Better Be Slytherin!

test invisibly. But some (also invisible) force pushed him back time and again, back to the board and the black stone pieces.

I have to play, he agreed.

Be the King, the Baron told him.

Harry nodded and put himself on that space, and the Black King removed himself from the board. After a few moves, when one of his pawns was demolished by the opposing knight, Harry realized he was playing Wizard's Chess. If he lost, he would be demolished!

I will not let that happen, the Baron promised.

As if you could stop it.

I am a very good chess player. You are becoming one yourself, according to your Professor Snape. He taught you, did he not?

Harry gritted his teeth. Yes, he said, but refused to discuss Snape further and called out, 'Queen's bishop to king's knight three.' The piece moved as it was meant to, threatening the white team's knight. They managed to capture (and pulverize) that knight as well as a bishop, a handful of pawns and then the white queen. A mere four turns later, victory was assured. The Baron had only needed to interject once, when Harry was moving a rook into a position that would have meant its capture in three turns. All in all, a satisfactory game.

Once the white pieces moved aside so he could get through the far door, he opened it to find a passageway. He charged up the corridor to find another door, behind which lay a huge, smelly troll, not unlike the one he, Millie and Teddy had dealt with last Halloween. It lay face down with a nasty bump on its head. More than ever, Harry was positive that Quirrell was down here, somewhere. He was the one with all the troll experience, after all. Whether or not Snape was here, too, was another matter, but Harry would bet anything he was.

The thought made him both angry and sad, all at once.

Severus Snape is not after the Stone, the Bloody Baron put in. He has only ever wanted to protect you.

Harry growled at the Baron to shush while he crept past the troll to another door, wondering what could lie beyond. Instead of a monster or some kind of trap, all he found was a table with seven flasks upon it in a line. As soon as Harry crossed the threshold, a curtain of purple fire sprang up behind him to cover his retreat, and nasty looking black flames shot up in the doorway just beyond. He was trapped.

There is a note on the table, the Baron told him, and he approached to read the thing. It seemed like a puzzle of some kind.

'Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find . . .'

It went on and on, and Harry tried to reason it out, but he had never been good at these sorts of logic problems. Fortunately, he had a secret weapon.

Severus Snape is a rather clever man, the Baron thought. Decent enough for a Slytherin. But since I have had many more years than he to perfect my own brand of cleverness . . . drink the smallest bottle.

Are you sure? Harry didn't relish the idea of being poisoned.

Of course.

Well, he had to rely on the Baron's aid for this one, didn't he? He had to trust his word. Harry had always found trust a fragile thing, but the Baron had never steered him wrong. With a small sigh, he lifted the littlest bottle and drank. It was as if ice flooded his veins.

The rounded bottle on the right end will get us through the purple flames, to get out.

If we get out, Harry thought, but very quietly. The Baron made no response, so it was possible -- though unlikely -- he had not heard.

Harry peered at the black flames for another moment, squared his shoulders, and walked into the last chamber.

The flames rippled around him but did not burn. For a moment he could see nothing but dark fire, but then he was through the fire and on the other side.

There was someone already there. It was not Snape, but Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell smiled. His face did not twitch at all. 'I wondered if I might be meeting you here, Potter.' He was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, Harry realized suddenly. Is that where the Stone was hidden? 'I expect you are surprised to find me here.'

'Not particularly,' Harry replied. His voice, with the ghost inside him, sounded deeper and carried more weight, like it had in the chess cavern. He'd thought before, that it was due to the size of the cavern, but it was just his voice. 'I'm only surprised that Snape is not here with you.'

'Oh, yes, he does seem the type, doesn't he? But he has only caused me trouble from Day One.'

Harry frowned, but did not wish to argue -- nor divulge that he had eavesdropped on a conversation -- so he asked, 'What happened to your stutter? It's gone.'

'Never had one to begin with,' Quirrell said with a chuckle. 'But who would suspect poor, s-stuttering P- professor Quirrell of trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone?'

'Well, me for one. And my friends.' And Professor Snape, he thought unhappily.

'You see, you miserable oaf,' cried another voice, this one more sibilant, high and weak sounding, seeming to come from Professor Quirrell, except that the man did not move his lips. 'You could not even throw off the suspicions of a child!' It was Voldemort's voice, he knew it. But how?