Charlie stepped into the room that held Fluffy and ignored the thick, dog-heavy stink that filled every corner. He lifted one hand. A fine golden powder drifted from his fingers.
Fluffy was half-awake, breathing slow and heavy. With every inhale the Dream Sand slipped into the great dog's lungs.
By the time Charlie reached the trapdoor, soft snoring already rolled through the chamber.
He lifted the hatch and looked down into pure black.
Harry and the others had already jumped. The drop was survivable.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
A feather-light charm settled over him. He stepped off the edge and floated down like a slow balloon.
Halfway, he flicked his fingers.
"Lumos."
Lumi and a swarm of smaller light sprites poured out of nowhere and streaked downward. Their glow lit the Devil's Snare waiting below. The vines shrank back at once, coiling into the far corners of the stone walls as if the light itself burned them.
Charlie's boots touched the floor without a sound. The corridor stretched ahead—rough stone, iron torch brackets casting thin orange light that barely pushed the dark away.
Fiona hovered at his shoulder. "Charlie, where are we going?"
Lumi drifted closer, equally curious.
"An interesting adventure," Charlie said. "Settling a small account with a friend. And in a minute the two of you will need to do me a favor."
His voice stayed light, but the usual easy smile was gone. The expression left on his face was cooler, flatter, almost unfriendly.
He walked forward. The first door appeared soon enough. The moment he pushed it open, a frantic flutter of wings filled the air.
"Birds!" Fiona said.
They looked up. Not birds. Keys—dozens of them, every one fitted with a pair of wings, darting and spinning through the high chamber.
Several brooms lay scattered across the floor. Charlie left them where they were.
"Lumi, Fiona—grab me one of the keys with the drooping wings. That one opens the door ahead."
The sprites shot upward. It took them a short while; the key was the size of a man's palm once the wings were counted, and it fought hard. That was why Charlie had summoned the entire swarm of lesser light sprites instead of relying on Lumi alone.
They closed in, pinned the key between them, and forced it down into Charlie's waiting hand.
"Good work. Rest now."
The smaller lights flickered out one by one, looking faintly disappointed. Charlie slid the key into the lock. A soft click, and the next door swung open onto darkness.
A faint coppery smell of blood hung in the air. The chessboard beyond was in ruins—scattered stones, broken pieces, and one still figure slumped against the far edge.
Charlie adjusted the Invisibility Cloak and stepped over Ron's unconscious body, boots silent on the ruined squares. The enchanted pieces stayed dead. No second game waited for him.
Good.
He started for the opposite door, then stopped, turned, and walked back to Ron. A small glass vial appeared in his hand. Liquid sunlight—pure and gold—spilled out and soaked into the red-haired boy's chest.
"Hope this helps a little."
The Winter Snow lollipop he'd taken earlier had left him with a razor-sharp clarity. That same clarity told him the ordinary version of himself would have done this without hesitation.
He moved on, a little faster now.
The next chamber held the troll. Or rather, what was left of it—already dead, the air thick with its stink.
The door opposite him opened at the same moment.
Purple fire filled the archway. Charlie didn't recognize the exact charm. Maybe ordinary flames, simply dyed by Snape for the sake of the puzzle. The man had never been one for unnecessary elegance on the way out.
A figure burst through the fire—a long-haired witch, younger than him by a year, face tight with urgency, lower lip caught between her teeth as if she had already made some hard decision.
She ran straight toward him. Charlie stepped aside without a word and let her pass. Her hair brushed the air where his shoulder would have been.
He waited until she was clear, then turned to continue.
"Charlie?"
He froze. Breath locked in his chest. He looked back.
Hermione Granger stood there, brown eyes locked on the empty space he occupied.
Charlie stayed perfectly still and waited.
A coincidence? Some stray sixth sense? In his private calculation she would frown, look confused, then turn and leave—
"I know you're there," Hermione said. The certainty in her voice was absolute. "I can smell you. You always carry that heavy chocolate scent."
Charlie thought of Fang. The last time he'd worn the cloak to Hagrid's hut the boarhound had found him by nose alone. Scent, it seemed, was harder to hide than sound.
He had no intention of removing the cloak. Explaining himself to Hermione would cost time he no longer had. By any reasonable clock Harry was already in the final chamber facing Quirrell.
He turned, swallowed the fire-repelling potion in one quick motion, and walked straight into the purple wall.
The Invisibility Cloak held. Its basic resistance to flame was exactly as he had tested earlier.
On the far side Hermione stared at the sudden ripple that had passed through the fire. Her mouth opened. Questions crowded behind her teeth, none of them finding a clear path out.
After a long second she spun and hurried back the way she had come. Ron first. Then a professor. That was the only order that mattered now.
The final chamber was wide and circular, the floor dropping a short step into a shallow basin at its center. The Mirror of Erised stood tall and solitary in the middle of that space.
A single figure waited beside it.
Harry stopped dead.
Quirrell.
"W-why is it you?" Harry's voice cracked. "I thought it was Snape!"
Quirrell's laugh was thin and cold. "Oh yes. Snape makes such a convenient shield, doesn't he? An unpleasant man who looks the part of a villain—who would ever look twice at stuttering, nervous little Quirrell?"
Harry could barely form words. In that moment he was the one who stuttered.
"But… but Snape tried to kill me. During the Quidditch match! And you—you fell off the stands. Someone must have cursed you!"
Quirrell's expression darkened at the memory. His eyes slid past Harry, checking the empty doorway behind him.
No one else had followed. The hidden third party who had interfered once before seemed content to stay away tonight.
He reached into his pocket, unwrapped a Moonlight Chocolate with deliberate care, and placed it on his tongue. The silver-blue sweetness flooded him at once—cool rain on cracked earth, strength pouring back into every limb.
"I'll be honest, Harry. I still don't know who forced me off that stand. At first I suspected Snape. But during the match he was the one casting the counter-curse, trying to keep you on your broom. Then I wondered about Dumbledore. My master, however, was certain: Dumbledore would never resort to such a clumsy trick. He knows the man too well—they have been enemies for decades.
"So I have no idea who the third party was. It no longer matters. Even if that person walked through the door right now, nothing would change.
"Tonight the Philosopher's Stone becomes mine. That is the only certainty left."