Albus Dumbledore remained utterly silent for a long moment after Professor Flitwick's emotional plea. The sheer complexity of Quirinus Quirrell's situation weighed heavily on him.
He was willing to sacrifice the Philosopher's Stone to draw out the dark remnant of Voldemort, but the idea of utterly destroying the host—a brilliant, young wizard known to be kind-hearted—was a bitter pill to swallow.
Dumbledore knew that if he possessed the power to simply extract the parasitic consciousness without doing fatal damage to Quirrell's soul or body, he would do so instantly. But the dark magic binding the two was ancient, desperate, and notoriously unforgiving. He could not, in good conscience, make a promise he was powerless to keep.
His gaze shifted, turning toward Sebastian Swann, whose knowledge of the Dark Arts and the human psyche had repeatedly surpassed that of the senior staff. Sebastian had hinted at a highly unorthodox solution when the defense plan was initially designed.
"Professor Flitwick," Sebastian said gently, acknowledging the Charms Master's deep distress and Dumbledore's querying look.
"Based on my analysis of Professor Quirrell's visible auras and his pattern of behavior over the last few months, I can almost certainly confirm that his soul and will are not entirely aligned with the actions of the entity possessing him. His physical life is in grave and imminent danger, and any rescue attempt must first address the complex nature of the possession itself."
A flash of genuine, professional anger sparked in Flitwick's eyes, magnified by his Ravenclaw loyalty. "Who dares bind one of the finest eagles our House has produced in two decades to such a terrible fate? Sebastian, tell me your thoughts directly. What is the path forward?"
"Do not despair, Professor Flitwick," Sebastian replied, a rare, comforting smile softening his features. "My internal estimation, based on the magical safeguards we have installed and the preparation we have made, is that I have a seventy percent chance of successfully saving Professor Quirrell's life and separating the entities."
Flitwick leaned forward, desperately hopeful. "And the remaining thirty percent, Sebastian? What element is still missing? Please, tell me if there is a spell, an ingredient, or a counter-curse that I can prepare for you now."
Sebastian shook his head slowly. "The remaining thirty percent rests entirely on Professor Quirrell himself. It is a matter of his internal will. We can provide the magical and physical means for separation, but he must possess the internal strength, the sheer, desperate desire, to reject the possessive entity at the moment of rupture. If he can cooperate—if he can fight back internally when we make our move—the chance of a successful extraction and survival rises to one hundred percent."
Snape, who had been listening with cold detachment, only offered a cynical snort. "You are relying on the 'will' of a man who willingly shared his consciousness with the most destructive dark wizard in history? Your faith in human nature, Swann, remains astonishingly naive."
Sebastian merely gave Snape a knowing look, rising fluidly from his chair. On the central screen, the four tiny students had just scrambled onto a new landing and were staring up at the massive, terrifying statues of the Wizard's Chessboard, McGonagall's formidable challenge.
"My time to act is now," Sebastian announced. "The next obstacle is a logic puzzle that the children will likely solve quickly, but the one after that requires my intervention. I will be next in line. With a little luck, they will have progressed beyond this highly dangerous, yet strategically simple, stage before I reach them."
Sebastian turned to the remaining three wizards. "Professor Flitwick, Headmaster Dumbledore, Severus—please remain here. Continue monitoring. I shall return shortly."
Sebastian's departure left the viewing room in a tense, silent vigil. Below them, within the gloomy, magically enlarged chamber, the four first-years were staring up at a gigantic battlefield of black and white stone pieces, all silently awaiting command. The chess pieces were not mere statues; they were sentient, unforgiving warriors, and the game had already begun.
The air in the chamber was cold and smelled of dust and ancient stone. The sheer scale of the board—each square the size of a small bed—was overwhelming. Ron, a skilled chess player, was immediately forced to take the role of the King, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy to occupy the positions of the remaining Queen, Knight, and Bishop, respectively.
They had already lost several pieces during the opening moves, shattered into thousands of fragments by the opposing stone warriors. The realization that they were dispensable pawns in this lethal game had hit the children with shocking force.
Ron, perched anxiously atop a solid black stone horse, his body trembling slightly, had just finished calculating the final, brutal sequence of moves.
"Harry, listen carefully," Ron called out, his voice tight but determined. "When the Knight I currently occupy is taken by their King in the next turn, you must seize the opportunity. You will then have a clear line to checkmate the opposing King with your Queen."
He examined the board one last time, his mind racing. It was the quickest, most efficient path to victory with the fewest required sacrifices. It required him, however, to be utterly demolished.
"No, Ron! Absolutely not!" Hermione shouted, horrified by the calculation. She understood the chess logic perfectly, which only made her protest louder. "You are the best player among us! You must have a better solution—one that doesn't involve you becoming shattered stone! We saw what happened to those other pieces!"
Harry, positioned as the Queen, was torn between the desperate need to progress and the overwhelming fear for his friend's safety. "Ron, please, don't do this! We came in here to stop a thief, not to sacrifice ourselves! You saw the impact—you'll be crushed and ripped to pieces by that opposing Queen! She's three times our size!"
"Trust me, this is the only way to win quickly!" Ron insisted, his eyes fixed on the inevitable target. He was embracing a form of Gryffindor fatalism. "We've already committed to the game by entering the board. We always have to make sacrifices in chess; this is just one of those brutal moments. It's the highest probability move!"
Before Ron could deliver his final, emotional speech—the kind of rousing, self-sacrificial moment he likely envisioned—a sneering, utterly contemptuous voice cut through the solemnity.
"Weasley, I think your brain has been baked by dragon fire," Malfoy drawled, standing imperiously just off the stone chessboard, unwilling to risk the magic binding him to a fixed position. "I hate to interrupt your pathetic, tearful suicide pact, but there is a clearly superior method right here that your Gryffindor sentimentality blinds you to."
Ron glared at him, his face twisting in renewed fury. "Shut up, Malfoy! You're standing outside the field of battle like a coward, and you have no right to throw out meaningless distractions!"
"Hmph. I'm not entrusting my safety to a desperate blunder, Weasley," Malfoy retorted, radiating arrogant security.
"You call me a coward, yet you were the one shrieking and writhing in the Devil's Snare. If it hadn't been for Granger's quick thinking—which you immediately tried to ignore—you'd have been dead long ago. And for the record, there are easier, more intelligent ways to pass this obstacle, but you simply can't see them because you're obsessed with following the rules."
"Malfoy, what is the alternative?" Harry demanded, seizing the lifeline, ignoring Ron's spluttering. Hermione turned instantly, her large eyes fixed on Malfoy, eager to hear the perspective of someone who had remained outside the immediate magical constraint of the game.
Seeing the combined, desperate attention of the Gryffindors, Malfoy swelled with satisfaction. They always crawl to a Slytherin for the solution when brute force fails.
"It's elementary," he announced, deliberately pacing the edges of the board to maximize his audience. "The simple fact is: we can break this entire deadlock with sheer force."
He paused for dramatic effect. "Think about the previous trials. The Cerberus is only unbeatable if you rely on stealth, but a truly powerful wizard can defeat it with offensive magic. The trapdoor to the chambers below the keys was locked, yes, but any skilled adult wizard could have shattered it with a single, high-powered Blasting Curse, ignoring the key entirely."
Malfoy pointed to the few, remaining enemy pieces on the board, including the opposing Queen, which now loomed over Ron's Knight.
"This chessboard is the same. It is a puzzle designed to make you play by its rules. But you see, thanks to Weasley's earlier, reckless moves, there are very few enemy pieces left to defend. Instead of wasting time on a sequence that requires a fatal sacrifice, we should simply initiate a chaotic, focused assault. Once the remaining enemy pieces are destroyed—or at least, severely disabled—we can simply walk across the board and leave the chamber at our leisure."
He finished his monologue with a triumphant smirk, crossing his arms. "Brute force isn't just for muscle-bound idiots, Potter. It is a tactical option when your opponent is strategically weak."
"Harry, I think Malfoy has a point," Hermione conceded immediately, her practical mind grasping the utility of the approach. She had been so fixated on finding the winning sequence that she had overlooked the obvious solution of annihilation. It was simpler, faster, and crucially, safer for Ron.
Ron was visibly torn. While he hated the idea of agreeing with Malfoy, he was infinitely more terrified of being smashed to stone dust by the opposing Queen. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Harry, silently urging him to choose the path of least personal damage.
Harry, however, only had a second to process the new information before a sudden shout from Hermione shattered the moment.
"Wait! There's a crucial detail we missed! Look at the empty squares!"
Hermione pointed frantically at the squares where their previous pieces had been shattered by the enemy.
"Professor Quirrell passed through this room first! If he played the game, the chessboard should have been left precisely as he finished it, showing the winning sequence, or at least heavily depleted! But when we entered this chamber, the board was entirely full of pieces!"
Her voice rose in panicked realization. "That means this Wizard's Chess set has a full-board reset feature! If we merely destroy the pieces, we won't be able to leave. The enemy pieces will simply regenerate and re-form once we stop moving or leave the game space! We can't just walk away!"
The cold logic of her deduction froze all four children. Malfoy's proud, tactical suggestion had a fatal flaw. They had to stabilize the situation—they had to win the game—before they could progress.
Harry's mind raced, synthesizing Ron's sacrifice, Malfoy's aggression, and Hermione's insight. The only way to prevent regeneration was to force a definitive checkmate—but they couldn't afford to lose Ron.
There was only one alternative: immediate, focused, tactical destruction that would cripple the opponent and force a surrender, all without sacrificing their Knight.
"Ron, get off the Knight—swap to the nearest Rook position now! Malfoy, you move onto the Bishop's square on the edge! Hermione, stay right where you are!" Harry commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, decisive, and commanding. He drew his wand, aiming it at the massive opposing Queen.
"We cannot fight alone, and we cannot afford to wait for a sequence. We must concentrate fire and force the opponent to yield now, before the reset timer triggers again."
The four figures swiftly adjusted positions. Harry raised his wand higher, his voice ringing out with fierce determination.
"Get ready! Target: The Queen!"
He counted down, the silence of the immense, stone chamber amplifying the sound of his voice.
"Three… two… one…"
"Expelliarmus!"