[Third Person Pov]
With the entire group visibly irritated at Arthur, they moved on toward the next chamber without sparing him so much as a glance. Arthur, for his part, didn't seem bothered in the slightest; instead, he trailed behind them with a proud, almost smug smile plastered across his face, his hands clasped behind his back as if he were enjoying a pleasant stroll.
"I should actually write that down," Arthur mused aloud, nodding to himself thoughtfully. "That'd make a fantastic book." He was the last one to cross the threshold.
The moment everyone stepped inside, the heavy stone door slammed shut behind them with a thunderous boom that echoed through the chamber. Instantly, fire erupted across the entrance, blooming outward and completely sealing off any hope of retreat. The flames were unlike anything they had seen before—brilliant, vivid purple, radiating an oppressive, almost suffocating heat that made the air shimmer.
Across the room, the only other exit—the door leading forward—was also engulfed in fire. Unlike the one behind them, however, this blaze was pitch black, swallowing light rather than emitting it, as though it were a void given form.
The group hesitated, scanning the chamber warily before cautiously making their way toward the center of the room. There, standing alone beneath the flickering glow of the unnatural flames, was a simple wooden table. Upon it sat seven bottles, each uniquely shaped and arranged neatly in a straight line.
"This must be Snape's test," Harry said slowly, piecing it together as realization dawned on him.
Gwyneth and Ron both turned to him with confused expressions.
Seeing their looks, Harry elaborated, gesturing vaguely as he spoke. "We've already passed Sprout's challenge—that was the Devil's Snare. Flitwick must've enchanted the keys. McGonagall transfigured the chess pieces and made them alive. That leaves Quirrell's trolls… and this has to be Snape's."
"Look," Hermione said suddenly, pointing toward a folded sheet of parchment resting beside the bottles. "There's writing on it. It's a riddle."
Merlin glanced sideways and noticed Arthur struggling to keep himself composed, his shoulders twitching slightly as if he were holding something back. She frowned, confused, before sending him a brief telepathic message asking what was wrong.
Arthur's reply came instantly. 'Are we sure she doesn't mean a… Tom Riddle? Ba dum phttz.'
Merlin stared at him flatly, her expression completely unamused. Arthur, suddenly aware of her reaction, looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.
While Arthur silently made a fool of himself, Hermione focused on the parchment and read the riddle aloud to the group. Arthur only half listened, confident that Hermione would unravel it without trouble.
And she did.
Once she reached the solution, however, her expression hardened. She carefully picked up one of the smaller bottles and turned back to face the others, concern evident in her eyes.
"We have a problem," she said quietly. "There's only enough potion here for one person… but there are seven of us."
A heavy silence followed.
"So… does that mean we have to decide who drinks it?" Ron asked hesitantly. "And whoever does has to face Snape alone?"
"I'll go," Harry said firmly, stepping forward. His voice carried a brave undertone, though his hands clenched at his sides. "Snape's been after me all year. I should be the one to face him."
"No offense, Harry," Lance interjected bluntly, "but you're weak."
Harry whipped around, glaring. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lance met his stare calmly, his tone devoid of malice as he spoke plainly. "It means that among all of us, you're neither the strongest physically nor magically. Sending you alone to face a professor isn't brave—it's suicidal and illogical."
"Then what, you think it should be you?" Ron shot back, frowning. "Because he's your House Master or something?"
"No," Lance replied, a trace of bitterness slipping through his usually composed demeanor. Even he could only tolerate so many accusations tied to his House. "My vote is for either Arthur or Mer-lynn. It's obvious that those two are far stronger than the rest of us."
"I agree," Gwyneth said, stepping up beside Lance. "Though I'm leaning more toward Mer-Lynn. Arthur always insists Mer-Lynn is stronger than him, and Arthur just finished fighting two trolls. Mer-Lynn's in far better condition right now."
The discussion quickly spiraled into overlapping voices as everyone began offering opinions, arguing back and forth, each trying to be heard over the others.
The only two who remained silent were Arthur and Merlin themselves, standing off to the side with matching expressions of disinterest. To them, the argument was unnecessary—and beneath them.
Arthur gave Merlin an almost imperceptible yet unmistakably commanding nod. Without hesitation, Merlin stepped forward, raising her wand and pressing its tip lightly against Arthur's throat.
"Enough!"
Arthur's voice thundered through the chamber, deep and authoritative, carrying a weight that crushed all conversation instantly. The effect was immediate—every voice cut off mid-sentence, bodies stiffening as if time itself had paused. Of everyone present, Lance felt it the strongest; something primal stirred in his chest, forcing his instincts to bow even as he masked his reaction behind a carefully neutral expression.
Satisfied that he had their full attention, Arthur gently brushed Merlin's wand aside and took a step forward. Merlin fell in behind him naturally, her presence calm yet imposing.
"No one gets left behind," Arthur declared firmly. "We're not choosing who goes on. We're all going."
"But there's only one—" Hermione began urgently, panic creeping into her voice.
"Hermione," Arthur cut in smoothly but decisively, stopping her cold. He turned to face her, his expression calm yet unyielding. "You're forgetting something important. We're witches and wizards. Magic isn't just a tool we react with—it's a force we command. We don't simply find solutions to our problems." His eyes gleamed faintly. "We create them."
He turned his head slightly. "Mel."
Nothing more needed to be said.
Merlin stepped forward, lifting her wand and aiming it directly at the small potion bottle resting on the table. Aware of the many watchful eyes fixed on her, she gave a deliberate flick of her wrist, tapping the bottle once. Her lips moved as though she were murmuring an incantation, though anyone truly knowledgeable would have noticed the spellwork was already underway.
The bottle began to tremble, rattling softly against the wood. The shaking intensified until, with a faint shimmer of magic, the bottle split—then split again—duplicating as though undergoing mitosis. Within moments, seven identical potion bottles lay neatly arranged across the table.
Arthur stepped forward and picked one up, weighing it briefly in his hand before turning back to the group. "We started this journey together," he said evenly, "and that's exactly how we'll finish it."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, one by one, they exchanged glances and faint, relieved smiles. Each reached forward, taking a bottle from the table.
Arthur uncorked his bottle and raised it slightly. "As they say," he remarked with a grin, "'One for all.'"
A chorus of snickers and scoffs followed as the others opened theirs and lifted them toward him. "And all for one!" they echoed together, clinking the small bottles lightly in a shared gesture of unity.
Without hesitation, they tilted their heads back and drank the contents in a single swallow.
Setting the empty bottles aside, the group turned toward the door engulfed in black fire.
Arthur took the lead, his stride confident and unbroken. He grasped the handle, opened the door, and stepped straight through the wall of dark flames without slowing.
The others followed close behind.
As they emerged on the other side, most of them braced themselves to see Snape waiting with the Stone in hand.
Instead, they froze.
Standing before them was Professor Quirrell.
Arthur's eyes widened, and Merlin's expression sharpened instantly—but the surprise wasn't due to Quirrell. Quirrell was not alone. Surrounding him was a formation of metallic knights, their armor gleaming coldly as they stood in a protective circle around him, unmoving and menacing.
"Ahh… so you all made it," Quirrell said pleasantly, his smile calm and unnervingly satisfied. "I was expecting you."
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