"Stupefy," I drawled, smirking as the cerberus froze in place.
"So, what do we do now?" the Weasley asked.
"A trap door!" Hermione cried.
I strode forward, opening the trap door. "Now, we have to be very careful because anything could be down there. This is guarding a very dangerous artifact, after all, so the traps are almost certainly deadly…Ron, you're first."
"Wait, why do I have to be first?" he asked.
I sighed. "Well, we can hardly afford to lose Hermione; she knows everything. Mostly, however, it's because you are the most Gryffindor of us all."
The Weasley took this as a compliment. It was not intended as such. Still, it got him down the hatch, so I can hardly complain.
"Gah! There's something down here," he yelled. "I'm all caught up in it, and it keeps pulling at me."
"Hm…Lumos." The light allowed me to see down into the hatch. In retrospect, I probably could have done this before sending in one of my minions, but there's no use worrying about it now.
A series of vines had hold of him. I frowned. "Incendio."
"Ah!" the Weasley cried.
Once the vines were sufficiently cleared, I hopped down, followed by Hermione. The Weasley curled against the floor, whimpering.
Hermione asked, "Ron, are you alright?"
He groaned. "Did you really have to set me on fire?"
"Actually, yes," Hermione answered for me as she inspected the shriveled remains of the plant. "This is Devil's Snare. It's very sensitive to light. With so much of it, a lumos probably wouldn't have been enough to free you. I can't believe you recognized it so quickly, Harry."
I said, "I'm very talented, and it's commendable that you took the time to enlighten Ron."
…and me. To be honest, I didn't know anything about Devil's Snare. Most plants react poorly to fire, however, and incendio is one of those neat little spells that's useful in every situation.
"Um, can you get up?" Hermione asked.
"No…"
"We'll just have to venture forth without him," I declared.
"But he's hurt!" Hermione said. "We can't just leave him here."
"Oh, he'll be fine," I said. "Right, Ron?"
He groaned again.
"I'm pretty sure that means right. Come along, Hermione."
She was really much easier to convince than I expected. I don't even think she looked back as we walked to the next room, which was filled with flying keys and broomsticks.
Hermione frowned at the flock of keys. "One of these must open the door, probably something a bit older and silver, to match the handle. I suppose we have to use the broomsticks and catch it. But neither of us is any good at flying…If only Ron wasn't hurt…"
"Eh, we don't need him," I said. "Accio working key."
A silver key with bright blue wings – one already crumpled – zipped from the air to my hand. When I set it in the keyhole, the door opened immediately.
She gasped. "How did you manage that?"
"Hermione, there must be fifty keys up there. They can't all be real keys that open things. That would be ridiculous. It would make far more sense to make a bunch of fake keys with only one that works."
Magic is so much simpler with the proper use of adjectives.
...
The next room featured a giant chess set that blocked our path when we tried to walk past.
"We need to play," Hermione said. "Oh, now I really wish Ron was here."
"We could just fly over," I said. "There are broomsticks right there."
Hermione bit her lip. "I don't really like flying."
I patted her on the head, which would have been far more patronizing if I hadn't been forced to reach up to do so. "No one intelligent really likes flying. It involves sending yourself high in the air on a very thin platform with minimal protective charms."
"You're not making me feel any better about this," Hermione said.
Ah, yes, comfort. I could do that. "…But, with appropriate caution, we shall hopefully avoid dying horribly."
Hermione looked a bit green. Retrieving brooms from the previous room, I handed one to her, and we lifted off. Admittedly, it probably shouldn't have taken ten minutes to cross a thirty-foot-long space. Yet I feel that we are vindicated by the fact that neither of us plummeted to our deaths.
...
Black flames surrounded us. We kept well back from them, as neither of us wanted to end up like the Weasley. Hermione solved the riddle quickly enough, though.
"This one will take us forward, this one back, and these are poison," she said.
I took the tiny bottle that would send the drinker forward. "Only looks like enough for one of us, Hermione. I will go, of course."
She pouted. "No it isn't. If we just took tiny sips…"
I shook my head. I really didn't need her interfering when I stole the stone. "No, no, definitely not enough. Besides, you should go back and take Ron to the Hospital Wing. He's probably dying right now."
Hermione looked horrified. "You said he would be fine!"
"Yes, well, I was being optimistic. Now I'm not. I'm not saying he's definitely in horrible agony, but you should probably check."
She took one last lingering glance at the flames. "Well, I suppose I should. I wish I could go with you, though…"
As much as I respected Hermione's complete disregard for her friend's well-being, Dumbledore could be coming to stop me at this very moment. "Goodbye, Hermione."
She gave me a quick hug and wished me luck before rushing back through the fire.
...
I stepped warily through the black flames, eyes primed for any sign of the Philosopher's Stone. No, I didn't need it, not with my horcruxes. Nevertheless, one can never be too immortal.
I nearly fell over in shock when I spotted Quirrel. The professor was crouched in front of an ornate mirror, tapping the glass experimentally. I suddenly realized that his stuttering, his idiocy, and his horrible teaching were all an act.
Since I was covered by an invisibility cloak, Quirrel had yet to detect my presence.
"Avada Kedavra," I whispered. Too focused on the mirror to see my spell, he crumpled to the ground. Immediately, a dark mist rose from his body and wooshed through the flames.
"That was weird." A quick incendio charred Quirrel's corpse and I kicked it to the side.
"Now, how do I get the stone?" In the mirror, my reflection (an older, distinguished-looking professor) shrugged and smiled mischievously. Neither physical nor magical attacks had any effect on the mirror and I was about ready to slam my head into the thing when Dumbledore burst through the flames.
"Headmaster!" I exclaimed in surprise. "This isn't what it looks like. Y'see, I realized that someone was going to steal the stone and Quirrel attacked me and then he burst into flames."
I waved my hands around for emphasis. This is why I usually prepare my cover stories ahead of time.
Dumbledore looked pretty happy, considering his current DADA teacher was dead at his feet. Perhaps he was just relieved that this one lasted the term. "That was your mother's love, dear boy. It protects you."
I blinked in surprise, "My mother's love is fire?"
He chuckled, "Something like that."
"So, you're not punishing me?"
"Of course not," he reassured me. Wow, I'd just murdered a teacher, and I didn't even get a detention. They weren't nearly this lenient when I went to school.
...
The Great Hall was already decked out in green and silver when my minions and I entered. The Weasley muttered under his breath and sulked, but I was in a great mood. I waved to Snape. He didn't even hiss, so I suspected he was in a good mood as well. When Longbottom's toad skittered beneath the table, I barely even thought about stepping on it.
"Can't believe we lost to a bunch of snakes," the Weasley said.
"They've managed to win for six years in a row," Hermione said. "It's hardly surprising they did it again."
The toad had leapt onto the table and was currently ruining the pudding. One of the older Weasleys carefully circled it, wand at the ready. Perry, I think.
Ron said, "It's all because Snape's a bastard."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "If Harry didn't pick fights with him so often…"
I beamed. "Oh, yes, it's definitely my fault."
Dumbledore called for our attention at the front of the room. He smiled, as if we weren't all on to him. "Another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...
"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth, Gryffindor with three hundred points; in third, Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two; in second, Ravenclaw with fourth hundred and twenty-six; and, in first place, Slytherin with four hundred and seventy-two."
There was clapping and cheering, mostly from me. The Weasley asked, "Mate, what are you doing?"
"Demonstrating good sportsmanship," I declared. "I think it's telling I'm the only one doing so."
"But there are some last minute points that have yet to be awarded," Dumbledore said, eyes gleaming with nefarious intent. "To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for keeping a cool head in the face of fire, I award fifty points. To Miss Hermione Granger, for mustering the courage to fly, I award fifty points. To Mr. Harry Potter, for protecting an irreplaceable heirloom, I also award fifty points."
I frowned. Huh, still twenty-two points behind. I'd really expected worse from the old man. I asked, "No one else has done anything heroic lately, have they?"
It was at that moment that the older Weasley lunged for Longbottom's toad. He cried out triumphantly, "Aha! There you go, Neville."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Finally, to Mr. Percival Weasley, for returning a younger student's lost pet, I award twenty-three points."
Gryffindor yowled its approval.
"Oh come on," I said. "He's blatantly cheating."