The second room was pitch black—nothing could be seen.
But the moment Harry stepped inside, lights flared to life, illuminating a shocking sight.
He stood at the edge of an enormous chessboard. Towering black chess pieces, each taller than him and seemingly carved from obsidian, stood in formation before him.
Facing them on the far end were equally large white pieces.
Behind the white king was a door.
It was clear: to proceed to the next room, Harry would have to win this wizard chess match.
He didn't step onto the board right away. Instead, he quietly cast a spell.
"Apparate!"
But he didn't budge.
As expected—apparition magic still didn't work here.
Otherwise, he could have simply teleported to the door and bypassed the whole thing.
No choice. He'd have to beat the white pieces.
Harry examined the board carefully.
This wasn't a normal starting position.
It was a mid-game puzzle—and black, his side, was in a deeply disadvantaged state.
Which made sense. Professor McGonagall wouldn't have set up a fair match with even pieces and predictable moves. No, she'd built this to be a challenge.
A trap, essentially, from the very first move.
That's why, in the original story, Ron earned points for breaking through this obstacle—he'd solved a losing position.
Harry wasn't exactly skilled at wizard chess, but he wasn't worried.
There had to be a winning path. If not, what would be the point? They could've just blocked the way with stone guardians.
He might not be a chess prodigy, but he was observant and determined.
After about half an hour of study, he figured it out.
After sacrificing several pieces, he managed to spot an opening.
A tense exchange of blows followed—he took theirs, they took his—and soon the battlefield was littered with shattered stone.
Harry exhaled slowly.
Checkmate.
The white king was defeated.
The white queen paused, then removed her crown. All the enchanted pieces stepped back into place, falling still.
Harry dashed across the board and through the door, following the corridor ahead.
As he walked, he found himself thinking: were the professors being a little too dramatic? These obstacles felt more like trials than defenses—like something out of a knightly quest from a medieval tale.
Honestly, he was beyond complaining now.
In fact, a thousand years ago, these underground chambers had been used by the school to test students. Over time, the practice had faded away.
He counted them off in his head—Hagrid's three-headed dog, Sprout's Devil's Snare, Flitwick's flying keys, McGonagall's chessboard…
Then came Snape and Dumbledore's enchantments.
And wait—what about Quirrell?
Harry paused. In the original story, Quirrell had supposedly set a trap too—but it wasn't shown.
Ah, that's right—he remembered now. By the time Harry and Hermione got there, Voldemort had already dismantled Quirrell's magic.
Another door came into view.
The moment he pushed it open, a foul stench assaulted him.
Inside was a hulking creature—an even larger mountain troll than the one from before.
This must be Quirrell's contribution.
This test was pure strength and combat magic.
Harry grinned. Did they think he'd spent the whole year studying for nothing?
Time to prove that knowledge really was power.
…
A few minutes later, the troll was sprawled on the ground, unconscious.
Harry's left arm dangled at his side, shattered by a blow from the troll's massive club.
Gritting his teeth, Harry raised his wand.
"Ossio Reparo."
He could almost hear the crackling sound of bones snapping back into place.
Trolls had hide like armor—most spells barely scratched them. Their natural resistance to magic and blunt force was absurd.
And when they swung those giant clubs? A glancing hit could injure; a solid strike could kill.
(Author's note: insert over-the-top power fantasy here. Yes, it's filler, but bear with me.)
Harry's arm had taken a direct blow.
But as the saying goes: "When Merlin shuts a door, he leaves a window ajar."
Trolls may be strong—but they're stupid.
And that made them less of a threat overall.
He stretched his arm, found it usable again, and moved to the next door.
This room wasn't frightening.
It held only a table with seven bottles of varying shapes and sizes.
"Snape's challenge," Harry muttered.
As he approached, purple flames erupted behind him, sealing the exit—and black flames surged in front of him.
The black fire was icy, not hot.
It was real advanced Dark Magic: Fiendfyre.
It could burn anything.
On the table sat a piece of parchment.
Harry picked it up and read aloud:
"Danger lies ahead, safety behind,
Two of us will help you find—
One moves you forward, one takes you back.
Two hold nettle wine, three are fatal.
Choose, or remain here forever.
Four clues to aid your mind:
Though poison hides and waits nearby,
It lies left of nettle wine.
First and last won't move you on,
They're useless if escape is your goal.
Bottle size may deceive,
But neither giant nor dwarf holds death.
Left-second and right-second bottles
Though different shapes, taste the same."
Harry almost laughed. A logic puzzle? This was brilliant.
But for most wizards, this would be nearly impossible.
Because this wasn't magic.
This was Muggle logic.
It wasn't about intelligence—it was about analytical reasoning. Scientific thinking.
Just like how the smartest math student might fail a history test.
But for Harry, this was no challenge.
He studied the clues for a while.
Then picked up one bottle—
—and drank it.
A chill ran down his spine. It was like drinking ice water.
Cold but refreshing.
As for the taste—he smacked his lips. Sweet. Not bad.
He stepped through the black flames. They danced around him but didn't hurt.
He'd chosen correctly.
Harry passed through and entered the final chamber.
…
In the depths of Snape's private office.
Only the soft glow from the desk lit the otherwise dark room.
Snape sat alone, staring at a photograph.
He was lost in thought.
He remembered a warm, sunny day beneath a tall tree, where a young girl had smiled at him and said,
"Severus, I've got a riddle for you—I bet you can't solve it."
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⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter
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