|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|
It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where the first year students did the written papers. We had each been given special, new quills specially for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.
Aside from writing, we had practical exams. Professor Flitwick called us one by one into his class to see if we could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk, a spell that (even to this day) gives me much amusement. Professor McGonagall watched as we turned a mouse into a snuffbox — points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but were also taken away if it had whiskers. Professor Snape, as per usual, made everyone nervous by breathing down our necks while we were attempting to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.
Harry Potter was in obvious pain, but the reasoning for such was unknown; I was not, by any means, going to swallow my pride enough to ask that insufferable boy what was the matter. And so, as to not harm my young ego, I watched from afar — worry weighing on my mind, despite how harshly I tried to ignore it and push it aside.
It was apparent that his scar had been bothering him, for I had seen him clutching at his forehead on numerous occasions (much like he had been that night in the forest). However, I did not know the full extent, or why he also looked so tired; he had bags underneath his emerald eyes, which had lost their usual mischievous glint.
The idea of such a horrible wizard (Voldemort) being in power once again, a wizard who had taken the lives of many people (some of which included defenseless Muggles), certainly frightened me. The following nights after Harry, Hermione, and I's detention, my dreams were plagued with nightmares involving the heartbreaking sight of the dead unicorn.
As the image continued, repeated, within my mind even during the day, I found myself debating over which was more terrifying: that the evil wizard could kill something so pure and innocent as a unicorn, without a second thought of the life-ruining consequences — or that he had such little mercy, such a blackened heart, as to not care about what he had done. Instead he had such little remorse, that he could drink the blood of something that was (even in death) so beautiful.
Our very last exam was History of Magic; one hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons, and then we would be 'free'. 'Free' as in we were released for the tense, stressful week of awaiting our exam results.
"That was far easier than I thought it would be," Hermione said as we joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds, after Professor Binns (Hogwarts's only ghost teacher) had told us that we were finished. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."
"I told you that you wouldn't," I sucked on my teeth, my blue gaze directed toward the clear sky above us as the girl playfully pushed my arm with a delicate laugh.
Hermione liked to go through our exam papers afterward, but Ronald made the excuse of saying that this made him feel ill as to quiet her. And so, instead, we wandered down to the lake in silence and flopped under a large tree.
While situating my back against the thick trunk beside Hermione, I caught sight of two of my older brothers. Fred and George were leant over the edge of the lake, Lee Jordan at their side to join them in tickling the tentacles of a giant squid — which had been basking in the warm shallows.
"No more studying," Ron said happily from where he sat in the tree's shadow with Harry (across from Hermione and I), causing me to tear my gaze away from our brothers and to redirect it on him as he stretched out in the grass. He folded his pale arms behind his red head, gazing up at his bespectacled dorm-mate — who had propped himself up on his elbows, a distraught expression painted on his face. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."
"I wish I knew what this means!" Harry burst out angrily in reply, rubbing his forehead fiercely with the bottom of his hand. "My scar keeps hurting — it's happened before, but never as often as this."
"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested, but the boy shook his head of raven hair promptly in dismal of the idea.
"I'm not ill," He said. "I think it's a warning . . . it means danger's coming. . . ."
"Do you have a crystal ball that told you that?" I questioned aloud, attempting to lighten the quickly darkening mood weighing on our group. "Have you recently eaten anything that Fred and George have offered you, because if they told you it was chocolate — it is not chocolate."
The Potter gave me an incredulous look, before shaking the interruption off and rubbing a hand over his saddened facial features in defeat.
"Look, Potter," I sighed, stretching my leg to nudge the boy in question with the scratched front of one of my worn, black flats, "everyone says that Professor Dumbledore is the only one You-Know-Who ever feared. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you."
"Besides," Hermione quickly moved to add to my reassurance, her brown gaze shifting between him and I, "who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."
"Harry, relax, the girls are right," Ron's hand was over his eyes as he spoke, seemingly protecting them from the fierce glare of the sun directly above us, "the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid let's Dumbledore down."
"Oh, please," My nose scrunched in distaste as I leant forward to slap my brother's arm, which he then held onto dramatically. "Neville could probably play for England before you could, twat."
"But —" Harry shoved Ron's hand back into the grass when the 'victim' raised it in threat of retaliation, "it's not just that – Ron leave her alone — I feel as though there is something I have forgotten to do."
"That's just the exams," Hermione waved the idea off, before he could further explain. "I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."
I placed a hand flat on the trunk of the tree behind me, absentmindedly picking at the bark with my nails and sending pieces into the otherwise green grass below.
I had not spent nearly as much time studying as Hermione had, for it was hard to force myself to reread the schoolbooks I had already finished — or to keep track of the notes that I had taken (I always seemed to misplace them, and consequently found myself constantly rewriting them).
My mind was ripped from my thoughts of the previous evening, when Harry Potter — pale in the face — suddenly jumped to his feet.
"Where're you going?" Ron's voice was slightly slurred, proving that he had been falling asleep.
"I've just thought of something," Harry said. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."
"What's the matter?" I raised an eyebrow while standing, before holding a hand out to keep the boy from speaking as I regretted my question. "Actually, never mind — we don't have the time to listen to the answer."
"Don't you think it's a bit odd," He said, scrambling up the grassy slope without even waiting for Ron to get off of the ground, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"
"What are you talking about?" Ron panted, but the 'Boy Who Lived' was already sprinting across the grounds and toward the forest.
Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.
"Hullo," The kind half-giant greeted upon our arrival, smiling as the four of us stopped before him. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"
"Yes, please," My brother was quick to accept, but Harry interrupted.
"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"
"Dunno," Hagrid's large shoulders dipped in a shrug, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."
As these words reached my ears, my eyes widened – I had finally realized what the Potter boy had been rambling on about and, believe it or not, he no longer seemed so mental.
But, mind you, I said "so".
"It's not that unusual," The groundskeeper's eyebrows had raised, probably in reaction to seeing how quickly our facial expressions had changed, "yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head — that's one o' the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."
Harry sank down into the grass, beside the wooden bowl of peas, "What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"
"Mighta come up," Hagrid frowned, clearly trying to remember the events of the drunken night in question. "Yeah . . . he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here. . . . He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after . . . so I told him . . . an' then . . . I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks. . . . Let's see . . . yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted . . . but he had ter he sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home. . . . So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy. . . ."
"And did he — did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry pushed, his voice wavering for a moment as he fought to keep it calm.
"Well — yeah — how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep —"
I shook my head slowly in disbelief, placing one of my small hands over my eyes as if that would somehow make the issue disappear.
"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" Hagrid blurted out, sounding as horrified as his facial expression showed that he was. "Forget I said it! Hey — where're yeh goin'?"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I did not say a word to one another until we had come to a halt in the entrance hall, which appeared very cold and gloomy after having been out on the sunny grounds.
"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry, while I subconsciously thanked myself for discarding my heavy robes in my dormitory after our History of Magic lesson. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak — it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"
We looked around, as if hoping to see a sign that would point us in the correct direction. We had never been told of the location of our Headmaster's chambers, nor did we know of anyone who had been sent to see him.
"We'll just have to —" Harry began speaking once again, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall and silenced him.
"What are you four doing inside?"
It was Professor McGonagall, our Transfiguration teacher, and she was carrying a large pile of books in her thin arms.
"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione stated loudly, and her bluntness was the first of many.
"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, seeming suddenly suspicious of us — as though our request was question-worthy. "Why?"
"It's sort of secret," Harry swallowed, but quickly regretted his choice of words when Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared in anger.
"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," The older witch said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."
"He's gone?" said Harry frantically. "Now?"
"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time —"
"But this is important."
"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"
"Look," Harry sighed, causing for me to fear whatever was to follow out of his mouth, "Professor — it's about the Philosopher's Stone —"
It was unknown what the Transfiguration teacher had expected for him to say, but it was clear that his words did not match; the books that she had been carrying tumbled from her arms and to the stone floor below, but she did not even spare a glance at the newly-created mess.
"How do you know —" she spluttered.
"Professor, I think — I know — that Sn — that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," She said finally, after a tense moment of her eyeing him — her stare withholding a mixture of shock and suspicion.
"But Professor —"
"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," She said shortly, whilst bending down to gather the fallen books. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."
We ignored the suggestion, something that we would continue to do in the years to come — no matter the situation.
"It's tonight," Harry said quietly, once fully assured that Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."
"But what can we —?" My question was interrupted by Hermione's sudden gasp, a noise that caused my attention to immediately switch to her as confusion replaced worry.
"Good afternoon," Professor Snape was stood behind Harry and Ron with an odd, twisted smile stretched on his thin lips. "You shouldn't be inside on a day like this."
"We were —" I could not help the slight cringe that my face contorted into upon hearing the Potter boy's excuse, for lying was clearly not one of his strong points.
"You want to be more careful," The greasy-haired Potions teacher advised. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"
Our attempt to quietly return outside was futile, for he called us back the moment we had turned toward the exit.
"Be warned, Potter — any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."
The four of us watched in silence as he strode off in the direction of the staffroom, before we hurried out of the doors and away from anymore prying professors. We sat ourselves on the stone steps, and I propped an elbow on my knee to support my chin on the palm of my hand as I gazed across the grounds.
"Right, here's what we've got to do," Harry whispered urgently, refocusing my attention. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape — wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that."
"Why me?"
"It's obvious," Ron scoffed. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." His voice rose a few octaves, in a clear (yet horrible) attempt at mimicking how my best mate sounds, " 'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong. . . ."
"Oh, shut up," Hermione's brown eyes rolled, but she agreed to her role in the plan of watching out for Professor Snape.
"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry informed Ron and I, before getting to his feet. "Come on."
"Oh, no," I shook my head, the back of my grey skirt kept pressed against the similarly-coloured step beneath me. "I would rather not be caught with you two — they would automatically assume we are up to no good and give us detention again!"
"Just come on, brat," Ron seized my elbow, using the hold to force me off of the step and through the doors — which ultimately left his wide-eyed dorm-mate to trail inside behind us.
"Let go of me, you git."
And, as I had suspected, our part in the plan did not work. We had only been standing outside of the door to Fluffy's chambers for a matter of moments, when Professor McGonagall appeared again to lose her temper with the three of us.
"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" She stormed, her voice so loud that it echoed off of the enclosing cobblestone walls. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Mr. Weasley, from my own House!"
Thankfully, neither Harry nor Ron put up an argument and allowed for us to peacefully return to the common room. While my twin and I fought over the only unoccupied armchair in front of the fire, Harry sighed aloud to silence our bickering, "At least Hermione's on Snape's trail."
It seemed as though he had jinxed it for, in that very same moment, the brunette in question came clambering in through the portrait hole.
"I'm sorry, Harry!" She wailed, while hurrying over to the three of us. Thankful for the distraction, I slipped myself into the forgotten seat. Upon hearing my movements because of his close proximity, Ron glared down fiercely at me — but, I only smiled in return. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."
"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry sighed, and my heart felt heavy at the sight — so much so that I felt pressured to offer him the comfortable chair, reasons for which were unknown and not of priority. "I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get the Stone first."
"You're mad!" Ron's jaw fell ajar, while my eyes widened in the same emotion of surprise.
"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"
"SO WHAT?" Harry's shout was unexpected, for I had never heard the boy yell as he usually had a calm and cool persona.
I sank down into the plush of the armchair, as if making a futile attempt to disappear. My hands gripped the arm-rests, my fingers clutching onto the fabric whilst my bottom lip was pulled between my teeth.
"Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you three say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"
I breathed in deeply, releasing my lip when the copper taste of blood began to drip onto my tongue. I hesitated for a moment, feeling the full scrutiny of Potter's glare as I pulled my knees beneath my body. Using the new boost of height, I placed a gentle hand upon the boy's tense shoulder.
"If you're going, then I am too."
"What?" His harsh look fell as his facial features softened, and his question escaped his lips in what resembled a whisper when compared to his previous tone.
"If you are going," I began to repeat my words, this time purposely stretching them out to be of annoyance, "then so am I."
"O-okay," He brought a hand to the back of his neck, where he rubbed as his head dipped down a tad in an attempt to hide the sudden colouring of his cheeks. "We'll use the Invisibility Cloak — it's just lucky I got it back."
"But will it cover all four of us?" Ron asked, causing the corner of my lips to tug upwards.
"All — all four of us?"
"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"
"Of course not," Hermione added briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful. . . ."
"But if we get caught, you three will be expelled, too."
"Not if Alex and I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that we got over a hundred percent on his exam. They're not throwing us out after that."
—————
After dinner, the four of us sat nervously apart in the common room; we watched as our pupils passed through, some hanging around near us but all eventually retreating to their dormitories.
I passed the time with Hermione, listening while she explained some of her notes and reading them aloud when she asked me to quiz her.
Once the only other Gryffindor in the room, Lee Jordan (Fred and George's mate), finally disappeared up the boys' staircase, Harry followed behind him to retrieve the Cloak from its previously-untouched hiding place.
"We'd better put the Cloak on here," Harry advised upon return, while I multi-tasked between watching him jump down the last few steps and helping Hermione collect her notes, "and make sure it covers all four of us — if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own —"
"What are you doing?" questioned a voice from the far corner of the room. Neville Longbottom appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor (his pet toad), who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.
"Nothing, Neville, nothing," Harry hurried, his arms shooting behind his back to hide the Cloak.
"You're going out again," Neville stated, studying our guilty facial expressions.
"No, no, no," said Hermione, while I slowly straightened up from where I had been bent over the couch we had been sitting on — the pieces of parchment in my hands nearly slipping from between my fingers and creating another mess. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"
"You can't go out," Neville's head shook slowly as he spoke, the toad in his hands yelping when he squeezed it too tight, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."
"You don't understand," said Harry, his emerald eyes darting to the grandfather clock by the door to remind us that we were losing time, "this is important."
"I won't let you do it," Neville hurried to stand in front of the portrait hole, blocking our exit. "I'll — I'll fight you!"
"Neville, please," My tone was gentle as I carefully gave Hermione her notes, before taking a few strides toward the practically-trembling boy. "We mean no harm —"
"Neville," Ronald exploded, clearly aggravated with the fact that we were wasting crucial minutes, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot —"
"Don't you call me an idiot!" Neville exclaimed, and I frowned while looking between the two males. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"
"Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."
I winced when he took a step forward, causing his timid dorm-mate to drop his pet — who was quick to take the opportunity and leap from sight.
"Go on then, try and hit me!" Neville threatened, raising his fists. "I'm ready."
I smiled carefully as Harry desperately mouthed to me, "Do something."
"Neville," I began, casting a side glance to my bushy-haired best mate in hopes of her catching the unspoken meaning, "Can you please step out of the way?"
I sighed when he nervously (but adamantly) shook his head, his clenched fists shaking from where they were held a slight distance away from his pale face, "Well, then I am really, really sorry about this."
Without an explanation, I took a large step backwards and nodded toward Hermione — who, with her wand gripped tightly in her right hand, approached the frightened male.
"Petrificus Totalus!" She cried, pointing it at him.
Immediately, the poor lad's arms snapped to his sides and his legs sprang together; his whole body went rigid which caused for him to sway where he stood before falling flat on his face, stiff as a board.
I hurried to turn him over, Hermione on my heels to be of assistance in the action. Neville's jaws were jammed together, and he therefore could not speak, but his eyes still looked up at us — filled with the utmost horror.
"What have you done to him?" Harry whispered, crouching down on the other side of Neville.
"It's the full Body-Bind," I sighed, brushing some of Neville's brown hair off of his forehead soothingly.
"Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry," Hermione mumbled miserably, from where she was knelt on the maroon carpet beside me.
"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," Harry said, quickly getting to his feet and motioning for the two of us to follow.
I did as instructed, before holding a hand out toward Hermione to help her rise as well. She pocketed her wand, and then used the newly-freed hand to accept my aid.
"You'll understand later, Neville," Ron added, as we stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.
I will always feel guilty for leaving Neville defenseless and motionless on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, no matter our understandable reasoning and no matter how many years pass.
In our nervous state, we were more on edge and cautious; every statue's shadow appeared to resemble Filch (the school's caretaker), and every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves (the poltergeist) swooping down on us.
"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered when we reached the foot of the first set of stairs, at the top of which laid a skulking Mrs. Norris. I rolled my eyes at his words, but Harry shook his head in response before I could utter a word. As we climbed carefully around the cat, she stared up at us with her lamplike eyes but she did not move.
We did not meet or see anyone else until we had reached the staircase leading up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet on the steps so that people would trip.
"Who's there?" He asked suddenly as we carefully climbed toward him, causing for me to suck in a sharp breath and stop short. Harry (who was stood on my right side) seized my elbow the moment I did, forcing me to keep walking despite the shock. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"
The poltergeist rose up into the air, where he floated, squinting his glinting eyes at us, "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."
"Peeves," Harry said, in a hoarse whisper. My blue eyes widened as I glanced at him in confusion, but he placed a hand over my mouth the moment my lips parted, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."
I watched as Peeves nearly fell out of the air in shock; he caught himself in time, before moving to hover about a foot off the stairs.
"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," He said greasily, and I smiled against Potter's palm in amusement. "My mistake, my mistake — I didn't see you — of course I didn't, you're invisible — forgive old Peeves his little joke, sir."
"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. I was thankful, in that mere moment, that his hand was there to muffle the straining laughter when it attempted to escape my throat. "Stay away from this place tonight."
"I will, sir, I most certainly will," Peeves rose into the air once again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."
"Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron, the moment the poltergeist had scooted off.
"I have to agree," I muttered to the raven-haired boy after I had pushed his hand away, a smile stretched on my lips. "That may just be the funniest thing you have ever done, Potter."
"Glad to have your approval, Ria," He gave me a lopsided, goofy grin in return.
A few moments later, there we were, outside of the third-floor corridor — and yet, the door was already ajar.
"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."
He then shifted slightly beneath the Cloak, maneuvering himself to where he was stood in front of Ron, Hermione, and I — the opened door behind him.
"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the Cloak, I won't need it now."
"Don't be stupid," said Ron.
"We're coming," said Hermione, while I nodded in agreement.
After accepting the reassurance, Harry pushed the door to open it completely; it creaked as it slowly revealed the monster within the chambers — all three heads of which were sniffing madly in our direction, even though we were hidden from view.
"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered, her voice sweet against the low, grumbling growls of the three-headed dog.
"Looks like a harp," Ron's blue eyes squinted through the fabric of the Cloak. "Snape must have left it there."
"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes . . ."
In his hands was the flute that Hagrid had made for him for Christmas; it was wooden, and I could clearly see the effort that the kind half-giant had put into the gift.
The Potter raised the flute to his lips and blew. It was neither an unpleasant sound nor tune that escaped the instrument, but the beast's eyes began to droop from the very first note. Slowly, but surely, the dog's growls ceased — it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.
"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry, slipping the Cloak off himself and creeping toward the trapdoor. Hermione followed behind him, but I paused for a moment.
I turned to face Harry, who stared at me in such confusion that he almost stopped playing. My eyes widened as he blew hard to save the note, before I quickly glanced at our mates to assure they were still all right near the monster.
I then gently placed my hands on the Cloak and pulled it off of the two of us, folding it carefully to return to its owner — who titled his head of messy hair toward the doorway, gesturing for me to leave it there.
"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron peered over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"
I stifled a laugh as the girl snapped, "No, I don't!"
"All right." Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs, before bending to pull the ring out of the trapdoor — which then swung up and open.
"What can you see?" Hermione asked anxiously, while I gently pushed passed her to join my brother.
"Nothing," I answered her question, staring into the blackness of the seemingly endless hole. "— just black — there doesn't appear to be a way of climbing down, we may have to just drop."
"You want to go first? Are you sure?" Ron raised an eyebrow at Harry, who had been waving his hand for our attention and gesturing to himself. "I don't know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."
Harry was quick when transferring the instrument to my best mate; even in the mere seconds of silence, the dog managed to growl and twitch. However, the moment Hermione began to play, it slipped easily back into its deep sleep.
The bespectacled wizard appeared beside me, his emerald eyes gazed deep through the trapdoor. He did not seem nervous and, in that moment, I admired his bravery.
If only I had known that that same bravery would get him (and us) into unimaginable trouble in the years to come.
I watched as he lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips; he glanced once at the depths below, before returning his attention back up to Ron and I, "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"
"The only thing about to happen to you is me pushing you if you keep dragging this out," I gave a solid nod of my head, dropping to my knees in front of him. "But, if something does happen, can I have Hedwig?"
"No, you stay away from her —"
"Mate, Hermione can't play forever," Ron interrupted, glancing between us and the bushy-haired witch.
"All right," Harry sighed, before connecting his emerald eyes with my blue ones once again. "See you in a minute, I hope. . . ."
"See you in a minute, Potter."
With that, the boy let go. I watched as he vanished within the suffocating darkness, the colour resembling the mess of raven hair atop his head. He did not yell as he descended, and so there was not a sound for Ron or I to hear until he supposedly landed — which we guessed had happened, seeing how there was a solid "FLUMP" that raised from the depths to reach our ears.
"It's okay!" His familiar voice called, and I released a breath that I had not realized I had been holding, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!"
I moved to follow, but a sudden hand on my shoulder stopped my movements. I stared up at Ron in question, but he then removed his hold just as quickly as it had appeared, "Just — don't . . . just be careful, all right?"
"Aren't I always?" I grinned, moving to stand and instead accidentally tripping over the edge of the trapdoor.
The grin slipped from my face as I fell into the darkness, a scream escaping my lips while my eyes were instinctively squeezed shut. I could hear the faint sound of my brother calling for me from somewhere above, but the whooshing of cold, damp air filled my ears and mostly blocked out his voice.
A few moments later, I landed with a thump on something relatively soft. I kept my eyes closed, until a gentle hand on my arm made me open them in sudden fright. Once my vision had adjusted to the dreary gloom, I was met with the features of Harry Potter.
"Are you all right?" He asked.
"I-I think so," A laugh tumbled passed my lips, greatly confusing the wizard in front of me — a fact that I barely noticed.
I heard a yelp from above us and, barely a second later, my twin was sprawled out on the other side of Harry. He made a noise as he sat up, his pale nose scrunched in distaste, "What's this stuff?"
"Dunno," Harry answered, but his attention seemed focused on the square of light miles above us — the open trapdoor, "some sort of plant thing. I suppose it's here to break the fall. Come on, Hermione!"
The distant music, which I hadn't noticed I could still hear until this moment, stopped. There was a loud bark from one of the dog's three heads, but Hermione had already jumped — she landed beside me.
"We must be miles under the school," She observed, her brown eyes seeming darker than usual because of the lack of light.
"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.
"Lucky!" She shrieked, but my eyes were focused on my wrists — the plant had begun to twist around them, resembling snakelike tendrils that were trying to tie me down. "Look at you three!"
I fought against the hold, yelping as its grip tightened and another part wrapped itself around my middle.
"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered, and I glanced in her direction — only to discover that she had somehow freed herself. "I know what this is — it's Devil's Snare!"
"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," Ron snarled, while I followed her command and ceased my movements — as the plant wrapped itself fully around my small figure, I raked through my brain in an attempt to remember anything I could about Devil's Snare from our Herbology schoolbook.
"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" Hermione exclaimed frantically, and I focused my blue eyes on her.
"It would be great if you could possibly figure this out a bit quicker," The words left my mouth in a wheeze, for the plant had been squeezing the oxygen from my body. "I – can't — breathe —"
"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare . . . what did Professor Sprout say?" I could hear her repeating the passage from the section, and the following bit collected on my tongue.
"— it likes the dark and the damp —" I managed to say, before I had to take in a big breath because the plant had covered my mouth and nose.
"So light a fire!" Harry choked.
"Yes — of course — but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, causing me to squeeze my tearing eyes shut in fear.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed, and I could feel my head going woozy from the lack of air. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"
"Oh, right!" said Hermione and, a moment later, I could feel the plant loosening its grip as it cringed away from whatever flames she had lit.
I used all of the strength I had left to throw myself completely out of its hold and further away; I landed on my stomach, coughing and spluttering as the fresh oxygen seeped into my burning lungs.
"I am so sorry!" Hermione dropped onto her knees beside me, the heat of the fire disappearing as the spell lost her concentration. "Are you all right?"
Any attempted response refused to form into anything other than a wheeze and so, having realized that words were not possible for me at the moment, I raised one of my thumbs to the girl in reassurance.
"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry, as he and my brother joined us by the wall.
"Yeah," Ron agreed, "and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis — 'there's no wood', honestly."
"A-at least she wasn't the one freaking like Ginny w-when Fred and George put coloured d-dye in her shampoo," I coughed out, pressing the back of my hand flat against my forehead when the room began to feel as though it was spinning.
"Are you all right?" Harry repeated Hermione's earlier question, as he wrapped one of his arms beneath one of mine and then around my upper back to help me to my feet.
"Yeah," I breathed in deeply for a moment, before nodding my head softly and thanking him for the aid.
"All right," He then glanced around, his emerald eyes squinting through the darkness before focusing on a stone passageway. He pointed down it, and I soon realized that it was the only possible path forward. "This way."
All we could hear as we walked, apart from our own footsteps, was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls.
"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered, causing my eyebrows to furrow in confusion.
I focused harder on my surroundings, listening for anything other than what I had already acknowledged. And my brother was right, for a soft rustling and clinking could be heard from up ahead.
"Do you think it's a ghost?"
"I don't know . . . sounds like wings to me."
"There's lights ahead — I can see something moving."
The four of us reached the end of the passageway and saw before us a brilliantly lit chamber; it had a ceiling that arched high above us, and was filled with small, jewel-bright birds that were fluttering and tumbling about the room.
"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Ron asked, upon noticing that our needed exit was placed on the opposite side of the chamber.
"Probably," supposed Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once . . . well, there's no other choice . . . I'll run."
I watched in amusement as the 'Boy Who Lived' sucked in a deep breath before, with his arms over his face, sprinting across the room. None of the birds paid him the slightest mind, and it was therefore acceptable for me to laugh aloud at the sight of the frantic male.
Once he had reached the heavy wooden door untouched, Hermione, Ron, and I followed after him — without copying his ways of "protection".
We all tugged and heaved at the door but it would not budge, not even when Hermione casted the Alohomora Charm (which was supposed to open locks).
"Now what?" Ron panted, exhausted from the used energy during our attempts.
"These birds . . . they can't be here just for decoration," Hermione commented, causing the rest of us to direct our attention to the mentioned animals — which were soaring overhead, glittering.
"They're not birds!" Harry realized suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys — look carefully. So that must mean . . ." he glanced around the chamber. ". . . yes — look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"
"But there are hundreds of them!" Hermione exclaimed.
Ron examined the lock on the door for a moment, "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one — probably silver, like the handle."
"I can't," Hermione shook her head of bushy-hair, her arms wrapped around herself as Ron, Harry, and I each seized hold of a broomstick. "I don't know how — I'll fall."
I mounted the old broom, my hands wrapping themselves securely around the handle while I offered, "You can ride with me. I will keep you in the air, and you can search for the key."
And so, after the girl had situated herself behind me, I kicked off of the ground as if it was the grass on the Quidditch pitch — how I wished that it was, that the keys were players and the situation was not as dire.
I focused solely on assuring that Hermione's first flying experience was not terrible, while she grabbed and snatched at the surrounding cloud of keys.
"That one!" Harry called after only a moment, reminding us of why he was the youngest Seeker in a century. "That big one — there — no, there — with bright blue wings — the feathers are all crumbled on one side."
Ron sped in the direction indicated, but (instead of catching the correct key) went crashing into the ceiling and nearly fell off of his broom.
"We've got to close in on it!" Harry called, his stare following the key with the damaged wing as it struggled through the air. "Ron, you come at it from above — Ria, stay below and stop it from going down — and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!"
While my brother dived, I rocketed Hermione and I upwards; despite our efforts and Hermione's outstretched hand, the key managed to dodge us all. I hovered in the air to watch as Harry streaked after it — he was leant forward on the handle of the broomstick he had been riding and, with a sickening crunch, he pinned the key against the stone wall with one hand.
I landed Hermione and I gently, while Harry (with the key between his fingers) rushed to the door. I dropped the broomstick we had been riding with little mind, my attention focused on the raven-haired boy as he turned the lock rather than the broom as it clattered to the hard floor below us.
"Ready?" Harry asked aloud as Ron, Hermione, and I joined him, his hand wrapped around the door's handle.
Having taken our nods as response enough, the bespectacled Potter pulled open the door to reveal our next task. The next room was very dark, so much so that we could not see anything at all. However, the moment we stepped inside, light suddenly illuminated the confinements to reveal an astonishing sight.
The four of us were stood on the edge of a huge chessboard, one that resembled the smaller version that my siblings and I's grandfather had given to Ron. We were behind the black chessmen, which were all much taller than we were and carved from what appeared to be black stone. Facing them, on the opposite side of the chamber, were the white, creepily faceless pieces.
"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered, as if he feared that the chessmen were listening.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ron answered the question with another question. "We've got to play our way across the room."
"How?" Hermione asked nervously, while my gaze soon found the door behind the white pieces.
"I think," My brother continued, and I realized in this moment that his love for the game was more useful than had I previously deemed it, "we're going to have to be chessmen."
I watched as he walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. As if responding to his touch, the stone sprang to life — the large horse pawed at the ground, while the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.
"Do we — er — have to join you to get across?"
When the black knight nodded, Ron turned back to face Harry, Hermione, and I.
"This needs thinking about . . . ." he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces. . . . ."
While my twin thought, no words were exchanged. Nothing was said at all, until Ron finally said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but none of you are that good at chess —"
"We're not offended," Harry said quickly. "Just tell us what to do."
"Harry, you take the place of that bishop," Ronald said, his finger pointed outwards to position us in the correct spots. "Hermione, you go there instead of that castle. Alex, you be the queen."
"Finally, someone recognizes my stature."
"What about you?" Harry asked Ron, whose blue eyes glanced back up at the black knight beside him.
"I'm going to be a knight," He stated proudly, as if that was something he had dreamt of.
The chessmen, in this moment, did seem to have been listening — for (just after Ron had finished assigning our positions) a knight, a bishop, the queen, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off of the board, leaving four empty squares for Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I to fill.
"White always plays first in chess," Ron peered across the board expectantly at the mentioned colour. "Yes . . . look . . ."
Once a white pawn had moved forward two squares, Ron began to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them, following his instructions with no refusal.
"Harry — move diagonally four squares to the right."
The first real shock of the game came when our other knight was taken, and it made me ponder over the question of what would happen if we lost. The 'kill' was brutal: the white queen smashed the stone, black knight to the floor and dragged him off of the board, where he laid still.
"Had to let that happen," Ron, who was slowly becoming paler and shaky as the game commenced, explained. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."
Every time one of our men were lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. And, soon, there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed that I was in danger (which grew to be worrisome after the very first near-accident). Although, he himself darted around the board and took more of the white pieces than Hermione, Harry, and I combined — almost as many as we had lost black ones.
"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly, after what felt like ages of playing. "Let me think — let me think . . ."
When the white queen turned her blank face toward him, a flash of realization crossed his face before his expression melted into one I recognized whenever he thought of an idiotic idea.
"Yes . . ." He said softly, "it's the only way . . . I've got to be taken."
"NO!" I shouted, my protest mixing with those of Harry and Hermione.
"That's chess!" snapped Ron, his attention focusing on the three of us. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I'll make my move and she'll take me — that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!"
"But —"
"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"
"Ron —"
"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"
"You're an idiot, Ronald Weasley!" I cried, tears welling in my eyes as I glanced at our fallen black pieces off of the board.
"I love you, too."
And, after a moment of allowing for us to come to terms with the fact that there was no other option, Ron's pale face forced determination, "Ready? Here I go — now, don't hang around once you've won."
He stepped forward, and the white queen immediately pounced; she struck my brother hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor — my hands flew to cover my eyes whilst listening to Hermione scream, but we all stayed on our squares — I could hear the white queen dragging Ron's unconscious form off to one side.
After a few seconds and with a heavy heart, I allowed my hands to drop back down to my sides to watch as a shaking Harry Potter moved himself three spaces to the left (as Ron had instructed before the incident).
The white king took off his crown and threw it at Potter's feet, announcing our victory and the match's completion. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the path to the door ahead clear.
However, despite my brother's command of leaving him behind, I rushed to his side. Once I had reached the insensible ginger, I dropped to my knees on the hard floor and lifted his head gently onto my lap.
I could feel his breathing, the breath that escaped his slightly parted lips blowing upward and toward me. I could see his chest rising and falling, from the movement of air pumping through his lungs.
I released a sigh of relief, my blue eyes lifting to glance between Harry and Hermione — both of whom had not left their squares, although they were watching me carefully.
"He's all right," I announced, and I could see visible tension leaving their shoulders in consolation upon hearing my words. "You two can go on."
"What?" Hermione questioned.
"I'm staying here."
"Ron said to —" Harry began to protest, but I quieted him before he could continue.
"I don't care what he said, he's my brother," This was the first time I had said these words, had chosen my twin above all others, but it would not be the last — for family holds a part of you no matter how old you get, no matter how many others begin to find place in your heart. "And I am not leaving him."
Editing Complete: 6/11/19
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side note:
i am bloody awful at chess, and haven't the slightest clue as to how to play.
- Gianna x