We walked through the corridors in silence, the kind that weighed heavily between us. The stone walls of Hogwarts loomed higher than usual, shadows stretching and curling as torchlight flickered against the ancient stone. It felt like the castle itself was holding its breath.
Ron's face was unusually pale. Hermione kept glancing around nervously. Even Rose, who had been leading with sharp determination minutes ago, now walked slower, more cautious.
"Dumbledore's gone," Hermione said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's gone. What if that was the plan all along? Wait until he leaves… then strike."
"They're going to steal the Stone," Ron added. "Tonight. I know it. Everything's lined up too perfectly."
Rose said nothing. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her gaze set forward but distant. I could see her mind working—calculating, doubting, trying to figure out how this had all slipped past the teachers, how someone like Voldemort could return while everyone looked the other way.
"He left the castle," Hermione continued, panic edging into her voice. "By broom. No security. No backup. Nothing. Who does that?"
"He must've known something important was going on," Ron said. "But what could be more important than this?"
"He knew," Rose murmured.
I stayed quiet. Let them speak. Let them feel the urgency, the fear, the confusion. I understood it—more than they realized. But inside me, there was something else simmering: anger.
Dumbledore knew this would happen. He chose to leave. He left the Stone guarded, yes, but also left it vulnerable. And more than that—he left Rose. This wasn't coincidence. It was a test. A test he had no right to make.
I clenched my fists, silently.
"You don't seem worried," Rose said suddenly, glancing over at me.
I shrugged. "Worry doesn't change anything."
She studied me for a second longer, then looked away.
We reached the Fat Lady's portrait. She looked up from her nap and blinked.
"Password?" she asked, smoothing down her pink gown.
"We don't know it," Rose said quickly. "Please—we were out on permission, we didn't hear the new one. It's an emergency."
The Fat Lady pursed her lips. "No password, no entry. I've been painted with rules for centuries, and I'll not break them now."
"We'll go somewhere else," I said before anyone could argue. "Common room's not going to help us."
We turned and started walking again, cutting through the familiar corridors, our footsteps eerily loud in the quiet.
Hermione chewed her lower lip. "We should find a place to regroup. Maybe… the library wing?"
"Too open," I replied. "Anyone walking by could hear us."
"There's the trophy room," Rose said. "No one ever goes there this late."
We headed that way, silent again, each of us locked in our own thoughts. The shadows stretched longer. Somewhere far above, the clock tower chimed midnight.
Finally, as we entered the echoing trophy room, Rose turned sharply and faced us.
"We all felt it," she said, voice firm now. "That thing in the forest—it wasn't just some creature."
"It was him," Ron said. "Voldemort."
"And Dumbledore's gone," Hermione added. "If anyone's going to try something, it's going to be tonight."
I crossed my arms. "Then we do something about it."
"But what can we do?" Hermione asked. "We're first-years. We don't even know how to get past half the protections."
"We can figure it out," Rose said. "We know the trapdoor's under Fluffy. We know it's guarded by enchantments from the professors. We can work through it."
"It could be anything down there," Ron said. "Anything. We could get expelled. Worse."
"He's not coming back," Hermione said. "Not in time. We're alone."
I met Rose's eyes again. "We were always going to end up here."
She nodded slowly. "He left us this choice."
I could feel the frustration building behind her calm expression. She'd looked up to Dumbledore. Trusted him. And now he'd left her in the middle of something massive—with no guidance and no help.
And I knew why. Because this was the test.
And I hated it.
Ron was pacing now, muttering under his breath. Hermione stood still, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Rose hadn't said a word in the last minute, staring at the dark marble floor as if it held the answers.
"We have to go," she said finally. Her voice was low, but certain.
Ron froze. "Go? As in… now?"
"Yes. Before it's too late."
"But—" Hermione started, clearly torn between fear and reason, "—what if we're wrong? What if the protections really are enough?"
"And what if they aren't?" Rose snapped, the fire returning to her voice. "We've seen what's out there. We know it was him."
I didn't say anything. Just moved toward the door, already certain of my answer. I had trained for this, bled for it, burned in silence under the cover of moonlight to prepare. I wasn't going to let it go to waste while someone like Voldemort crept beneath the school.
They followed.
The halls were empty, silent save for the low hum of magical energy that always seemed to vibrate through Hogwarts in the dead of night. We stuck to the shadows, keeping low when we passed open doorways. Every torch seemed to burn dimmer, every breeze colder.
"We'll need to get past Fluffy first," Hermione whispered as we reached the hallway near the forbidden third-floor corridor.
When we reached the large wooden doors, we paused. None of us needed to say it—this was it. Whatever came next, there was no turning back.
The heavy doors creaked open as we pushed through.
There he was.
Fluffy.
A massive mountain of fur and muscle, his three heads were alert, sniffing the air, nostrils flaring. The harp that usually sat beside him lay on its side, silent and forgotten.
"He's awake," Ron said, swallowing hard. "Someone's already been through."
All three heads turned toward us, growling low.
"Music," Hermione muttered. "It's like Cerberus… from Greek mythology. I read about it in Mythical Beasts and Where They Might've Been Real. He guards the underworld and only sleeps to music."
"Right," Rose said, eyes flicking to the creature, "but how do we—"
"I've got it," Hermione whispered. She raised her wand and flicked it in a precise, sweeping motion. "Sonorus Dulcis."
Soft, lilting notes drifted into the air. A calming tune, delicate like wind chimes in the summer or the hum of water over river stones. It curled toward Fluffy, threading through the tension in the room like silk.
One head yawned. Then another.
The third glared at us for a moment longer, before letting out a huff and slowly lowering onto its paws.
The snoring began.
Hermione didn't lower her wand. "We have to be quick. I don't know how long this will last."
Ron and I rushed to the trapdoor while Rose knelt beside me. Together, we pulled it open, revealing a yawning black void beneath.
"Go," she said. "I'll follow."
Without hesitation, I jumped.
The fall wasn't long, but the landing was sudden.
I hit something soft and squishy—but not in a good way. It moved. It writhed.
"What—" I started, but then Rose landed beside me with a soft grunt, followed closely by Ron and Hermione.
Thick, rubbery tendrils slithered up my arms and legs before I could even push myself up. The moment I struggled, the plant responded—tightening like snakes coiling around prey.
"Devil's Snare!" Hermione cried. "Don't fight it!"
"Bit late for that advice!" Ron gasped, his voice tight as the vines wrapped around his chest.
I forced myself to stop thrashing, to breathe. The moment I relaxed, the pressure eased—just slightly. But Rose wasn't listening. She was twisting, trying to pull her wand free.
"Rose!" I called out. "Stop moving! You're making it worse!"
"It's dragging me down!" she snapped, but the vines around her wrists began to creep higher. I could see the panic in her eyes.
"Relax!" Hermione shouted. "You have to stay calm! Devil's Snare hates light and heat, but if you move too much—"
I clenched my jaw. My training flared to life—focus, stillness, precision. I closed my eyes and whispered a spell I'd practiced in secret for months, drawing on the warmth I carried in my core. I didn't dare go full force—too risky, too wild—but I let a tiny pulse of heat bloom from my palm.
A soft golden glow surrounded me, radiating gently outward.
The Devil's Snare hissed.
It recoiled from me slightly, loosening enough for me to pull an arm free. I didn't use flames—not openly—but a low warmth, a subtle shimmer, like sunlight trapped in glass. I had learned to control it better than before, thanks to the long hours in the Room of Requirement.
"Hermione!" I called, "Can you cast light?"
She was already moving, wand clenched in one trembling hand. "Lumos Solem!" she cried.
A bright, radiant light burst from her wand, flooding the chamber.
The Devil's Snare screeched. It released us all at once, recoiling into the shadows like a wounded beast. We fell the rest of the way onto cold, hard stone.
Ron let out a deep breath, coughing. "Next time, we land on a rug. A cursed rug, even. Anything but that."
Rose sat up, brushing a piece of vine from her robes. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," I said, offering her a hand. "You?"
She hesitated. "Yeah. Thanks for shouting at me."
"My pleasure."
Hermione looked pale but determined. "That was the Devil's Snare. The protections are active. We were right."
We looked around. The chamber was dim, lit only by Hermione's wand and the faint glow still fading from my skin. A narrow archway led out on the other side.
"That's one down," Ron muttered, straightening his robes.
"And probably six more to go," I replied grimly.
Without another word, we moved toward the next challenge—hearts pounding, breath steady, ready for whatever came next.
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