Hermione opened her mouth—but before she could speak, Harry burst out in a frantic rush:
"—Snape. He betrayed Vaughn and Dumbledore. I heard it myself. He's the one who schemed to send Vaughn, Dumbledore, and McGonagall to the Ministry, just to give Quirrell the chance to steal the Stone!"
Ron immediately chimed in, triumphant:
"Ha! I told you lot! I always said the greasy bat was bad news! You didn't believe me months ago—believe it now?"
"Ron, please," Harry snapped. "That doesn't matter anymore."
He rubbed his forehead. His scar burned faintly again—dull but growing. He winced, gritting his teeth, and looked at Hermione.
"Quirrell will go for the Stone any moment. What do we do now?"
He desperately hoped Hermione—his smartest friend—had a plan.
But Hermione didn't speak.
She didn't react at all.
She wasn't even blinking.
"Hermione?"
"Oh—uh." She finally blinked, proving she wasn't dead. "I heard you. I'm just thinking. You're sure Snape threatened Quirrell?"
"Of course I'm sure! I heard every word."
"…Right. I was just thinking—why would Snape dare threaten him if Quirrell is… You-Know-Who?"
Ron snorted. "That's not weird. Prophecies always twist words. Foggy and mysterious. Firenze even said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in terrible shape. Maybe Quirrell just has some cursed object with a bit of his soul or something, and that's why the prophecy treats them as one."
It was surprisingly sensible. Ron, raised on wizarding lore, understood mythic phrasing better than any of them.
Hermione nodded. "In that case, this is actually good news. It means Quirrell won't move immediately."
Harry blinked. "What? Why?!"
"Because they don't trust each other," Hermione explained patiently. "Snape clearly doesn't know the truth about Voldemort's condition. Quirrell is hiding something major from him. If Quirrell doesn't trust Snape, he won't simply act the moment Snape tells him to. He'll want to confirm Dumbledore really left Hogwarts."
She lifted a shoulder. "He can't do that until morning."
Ron and Harry both sagged in relief.
Quirrell had taken months to make his move. He wasn't reckless anymore.
Harry clenched a fist. "So… we have a few hours!"
"And what can we do in a few hours?" Ron griped. "If only the greasy bat hadn't sabotaged the Floo Network—we could've Floo'd to the Ministry!"
"What about owls?"
Ron stared at him pityingly. "Harry… by the time an owl gets there, Voldemort will be eating breakfast."
Frustration twisted Harry's face.
"So what do we do?! If we can't warn anyone—we stop Quirrell ourselves. If he wants the Stone, then we get to it first!"
Ron stared at him like he'd grown dragon wings.
"You've gone bonkers, mate."
"What else do you expect me to do? Sit around waiting? Let Quirrell walk in when Dumbledore's away, pick up the Stone like it's a bottle of pumpkin juice, and revive Voldemort?!"
"I—well—yeah—but—Harry, that's suicide—"
Ron looked desperately at Hermione, hoping she'd back him up.
But Hermione wasn't listening.
Her mind was spiraling elsewhere.
Phoenix tears. Resurrection.
Three bottles.
Why three?
And it wasn't the first time Vaughn had given her strange protective items—anti-toxin potions, fire-resistant elixirs, recordings of unicorn language…
Like he had been preparing her.
Like he knew something was coming.
Hermione knew Vaughn was hopeless at Divination. Their Astronomy professor had repeatedly written that neither of them had "the faintest spiritual instincts" for prophecy.
So if he hadn't foreseen anything…
Had he known?
Had he known she'd face danger someday… and that he wouldn't be there to intervene?
Had he given her these things because—
for some reason—
he wouldn't be able to help her?
Her thoughts shot further.
Snape claiming Ministry connections?
Ridiculous. Vaughn said Snape barely had a social life, let alone that kind of influence.
Then Vaughn, Dumbledore, McGonagall leaving at the same time?
Too convenient.
They planned this.
Her breath caught.
"…They're luring Quirrell to steal the Stone."
The idea chilled her.
She trusted Vaughn. She trusted Dumbledore.
But why?
Why engineer this?
Why not arrest Quirrell? Or Voldemort?
Why leave Harry to face him?
Why—
"—you still don't get it, do you Ron? If Quirrell gets the Stone, Voldemort comes back—"
"Stop saying his name!"
"Why shouldn't I?! I am scared. In the forest last night—when I heard the prophecy—I froze. But being scared doesn't solve anything! Running away doesn't solve anything! My parents—Neville's parents—everyone he killed—none of that will change if we hide!"
Ron's face flushed red, speechless.
Hermione stared at Harry in shock.
For once, he was eloquent. Passionate.
Brave.
Still reckless, of course—but brave.
Ron looked helplessly between them. "I always thought I'd die because Fred and George pranked me too hard. Didn't expect you two to beat them to it."
Harry flushed. "Ron, look—you don't have to—"
"No!"
Ron cut him off fiercely.
"We're friends. I'm not letting you two idiots go alone. Whatever happens—we face it together!"
"…Ron."
"…Harry."
The two stared at each other emotionally—
until Hermione looked around awkwardly, wondering why she suddenly felt like the extra wheel.
…
Harry wanted to leave immediately.
Hermione stopped him with a single sentence:
"We don't know the traps."
She folded her arms. "Dumbledore redesigned the protections. Snape confirmed the three-headed dog was removed. We know nothing. If we rush in, we could all die before Quirrell even gets there."
"So what do we do?"
Hermione's answer was crisp:
"We let Quirrell trigger them."
Harry and Ron both flinched.
It made too much sense.
"Go back to bed. Tomorrow we tail Quirrell. He'll have to verify Dumbledore's absence before he acts. When he moves—we follow."
"How do we tail him?" Ron protested. "Use the Invisibility Cloak all day?"
"No. I'll ask Guo Guo Tea to help." Hermione shot Ron a pointed look. "Unless, of course, your fat rat wants to contribute for once."
"It's not fat, it's Scabbers! And don't you dare bring that cat near Gryffindor Tower!"
"Humph."
Harry reluctantly agreed—because Ron was unreliable, and Hermione was the only one making sense.
Back in the dorm, Ron fell asleep instantly.
Harry… didn't.
He lay awake for hours—haunted by destiny, Voldemort, Dumbledore's traps, Firenze's words—until exhaustion finally dragged him under.
Only for Ron to wake him minutes later.
By morning, Harry looked like a ghost with eye bags.
Ron declared proudly, "I couldn't sleep at all!"
Harry didn't respond.
Fortunately, Hermione was waiting in the common room—with a bottle.
"Cheering Potion. Vaughn gave it to me. Knew you wouldn't sleep."
It worked too well.
Harry gulped it down—
And immediately wanted to go boating, hug trees, skip classes, feed the squid, and enjoy life.
Ron and Hermione dragged him bodily to Madam Pomfrey.
After several antidotes, he finally regained his mind—barely.
"That was terrifying," Harry gasped afterward. "Her potions taste worse than Quirrell's garlic scarves."
Hermione refused to imagine that comparison.
She asked, "Did you think all night?"
"Too much…" He rubbed his temples. "You got Guo Guo Tea to help, right? We need constant surveillance. If Quirrell realizes Dumbledore's gone—"
Guo Guo Tea agreed after receiving two packets of fish snacks.
But it wasn't needed.
Because when they entered the Great Hall—
the entire school already knew.
"Vaughn Weasley and Dumbledore met an Ilvermorny envoy at the Ministry! At midnight! Merlin, why midnight?"
"Time zones?"
"What's Ilvermorny? Another magic school?! I thought Hogwarts was the only one!"
Three heads snapped toward the staff table.
Quirrell was reading the article.
Vaughn and Dumbledore were on the front page—beside an Ilvermorny representative with dark circles worse than Harry's.
The news article outlined Vaughn's achievements—wolfbane reform, international attention, unrest in North America, hopes for peace…
Harry didn't care about politics.
But he did notice Quirrell's tightening grip on the newspaper.
Hermione reacted instantly.
She strode straight to the staff table.
"Hermione—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Ron hissed.
But she was already smiling sweetly at Quirrell and Flitwick.
They heard her asking in her polite, curious voice:
"Professor Quirrell, Professor Flitwick—could you explain the Salem anti-wizard movement? The paper didn't go into detail…"
Ron nearly buried his face in a plate.
But nothing happened.
Hermione returned, alive and smug.
"He'll move during lunch break."
"H-how do you know?" Harry stammered.
"A little conversational technique," she said primly. "I asked about the anti-wizard movement. It's too complex to summarize in a few words. I requested private explanations."
"Professor Flitwick agreed at once. Quirrell said he needs his lunch break to rest, and told me to visit later."
The corners of her lips curled upward.
"But I don't believe for a moment he's planning to nap."
Harry and Ron stared.
At that moment—Hermione looked like the smartest, bravest witch alive.
The two boys exchanged looks.
For the first time…
They wondered whether they were actually contributing anything at all.
…
At the Ministry, Vaughn and Dumbledore finished lunch with Josiah Potter, the Ilvermorny representative—who kept talking about ancestry, witch trials, Aurors, war, pride, tragedy…
Eventually, Vaughn politely dismissed him.
Once they left the room, Dumbledore flicked his fingers, sealing them in a privacy charm.
"No need to be upset," Dumbledore chuckled. "People always underestimate the young."
"I'm not upset." Vaughn shrugged. "We only came to make an alibi. The real negotiation—if it ever happens—will be on my terms. They need me. I don't need them."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly.
Then he grew serious.
"The Daily Prophet article should spread through Hogwarts by now. When do you think Quirinus will act?"
"Lunch break," Vaughn said without hesitation.
"Ah! Same as me. And your reasoning?"
"He's desperate," Vaughn said. "Voldemort is draining him. He can't afford mistakes. He'll move the instant he thinks it's safe."
Dumbledore's smile faded.
The old man sighed deeply.
Quirrell's fall still pained him.
And this trial—successful or not—would be his end.
They walked in silence.
Until—
They both felt it.
The Trial Chamber's door had opened.
The traps were triggered.
"It has begun," Dumbledore whispered.
…
The midday heat was oppressive.
Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak by the entrance to the fourth-floor forbidden corridor, the Trio sipped watered-down Cheering Potion to stay awake.
Harry nearly nodded off several times.
Then Ron shook him violently.
Harry's eyes snapped open—bloodshot—just in time to see Quirrell approaching, fast, pale, hood drawn low.
He paused repeatedly, glancing behind him, paranoid.
He passed so near them that Harry could have reached out and touched his sleeve.
They held their breath, frozen like statues.
Quirrell opened the door and slipped inside.
The Trio stumbled after him, legs tingling from numbness.
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore's new protections looked like.
He expected hellish monsters… or riddles… or magical constructs…
Instead—
They stepped through the doorway—
And the floor vanished.
They plunged into darkness.
"Ah—!"
Harry didn't know how long they fell.
His mind blanked.
Until, suddenly—solid ground.
He staggered upright—
And froze.
He was alone.
Hermione—Ron—Quirrell—gone.
He stood in a colossal hall, glittering like a palace, stretching beyond sight.
A single monolithic stone tablet towered before him, glowing faintly.
Harry wiped his glasses and stared as words carved into its surface shimmered:
WELCOME TO THE TRIAL CHAMBER
PLEASE OBSERVE THE FOLLOWING RULES:
1. Magic is strictly prohibited here.
PS: I've been releasing chapters daily . Honestly, it hurts seeing almost no support on Patreon after all that work.
If you're enjoying the fic, even a little, supporting me would mean a lot. It helps a student stay independent .
complete fic (all chapters ) are already up on P@treon → patreon.com/FinalArcHero789
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 70 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/FinalArcHero789