Baron didn't have to wait long—Harry himself was an excellent Seeker, and with the seamless cooperation of his two companions, it didn't take much effort to catch the key. He jumped back down to the floor in a hurry and dashed toward the door, reaching out to open it.
"Don't rush to open it yet."
Baron stopped them again. "Which of you is the best at chess?"
"That would probably be me," Ron stepped forward this time. "Is the next challenge getting through a chess match?"
"That's right—but it's more than that. In the next room, we have to replace the chess pieces with ourselves to move. And if the piece you're playing gets taken, it's the same as your body taking a direct hit… So to avoid unnecessary injuries, the fewer people who enter, the better. Ideally, only the strongest chess player should go in."
"I understand."
Ron hesitated for a moment, then took the key from Harry's hand and inserted it into the lock. "Then I'll go first."
Baron, Harry, and Hermione watched Ron's back as he entered, replacing the Black rook and commanding the massive chess pieces as they clashed with the White side. The towering stone figures swung their weapons, mercilessly smashing the pieces they captured into fragments. Ron advanced cautiously, his expression grave as he issued commands, and little by little, pieces on both sides were reduced…
At last, the bishop under Ron's command shattered the White king, picked up the fallen crown, and handed it to Ron.
"I did it!"
He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and waved enthusiastically toward the three watching from the doorway.
"Well done, Ron!"
Harry and Hermione ran over excitedly and high-fived him. Ron then turned back to Baron, who stood nearby with his arms folded, and thanked him sincerely. "Thank you, Baron."
"If you hadn't reminded me to go alone, with the difficulty of that game, one of us would definitely have been taken out. Just look at how vicious those pieces were… I can't even imagine what it would feel like to be hit by one of them!"
Baron smiled at him. "No need to thank me. It was just about minimizing losses."
"And don't celebrate too early—this was only one mechanism. The real difficulty is still ahead."
A chill ran through Harry and the others. That's right—Snape was still waiting for them beyond the magic Dumbledore had left behind!
"Then let's move quickly!"
In the next room lay two trolls, already unconscious. They sprawled limply on the ground, rolling their eyes, each with a lump on its head nearly as big as the troll's skull itself.
"Hah, Snape even saved us some trouble! Hopefully those trolls drained his energy and weakened him a bit…"
Baron glanced at Ron but said nothing.
Soon, they entered the next—and second-to-last—room. As Baron opened the door, the four of them almost didn't dare to look at what awaited them… but there was nothing frightening at all. Only a table stood there, with seven bottles of different shapes neatly arranged on top.
"This must be magic Snape left behind," Harry said. "He probably passed through without any trouble. But what are we supposed to do?"
Suddenly, flames roared up from the entrance behind them, sealing the doorway completely. The fire glowed a dazzling purple, and waves of heat rolled outward, stinging their skin even from several meters away. At the same time, ominous black flames burst up before the door ahead.
They were trapped in the middle.
"Look!"
Hermione grabbed a roll of parchment beside the bottles. Harry and Ron stood behind her as they read together:
"Danger lies ahead, safety lies behind. Two of us will help you on your way. Drink them, and one will lead you onward, the other will take you back to where you came from. Two among us contain nettle wine…"
"Stop guessing," Baron cut in coldly. "The smallest bottle lets you go forward, and the round bottle on the far right sends you back."
"Ken already worked it out. If you don't believe me, you can calculate it yourselves—but we may not have much time left."
"Uh…"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks, then turned to the smallest bottle. "But there's only one mouthful left inside… out of the four of us, only one person can go through."
"I suggest Harry goes forward, and the rest return."
Baron's voice was grave. "Harry has a special quality that protects him from misfortune to the greatest extent—that's also why Ken and I dared to bring a bunch of first-years like you down here."
"But—but isn't there any other way? Baron, can't you try to put out those flames?"
"I can't."
Baron shook his head. "That magic was left by Snape himself. His mastery far exceeds ours. If Ken were here, it might be possible to break it given enough time—but even then, the Philosopher's Stone would probably already be gone…"
"I understand."
Harry suddenly stepped forward and picked up the smallest bottle.
"Harry! You—"
"There's no other way!" Harry shouted, his expression resolute. "Just like Baron said, every second we delay increases the chance of something going wrong! We have to stop Voldemort from getting the Philosopher's Stone—otherwise, this won't just be about whether I live or die!"
"…You're incredible, Harry."
With tears in her eyes, Hermione rushed forward and hugged him tightly. Ron, his face heavy, could only clap Harry hard on the shoulder. "Come back alive, mate."
"I will." Harry forced a smile.
Then, together with Ron, he tipped his head back and drank his respective potion. Hermione followed, drinking the potion that would take her away…
"Sometimes you have to admit," Baron said calmly, "that Slytherin and Gryffindor ways of thinking aren't all that different."
He took the potion from Hermione's hand—but instead of drinking it, he set it back on the table. "I really don't know why such deep hatred ever formed between them."
As he spoke, in full view of the stunned trio, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small bottle of potion—identical in color to the one Harry had just drunk.
"You had another potion?!"
Hermione nearly screamed.
"Of course," Baron replied, looking at her in confusion. "Since Ken had already figured out the mechanism, isn't it only natural to take some of the potion back, analyze it, and brew an identical copy?"
He tilted his head back and drank it. "I'm going in too. I can't exactly refuse to take responsibility for my own actions, can I?"
"Then what about us—"
"That's all there is. Just this one bottle."
Baron's tone was firm. "What comes next is far too dangerous for first-years without special traits and with limited combat ability. Following us would only slow things down. Your task is to return to the school immediately and write to Dumbledore for help."
"..."
In the end, Ron and Hermione passed through the purple flames with awkward expressions, leaving behind a faint, muttered remark:
"I knew I'd never like Slytherins…"
"All right."
Baron turned to Harry, his expression solemn. "Let's go in—are you ready?"
"Of course."
Harry murmured, then took a deep breath and stepped into the black flames. As he emerged into the room beyond, he cried out in surprise to the figure already standing there:
"Professor Quir—"
"Petrificus Totalus!!"
A shout rang out from behind him.
Something struck his back—a Full Body-Bind Curse, cast from the least expected direction.
In an instant, Harry felt his body lock up completely, rigid as stone. Straining with all his might, he forced his eyes wide open, rolling them to see Baron stepping around from behind him, excitement written across his face. Baron came to a halt in front of him, bowed deeply to Quirrell, and his lips curled upward uncontrollably as he spoke:
"I've brought you Harry Potter."
"Professor Dark Lord."
(End of Chapter)