The trial beyond the trapdoor wasn't difficult for Sean.
Before Fluffy could react, Sean had transformed a plank into a flute; within moments the three-headed dog drifted off to sleep.
Beyond Fluffy yawned a black, bottomless shaft. Sean was just about to drop in when sounds rustled behind him.
"Sean…"
He heard a whisper. It was Hermione and Harry; they must've followed after seeing the signal on the Map.
They were both shaken.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, voice trembling.
"What do you think? Hermione, think about what's under the trapdoor! Fluffy's down—who do you think did that, Sean?" Harry's mind always moved fast when he panicked—sometimes too fast.
"Professor Dumbledore isn't here… Professor Quirrell has gone to steal the Stone…" Hermione murmured.
Fluffy had been awake just now, which meant Quirrell had gone down some time ago. Sean had no idea how far they'd gotten.
He had to be quick—as quick as possible.
"See you in a minute."
Sean didn't waste words. He turned and stepped into the shaft.
Cold, damp air howled past his ears. He fell and fell and fell, and then—
Whump. With a muffled thud, he hit something soft.
He lit his wand; the Devil's Snare recoiled from the light and warmth.
The moment he doused the flame and stepped off, there came two more thuds behind him.
Snake-like tendrils coiled, snagging the pair.
"Don't move!" Hermione snapped. "I know what this is—it's Devil's Snare!"
"Brilliant, Hermione, we've identified it by name," Harry said.
"We need fire, but there aren't any matches…"
"Are you mad? You're a witch, aren't you?!"
"Oh—right!"
Hermione whipped out her wand, muttered a charm, and a bell-blue flame blossomed at the tip.
As relief swept them, they finally noticed Sean's calm eyes not far away.
"Well done," he said, and turned on.
At the end of the corridor a brilliantly lit chamber arched overhead. At the back stood a silver door. Jewelled, shimmering birds wheeled through the air—up close they looked like keys turned into birds.
Harry and Hermione followed Sean to the door, still processing, as Sean flicked his wand twice in a blur.
"Impedimenta!"
"Accio Key!"
Two simple charms, and he had the key. Under Hermione's and Harry's bewildered stares, he opened the door.
"Oh—Hermione, do you know how he picked the right key?" Harry whispered as they walked.
"The door is silver, so perhaps a silver key. But no one could do it that fast…"
Through the door lay a giant chessboard; the pieces towered over them, carved from black stone. Facing them on the far side were white pieces, faceless and imposing. Harry and Hermione shivered.
"What do we do now?" Harry asked Sean in a low voice.
The journey so far had been harrowing but safe; with Sean here, even giant chessmen felt less frightening. He peered around, curious.
"Play," Hermione said, anxious and flustered. "But Ron's not here—he's the best of us."
The board was dozens of meters wide—giant's play. Small by comparison, Sean stood at the edge.
Professor McGonagall's test had been a chess problem. Sean didn't have time to play.
His Transfiguration wasn't enough to duel that many pieces—but Transfiguration wasn't the only magic he'd learned…
"Reducto!"
A lance of light streaked out; the white king exploded on the spot.
[You practiced Reducto at Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
He hadn't spent all that time in the dungeon just stirring a cauldron.
He glanced at his panel:
[Sectumsempra: Expert (2000/9000)]
[Reducto: Expert (100/9000)]
[Impedimenta: Expert (1000/9000)]
Expert meant silent and instantaneous.
With their king shattered, the white pieces bowed and backed away, opening a path straight to a door.
Sean walked through without hesitation.
"We… were supposed to play, right?" Hermione said.
"Maybe," Harry said, and hurried after him.
A knocked-out troll sprawled on the floor beyond, snoring like a saw. Sean skirted it and came to the seven bottles—the Snape logic puzzle. He'd forgotten the exact answer; he could solve it on the spot.
The only problem was: only one person could pass.
Beyond the last door, Professor Quirrell was caught in a state no one could name.
Would Harry's peculiar counter still hold if Quirrell had not fully fallen?
There was no knowing.
Sean heard an owl return outside the castle—near dawn.
Professor McGonagall—or Professor Tyra—would arrive any moment, and Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be far behind.
A little more time—just a little—and the outcome might be different.
While Sean thought, Hermione had already cracked the riddle.
She reread the note several times, pacing before the bottles and muttering, tapping this one and that. At last she clapped her hands.
"I've got it. The smallest bottle lets us go forward through the black flames—to the Stone. But there's only enough for one."
Her brow knit. "Barely a mouthful."
Harry swallowed and was about to volunteer—
A paper airplane slid out of the wall into Sean's hand and unfolded. It bore only a few words:
[I'll be back soon, child.]
Harry and Hermione had no idea who it was. Only Sean breathed out.
"I'll buy us a little time."
He drank the potion and stepped through the fire.
To Harry and Hermione, that meant only one thing:
Until the professors arrived, to stop Professor Quirrell from taking the Stone, Sean would face the Dark Lord's servant alone.
…
In the final room, only low voices murmured.
"Master, forgive your useless servant! I failed to kill the unicorn—my magic is too weak, my will too soft… please… one more chance, I won't disappoint you again…"
Sean saw Professor Quirrell circling the Mirror, belittling himself and pleading.
"One more chance…"
He kept repeating it. Sensing someone, he turned.
Bloodshot eyes bulged; his pupils shrank and trembled. His lips, bitten bloodless, parted without sound; his Adam's apple bobbed uselessly.
Before anyone could react, Quirrell shoved a biscuit into his mouth. The robed figure popped into a shivering squirrel.
It scampered to Sean, then froze, rigid.
A notebook and quill floated from Sean's side.
[W-why are you here… you shouldn't have come, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will kill you… go, go now…]
Sean stared at the words scrawling across the page, thoughts racing.
The Animal Party transformation could be sustained; the instant Quirrell changed, he chose to remain a squirrel for at least half an hour.
Sean's bag held plenty of squirrel biscuits—practice stock.
"And you, Professor?" Sean asked quietly.
[He'll torture me—like when I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts—he was very displeased. He punished me… but that has nothing to do with you… go, Mr. Green, please go…]
The squirrel even squeaked aloud.
A light footstep sounded behind Sean. He quivered. He knew who had come.
"Have you taken the Stone?" Sean asked.
[The Stone… I didn't want to use it—but it wanted to come to me. In the Mirror I saw myself reach for it… I made an excuse… I didn't dare look again…]
Silence fell for several heartbeats.
[The Stone will be taken sooner or later… He will return… of course he will return. He will leave me, and I—this hollow body, this soul full of holes… Mr. Green, I won't lie to you, and I won't lie to myself anymore… I am already a dead man…]
Sean looked down at the squirrel.
[You gave me a choice, and only then did I understand—hope is a beautiful thing… Now I still have a choice… in the end, everyone has one last choice…]
Sean knew what he meant. The equality of life is that, at any time, there is a road that ends.
"You've done enough… Professor Dumbledore…"
Sean turned. A long-bearded old wizard stood there, and behind him came a handful of students:
Justin, Hermione, Harry, Ron…
…
It ended quickly. The moment Voldemort, restored to form, saw Dumbledore, he abandoned Quirrell and fled.
He rushed through Harry and knocked the boy senseless.
Professor Quirrell was saved by a strange magic of Dumbledore's; as he worked, the Headmaster murmured:
"A soul not wholly stained… still whole… he did not kill innocent life. Rare indeed…"
He looked from Quirrell to the students.
"It seems you did rather well while I was away?"
Hermione and Justin, harboring their own grudges, flushed a little at that; Ron, propping up a sweating Harry, straightened with pride.
The weakened Quirrell confessed everything—nearly made the students swallow their tongues.
Voldemort had been on the back of the professor's head?!
And Quirrell had chosen to die—dying as one who, like Harry, had beaten the Dark Lord—so even the timid-seeming professor earned their solemn respect.
Soon enough,
Harry and Professor Quirrell were carried to the hospital wing.
In the corridor, the students—who'd slept ten hours in two days—didn't speak. They walked in silence back to the Hope Nook.
Then Justin began to clap, hands raised. He was cheering for everyone.
Yes, Dumbledore had driven Voldemort away. But in the Headmaster's absence, it was they who had guarded the Forest, gone through the trapdoor, and foiled the plan to return.
As Dumbledore had said—they'd done well.
"Guys, we did it!" he said.
Ron, Hermione, and Neville looked at him, then at Sean, their faces full of joy and satisfaction.
Now they would sleep—sleep properly—and then visit Harry.
As for Sean—he had another brave professor to visit.
Before he lost consciousness, Professor Quirrell had declined Dumbledore's offer to remain as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
He felt unworthy to teach in the castle… and his body was very weak. Between the curse and the ruin Voldemort had worked on his life and soul, even to return to his old level would take years.
Unless there were special potions—but Quirrell's gold had all been spent at Voldemort's command.
So who would offer this frail professor a post?
~~~
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