled.
"Next time, give me a warning before shoving me into danger," Ron croaked.
"Next time, try paying attention in Herbology," Elian shot back as he and Harry hauled Ron up. Hermione retrieved his wand and handed it over.
They pressed on down the only available path, a narrow stone passageway that sloped steadily downward. Their footsteps echoed, and now and then, a drop of water splashed from the ceiling onto the floor.
"Wait—hear that?" Ron whispered.
Elian tilted his head. A faint rustling and clinking drifted through the air ahead.
"Think it's a ghost?" Ron muttered.
"If it is, it's either Peeves or the noisiest ghost Hogwarts has ever had," Elian murmured.
"Sounds more like wings," Harry said.
"There's light up ahead," Hermione whispered, eyes narrowing. "And something's 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 if we cross the room?" Ron asked nervously.
"Probably," Harry said. "They don't look vicious, but if they all swooped at once…" He squared his shoulders. "Well, there's nothing for it. I'll run."
"Wait—" Elian began, narrowing his eyes at the glittering swarm, but Harry had already bolted forward. Ron and Hermione yelped and scrambled after him, arms raised to shield their faces.
Nothing happened. The birds only wheeled overhead in a dazzling blur of color.
Ron lowered his arms, grinning. "That was easy. Now we just open the door."
He and Harry shoved at the heavy wood, but it didn't budge an inch. Hermione flicked her wand. "Alohomora!" Sparks fizzled, but the lock didn't even click. Elian finally crossed the chamber, gaze sweeping the restless birds overhead. His voice was calm but edged. "These aren't just decorations."
"Then what are they?" Ron asked, squinting up at the glittering swarm.
"They're not birds," Harry said suddenly, eyes widening.
"They're keys," Elian finished for him. "Winged keys."
Hermione pointed across the chamber. "Look! Broomsticks! We'll have to catch the right one to open the door."
Ron hurried to the lock, running his fingers over it. "But there are hundreds! How do we know which—"
"Silver," Elian cut in, scanning the fluttering storm overhead. "Old-fashioned. Something that matches this handle."
They each grabbed a broomstick—except Elian.
"Hurry up, take one!" Harry called as he and the others kicked off into the air.
"I'm not exactly skilled with broomsticks, Potter," Elian replied calmly. "But I can manage…differently."
He closed his eyes, focusing. Magic pulsed from his feet, flowing evenly through his body. Slowly, impossibly, he lifted from the ground, hovering with steady control.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione froze mid-air, staring.
"How—how are you—" Hermione stammered.
"Let's just say I spent my time learning other ways to fly," Elian said, keeping himself balanced as if the air itself held him up. "Details later. First, the key."
Still stunned, the three of them didn't press further. Instead, they soared straight into the glittering storm of keys. They grabbed and snatched but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one. Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.
"That one!" he called to the others. "That big one – there – no, there – with bright blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side."
Elian shot off in the direction Harry had pointed, but his control faltered. He veered wildly and collided with Ron, who was also speeding toward the same spot. Ron's broom wobbled dangerously as Elian grabbed hold to keep himself from falling.
"I still need a bit more practice," Elian said, dangling casually from Ron's broom.
"Practice? We're both going to crash!" Ron shouted, clutching the handle for dear life.
"I trust you can balance us, Weasley!" Elian shot back. Then, craning his neck, he called, "Potter! Where is it now?"
"There!" Harry yelled, eyes locked on the silver key with the bent wing as it darted high toward the ceiling. "We've got to close in on it!"
"Weasley! You ready?!" Elian shouted.
"For what?!" Ron cried, straining to keep both their weights balanced on the broom.
"For closing in!" Elian yelled. "Granger, stop it from going down—we'll block it from above! Potter, you try to catch it. Now!"
Elian gave a shove on Ron's broom and lunged toward the key. Hermione shot upward, trying to intercept it from below, but the key darted and twisted out of her reach. Elian crashed onto Hermione with a loud THUD, both tumbling awkwardly. Harry surged after the key as it zipped toward the wall. With a well-timed leap and a crunching grab, he pinned the key against the stone, holding it tight with one hand. "All according to my plan," Elian said as he stood up.
"I am not even surprised anymore by your antics," Hermione sighed as Elian pulled her up. Harry and Ron landed quickly, then the four of them ran to the door, the key struggling in Harry's hand. Harry rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.
"Ready?" Harry asked the other three, 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. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly 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 they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, far across the chamber, stood the white pieces. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shivered—the towering white chessmen had no faces.
"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.
"Isn't it obvious?" Elian said.
"We've got to play our way across the room," Ron finished grimly.
Beyond the white pieces, another door gleamed faintly in the light.
"How?" Hermione asked nervously.
"I think," Ron said, "we're going to have to be chessmen."
He stepped toward a black knight and laid a hand on the horse's flank. At once, the stone shuddered to life. The horse pawed the ground, and the knight turned his helmeted head to regard Ron.
"Do we—er—have to join you to get across?" Ron asked. The black knight gave a slow, solemn nod.
"That means we take the place of the black pieces," Elian said, moving to stand beside Ron. He shot him a serious look. "So, Weasley—what counter-gambit do you think we should use?"
"Uh… I think—" Ron faltered.
"We don't have time, Weasley," Elian cut in firmly. "Potter and Granger aren't exactly chess masters, so we need a solid counter-attack as Black."
"You're right," Ron said, squaring his shoulders. His hesitation faded into focus.
Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching the two of them work it out. Finally, Elian pointed across the board. "Potter, take the place of that bishop. Granger, you go to that castle. I'll be the rook. And Weasley—"
"I'll be the knight," Ron finished, his voice steady now.
The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because as soon as the words left their mouths, a rook, a knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and marched off the board. Four empty squares waited, and Elian, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped into place.
Almost at once, a white pawn slid forward two squares. Ron took the lead, his eyes narrowing in concentration, while Elian stayed close, watching the board like a second set of eyes. Ron called the plays, and Elian quietly corrected small hesitations, keeping the strategy sharp and steady.
"Harry—move diagonally, four squares to the right."
Their first real shock came when the other black knight was taken. The white queen swung her arm with brutal force, smashing him to the floor before dragging the stone piece off the board. It lay motionless at the edge, face down.
"Had to let that happen," Ron muttered, though his face had gone pale.
"Focus, Weasley," Elian said sharply, his eyes never leaving the board.
"I know." Ron swallowed hard. "It leaves you free to take that bishop—Hermione, go on!"
Each time one of their pieces was struck down, the white chessmen showed no hesitation, no mercy.
Elian and Ron directed most of the moves, shielding Harry and Hermione from the worst of the danger. Whenever Ron faltered, Elian was quick to step in.
"Weasley—look. Their rook, four squares ahead. It's open, we can take it."
Ron hesitated. "But that would put you at risk—"
"Oh, stop fussing. I know what I'm doing." With that, Elian strode forward four squares and struck down the white rook. The game pressed on, Ron and Elian moving like a seamless pair, until Ron's eyes darted to the white queen—only two squares away on the diagonal.
"Elian, that's—"
"I know," Elian said grimly. "Didn't I tell you what I was doing?"
"What's happening?" Harry asked, panic edging into his voice.
"Elian's about to sacrifice himself!"
"NO!" Harry and Hermione shouted together.
"Quiet!" Elian barked. "That's how chess works! I'll let the queen take me, then Weasley will finish it with checkmate."
But Ron's voice came steady, almost too calm. "You didn't see the other side, Elian. If I'm taken, Harry can checkmate the king."
"What—" Elian started, but Ron had already stepped forward. The queen moved in a blur, her stone arm striking Ron hard across the head. He crashed to the ground. Hermione screamed. Elian clenched his fist, every instinct urging him forward, but he stayed rooted to his square as the white queen dragged Ron's limp body aside.
Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.
The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry, Elian and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway. Elian stayed silent, his face unreadable.
"What if he's—" Hermione began, her voice trembling.
"He'll be all right," Harry cut in quickly, though the tightness in his tone betrayed his doubt. "We just… we just have to keep going. What do you reckon's next?"
"We've had Sprout's Devil's Snare… Flitwick must've enchanted the keys… McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive…" Hermione ticked them off in a whisper, her mind racing. "That leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's."
They reached the next door, its heavy frame looming before them.
"All right, Elian?" Harry whispered, uneasy at how quiet he had become.
"Move, Potter," Elian muttered, his voice low and flat.
Harry swallowed, took a steadying breath, and pushed the door open.
A foul stench hit them immediately, so strong that both of them yanked their robes over their noses. Their eyes watered as they saw what lay sprawled on the floor ahead: a troll, even larger than the one they had fought before, unconscious with a bloody lump swelling on its head.
"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered as they edged past its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."
He pulled open the next door, both of them bracing themselves for the next horror, only to find a room that looked almost ordinary. In the center stood a long table, lined with seven oddly shaped bottles, gleaming in the dim light.
"Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?"
They stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway
leading onwards. They were trapped.
"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry and Elian looked over her shoulder to read it:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever 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 hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
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 onwards, 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.
Elian smirked, and Hermione let out a long, exasperated sigh. Harry was amazed, neither of them seemed the least bit worried.
"A basic puzzle, eh?" Elian said casually.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, brow furrowed.
"He means it's not magic, Harry," Hermione said. "It's pure logic. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of it, they'd be stuck in here forever."
"But… so will we, won't we?" Harry pressed.
"Of course not, Potter," Elian replied, nodding toward Hermione. "We have the know-it-all herself on our side."
Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing.
"And even if she gets stuck somewhere," Elian added, smirking, "I've got a bit of logic myself."
Harry stayed quiet as Elian and Hermione studied the paper, reading it over several times. Elian moved toward the bottles, rearranging them in a certain pattern. Hermione muttered to herself, then instructed Elian to adjust the lineup again.
Finally, they high-fived, both looking at Harry.
"Potter, the smallest bottle will get you through the black fire—toward the Stone," Elian said.
Harry glanced at the tiny bottle. "There's barely enough for one sip," he said.
They exchanged glances.
"Which one will take you back through the purple flames?"
Hermione pointed to a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.
"But that's hardly enough for a sip either," Elian said. "Here's the plan: I'll go toward the black flames for the Stone. Granger, you take the purple one, help Ron, and use the broomsticks from the flying key room to escape the Trapdoor. Send a letter to Dumbledore through Marco or Hedwig once you're out."
Harry hesitated. "And me?"
"You stay here as a backup and wait for help," Elian replied.
"No," Harry said. "You've already done a lot. I'm the one who dragged everyone into this mess."
"You're forgetting that I wanted to come here first, Potter. Don't be stubborn."
"You're the one being stubborn, Elian," Harry shot back. "What if the one behind that door is Voldemort? I already faced him once."
"Luck won't always be on your side, Potter," Elian warned.
"Stop fighting!" Hermione snapped. "We don't have much time."
Elian took a long, steadying breath.
"I want the Stone too," he finally admitted.
Harry and Hermione exchanged startled glances.
"But… why?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll explain everything later," Elian said, his tone softening. "I just need to touch it once. Please… let me go." For the first time, his voice was pleading.
Harry put a hand firmly on Elian's shoulder. "Then trust me. I'll bring you the Stone," he said, trying to sound brave. Elian's thoughts flickered back to the faceless man's words.
"All right, Potter," he said at last. "Hold your ground… I'll be on your side soon enough."
Hermione suddenly threw herself at both of them, hugging them tightly.
"Hermione!" "Granger!" Harry and Elian exclaimed in unison.
"You both are amazing wizards," Hermione said, still clutching them.
"Not greater than you," Harry replied with a grin.
"I mean, you're better than me at some things too, Granger," Elian added.
"No," Hermione said firmly. "You're both different. I wouldn't be this brave—or have such great friends—if it weren't for you."
"Enough with the embarrassing words, Granger," Elian said sarcastically. "I'll share my notes with you from now on."
All three laughed together one last time.
"All right then," Elian said, holding out the potions. "Drink up."
Harry and Hermione drank their potions simultaneously. Hermione darted through the purple flames, while Harry carefully stepped through the black fire.
"Now," Elian said, sliding a hand through his robes, "it's my turn."