There was little doubt that Albus Dumbledore was a great and powerful wizard. Even when he was just the Transfiguration Master of Hogwarts people already respected his palpable power and wise counsel. After defeating the Dark Lord Grindelwald in fair combat, his name rose above every other, spoken by some in the same breath and reverence as Merlin's name itself. Being indicated as the Headmaster of the prestigious school was almost obvious, and raising in prominence as a councillor of the government was just as expected.

He had fought bravely against it, it's true. Repeatedly turning down higher positions, refusing titles and medals, shyly accepting the Order of Merlin, mostly because returning it would be a slap in the face of the wizarding world. The Order, however, had been a visible trap into which Albus Dumbledore resigned himself to walk. As a holder of the First Class, he became part of the Wizengamot and in short while fell prey to higher and higher positions. A little more than ten years before, he had been wrangled into the role of Supreme Mugwump. If not for the budget for three First-Assistants the job entailed, it would be impossible to juggle such a responsibility along with the position of Headmaster. Still, he already had burned through every acceptable excuse in his tenement in the International Confederation of Wizards to avoid their interminable dinners and get-togethers, after all.

However, even his most elegant excuses couldn't take him away from an occasion like that. As four generations of wizards (two of them taught by himself, one could add) squabbled and argued in the Wizengamot Hall, Albus Dumbledore felt the weight of his many years on his shoulders — and the Umbridge woman's voice boring a whole thought his left temple.

At his left side at the long, curved table, sat Madam Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her head was down as if in great concentration, her quill moving in elegant flourishes as if she was signing the Statute of Secrecy itself. The table was, in fact, a long desk, so their workspace was hidden behind a wooden panel so that only their upper chest (in the Minister's case, his head) could be seen above it. If one of the esteemed members of their legislative body would stop screaming like a First Year on September 1st and observe at the tip of her quill moving left and right, they would be entranced by such activity and — possibly —, not realize she was occupied with the Daily Prophet's crossword.

Noticing she still hadn't guessed the main ingredient in the Gut-Chilling Draught (which was W-A-R-G-T-O-O-T-H, of course), he moved his gaze to the only other silent occupant of the Hall, the tall figure patiently waiting on the visitor's desk.

Andromeda Tonks née Black had been a phenomenal woman since her early teens. Unlike the brazen and reckless nature of her elder sister Bellatrix or the cunning and silent demeanour of younger Narcissa, Andromeda had always been the most fearsome among the Black sisters. Even poor Sirius or even poorer Regulus couldn't hold a candle to the girl's sharp mind, quick tongue and stoic face. Many wizards only saw raw magic and spell repertoire when gauging how powerful an enemy was and that's mainly why they are fooled with such ease. During his long life, Albus had learned better. Andromeda was one of those few souls that sincerely enjoyed legal documents, contracts and musky law tomes of forgotten rules and ancient rites which hold no divinity. A woman like that was capable of anything, he believed.

She had been waiting at the desk on the centre of the circular room, Wizengamot members shouting around and over her but never at her. After her short and objective declaration about her client's intentions for his fortune, Andromeda Tonks had been quietly waiting for them to decide. Of course, if any other minor wanted to elect a proxy to manage their fortune, a simple notification from Gringotts to the proper sub-department would be more than enough. Merlin knows how many Pureblood heirs had done so without even informing the government and never got even a slap on the wrist for it. But that heir wasn't a simple Pureblood orphan reaching for money, nor was that fortune a common Vault filled with gold.

It had shocked him, to learn Harry Potter could pull such a card from his sleeve while barely in his teens. A fear had crept into his heart when he found about it but it was quickly put out when he remembered the night in front of the Mirror. Albus knew better than most the thrall of the cursed artefact. While the boy's mind had been locked in a future that would never be, he had discreetly used a spell to assert the situation from his scar. It had been such a relief to sense nothing from it but the remains of a foiled curse that his damned tongue had loosed far too much. Nonetheless, it was a good conversation and it made him realize Harry was a far more mature and well-rounded young lad than any of his peers.

As his most hopeful theory had hinted, the botched piece of soul hadn't survived the lack of ambient magic from his muggle home and the abrupt shifts a wizard's magic go through during their formative years. So, he reflected, the spectacle in front of him wasn't devised by young Tom whispering inside the child but by Harry's own design. It almost made him appreciate that phenomenal waste of time a little bit.

But then, a shiver ran down his back, pooling in his tailbone and dissipating to the north, chilling his gut and pointing the direction of the broken ward. He was on his feet before he could even get his thoughts in order.

"Albus? Is there something wrong?" The startled Madam Bones asked, sliding her newspaper under some law books she had brought to the room for appearance's sake.

Some of the men and women shouting at each other around the room quieted down and looked at him. Albus plastered his best smile on his face, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"I beg your pardon, my fellow members of the Wizengamot, I just need to stretch my legs a bit. How about we take a short break and reconvene here in… thirty minutes?"

"I agree!" Amos Diggory interjected, scrambling to his feet. "I don't know about you but that tea break four hours ago did nothing to fill the void in my gut!"

"It was forty minutes ago!" The old man Parkinson retorted, branding his wand. "We had enough breaks already, we need to do something about the werewolf!"

"YES!" Shrilled the pink stout woman. "Madam Bones! Call your Aurors to send the werewolf to jail, right now!"

Madam Bones was very far from amused. A whole galaxy away, from the look on her face.

"I see no werewolf in this Hall, Madam Umbridge," the woman coldly answered. "It's a relief, I assure you, as tonight it's a full moon."

"Y-You understood what I said! This woman says she is representing a werewolf!" Her short and thick finger pointed at Andromeda Tonks, whose expression hadn't changed at all. Dumbledore wondered if that was some kind of Occlumency exercise only known by the Black family. "Charge her and take her to Azkaban until she reveals where the beast is!"

"Imprisonment of an innocent wizard or witch is forbidden by our code of laws, Madam Umbridge. Torture even more so. I suggest you open the book some time. If you lost yours, my department can send you a new copy," Madam Bones offered, her glare heating the air between the two women. "Furthermore, as you aren't even a member of this legislative body, I fail to understand why are you making any demands to me. Do you need a copy of the Wizengamot Treaty as well?"

"Madam Bones had touched a very important topic," Albus interjected, glancing at his pocket watch. "Mr Remus Lupin, Harry Potter's appointed proxy, isn't here tonight to defend his position or rebuke any false claim. I suggest we send him a prompt notification and reconvene at the end of the week, with Mr Lupin and his lawyer. All in favour?"

Some were already raising their hands when Lucius Malfoy slammed the head of his cane on the desk.

"If I can interject, Supreme Mugwump," the man said, his voice dripping with false deference. "This is not a Court session, so the presence of Mr Lupin isn't required. This morning, Mr Potter has notified the Ministry about his intention of appointing a proxy to manage his quite sizable fortune — a fortune, I must point out, is bound to increase exponentially, as his work alongside young Mr Longbottom has shown — and Madam Umbridge courageously has brought this notification to attention when she discovered the aforementioned proxy is, in fact, a werewolf. Madam Umbridge promptly protocoled a notification to the Wizengamot with her findings, making Minister Fudge convoke this august body to deliberate about it. While the laws forbidding werewolves to apply for positions in the Ministry is still in the reviewing process — and while werewolves aren't forbidden by law to take a position as a proxy —, Madam Umbridge was concerned about a dark creature assuming the control of one of Great Britain's largest fortunes and approaching our quite young War Hero. Wasn't it just like that, Madam Umbridge?"

"Was it?" She asked, dazzled. She shook her head, gathering her bearings again. "Of course it was! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE, WE ARE TALKING ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A DARK CREATURE, TAKING CONTROL OF MISTER POTTER'S FORTUNE! ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A DARK CREATURE, SPENDING TIME ALONE WITH A CHILD! MORE THAN ANYTHING, ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A DARK CREATURE, APPROACHING HARRY POTTER!"

Some of the older members started to shout, prompting the others to scramble to their feet and shout back. Some wanted the werewolf to be put down, others screamed for justice, yet others demanded the boy and his fortune to be left alone. Albus sighed.

"I'm taking a short visit to the toilet," he whispered to Madam Bones, who was pondering about the name of the first witch to breed firenewts. She nodded.

He forced himself to walk with aplomb and disinterest, strolling out of the Hall. As soon as the door closed behind him, quenching the enraged voices, he broke into a run, his old legs protesting against such abuse. Storming inside the bathroom, he conjured a Patronus, the beautiful phoenix floating in the air above the sinks.

"Severus, he has breached the ward, keep an eye on him, I'm coming as fast as I can," he relayed the message to the phantasmagorical bird. It flapped its wings and disappeared. Now, he just needed to find a fireplace and get the hell out of the Ministry before they realize he was gone. A sudden spike on his arterial pressure, he hadn't used that one in a long while. He was sure at least the older members would understand it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Asked a young voice, probably just out of his teens. The name was on the tip of his tongue… "It's Assistant Paige, sir. The Minister demands your presence back at the Wizengamot Hall."

Dumbledore opened the door with a trained smile, following the young man without a word. He was glad the boy wasn't versed in the art of Legilimancy, or else his reputation as a wise and patient Headmaster would shatter in an instant.

Harry cajoled the ratty school broom towards another attack, his manoeuvres a lot more difficult as the damn thing bucked sometimes to the left, sometimes towards the floor. He had shed the outer robe, exposing the common muggle clothing underneath it, after his cloak had clipped one of the flying keys, prompting another magical division. Amidst the cloud of agitated wings, he had to keep changing directions at random, trying to avoid the keys. His efforts, however, were barely enough, as he was sure the pile of copies under him had increased by a quarter since he began.

Tracking the silvery key with his eyes, he rolled around the shaft of the broom, his crossed shins and the strong grip from his left hand keeping him hanging in the air, under the broom. Keys zoomed in the space he had just vacated. Forcing the handle upwards, he swung his hips to the left, prompting the broom to twirl and void another attack from the keys, his hand extending towards his target. Grabbing the blasted thing, its fluttering wings cutting his hand once again, he coached the broom to cease flying and dropped to the ground.

After crossing the room, Hermione and Daphne used complex spells to measure the keyhole and produce a ghost copy of the necessary key. Of course, it was an inexact copy but it was enough for Harry's sharp eyes to find some candidates in the cloud of flying keys above them. Ignoring the pile of copies, he had snatched one of the flying ones and promptly discovered that the other keys held no love for a thief.

The cloud around him buzzed like angry bees once more, their erratic flight changing to an attack pattern, their sharp points shifting towards him. Harry broke his fall mounting on the broom again, shooting off towards the left wall, flying so close to the floor the tips of his shoes carved a groove in the golden pile under him, duplicating keys filling it almost as fast as he dug. Abruptly changing directions, he shot upwards, some of the flying keys slashing his clothes with their wings as they flew by in great speed. As with every other mass-enchanted object, there was a limit to the amount of intelligence the keys could hold, so they were fast and offensive but slow on changing directions and prone to crashing on each other.

Hermione raised her hand, perched behind Daphne on their broom, Harry flew in her direction, changing the angle so he would fly a little above her head. As he passed near her, as fast as the old broom could handle, he slapped the key on her hand and shoot off once again, the more or less organized metallic swarm still hunting him. Hermione slammed the key on the keyhole and tried to turn it but it was another fake. Instead of letting it go, she stuck it to the wall, like a fly caught on a glue trap. Daphne squinted her eyes, tracking another similar key.

"That one! Try that one! With the large wings!"

Harry turned the broom towards it, the swarm was already returning to their passive state. He corrected the angle, trying to catch it from below. He became too focused on his target, only noticing the golden key when its wing clipped his neck.

"Son of a bitch!" He roared in exhaustion, already dripping blood from multiple slashes on his arms, shoulders, chest and even on the right cheek. Forcing the broom more than he should, he sped up and caught the key just as the wooden shaft broke in two.

The key probably saved him from a good skull-cracking, as it was one of the largest ones, its wings valiantly trying to keep them afloat, Harry's hand tight around its body. The fall hurt a lot, nonetheless. Harry jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain on his back and legs, desperately sinking almost to his waist into the key pile. Forcing his right leg up, he climbed and crawled forwards, keys popping up into existence around him, drowning him, burying him.

As they multiplied by the hundreds around his body, Harry toppled from the sudden weight, falling face down on the pile. They kept duplicating, covering his head, pressing him further down, choking him. He forced himself to get up but the weight was too much already.

Daphne's hand seized him by the collar of his shirt, raising his head above the pile, letting air into his lungs.

"THE KEY!" She shouted, and he unburied his arm, showing her the key still in his clasp. Its wings were broken and twitching, smashed by the weight and the fall. It was great as Daphne could toss it to Hermione without worrying about the key running away. In the few seconds it took her to do so, Harry was covered in keys again.

The pseudo-Fragment in Daphne's navel couldn't grant her the boost of physical strength a real Stone shard did but her slow awakening as a Veela had already made her stronger than a normal twelve-year-old girl. Gritting her teeth and forcing her own broom, she hauled him from the pile and towed the boy by his collar, sliding on the glittery metal, leaving a trail of duplicates behind them. There was a small stone platform where the door was, so she dumped him there.

"IT OPENED!" Hermione exclaimed in delight. "HURRY!"

Feeling like death, Harry crawled through the doorway, entering another long and narrow corridor, just like the one linking the vine trap room to the key room. Hermione helped him to stand and Daphne fed him a pepper-up potion. They waited, chests pumping like frightened birds, as steam was released from Harry's ears.

"I hope this thing is ordered from worst to… less bad," Daphne wished, retying her hair into a long ponytail. "Am I being too positive if I guess the last room is a bedroom with a double bathtub?"

Hermione just groaned as her knees protested to another round of walking.

"Come on, it can't be far now," she encouraged. Harry carelessly tossed the potion vial to the floor. After taking the stone, they would use the packet on his backpack to destroy the whole corridor behind them and wipe out any chance for an investigation. He wiped his sweaty hands on his torn shirt before donning the cloak again.

There was another door but it was thankfully unlocked. The room was dark for an instant, torches creeping to life on the walls as soon as they entered it. It was another cavernous room, a polished checkered floor under their shoes, huge stone statues around them.

"It's a chess board," Hermione quickly recognized. The torches illuminating the room showed them the common pieces of wizard chess, their huge bases and well-detailed bodies.

As a fact, Harry detested the game. The pieces were loudmouths and it took time to bond with them enough so they would stop interfering with the game, the pieces would destroy each other if you don't convince them to play nicely and sometimes the king would get bored and start ordering around his queen, getting on a row that could take longer than the game itself to put out. During Yule, he had found one set on his magical cracker and quickly passed it forward to Neville, who still used it regularly to lose against Ron Weasley. The pieces were already calling the boy "Loserbottom". He hoped the challenge designer had enchanted the huge set anew and controlled their voices or else he would explode the entire set instead of playing.

"So, we have to play?" He asked the white king on the other side of the board. It nodded with its inexpressive stone head. The pieces had been made without their usual faces, the smooth stone giving them a creepy feeling.

Harry calculated the distance to the next door. He also calculated the size of their stupidly huge hexagonal bases and the size of the door they had just gone through.

"Maybe we have to play as some pieces?" Daphne asked. Before Harry could answer, Hermione cut him.

"Why would you think so? When one play wizard chess, they are the player, not a piece. Even if this chess set is oversized, there is no reason to hurt ourselves silly walking among those pieces. Am I right?"

The white king shook his head in negation.

"..." Hermione ducked her blushing head and meekly stood as a tower, the real stone piece moving out of the board. Daphne was already moving to be the queen.

"Wait, are any of you two good at chess?"

"I am terrible at it," Hermione confessed.

"I don't even know how to play," Daphne helpfully informed. "What about you?"

"I don't like the game," Harry explained. He raised his wand. "It has too few queens, anyway."

They rolled their eyes at him, not fazed with his subtle compliment. It was a good thing they were in sync about everything else. Hermione's blasting curse hit the horse square on its blank face, blowing the piece to smithereens just as Daphne decapitated the black king. The pieces immediately turned against them, unsheathing weapons and bearing their shields. The three children ran back to the door they had just exited, safely hiding in the short corridor.

The second horse reached them first but it soon became clear whoever had designed the room had not noticed the size of the doorway. The piece's base was too large for it to pass through - Harry recognized it as a common mistake in transfiguration masters, they stopped thinking about how to get things in and out of room after transfiguring them, he had learned it the hard way when they moved together in a tiny apartment and Hermione had brought their first triple-sized bed. As the pieces were larger than the door itself, they also couldn't attack them in group. As it was, each piece would reach the door entrance, one of them would hurl a spell at it and destroy the stone, letting another one take its place.

"How many pieces are there in a chess set?" Daphne asked.

"Too many," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Pansy Parkinson ran as she had never done in her life before. The night was becoming colder and darker, low branches hitting her face while she stumbled on raised roots and stray rocks. The pocket watch on her hand was stained from the blood of her palm and mud dripping from her hair. She was so tired, a hairbreadth away from falling to the ground in complete exhaustion but her legs kept pumping her forward.

The tree-line arrived unexpectedly, her eyes brimmed with tears before her dazed brain could even register she had exited the Forbidden Forest. She fell on her knees, maybe because of another stone, maybe her legs had finally run out of fuel. The cracked pocket watch slipped from her fingers and dropped in the mud. She shivered, her breath laborious. Then she forced herself to stand and started to run again.

Throwing propriety to the wind, she slammed her fist on the door, knocking loud enough to raise the dead.

"MR HAGRID," she cried out. "PLEASE, MR HAGRID, OPEN THE DOOR, PLEASE!"

Her knuckles were red, her tears soaked the caked up mud on her face. Every single part of the young girl's body protested in pain. Yet, she pounded the door unrelentingly.

"WHAT!" The giant roared, opening the door abruptly, the last of her punches landing on his large belly instead of the wood. Nonetheless, the man towering over her was so large and so strong that her jab must have felt like a mosquito landing on his clothes. She was scared of him, of course, every wizard and witch learned how giants (and, therefore, their half-blood offspring) were dangerous, warmongers with a thirst for blood they would turn to their own kin to violate and murder if no other victim was around. But that wasn't important anymore.

"Mr Hagrid, help me!"

"A Slyth'?" the man asked in wonder. "What you doin' her'?"

"The Forest! We were in the Forest! It attacked us!"

"WHAT! What you doing there-! Attacked you said?"

"We... The dragon-"

"Shut up!" He ordered, his voice raspy. "Inside, come!"

He slammed the door behind her. There was a monster of a dog lazying around in front of the fireplace. It raised its giant head to look at her but seemed disinterested. An owl hooted from above, amidst the ceiling beams, in the darkness. She trembled.

"Harry asked us for help with the dragon... Something was in the Forest... A thing as tall as a man, wearing a hooded cloak... It... It was drinking a silver thing from the dead unicorn."

Hagrid expelled a swearword, moving towards the back wall. He took a huge crossbow that was hanging from a nail. Its bolts were big enough to gore her whole heart out of her chest.

"Then what?" he asked gruffly. The dog left the rug in front of the fireplace, preparing for something just like his owner.

"Dean... Dean attacked it. It was... weak- distracted... We ran but we- I mean, Dean and I, got lost. We walked for some time, then he laid on the ground and did something and talked about north and south and how to use my pocket watch- my pocket watch! I dropped it outside!"

"Then what?" he asked louder, making her forget about the stupid watch.

"Then... there was a werewolf."

Hagrid stood from the huge stool he was seated, lacing his boots. He thundered over to her, his huge hand enveloping her whole head. If he only twitched his fingers, she knew her skull would be ground to dust.

"It bit you? Anywhere?"

She wanted to shake her head but didn't dare to do so. Instead, her weak voice blurted a negation. He did something with his hand, softly grazing her scalp, making her shiver in fright. He sighed and moved his hand away. Only then, she realized the half-giant had been patting her.

"And Dean?"

"He ran..."

He opened the door and stepped outside. The huge dog followed in silence. It was pitch black, the full moon hidden behind heavy clouds. The weather was changing, a cold wind blowing around the man and invading the hut.

"Stay here. Don't open the door. I'll find Dean."

He closed the door. Then he opened it again, looking a little bit awkward.

"There's tea in the pot... Uh... help yourself."

Then he closed the door again. Pansy braced her lithe body with her arms, shaking and moving from side to side without leaving her place. After a few minutes, she walked to the window and looked outside. There was nothing to see. The iron bar near the door was too heavy for her to raise. She pushed the stool until it was propped against the door.

Pansy was helping herself some tea when there was a knock on the glass. She almost dropped the ladle she had been using to pour tea into (the cups on the cupboard were the size of buckets and she feared not being strong enough to carry one to the table). Taking a spoon the size of a beater's bat, she backed away from the window.

"It's Pansy!" a muffled voice yelled from the other side of the glass. There was a human head pressed against the window but it was too dark outside to see it and the candlelight didn't reach it. "Pansy, it's me, Hannah!"

Feeling her heart slow down as fear left her, Pansy ran to the door and pushed the table-sized stool away a little bit, letting the door open a sliver. Hannah Abbot's white face was full of worry.

"Pansy! Why are you here? Is Dean with you?"

"Where are the others?" she asked instead of answering. Hannah glanced back.

"We are all here. Just you two were missing. We ran away from the Forest, Parvati wanted to go back for you but we didn't know where you both went to... We ran with the dragon to the exchanging point and left it with the guys. We thought about asking Hagrid for help but you are already here!"

Pansy stepped away from the door and the other four members of their disastrous expedition filed in. Parvati hugged her, ignoring the mud and the filth and any House division. Pansy had been raised as a strong, proud Pureblood witch. She had learned since birth how to be stoic, cold and unforgiving. All of that melted away for an instant and she hugged her back, allowing herself to cry herself out for the first time since her ordeal.

Harry, Daphne and Hermione vaulted the largest chunks of broken stone. The chess board looked more like a battlefield after the enraged pieces were defeated. The small corridor linking the two rooms was a blessing, not even a single piece could fit into it, allowing them to aim and destroy their enemies leisurely. Of course, the hundred or so powerful spells had wiped their strength. While magic couldn't be depleted, as it wasn't a measurable, physical existence, wielding it demanded a huge amount of concentration. Without the Stone fragments to boost the correct parts of their brain, a wizard's ability with magic was more about his focusing and concentration powers than anything else.

The result of using too much magic in such a short time was a tremendous headache and some bouts of vertigo. They shared a potion for the migraines while they ran to the next room but it could only take away the pain, not the feeling of exhaustion in their heads. Among the three of them, Hermione had the best natural concentration and so she could handle magic for the longest. Yet, even Hermione was feeling the dizziness and nausea one would feel after such an ordeal. If they pushed it a little bit more, they would fall in magical exhaustion, their brains shutting down all non-vital functions to rest and repair itself. Then, everything they had done so far would be for nought and Azkaban would be their destination once again.

There would be no returning trip, then.

"We are taking turns from now on," he ordered, grasping the door handle. "The next challenge will use Daphne's magic. The next one mine and the next Hermione's, then we cycle back again, okay? We can't faint here and it will be even worse if we faint all at the same time. There shouldn't be many more challenges but let's rest while the designed person deals with the obstacle.

The girls nodded, taking a deep breath before they unlocked the door together. The stench of decay and rotten meat assaulted them immediately, like an almost physical punch to the gut. Hermione retched loudly while Daphne stumbled back almost fainting.

There was movement on the other side of the short corridor but the stench in the air made the walk unbearable. The thing moving was so heavy it couldn't possibly pass through the door. Harry had nothing in his rucksack to filter the air. Hermione probably knew a spell to do it but she was too occupied throwing up near the door. Wetting his handkerchief with his water bottle and pressing it against his mouth and nose, he walked forward.

As he reached the middle of the corridor, lights sprout out on the next room, just like it had done in the previous chambers. A low, heavy grunt floated from the door in front of him. Strangely, it was already open. Feeling cautious, Harry dropped the Invisibility Cloak over the three of them, packing them tight and walking slowly. The stench was unbearable but Hermione had recovered enough, a simple spell from her wand sucking the heavy air around them and refreshing it. Harry poked his invisible head into the room.

There were blood and excrement everywhere, splinters of wood covering the floor, probably from the destroyed door. On the other side of the large chamber, a deformed gap on the wall signalled where the other door once stood, the stone doorframe broken and ruined. The torches were high, near the ceiling, probably the only reason they had survived.

The guardian of the room walked in circles, its heavy steps shaking the ground. It was the source of the stench, a huge mountain Troll easily two times larger and taller than the one that had attacked Hermione on Halloween. It was covered in iron armour and dragged an iron mace adorned with large spikes behind it. Its tiny head was encased in a helmet, only its retarded eyes visible. Behind him, Hermione gasped. Harry squinted his eyes under the shifting, low light to better observe the monster and soon saw what she had seen.

The Troll wasn't wearing the armour, instead, plaques of iron had been nailed directly to his skin and bones in a crude fashion. Some kind of chainmail was under it, covering the skin between the plaques, but the iron was so tight against his body that the links forming the chainmail would be digging on his flesh under the plaques. Even its fingers were covered, twisting the hand out of shape. The tortured creature probably depended on magic and its own absurd resistance to pain to continue walking. As it circled the room again, Harry theorized the walk itself was the product of some kind of curse, as it never strayed from a perfect circle. Blood dripped from the gaps of its armour, excrement falling behind it as it couldn't stop his watch even to relieve himself. On the next round, its trunk-like legs would push it away from the circle.

Hermione was frowning, she had always been a stout supporter of animal and magical beasts rights. She would regularly do way worse to the human subjects in her lab so she never found the need to hurt the poor creatures that couldn't retaliate. She unconsciously raised her wand, preparing a spell to end the agony of the guardian.

"Wait!" Harry ordered but it was too late. She tossed the cloak aside and threw a spell at it.

The sickly yellow light of the severing curse crossed the room at the speed of sound, its arch unseen by Harry with his normal, human eyes. Once, a spell so slow would be a child's play to dodge but the gap between a normal wizard and one carrying Fragments was just too large. The spell could easily be misrecognized as a charm as it looked as instantaneous as one. The curse, however, was for nought.

With a clang, the Troll's head was tossed backwards, the nightmarish armour bracing the severing curse like it was nothing. Instead of putting it down, Hermione's spell just enraged it and pinpointed where the target was.

Roaring so loud Harry thought his eardrums would rip, the Troll charged at them, raising its mace over his helmet with unnatural speed. The armour probably wasn't the only improvement the Troll had received. Tossing the cloak aside, they scattered inside the room, their shoes skidding on the excrement and pebbles. Just like a normal Troll, the creature was slow on the uptake, its mace shattering the ground on impact where they were standing a moment before.

Harry threw four curses in quick succession but only one had some effect, pulling the monster's right leg under him. The armour withstood any destructive spell and nullified the effects of environmental ones like the freezing curse. On his other side, Hermione had tried some charms, none of it had any effect whatsoever.

Daphne was the first to try to use the room itself against its guardian, swirling part of the debris around its leg and melding them together using transfiguration. The Troll roared even louder, standing on his right knee while his left leg was encased in stone, its back turned to the invaders. It wildly swung the mace, damaging the wall, the front doorway and the stone flooring.

They were already running towards the other doorway when it freed itself on brute strength alone, forcing its knees to stand straight. With a gut-wrenching sound, the encased leg was ripped apart, freeing it. Rotten blood gushed out of the mutilated leg, its foot and part of the calf missing along with the armour. The pain must have been unbearable as the Troll's screams shook the room and made them dizzy.

Daphne tried to use the debris again but the Troll seemed more intelligent than most of its species and used the mace to sweep the largest pieces away from them. It couldn't stand anymore, crawling forward using one leg and one hand, the other swinging down the mace. Blood, pus and drool flying from the grate over its mouth. Harry transfigured the stone into faux-quicksand under the mace, taking it from the monster. His victory was fleeting, as the creature used its now free hand to attack.

Daphne's screams reverberated inside the chamber when the Troll's fingers snaked around her, its hand so huge only her head and left arm were free from its tightening grip. Harry hurled a dozen of different curses on its helmet, obtaining some results as they impacted with great force on the Troll's skull, distracting it.

"HERMIONE! HELP HER!" He shouted but Hermione was standing on the back of the room, silent and unmoving. Her wand was drawing patterns on the air, her lips moving non-stop, her eyes closed. A breeze swept through her curling hair, flapping her short skirt and open blazer. Harry had seen that stand so many times but his brain was slow to recognize it.

A ritual. Hermione Granger, without her Fragments and on the brink of magical exhaustion was preparing a ritual. While Harry had seen her use them mostly in very difficult healing procedures, a streaming of Ancient Greek pouring from her in a ritualistic chant deeper and more powerful than any spell chant, he knew she had learned some dangerous rituals from Flamel's ancient books when she worked in the laboratory. After she had fled from that cursed life, she had taught him some about them. About their unparalleled power, monstrous difficulty and the fatal dangers of someone interrupting a ritual chant.

He needed to save Daphne before Hermione killed everything standing on the room.

Harry ran towards the Troll and jumped on its fist, physically trying to pull its fingers apart, releasing Daphne. As his strength was just like any other 11-year-old's, it was futile. The Troll couldn't use its other hand as it was propping its body up. Instead, it shook the hand gripping the girl and carrying the annoying boy, roaring and spitting on them. There were plaques of iron nailed to its phalanxes, chainmail covering the gaps between them. Harry used his most dangerous severing curse on them, ripping apart the links and exposing the greyed skin underneath. Ignoring the safety procedures the Professors had hammered on them during the entire first term, he stabbed the Troll's flesh with his wand and cast another severing curse.

The backslash threw Harry backwards, the impact on the floor robbing the air from his lungs, he rolled for some instants before stopping. The Troll's roars were even louder, Harry swept the blood from his eyes and saw one of the monster's fingers was almost entirely severed, hanging on the knuckle by a strip of flesh. Daphne could move better but she was still in its grip. Under the pain-filled sounds of the monster, Harry could hear Hermione's voice.

She was reaching the end of the ritual. Daphne seemed to have already grasped what the older girl was doing and was struggling to free herself. Despair filled Harry, he scrambled to his feet and pointed his wand to the monster. The only gap on its armour was the severed finger but it was too close to Daphne. If the Troll moved its hand or his aim wavered, he could kill the girl with his spell. Screaming in frustration, he charged forward again.

A burst of flames attacked the Troll, fire so blue it boiled the head inside the helmet in instants. The Troll's roars became pure pain and its mauled hand opened, the palm slamming against the white-hot iron helmet. Harry threw a cushioning charm under the screaming blonde girl. She fell on soft ground and scrambled away from the Troll, crawling on the floor. Harry reached her and threw her over his shoulder, running away as fast as his tired legs could.

The Troll screamed itself hoarse, standing on its knees and clawing with its both hands on the helmet. Harry raised his wand, seeing an opportunity to try and slash the monster's throat.

Hermione ended her ritual with a mighty scream, splitting the air with magic and electricity. Near the ceiling, the torches snuffed out and a gap opened in the air. Harry threw himself on the floor, Daphne under his body. He pressed his palms on his ears, closing his eyes.

The lightning bolt was printed on his eyes even under the eyelids, the sound impacting his body like as a physical blow. His body convulsed when the electricity coursed through his nerves. Every hair on his body stood up and he smelled something burning.

Opening his eyes, there was only darkness. His gut froze for a second when he thought he had become blind. Daphne used a lumus under him and Harry expelled his breath in relief when the bluish light illuminated them. His eyes were burning a little and he couldn't hear a thing, blood pouring from his ears. After taking a few deep breaths, there was a pop as his magic repaired the soft tissue of his eardrums and sound rushed back around them.

He used his own torchlight spell and ran towards the fallen mountain that was the Troll. The smell of charred meat was even worse than the stench of shit and sweat from before, the thing was dead, burned to a crisp by the lightening bolt Hermione's ritual produced. Instead of wasting time with the abhorrent thing, he forced his aching body to run to the older girl's side.

She was crumpled on the floor like a rag doll. Her skin was clammy, grey and covered in cold sweat but he could feel her pulse. Daphne kneeled on the other side, sweeping the curly hair from Hermione's face. Her eyes were closed but kept moving rapidly under her twitching eyelids. There was blood running from her ears and nose. Daphne forced an eyelid open, the honey-coloured eye under it was murky and unfocused. She used a handkerchief to clean the girl's face.

"Magical exhaustion," she diagnosed. "She needs a lot of rest but will be fine."

Harry sighed. He tried to carry her but his body was too tired. After finding the rucksack he retrieved the last Pepper-Up Potion.

"You shouldn't drink it, you already drunk one not half an hour ago," Daphne probably knew how ironic it was for her to admonish him on the dangers of excessive potion use. He offered her a tired smile.

"Just a sip for both of us. We need to finish this soon and take her to the Infirmary."

With a sigh, she nodded and drank after him. They propped Hermione on the wall, seated near the broken doorway. After checking her vitals again and leaving the last water bottle near her, in the hope she would recover her conscious soon, they trudged over the rubble and entered the next room.

As soon as they crossed the remaining door, at the end of the short corridor, black flames erupted around the door, covering the hole and locking them inside the next challenge room. On the other side, the next doorway was also hidden behind huge black flames.

The walls were lined with shelves, from the floor all the way up to the high ceiling. On the shelves, there were rows upon rows of bottles, jars, goblets, cups, vases, glasses and even something he recognized as a cut of bamboo. Some were transparent, others opaque, every single one of them filled with all kinds of liquids, from beverages that looked just like water to glowing concoctions that only a Potion Master could brew. On the centre of the room, there was a low table where a roll of parchment was resting.

Harry broke the wax seal and unrolled it. Snape's tiny handwriting filled the long roll with a series of instructions, clues, trivia on potions and complex diagrams.

"It's a logic test," Harry muttered, startling Daphne. She had been looking at her own hands since they entered the short corridor. "For fuck's sake, Hermione is the only one that could solve this shit."

"Let me take a look," Daphne offered, tearing her gaze from her fingers. "Yep, I can't even pronounce some of those words. We have no fucking chance of solving this."

Harry fought the urge of kicking the table. Motherfucker Snape and his cunning ways. Wizards were all about power, magic and knowledge, after all. No one had time for riddles and word games. He wanted to wrangle that pale and oily neck. Harry raised his wand.

"I'm doing the same as Hermione, pouring all my magic on a destructive spell. You go forth after I faint and retrieve the Stone, okay?"

"Harry... do you trust me?"

Harry paused.

"Yes, Daphne."

"Then give me your hand. Here, just stand near the door... Now I'm going to wrap my arms around you while I'm at your back..."

"Hmm, Daphne, why are we cuddling in the middle of the robbery?"

"Shut up, I need to concentrate. That fire... The fire I threw on the Troll... it didn't use my wand... When I was sure I would die from Hermione's ritual I felt something... click inside me... And I felt the fire inside once again. I felt the Veela fire..."

Harry tensed up when blue flames appeared on her skin, dancing on her arms and around them. Daphne had used passionfire, a Veela unique magic, against him more than once. It was hot enough to consume flesh and bone in a second, only quick, powerful magic and strong legs could save a man from death when fighting a Veela. She was enveloping them inside a blue flame, sweat poured down his neck even if he couldn't feel the heat yet.

She forced them to walk forward, getting nearer and nearer to the black flame.

"Daphne...?"

"Veela don't use fire. Veela are fire. The flame of our magic won't lose to anything... We burn the world and nothing can stop us."

The black flames attacked the blue fire, a sizzling sound echoed through the corridor. Daphne forced them to march forward, the blue fire smothering the enchanted flames against the wall. Blue and black never mixed, and blue swept black from their way. Her arms around him were strong, her perfume around his head, playing with his nose. There was a strength to her bones that wasn't there before. They didn't open the next door, instead, they bored through it, the blue flame eating the wood like a hot knife cutting butter.

The black flames were behind them. Daphne released him and stood alone as he stumbled forward into the room. He turned back in time to see her, blonde hair and icy eyes, fully encased inside a teardrop-shaped blue flame, like an ancient goddess of fire. She opened her arms and a burst of wind dispelled the flame.

On her back, small wings opened up, pure golden just like her hair. They were smaller than he remembered, more fit to a child than a teenager. However, they weren't just cute but also terrifying, the metallic shine of her feathered wings giving her figure an unnatural look, forcing him to remember she wasn't just a witch but also a magical creature, a thing made of flesh, bone and magic from ancient times.

Once, Daphne had told him the figures associated with angels were taken from pagan cultures. The angels of ancient religions were simple balls of light or faces covered in wings. Humans carrying large feathered wings came from even older mythologies, the memories of humankind which not even the Statute of Secrecy could erase. In those ancient ages, those winged humans weren't messengers of gods but the battle hordes that could wipe out an entire army with a single gesture. As her wings folded and the trails of blue fire faded in the air, Harry could understand why those ancient poor sods feared and revered those warriors.

For the first time since they crossed dimensions, there was a fire in her icy-blue eyes. It wasn't the rage that sometimes took over her, neither it was the flame of lust no living thing in Earth could sate, just fight against. Instead, it was the fire of Veela, the eyes of a devouring flame encased in a human body. She walked towards him, a predator with a target in sight.

As her lips and tongue crashed over him, the force of her Allure washed his body and mind. Male, female and their children, no creature in the world could resist a Veela's Allure. There was a legend among wizards about men who were immune to it but that was just a myth. The Allure was like a suggestion, a voice in the mind asking for more than a man could give, so beautiful and needy it was impossible to deny its wishes. A man of stone will could ignore it. But it was just a matter of time.

As her nails tore the back of his cloak, as she traced lines of pain on the back of his head, as her lips seared his mouth with fire, he faintly remembered the laughable idea that Veela liked men able to resist the Allure. As if they searched for mates they couldn't influence, refusing to settle down with those weak-willed enough to fall for their schemes. Such a beautiful thing it would be if it were true. Well, Veela indeed preferred those who could fight their Allure. They enjoyed breaking them the most.

Harry forced his hand away from her small breast and up her clavicle, his fingers soaring in search of relief. She bit him, hard enough to draw blood while she did her best to tear his hair from his scalp in her frenzy. His hand closed around her swan neck and he tightened his first. She hissed against him, fire sprouting from her arms, her small wings fluttering in rage. With a mighty push, he held her away, his arm tight and his grip firm on her throat. Daphne clawed his arm in rage, her eyes burning with blue fire. She tried to scream but he was almost crushing her windpipe. Harry reached inside his frayed mind for magic and called for a burst of power. It was weak as a child's but it washed over her, snapping the blonde Veela out of her daze.

She slumped, his unrelenting grip the only thing keeping her standing. After an instant, her wings closed and disappeared, her claws receded to manicured nails and her hair fell down limply. She tapped his arm and he let her go. Daphne fell to her knees, gasping for air. Her tear-filled eyes still burned with Veela fire but it was controlled. Her Allure subsided, the litany of orders inside his mind becoming once again the familiar begging whispers. The ones he could ignore after some practice.

He finally could turn around and take in the last chamber of challenge. The one that must hold the Stone and their entire future. It was empty, except for a large object in its middle. Harry sighed.

"Of course it's the fucking mirror again."

Somehow, Pansy had found herself in the role of host, pouring tea for everyone. She had finally noticed the mud in her hair, face, neck, collar, torso, underpants, clothes, legs and shoes. Hannah had helped her to wash some of it on a tin basin filled with cold water. She was drying her hair using a tea-cloth instead of a towel. As it was a half-giant's house, the tea-cloth was larger than any towel she had ever used in the dorms.

There was a thump outside and a howl that made every hair on her body to stand. Fortunately, Su Li recognized it as dog howl instead of- some other thing. Someone pushed the door, easily opening it even with the table-sized stool propped against it. Pansy felt it like a bruise on her pride even if only a half-giant would be able to open it under such blockade. Hagrid sighed heavily upon seeing them.

"This' madness!" He said with a gruff. "W'at are y'all doing here? Children need to be in 'er beds!"

"They came looking for me, Mr Hagrid," Pansy explained. "Merlin, is this-?"

There was a bundle on his enormous hands. Hagrid thumped towards the couch and gently deposited it on the pillows. The boy was quivering and twitching, Pansy was at his side before anyone could even move.

There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his shirt was soaked on it. Twigs and small leaves were tangled in his short, curly hair, mud covering every inch of his clothes. The damn boy probably had stopped on another puddle to mask his smell. Or had fallen down in one in his fright. She raised her hand to sweep them from his hair but Hagrid caught her entire arm in his fingers. It was gentle, as if he was trying to hold the wings of a butterfly. She raised her gaze to his sad, incredibly sad eyes. They were black, just like her Head of House's but instead of rage and contempt, they were filled with warmth, innocence and profound grief.

"You," he said in a low voice, pointing to Su Li. "Bring 'ere sum parchment 'n' quill."

She grabbed the writing utensils that were on the high table and walked to the huge man. Hagrid let Pansy's arm go, wrote a short message and looked up. The owl on the ceiling rafter flew down, took the letter on her beak and exited the hut by the open door. Hagrid looked around for the stool, gave up and sat cross-legged on the floor. No one tried to move. Pansy watched the boy's laboured breath.

"Why was a werewolf in the Forest?"

Hagrid kept his silence for almost an entire minute, just watching the boy on his couch.

"The Forest doesn't judge," he said, his voice clear and low as if he imparted some old wisdom on them. "Good or bad, creature or monster... Everything ends when yo' enter the Forest. Sum come, every year... and disappear inside it. And 'eir shame disappear with'em."

They stood in silence for what seemed to be hours or days, instead, the darkness of the night hadn't changed much when a sound startled the children. A witch in white entered the hut still mounted on a broom, a big handbag swinging in front of her, tied to the wooden shaft by its handle. The witch Pansy recognized as Madam Pomfrey, the school matron.

"Since when?" She asked, ignoring the children out of their beds. She marched towards the boy in long strides, her non-nonsense tone oddly calming. As if she recognized there was a lot of wrong things in the world in that instant and she needed to know what to fix first.

"Sum hours," Hagrid answered. "Shoulder."

She opened the handbag and took a pair of silver scissors from it. Gently, she cut open his cloak and undershirt, exposing the dark skin underneath. Even under the low light from the candles, Pansy could see the semi-circle of wounds on his left shoulder and chest. The marks of teeth. Her knees buckled under her. She heard loud retching. Hannah was emptying her stomach on the floor.

Madam Pomfrey poured potions on the wound, one after the other, then a whole lot of gauze, the thin cloth soaking from the concoctions. She kept piling them manually until almost his entire torso was under them. After that, a simple movement from her wand made a roll of bandage float over the boy. Another spell rose his body from the couch, his small figure hovering over the pillows. The bandage darted around him, flying under his body and over the chest, bandaging it tightly. When it was done, the body floated down and sunk on the overstuffed cushions again.

"He needs to be moved to the Infirmary now," she announced, waving her wand towards the bag. It enlarged to let a stretcher fly from it, speeding through the air and stopping suddenly, hovering just beside the couch. Madam Pomfrey floated the boy again, depositing him on the stretcher. She closed her bag with a click and mounted her broom.

"Madam Pomfrey, is he going to be alright?" Pansy asked.

The woman finally noticed the children in the giant's hut. Her eyes were sharp and serious. She would tell their Heads of House, no doubt about it. Pansy couldn't care less. Finally, she nodded.

"The boy was bitten by a werewolf," she confirmed, the last of Pansy's strength leaving her. The silence in the hut was oppressive. "He will survive this night but he will carry the marks for the rest of his life... Along with the curse."

Pansy closed her eyes. A multitude of thoughts crossed her mind, screaming for attention. She wanted to lie down and sleep, sleep for a long, long, long time. And then, wake up and realize everything had been just a very strange dream.

When she opened her eyes, Madam Pomfrey and Dean were gone. In their place, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was standing in the doorway, a cloak was thrown haphazardly over her sleeping robe, her long hair untied from the usual bun. Her nostrils flared in rage. The night had been very long, and Pansy realized it was still far from ending.

"Fucking stupid mirror!" Harry raged, feeling like cursing it. "Fucking Dumbledore did something to it, what the fuck is this?"

"You need to widen your vocabulary for curses," Daphne commented. She was kneeling on the floor, still trying to reign the Veela in.

"I can see the fucking Stone," Harry shouted. "I'm using it! I'm using it to make gold! I'm drinking from it! Why am I doing this shit? Dumbledore must have enchanted the mirror!"

"You said you saw this mirror before? Before you know what?"

"No, during the Christmas holidays. I saw it inside one of the abandoned classrooms, Dumbledore caught me and we talked about it. It was obvious it was a setup. Of course I would see the fucking mirror again."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"It showed me... personal things."

"We were fucking?"

"In very explicit ways, I never knew Hermione could be so flexible."

Daphne huffed.

"You are horrible at lying, just like Hermione. Come on, give me a hand up. I want to try it."

"Dumbledore said it shows us our deepest desires..."

"And yours is to drink from the Stone? Are you retarded?"

"Dumbledore obviously enchanted this shit. What do you think you will see?"

"I- I... I won't ask about yours, you don't ask about mine?"

"Fair enough. Here, you have to stand in the centre in front of it. Tell me if you see something that could be a clue."

"I... I'm just seeing myself. I'm clean. I have my adult wings. Ohhh, I'm so buying this dress if I ever find it in the real world, it does wonders to my breasts... In fact, I'm reaching my cleavage... Wait!"

She watched in shock for a moment, then turned her face to him. Her expression was horrified. Harry was about to question her when her trembling hand moved to her collar. Her fingers reached inside her cloak and she fiddled a little bit. When she removed her hand, there was a red jewel on it.

"It was between my breasts," she muttered in horror. "Albus Dumbledore enchanted the Stone to appear between my breasts. He designed this spell on the mirror so the Stone would appear between my breasts..."

She shuddered in disgust.

"I need a shower. Here, take it, don't ever come near me with that!"

"Oh, come on!" Harry urged, taking the Stone in his hand. He had never seen it whole before. It was a little bit larger than a chicken egg, oval-shaped like a jewel, deep red in colour and smooth to the touch. While it was solid, its interior shifted at every moved of his hand, as if it was liquid. He felt it heavy on his palm, the weight of an entire lifetime of hurt, power and pain. "I'm sure it was just a coincidence."

"How would you feel if Albus Dumbledore carefully enchanted it to appear under your ballsack when you needed it the most?"

Harry ignored his own shiver and dumped the contents of his rucksack on the floor. He piled up the potions and the fireworks.

"You reckon this mirror is probably a one-of-a-kind ancient magical artefact and we are probably destroying it?" Daphne asked using her conversational tone. Harry nodded. "We won't ever be able to tell Hermione this, will we?"

"Not a thing. Have some fire?"

"Funny guy," she barked, sending a stream of blue fire to the nearest wick. It hissed. Harry pocketed the Stone and reached for her hand.

"Let's run!"

They pumped through the last chamber and the corridor now devoid of magical fire, Harry carelessly threw the still knocked-out Hermione on his shoulder, not breaking his march. They passed through the empty, dark Troll room, avoiding the charred body and the debris scattered around. The next room was full of broken stone too. At that moment, an explosion shook the entire corridor, a roar of flames too close for comfort echoing in the hall. They sped up.

They needed to take turns on the single broom left, to cross the keys room. First Harry with Hermione, then Harry with Daphne. The girl kept the broom, Harry once again running with Hermione on his shoulder. They crossed the small corridor, entered the room with the withered Devil's Snare and risked an overcrowded flight on the broom. It buckled and groaned under the heavy load but hovered steadily to the ceiling. Harry used a spell to open the trapdoor. Daphne's singing voice floated through the hole, keeping the Cerberus at bay. The broom lost the last of its enchantments just as they exited the hidden chamber, the dog was sleeping soundly again. When they closed the trapdoor, the sea of flames was already raising inside the first chamber. Harry saw molten rock and golden keys floating on it, the cursed liquid fire eating everything in its path and increasing in size and power. Maybe he had miscalculated the amount needed to burn their evidence, it was better to get out of the corridor before it reached the dog.

They opened the door of the Forbidden Corridor, stepping into the hall. A single figure was standing there, surprising the two of them. The door behind it was locked, its wand was raised and pointing at him.

"Harry Potter," Professor Quirrell said. "Thank you for bringing the Stone to me."

AN: Hello again, this month flew by and I did almost nothing! Well, the story is finally ending for now, so I'm doing my best to edit and curate the last chapters. There are only 2 more to go!

Also, I want to report that, on 31st, I'm going to publish a Halloween special One-Shot, under the title "The Concordat". So, I recommend you follow my works to find it. As I'm in Brazil (GMT -3) I have no idea if it will still be Halloween wherever you are when I post it :( It will be an entire story in the "other world". It's not necessary to understand TFE but I think it will answers some of the questions we have so far (and raise others!).

Thanks a bunch and I'm answering all the reviews in a bit. See you next chapter!

BTW: One of TFE's rules of thumb:

Fear the Veela.