Hermione looked around. There was no sign of a fight: no splashes of blood on the floor, no bits of Snape's black cloak. Two things could have happened: either Fluffy had swallowed the professor whole, or Snape had put him to sleep and walked past without a scratch. As much as Hermione wanted to believe the first option, the second seemed more likely. And it was soon confirmed by the harp they found lying near the dozing dog.
Fluffy seemed to notice them and started sniffing the air loudly. Without wasting time, Harry pulled out the flute he'd brought and started playing. The music wasn't great. Actually, it was terrible. Hermione winced — it sounded more like the screech of a dental drill in her parents' office than music. But Fluffy seemed to like it. He calmed down, settled back in, and started snoring again.
Even asleep, the dog was terrifying. The trapdoor was right between his paws, and one of his heads was resting beside it. When Ron saw this, his 'gentlemanly' side kicked in, and he offered to let Hermione go first. But to his disappointment, for once, Hermione didn't appreciate it.
As Harry kept playing to keep Fluffy asleep, Ron had to step over the dog's paws and open the trapdoor himself. Seeing the foul-smelling air from Fluffy's nose ruffle Ron's hair, Hermione couldn't imagine getting that close to the beast. But they didn't have a choice.
A dark void opened under the trapdoor, leading who knows where. There were no stairs or any other way down in sight. The only option left was to jump. Ron hesitated, so Harry handed the flute to Hermione and jumped first. A moment later, they heard his distant shout, letting them know he'd landed safely. Ron followed, leaving Hermione alone.
Still playing the flute, she slowly made her way to the trapdoor, flinching at every sound Fluffy made. Because, let's face it, when you're staring at a dog's head the size of yourself, it's a little unsettling. Just a bit. When she finally got to the trapdoor and looked down, dizziness hit her. She couldn't make herself jump. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the heads start to rise. Realizing in horror that she'd stopped playing the flute, she panicked and threw herself headfirst into the trapdoor. Behind her, Fluffy's frustrated barking echoed, once again missing out on his prey.
Hermione landed on something relatively soft, though she banged her knee a bit. Ron, sounding pleased, said, "Lucky this plant thing's here, really."
Hermione glanced at them and gasped.
"Lucky!" she yelped, struggling to pull her legs free from the vines wrapping around her, then jumping back against the wall. "Look at you both!"
Harry and Ron were tangled in the plant they'd landed on, and its vines were crawling all over them. They were trying to rip the strangling tendrils off, but the more they struggled, the faster the plant wrapped around them. Hermione stood frozen, watching in horror, but their shouts snapped her out of it.
"Stop moving!" Hermione yelled. "I know what this is - it's Devil's Snare!"
But Harry and Ron kept fighting, and the vines just tightened around them. It was getting harder for them to breathe. Hermione started to panic. She'd read up on herbology before this trip, knowing Professor Sprout had helped set up the protections around the Philosopher's Stone. But she'd expected dangerous plants that attacked, spit poison, or put people to sleep—not Devil's Snare…
"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare…" she kept repeating like a mantra, but her mind was blank, and she just stood there, helplessly watching as her friends struggled for air. A vision flashed in her head—Harry and Ron lying paralyzed on the Astronomy Tower roof while Honeydew calmly talked about their deaths. Except this time, Professor McGonagall wasn't there to help, and it felt like there was no way out...
As that awful thought hit her, Hermione's arms dropped, and a wave of hopelessness washed over her. But then Harry's cry shook her back to her senses. She snapped out of it, shook herself, and forced herself to focus.
"Devil's Snare... What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp," she muttered to herself. Thankfully, Harry overheard and gasped,
"So light a fire!"
"Yes – of course – but there's no wood!" she said, looking around in panic, her hands trembling.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" Harry shouted, barely able to breathe. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"
"Oh, right!" Hermione fumbled for her wand and whispered, "Incendio!"
Blue flames shot from her wand, and the plant, writhing, slowly shrank away from the fire, letting go of Harry and Ron. Once they were free, they stood up. Ron gave the nearest vine a vengeful stomp to crush it before backing off.
After catching their breath and brushing off the last bits of Devil's Snare, they set off down the only path left, making sure to thank Hermione for saving them.
'And that was only the first obstacle,' Hermione thought with a sense of dread. 'What's coming next?' She was already starting to regret not sharing her worries with Harry before they set off. But it was too late to change anything now; they could only keep moving forward. As Hermione trudged behind her friends, who were walking ahead full of energy, another thought stuck in her head: 'Jumping down was easy, but how are we supposed to get back up?'
As they made their way down the damp, dark corridor, a strange sound started to echo from up ahead. It sounded like thousands of dragonflies buzzing around in one place. Soon, they saw light, and a few minutes later, they reached the end of the corridor and stepped into a brightly lit hall. There were tons of large dragonflies—or maybe small birds—flying all over the place. Something about their appearance seemed off, though.
Seeing that the creatures weren't an immediate threat, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry and Ron. By then, they had already reached a door on the far side of the hall and found it locked. Hermione walked over and tried the "Alohomora" spell, but this time, it didn't work.
"Now what?" Ron asked.
"These birds… they can't be here just for decoration," Hermione said, thinking out loud.
"They're not birds!" Harry suddenly realized. "They're keys! Winged keys!"
Hermione looked closer and saw that Harry was right. He already headed toward the brooms in the corner of the room.
"But there are hundreds of them!" she said, feeling overwhelmed. "How are we supposed to find the right one?"
Ron bent down to look at the keyhole and said, "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one - probably silver, like the handle."
They hopped on the brooms and started chasing the keys. Hermione had always preferred watching Quidditch from the stands, and this chase only confirmed her feelings. Sports were never her thing, and flying on a broom trying to catch something definitely counted as sports. She tried to grab at least one key, but they all slipped through her fingers. The keys smacked her on the head, back, legs, and shoulders, but none landed in her hands—every attempt was a miss. Despair started to creep in: 'How much longer are we going to be flying around on these stupid brooms?'
At that moment, Harry yelled,
"That one! The big one – there…" he said, pointing to a key with a bent wing.
He suggested they try to surround it from above and below before making a grab for it. Hermione and Ron tried to block it, but the key slipped past both of them. Luckily, Harry's skills as a Seeker paid off—within seconds, he had the key in his hand, fluttering helplessly.
Hermione was super relieved to get off the broom. The flying had completely worn her out, and she wasn't sure she could keep going. Just then, she felt something flapping in her hair. Running her hand through her messy hair, she pulled out a key. 'Well, I did manage to catch one,' she thought with a bit of irony.
Ron, seeing this, pointed at Hermione and said to Harry, grinning, "Even if you hadn't caught the key, Hermione would've saved us by catching them all eventually!"
Harry grinned back.
"Nice job, Hermione! You've proven again that using your head is definitely your thing!"
Hermione pretended to lunge at him, and Harry, faking fear, dodged quickly. She wasn't actually mad at them; the whole thing was pretty funny.
They walked up to the door, put the key in, and after unlocking it, stepped inside. The next room was completely dark. As soon as the door slammed shut behind them, they couldn't even see their own hands in front of their faces. Hermione hesitated, wondering if it was safe to go forward—what if it was some kind of trap with pits? Her imagination immediately pictured them lying at the bottom of those pits, impaled on spikes.
"Wait!" she blurted out, just as the room lit up with a bright light.
Hermione looked around in shock—they were standing on the edge of a giant chessboard, right behind the black pieces. Across from them, as expected, stood the white pieces.
'Wow,' Hermione thought, looking up. 'I've never seen chess pieces this big before.' Every piece was taller than they were, some twice their height.
"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered, sounding confused.
"It's obvious, isn't it," Ron said suddenly. "We've got to play our way across the room."
'Play?' Hermione thought, feeling lost. She'd only played chess a few times with Ron and Harry, and it never went well. Now, all her hopes were on the boys.
"I think we're going to have to be chessmen," Ron said.
They took their positions on the board: Ron chose the knight, Harry stood as a bishop, and Hermione took the rook's spot. Since Ron was the best at chess, he took charge of the game.
Hermione quickly realized this wasn't a normal game of chess. In this magical version, the pieces moved on their own, and—more disturbingly—they attacked each other with brutal realism. One piece aggressively knocked its opponent to the ground and dragged the body off the board. This wasn't just a game; it posed a real threat to their lives…
Meanwhile, Ron was handling the black pieces pretty well. Despite her nerves, Hermione was impressed, watching how focused he was on each move. 'If only he put this much effort into his schoolwork, he'd probably be one of the top students,' she thought.
"Hermione!" Ron's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Are you even listening?"
"Huh? What? Oh... yeah, sorry," she said, realizing she'd missed his last command. "I got distracted."
"You need to move five steps forward and take the white pawn," Ron explained.
"R-right," she stammered and moved toward her first target.
Hermione walked up to the pawn, which was a head taller than her, and, clearing her throat, said,
"Uh, excuse me," her voice shaky, "could you maybe, um, step off the board? Please?"
The pawn didn't even look at her.
"Push it!" Ron yelled.
Hermione hesitantly gave the pawn a small poke on the shoulder, but it just glanced down at her with indifference, then looked away, not budging. She turned to Ron, throwing her hands up in confusion.
"Hit it! Push it hard!" Ron shouted, frustrated.
Hermione braced herself, took a few steps back, and then threw her whole body into the pawn. Suddenly... she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder—the hit was harder than she'd expected. But her effort wasn't wasted: the pawn finally seemed to get the message, or maybe just pretended to, and slowly stepped off the board. It was the first piece to leave the game fully conscious. Hermione, rubbing her shoulder with a pained look, watched the pawn walk away. 'And people say chess is an intellectual game,' she thought sarcastically. 'What's going to happen if I have to take out the queen?' she worried, looking up at the massive white queen, towering over her at twice her height. 'And what if she takes me out?' she suddenly thought, horrified.
Despite Hermione's worry, the game was going pretty well. Pieces were being taken down on both sides, and the black pieces were holding their own against the white, knocking out their opponents just as ruthlessly. Harry had some trouble with the white knight he had to beat, but he eventually pulled through.
"We're nearly there," Ron whispered suddenly. "Let me think…"
Hermione waited for him to decide, fully trusting his chess skills. She was beyond tired, and everything hurt—her knee from the fall, her shoulder from the chess match. And all she wanted to do was sleep…
"Yes…" Ron said quietly, "it's the only way… I've got to be taken."
"NO!" Hermione yelled as soon as she realized what he meant.
"That's chess!" Ron said firmly. "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…" Harry started.
"Do you want to stop Snape or not?" Ron said, looking Harry straight in the eye.
Like Harry, Hermione didn't want to accept Ron's decision, but in the end, he did what he thought was right. The white queen immediately moved toward Ron and brought her hand down hard on his head. Ron collapsed to the ground, looking lifeless. Terrified, Hermione watched closely as the queen dragged his body to the edge of the board, and with relief, she noticed he was still breathing. 'He's probably just knocked out,' she tried to reassure herself, trying to calm her racing heart.
With impressive calm for the situation, Harry made the final move, checkmating the white king. The king surrendered, and they hurried toward the door leading to the next room.
"What if he…" Hermione whispered, barely able to speak, looking at Ron.
"He'll be all right," Harry said with confidence.
Hermione wasn't as sure, but she knew there was no time to second-guess anything. The decision was made, and they had to keep moving forward.
They walked into the next room. Lying there was an unconscious troll with a huge lump on its forehead. The troll was much bigger than the one they had faced on Halloween. Hermione immediately thought, 'How did Quirrell manage to get such a giant in here? The doors are all normal-sized, and there's no other way in. I guess I need to start reading about portals,' she thought, adding it to her ever-growing list of questions.
Harry was just glad they didn't have to fight the troll. Hermione felt relieved too, even though she had a hunch a troll might be one of the challenges. It made sense, considering it had wandered the castle on Halloween. She'd read everything she could about how to deal with trolls, but theory was one thing, and coming face to face with a creature like this was something else entirely. Its massive size brought back memories of that terrifying night in the girls' bathroom, making her go a bit pale.
The unconscious troll also meant that Snape was likely unstoppable now. They were already too late. 'What are we going to do when we catch up to him?' Hermione thought nervously. 'The plan to get the Stone first has obviously failed.' She had no illusions about being able to take on Professor Snape alone. Still, Harry didn't waste any time and headed straight for the next door, leaving her no choice but to follow.
In the center of the next room was a table with seven different bottles, each filled with some kind of unknown liquid. It was clear this challenge was Snape's doing. As soon as they got closer to the table, flames shot up from the floor near the entrance, blocking their way back. Another wall of fire appeared by the other door. They were trapped—no going back, and no way forward.
Harry looked around nervously, trying to find any clue that might help them. Meanwhile, Hermione scanned the table carefully and spotted a scroll lying neatly among the bottles.
"Look!" she said, catching Harry's attention.
Harry quickly grabbed it, skimmed the writing, and froze, confused. This wasn't what he'd expected from Snape, and he had no idea how to move forward. Hermione took the scroll from him and read it carefully. She took a deep breath, and a small smile spread across her face. 'You have to give Snape credit for his brains,' she thought, and said aloud:
"Brilliant. This isn't magic—it's logic."
Harry looked a little down after Hermione's words, but his mood quickly changed when she dove into the riddle with enthusiasm and solved it fast. She confidently pointed to the smallest bottle on the table.
"Got it!" she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire – toward the stone"
"There's only enough there for one of us," Harry said, eyeing the tiny bottle. "That's hardly one swallow." After a pause, he added, "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"
Without hesitating, Hermione pointed to the rounded bottle on the far right.
"You drink that," Harry said. "No, listen - get back and get Ron – grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy – go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him."
Even though Hermione hated the idea of leaving Harry alone to face whatever was ahead, she knew they didn't have much choice. Only one of them could go forward, and that had to be Harry. So, she had to go back and help Ron. She hugged Harry tightly and whispered, "Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."
"I'm not as good as you," Harry replied.
They said goodbye, and Hermione took a sip from the rounded bottle, heading back to the troll room. Wishing Harry good luck one last time and giving him a quick wave, she closed the door and turned around. The smile faded from her face, replaced by pure horror…
In the dimly lit room, directly across from Hermione, the huge body of the mountain troll took up almost all the space by the far wall, blocking the second exit. It was leaning against the cold stone, slowly rubbing the giant lump on its forehead. Its unfocused gaze wandered around the room until it locked onto Hermione, frozen in fear. She stood there, stunned, her legs barely keeping her upright. If it weren't for the wall supporting her back, she would have probably collapsed.
The troll took a deep breath, trying to catch the scent of the creature it just noticed. Its foggy eyes stayed on Hermione, struggling to focus. Its already mean face twisted into an even nastier expression. Leaning on its arm, as thick as an ancient tree, the troll started swaying, trying to push its huge body up off the ground.
Hermione, pulling herself together just a little, reached for her wand in her robe. But her shaking hands failed her—the wand slipped out and rolled into the corner of the room.
The troll, finally managing to stand, grumbled and started stumbling toward her. Its awkward steps showed its confusion, like its mind was still fighting through a fog. Even though she was paralyzed with fear, Hermione noticed how slow it was. 'Move and do it now!' flashed through her mind. Realizing every second counted, she forced her body into action, dashing for the wand in the corner. The troll, roaring in response to her movement, charged after her, but Hermione whipped around, pointed her wand at him, and yelled, "Petrificatio!"
According to the books Hermione had read before their trip to find the Philosopher's Stone, a troll was supposed to turn to stone—the material it was originally born from. But the 'Petrificatio' spell was part of advanced magic for a reason. It took more than just words and a wave of the wand; it required intense focus and experience, which Hermione didn't have yet. Without preparation and practice, the chances of success were slim. And the troll, not interested in being part of her training, clearly wasn't going to give her time to practice. It was more focused on squashing her with one hit.
With a surprising burst of agility, Hermione dodged the troll's blow at the very last second. Its huge hand slammed into the floor with a loud, terrifying smack, right where she had been standing moments before. The echo of the impact bounced off the walls, reminding her how close she'd come to being turned into a splattered mess that would've needed to be scraped off the floor and walls.
Even though that gruesome image flashed through her mind, Hermione didn't let fear take over again. Slipping under the troll's arms, she racked her brain, trying to think of anything else that could help her. Remembering what had worked recently, she shouted her next spell: "Incarcerous!" For a moment, magical ropes wrapped around the troll's massive body, trying to hold it in place. But the creature, with strength far beyond any human's, tore through them easily—probably without even noticing.
Hermione was already halfway to the second door. Her breath was coming in short gasps from the strain, and each step pounded in her temples. Realizing she wouldn't make it in time, she shouted another spell: "Lumos Maxima!" and aimed a flash of bright light right into the troll's face.
Blinded by the sudden burst of light, the troll started flailing its arms wildly, trying to hit the invisible attacker. Even though it kept moving toward Hermione, its steps slowed just enough to give her a chance. In the last moment, with her heart pounding out of her chest, she dashed to the door and, once outside, slammed it shut with a loud bang.
The wall shook instantly, with a crash like thunder from the other side. Bits of stone and dust rained down around her, and Hermione instinctively jumped back from the door, feeling the ground shake under her feet from the troll's fury. But soon, she realized that despite all its rage, the troll couldn't break through the door.
"What's that?!" Ron's hoarse voice suddenly called out, making Hermione jump before she turned around, relieved, toward him. Her eyes landed on Ron, whose face was twisted in fear, his gaze locked on the door she had just come through.
"And you… you were in there?" His voice trembled with obvious worry as his eyes darted to her, looking for confirmation.
"Yes," Hermione answered, her voice sounding surprisingly calm compared to the storm of emotions in her chest. "Someone had to come back for you."
Ron's jaw dropped even more, and his eyes filled with gratitude and a respect for his friend. That look warmed Hermione's heart, and feeling a bit awkward from the attention, she asked with a shy smile:
"How are you feeling? Does your head hurt?" There was real concern in her voice.
"A lot…" Ron winced in pain. "When I woke up, I actually thought I was dead. It was pitch dark and silent. I just couldn't figure out why my head still hurt if I was gone." He managed a weak smile, remembering his half-delirious thoughts. "I touched my head... and then the light turned on."
"Maybe it's motion-activated," Hermione said, quickly shifting to practical matters. "Can you stand? We need to get out of here. If we hurry, we might be able to get Dumbledore or someone else to help Harry…"
It took Ron a minute to gather himself and get up. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was really that hard for him to stand, or if he just liked the attention, she was giving him. Either way, it took a while. Finally, with a heavy sigh and a stifled groan, Ron got to his feet. Leaning on each other, they started their slow journey back to the room with the keys—Hermione limping from her injured knee, and Ron clutching his head like he was trying to hold his skull together.
As Hermione helped Ron onto his broom, she considered using a spell to tie him to it.
"If you're feeling that bad, this'll help you stay on," she started to explain. "Look, it's a simple spell - Fixa…"
"No," Ron interrupted before she could finish. "I'll fly just like this!"
"I don't think it's smart to send you off like that without securing you to the broom. I'm just trying to help," she argued.
"Thanks, but no," Ron insisted again.
Hermione shook her head in disapproval and got on her broom. They took off, flying through the familiar hallways. On brooms, they covered the distance much faster, and within a couple of minutes, they shot out of the trapdoor into the room above. Hermione, flying ahead, managed to slip past Fluffy without any trouble, but Ron wasn't so lucky—he got caught… or rather, his broom did. One of Fluffy's heads managed to grab it by the bristles, and Ron shot out of the room like a cannonball, crashing hard onto the floor. Dazed, he stared at the splinters of what used to be his broom and vividly imagined what would've happened to him if Fluffy had been just a little quicker. Despite the pain, he quickly scrambled away from the door.
"Good thing I didn't listen to you," Ron muttered, glancing at Hermione. She paled, reluctantly agreeing.
Shaking off the initial shock, Hermione slammed the door to Fluffy's room and said in a tone that left no room for argument, "Get up, Ron. You can rest later. Right now, we need to hurry and send an owl to Dumbledore."
Ron, who had been lying down, looked at her with despair. But Hermione's determined look made him groan and slowly get to his feet.
"I'm never saving the world again," he grumbled. "It hurts too much."
Wincing, Ron hobbled after Hermione toward the exit, where they were met with an unexpected surprise. Standing in the doorway was Dumbledore. His sharp eyes took in everything instantly, and he asked just one question:
"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"
Hermione, still catching her breath, nodded. Without another word, the professor hurried off to the third floor—to help Harry.