Although she now understood what the room wanted her to do, Amanda had no intention of following the designer's plan.
Moments ago, beside the three-headed dog Fluffy, she had spotted a harp left behind.
The instant she saw it, her brain deduced that Hermione and the others couldn't have conjured it; even Hermione wasn't that skilled at Transfiguration.
Therefore, the harp could only belong to one person—the one plotting to steal the Philosopher's Stone: Professor Quirrell.
From that she concluded Quirrell had already entered the forbidden area. And if Hermione's trio had also ventured inside… her heart lurched and her head rang.
She lifted her gaze indifferently, strode across the room, and leveled her wand at the wooden door ahead.
"Reducto."
Bang! Crash! With her magic pouring out, the door flew backward; for two heartbeats it visibly resisted her spell, proof of protective enchantments.
The moment she stepped into the next chamber she saw Hermione and Ron. Ron lay unconscious on a giant chessboard; Hermione knelt beside him, trying to wake him.
Footsteps made Hermione jerk her head up. Relief flickered across her face when she saw Amanda, then fresh panic replaced it.
"Amanda! How did you get here? Go—get out and find a Professor, hurry!"
Hermione shouted urgently, but Amanda acted as if she hadn't heard. Expressionless, she set foot on the board.
Sensing new presence, the shattered pieces re-formed at once; the two armies realigned.
Hermione and Ron stood trapped among them, yet the pieces ignored them completely.
Hermione wanted to yell at Amanda to retreat, but it was impossible—the game was set and Amanda had to play.
What calmed her slightly was knowing Amanda's wizard chess was excellent; Harry and Ron had told her Ron had lost ten straight games against her.
Amanda's emotionless gaze swept the opposing pieces, then Hermione and the unconscious Ron.
Hermione bore no visible injuries and her mind was clear—no major harm done.
Though Ron was out cold, Hermione's lack of desperation suggested he too was stable.
Hermione had told her to fetch a Professor, and Harry was absent, meaning Quirrell had gone deeper and Harry had followed, sending Hermione for help.
In an instant Amanda's mind mapped the most probable scenario.
Harry versus Professor Quirrell—survival probability: minimal.
The conclusion surfaced automatically; then, eyes vacant, she started toward Hermione and Ron.
Halfway across the board—clang! The front-row knights whipped out swords and barred her way.
She raised her wand with detached calm. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Every chess piece rose into the air under the Levitation Charm. Hermione stared, remembering the day Amanda had ripped a wall from its foundations.
With a dispassionate flick, Amanda sent the floating pieces crashing into the wall behind Hermione and Ron, shattering them.
She knelt before Hermione and tapped Ron's chest with her wand. "Rennervate."
Ron sucked in a sharp breath and snapped his eyes open.
The first thing he saw was Amanda, and he echoed Hermione's question.
"Amanda?! What are you doing here?"
In a flat, mechanical tone she answered, "Worried about you. Came."
Hearing the word "worried" from Amanda herself, Hermione stared in disbelief and faint delight.
Feeling Hermione's gaze, Amanda met her eyes, pausing when she noticed the tear-tracks on her cheeks.
Uncertain how to comfort, she pulled a tissue from her robe pocket and offered it.
"Wipe your face."
Though the voice remained stiff, Hermione heard warmth in it.
Smiling gratefully, she took the tissue and mumbled thanks.
Ron, still on the floor, averted his eyes, thinking he'd feel far more comfortable in a Hospital Wing bed.
Or—he'd gladly play another game; anything to escape this awkwardness.
Mercifully, it didn't last. Once Hermione had dried her tears, Amanda stood without hesitation.
Seeing her about to press on, Hermione blurted, "Amanda! It's dangerous ahead—the thief after the Stone is there. Come back with us and find a Professor!"
Her eyes and voice were almost pleading. Knowing Harry was ahead hurt, but the thought of Amanda going too felt like a blade.
She didn't want Amanda to go; the notion blazed in her mind. The fact that the forward Potion had already been drunk slipped away in her panic.
"Harry versus Professor Quirrell—survival rate: minimal," Amanda repeated.
Then she added, "Hermione… wouldn't want Harry to die."
The sentence came haltingly; she could deduce the conclusion yet couldn't grasp the emotions behind it.
Her mind still lacked feeling, leaving the analysis incomplete.
Hermione stared as Amanda blasted the next door open and stepped through without looking back.
She didn't want Harry to die—but she wanted even less for Amanda to die, fool!
Yet Hermione knew chasing her was pointless; the refusal had been clear, and dragging Amanda back would only hinder her.
Only by fetching a Professor could she truly save Amanda and Harry.
Grimly, Hermione found strength she never knew she had, hauled Ron up, and slung his arm over her shoulder.
Ron bit back a groan. "Hermione, leave me here. I'll slow you—go get a Professor."
"Don't talk nonsense, Ron!" Hermione shot back. Leaving Ron here in this state—he'd be helpless against any danger. If something happened, it would be over.
On the other side, when Amanda blasted the door and strode into the next chamber, a wave of stench slammed into her.
A massive Troll lay sprawled on the floor, even larger than the one she'd killed last time.
Without the slightest change of expression, Amanda stepped over the Troll and headed straight for the entrance to the next room.
This time there was no door; purple flames blocked the doorway instead.
Without hesitation, her mind skipped the flames and locked on the wall beside them.
"Bombarda, Bombarda, Bombarda…"
A relentless stream of blasting curses erupted from the tip of her wand. Even a wall warded against Charms began to give way, chunks of stone flying in all directions.
After eight full Bombardas, the wall finally crumbled, leaving a gaping hole. Stepping through the rubble, she found… another wall.
She didn't spare the nearby table of Potions a glance; Amanda coolly resumed Bombarding.
Amid the deafening explosions, Quirrell—forcing Harry to look into the mirror of erised—froze, as did the face of Lord Voldemort on the back of his head.
That sound… could Dumbledore have arrived?
Boom! With the final blast, a girl's silhouette stepped through the breach.
Harry spun around; his pupils quaked at the sight of Amanda. Fear for his friend eclipsed every other feeling.
"Run! Amanda—RUN!"
At his roar, Quirrell and the Dark Lord on his cranium snapped to attention. "Seize her!"
A shrill, raspy voice rang out. Amanda's gaze fixed on the back of Quirrell's head; the voice had come from there.
At the command, Quirrell raised his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Watching the jet of light streak toward her, Amanda stayed perfectly calm, sidestepped, and the spell struck the floor behind her.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Hearing the incantation, Quirrell tensed, white-knuckled on his wand. He hadn't forgotten how this girl wielded the Levitation Charm with lethal artistry.
Last time in the Forbidden Forest he'd nearly died beneath her floating boulders; only his master's intervention had saved him.
But instead of targeting him, Amanda's Levitation Charm seized Harry.
Still reeling from shock and worry, Harry felt himself rise, then glide behind her as she pulled him to safety.
"Catch her! Catch them both! The Philosopher's Stone is in the boy's pocket!"
The shrill voice shrieked again. Amanda's stare bored into the back of Quirrell's skull.
Obeying, Quirrell snapped off Killing Curse after Killing Curse.
"Wingardium Leviosa." Her wand flicked upward; floor tiles leapt into the air, forming a barricade that absorbed the lethal bolts.
Alone, she could duel him spell-for-spell, but with a bound Harry behind her she could only defend.
Constantly repairing the floating wall, she turned a blank face to Harry.
"Untie yourself, take the Philosopher's Stone and run."
Harry clenched his teeth, tore free of the ropes, scrambled up, and sprinted for the hole she'd blasted.
He understood: only by leaving could he free her to fight without restraint.
A sidelong glance confirmed his escape; with a sharp sweep of her wand she dissolved the wall, sending the stones hurtling at Quirrell.
Quirrell rolled frantically, only to be caught squarely by a Densaugeo.
Seeing the hit, Harry ducked back through the hole; he would run from the room, but never abandon her.
Dodging two green flashes, Amanda ringed Quirrell with four Incendio jets.
"Wingardium Leviosa." The flames roared higher, whipping into a fiery tornado that trapped him at its center.
Heat surged; even Harry, beyond the wall, felt scorching air pour through the breach.
Inside the vortex Quirrell screamed, hurling curses blindly—when he could see her he missed, now he hadn't a hope.
Calmly sidestepping, Amanda kept the firestorm spinning; his shrieks stirred no pity, no triumph, no hesitation.
She had broken no rule worth a life; therefore no one had the right to take hers.
If Quirrell meant to break that rule, any retaliation was justified.
The curses from within slowed; his body charred, carbonized.
With a roar, Lord Voldemort tore free of the dying host and streamed away as a black, man-shaped smoke.
Voldemort—her mind tagged him at once—could pass through flame; physical attacks were useless for now.
With a downward slash she collapsed the fiery column, incinerating Quirrell from head to toe until only ash remained.
Listening to the final screams, Harry swallowed hard. That was Amanda, all right… Then he spotted the drifting black smoke overhead—Voldemort.
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