Third-floor staircase landing.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled under the Invisibility Cloak, pressed against the wall. They didn't dare step out. Sullivan had asked them to wait here, but until he showed up they weren't about to risk getting caught by any other professor—especially Snape.
"Why isn't Professor Sullivan here yet?" Ron whispered, fidgeting.
"Relax, he probably just got held up," Hermione said.
"But why make us wait here? We could've just gone to his office," Ron grumbled.
Suddenly they heard hurried footsteps. Thinking it was Sullivan, they started to lift the cloak—then froze. The silhouette was way too tall and the head far too large.
Harry quickly motioned for the others to stay down. They held their breath as Quirrell hurried up the stairs. Only after he was gone did Hermione whisper, "That was Quirrell. What's he doing on the fourth floor this late?"
"I once overheard Snape cornering him," Harry said quietly. "'You'd better decide who you really serve.'"
Ron's eyes widened. "Wait—Snape's working for You-Know-Who and trying to drag Quirrell in to steal the Stone?"
Hermione shot him a look. "Are you thick? Remember what Professor Sullivan said? Snape's probably one of the good guys. Quirrell's the one working for You-Know-Who."
"Yeah," Harry added. "And have you noticed Quirrell's been looking worse and worse? The smell's gotten stronger too."
"So what are we waiting for? Let's follow him!" Ron said.
The three of them crept after Quirrell. While they moved, Harry fired off a quick text to Sullivan:
Professor, we ran into Quirrell at the stairs. He's acting really suspicious and heading toward the fourth-floor room the Headmaster banned everyone from. We're following him.
Just as expected, Sullivan thought. He typed back:
Stay calm and stay safe. I'm notifying Professor Dumbledore first.
"Professor Sullivan says not to rush—he's telling Dumbledore," Harry relayed. They stopped outside the door to Fluffy's room.
"Then we wait here," Hermione said. "Fluffy's guarding the trapdoor anyway."
Just then they heard music drifting from inside the room.
"It's music! Remember what Hagrid said? Fluffy falls asleep when he hears music," Harry said urgently. "Quirrell knows the dog's weakness!"
Two minutes later Sullivan still hadn't shown. Harry sent several more messages with no reply. Finally he couldn't wait any longer. "We can't just stand here. Professor Sullivan must've been delayed. I have to stop Quirrell myself. You two wait for him."
"No way—we're coming with you!" Ron said without hesitation.
Hermione nodded firmly. "We stick together, Harry."
The three of them shared a quick, determined grin and slipped into Fluffy's room.
What they didn't know was that Sullivan was right behind them, hidden under a Disillusionment Charm.
Inside, Fluffy was already snoring peacefully beside a magical harp that played a soothing melody.
The kids hesitated, scared to move the dog's massive paw and open the trapdoor. Sullivan, growing impatient, quietly cast a spell that silenced the harp. Fluffy stirred. That snapped the trio into action—they yanked the trapdoor open and jumped down together.
Once they were gone, Sullivan restarted the harp so Fluffy would drift off again, then followed.
By the time he reached the second obstacle, the Devil's Snare, the three had already made it through. Hermione's book-smarts really were no joke.
Sullivan slipped through the vines and caught up at the flying-key room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on brooms, chasing the biggest key.
Hermione's flying was… not great. But Harry lived up to his reputation as the youngest Seeker in a century. Even with Hermione constantly missing the key, he still snatched it mid-air and unlocked the door.
Next came the giant chessboard. The three of them became living pieces under Ron's command.
Sullivan stood at the edge of the board, watching and giving the staff group chat a live play-by-play. Whenever he was slow to reply, Snape immediately pinged him, clearly itching to charge in and take Harry's place.
Ron was actually brilliant at wizard chess. He directed the pieces like a general, fighting the black side to a standstill. In the final moments he faced an impossible choice.
"Yes…" Ron said quietly. "This is the only way. I have to be taken."
"No!" Harry and Hermione shouted together.
"It's just chess," Ron snapped. "You have to make sacrifices! I move forward, she takes me, and then you checkmate the king, Harry!"
"But—"
"Do you want to stop Quirrell or not?"
"Ron—"
"Hurry! If we wait any longer he'll already have the Stone!"
Until that moment Sullivan had always thought Ron was the weakest link in the trio—the one who was useless at everything except eating. But hearing those words changed his opinion completely. Maybe the kid wasn't the brightest or the most talented, but his courage was pure Gryffindor.
When the black queen's sword swung down on Ron, Sullivan quietly cast an Armor Charm on him. The blow still knocked Ron out cold, but he wasn't seriously hurt.
Harry and Hermione pressed on.
The fifth room held a troll—bigger than the one Sullivan had fought on Halloween—but it was already unconscious with a massive lump on its head. They stepped over it and entered the sixth chamber.
A table held seven oddly shaped potion bottles and a note:
Danger lies before you, safety behind,
Two of us will help you on your way.
Drink us and one will send you forward,
The other will return you where you were.
Two contain nettle wine, three are poison,
Waiting in a row to kill.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forever.
We also give you four clues to help you choose:
First, however sly the poison may be, it always stands on the left of the nettle wine.
Second, the bottles at either end are different—if you wish to move forward, neither will help you.
Third, you will find that the bottles vary in size, and neither the giant nor the dwarf hides death.
Fourth, the second from the left and the second from the right taste exactly the same, though they look different.
Sullivan felt a chill. He remembered the movie version better than the book, and this was straight-up elementary-school math disguised as a riddle. Snape had probably cooked this up years ago while flirting with Lily. The guy was still obsessed.
No way I'm leaving this note behind, Sullivan thought. This embarrassing little treasure is definitely worth a couple vials of Felix Felicis.
Hermione solved it in seconds, of course. She found the correct potion and Harry told her to go back to the chess room and keep texting Sullivan while he went on alone.
Sullivan watched Harry step through the flames, then hesitated. Voldemort was on the other side. Harry had main-character plot armor and Lily's protection—he should be fine.
But if Sullivan followed, the focus would instantly shift to him.
Still… the plot had already changed in so many ways. His little butterfly wings had stirred up quite a few storms. What if Quirrell actually killed Harry? Sullivan couldn't live with that.
While he was weighing his options, Snape kept @-ing him in the group chat: What's happening? How is the boy? I'm on my way!
Don't come, Sullivan replied privately. I've got eyes on him. With your history, what would you even do if you saw Voldemort?
Then he stepped through the final flames.
The moment he entered he saw Quirrell pointing his wand at Harry. "Potter, tell me—do you have the Stone? Hand it over or I'll make you wish you were never born."
Harry backed away. "P-Professor Quirrell, I don't know what you're talking about."
Voldemort sensed the newcomer. The second he recognized Sullivan he seized full control of Quirrell's body and swung the wand toward him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Seriously? Sullivan thought. You just talk smack at Harry but the second you see me it's straight to the Killing Curse?
He wasn't the same panicked mess he'd been the first time. After that earlier brush with killing intent he had trained specifically against it and built a countermeasure.
He still felt the crushing pressure and lethal danger, but his body and magic moved freely.
He tapped the badge on his chest. Three small silver hexagonal plates shot out and spun around him like tiny shields. With a flick of his wand they expanded into full-sized barriers—custom alchemy gear he'd designed after the last encounter.
At the same time he rolled sideways like a lazy donkey. The green curse clipped one of the silver plates, turning it black and sending it clattering to the floor, but the Killing Curse itself was deflected.
Sullivan dropped to one knee and fired back with "Expelliarmus!"
The red jet streaked toward Voldemort-Quirrell. But few wizards in history had more combat experience than this monster. With a casual wave of his wand he sent Sullivan's Disarming Charm veering harmlessly into a pillar.
Sullivan hadn't expected that one spell to win. While he'd been rolling he had already drawn his modified Colt revolver.
"High noon!" he muttered for his own amusement as he unleashed six Blasting Curses in rapid succession.
Even Voldemort looked surprised at the sheer speed. Six explosions screamed toward him. He thrust his wand forward and a translucent black shield snapped into existence like an umbrella. As long as he kept feeding it magic, the barrier would hold.
Clang-clang-clang— The six Blasting Curses slammed into the shield, sending ripples across its surface but failing to break through.
Sullivan's face darkened. He knew Voldemort's dark magic was insane, but he hadn't expected the defensive spells to be just as monstrous. No wonder the guy was officially the strongest dark wizard in history.
Voldemort-Quirrell's face twisted in pain too. His body was already at its limit, only kept alive by life potions and unicorn blood. The massive magical output had pushed it past the breaking point. He staggered and collapsed, the grotesque form of Voldemort now fully revealed.
Still unwilling to give up, the Dark Lord raised a trembling wand toward Sullivan, eyes burning with hatred. "Avada—"
Before he could finish, Harry leaped from nowhere, landing on Quirrell's shoulders and yanking his arm away.
The instant they touched, Lily's sacrificial protection flared. Quirrell's skin hissed and smoked like it had been dropped into molten lava. His body began to petrify and crumble.
Voldemort screamed in agony and ripped his own soul free from Quirrell's dying form, as if staying another second would be pure torture.
Quirrell's body turned to dust in moments. Voldemort's spirit became a swirling black mist. It circled Harry several times but couldn't get close.
So the mist turned its rage on Sullivan—this boy had ruined everything. He would pay.
Sullivan was ready. He thrust his wand forward and roared, "Expecto Patronum!"
Thick white mist poured from the tip, forming a glowing hemispherical dome. The moment Voldemort's soul touched it, the mist began to evaporate him like acid.
Voldemort refused to give up. The terrifying black face pressed against the barrier, trying to break through—until countless specks of starlight gathered on the dome and coalesced into the phantom of a silver unicorn. It charged straight into the mist.
Voldemort let out a blood-curdling shriek. "I will return!" he howled, then fled as a black cloud.
Sullivan let out a long breath. Finally got rid of that guy.
He hurried to Harry, who had passed out from the mental backlash. A small red stone had slipped from the boy's pocket.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Sullivan recognized it instantly. He snatched it up in less than a heartbeat.
The moment his fingers closed around it he felt the immense magical power inside. Compared to the Stone, his own magic was like a single grain of sand in an endless desert.
A voice echoed in his mind: Hide it.
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