The Boys Take Action (2/2)
"Ron, are you okay?" Harry asked, rushing toward him after Ron had taken a direct hit from the enemy queen on the giant wizard chessboard. Just a few seconds earlier, Harry had delivered checkmate to the king.
"I am not okay. Everything hurts," Ron said, lying on the ground and clearly not wanting anyone to touch him.
"You idiot. That could have killed you," Hermione said seriously.
"Yeah… next time it is your turn," Ron replied with a small, pained laugh. "You two keep going. I can wait here for a bit… or rather, please do not move me," he added before closing his eyes and breathing slowly.
Harry let out a light laugh when he saw that his friend was conscious, even if clearly battered.
"We will avenge your death," he said before standing up.
"I am not dead," Ron protested, but Harry and Hermione were already running toward the next trial.
Ever since they had entered, that place had been nothing but trials and puzzles, each more difficult than the last, without a moment to catch their breath. Even though the first one might have been the most dangerous, it had ended up being the easiest to overcome. Fluffy had fallen asleep thanks to an enchanted flute playing soft music. Then came the plant, Devil's Snare, which Hermione drove away with a small blue flame. After that, the flying keys, which they had to catch using brooms. And finally, possibly the hardest trial so far, the giant chessboard, which would not let you pass unless you defeated it. That was the one that had left Ron on the ground.
He himself had directed every piece to achieve a perfect victory. Well, almost perfect.
"I do not think anyone could pass the trials as fast as we did," Ron murmured with a bit of pride in his voice.
But then, suddenly, the destroyed chess pieces began to rebuild themselves at full speed. Ron frowned in confusion and lifted his head just in time to see someone running straight toward the board.
"Oh no… I really do not want a chess piece to hit me again," he muttered when he recognized who it was.
It was Percy, charging forward at full speed with a genuinely annoyed, almost furious expression, his silver sword firmly gripped in his hand.
"Wait, Percy. You have to play…" Ron tried to say.
He did not get to finish.
Percy leaped forward, straight at the pawns that raised their spears to block his path. With a clean, perfect motion, Percy cut both of their heads off in midair. He landed, and without breaking rhythm, spun around and split the queen, who barely had time to turn toward him, and then the king. The pieces fell with a heavy crash, like stone breaking apart.
"Harry, you damn idiot. You went on an adventure without me," Percy growled angrily.
Then he stopped.
"Huh?" he said when he noticed Ron lying in the middle of the board. He walked closer, looking confused. "What are you doing lying there?" he asked.
Ron stared at him, completely stunned, his mouth hanging open.
"H… how did you get through? How…?" He did not even know where to start.
After a second, he closed his eyes again. "You know what? I am going to pretend I did not see you and stay unconscious. Hermione and Harry went ahead," he said, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world.
"Thanks?" Percy replied before running off again, determined to catch up to his brother.
…
Meanwhile, in front of black flames, Hermione and Harry stood before a table filled with several bottles of strange liquids. Harry picked one up and, without hesitation, drank it in one go.
"Well, it looks like it was not the poison," he said calmly. "As always, very clever, Hermione. Thank you very much, you were a big help," he added with a smile.
"You take the other potion and go back to warn the professors. I will stop whoever is in there in the meantime," he said with a serious look, before turning toward the black fire.
Hermione watched him in silence as he stepped through the dark flames and disappeared on the other side. Then she frowned slightly, clearly annoyed.
"Liar," she muttered. "You could have done everything on your own and just let us shine. You did not use your strange magic even once. Even when Ron was about to fall, you used magic so he would not get hurt. And you were already looking at the exact bottle before I said which one it was," she said with clear frustration, feeling outmatched.
"I have to study much more when we get back," she added seriously.
She moved toward the bottle that would let her return the way they had come to warn the professors. But before taking it, she heard a noise behind her. She turned just in time to see the purple flames burst open, letting someone leap through them.
Hermione froze completely, staring.
"Hi, Hermione. Where is Harry?" Percy asked without wasting time.
Still surprised, Hermione raised her hand and pointed at the black fire.
"Thanks," Percy said, moving immediately.
"Wai…" Hermione tried to stop him.
But Percy raised his sword above his head and murmured firmly:
"I want to cut the fire. I want to cut the fire."
Then he brought the blade down. The flames parted just enough to let him through before closing again behind him.
Hermione stood there, staring at the flames for a moment.
"I really have to study much, much more. I will learn every spell," she said with a competitive tone, before drinking the potion in one gulp and running back through the purple flames.
…
"You?" Harry said when he saw the person standing at the center of the final chamber.
There was an object there that was quite familiar to him. The Mirror of Erised. Standing in front of it was Professor Quirrell, who slowly turned around, wearing a look that was both mocking and disdainful, as if Harry were staring at a distorted reflection of himself.
"Hello, Potter. I had a feeling we would meet here," he said, without a trace of his usual twitch or nervous stutter.
Harry frowned slightly.
"So Professor Snape…"
"Severus? You thought he was the culprit?" Quirrell replied in a condescending, amused tone.
He smiled, tilting his head just a little.
"Yes, he did seem like the obvious choice, did he not? Very useful, really."
He took a slow step forward, savoring the moment.
"Next to him, who would ever suspect the p-p-p-poor, st-st-stuttering Professor Quirrell?" he added, exaggerating the stutter in a mocking, theatrical way.
"So it was you during the Quidditch match," Harry said more seriously.
He remembered his first match, when his broom had gone out of control and Percy, desperate to help him, had thrown his wooden sword at Snape, whom they believed responsible. Instead, it had struck Quirrell, sending him straight to the infirmary.
"Correct," Quirrell said with a twisted smile.
He brought a hand to his chest, fingers pressing in.
"A few more seconds and you would have become fertilizer for the Quidditch pitch. I can still feel that hit," he said, his tone turning cold at the end.
"Percy felt so guilty after hitting you," Harry said with a hint of sarcasm, staring straight at him.
"And after I am done with you, he will be next on my list," Quirrell spat with hatred. "Even before escaping with the Stone, I will go straight for him and kill him first."
"Well, then I do not think there is any need for you to keep talking," Harry said, cutting off his villainous monologue.
Quirrell frowned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. His gaze drifted to Harry's left hand, which had remained inside his bag the entire time, the one holding his special magical tome.
"Move, idiot," a sudden shout echoed from somewhere unseen.
Quirrell's body jerked backward unnaturally, as if he had completely lost control. At the same time, a deep gash appeared across his chest, and a figure began to reveal itself, shedding its invisibility.
It was Percy.
He held the silver sword in his hand, and the wound he had inflicted on Quirrell was deep. He had narrowly avoided a blow that could have been fatal.
Percy studied him with a strange expression for a brief moment, then jumped back and positioned himself directly in front of Harry.
"You are pretty late," Harry said with a genuine smile when he saw his brother. "Where were you?"
"Training makes me hungry, so I was in the kitchen. Why did you not wait for me?" Percy replied with an annoyed tone.
"I tried to slow things down as much as possible, but my two teammates are actually really good," Harry said with amusement.
"Hmph. I will have two teammates just as good," Percy replied with mild competitiveness, before turning toward Quirrell, who was writhing on the floor in pain.
"Ahh, damn you… damn you," he screamed as he rolled around.
"Shut up, you weak coward. Get up right now and catch them," that strange voice roared again, one that both Percy and Harry clearly noticed was coming from Quirrell's turban.
Quirrell struggled to his feet, clutching his chest with one hand and gripping his wand with the other. His face was twisted with hatred, directed at both Percy and Harry.
"You…" he said, staring at Percy with pure resentment.
In truth, the one Quirrell hated the most was Percy. Even more than Harry, who was supposed to be his main enemy.
Percy simply had that effect on people.
"I…" Percy replied, doing absolutely nothing to improve the situation and only fueling Quirrell's rage further.
Harry rolled his eyes. From the outside, it looked as if Percy were mocking his enemy, when in reality he was simply being himself.
"At last, we will have our revenge for what happened in the forest," Harry said as he pulled his magical tome from his bag and raised his wand.
Percy took his stance beside him. Both of them stared at Quirrell. Percy's expression hardened, turning serious and angry as he remembered the innocent being that had died in the forest because of that man.